novelraw Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 6 - Drona’s Garuda Formation
Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 6 - Drona’s Garuda Formation
Sañjaya said:
Having passed the night, that mighty car-warrior, Bharadvāja’s son Drona, addressed Suyodhana in the early light of dawn, saying—
“I am wholly thine, O king.
I have made arrangements for Pārtha’s encounter
With the Samsaptakas in the distant field.
Today, while he is away,
I shall seize Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma.”
Thus resolved, after Arjuna had gone forth to destroy the Samsaptakas, Drona, at the head of his vast host arrayed for battle, advanced to capture the king.
Seeing that Drona had arranged his army in the form of a Garuḍa, Yudhiṣṭhira disposed his own forces in a semi-circular array to meet it.
At the mouth of that Garuḍa stood Drona himself, resplendent and terrible.
Its head was formed by Duryodhana, surrounded by his brothers.
Its eyes were the two mighty warriors, Kṛtavarman and Kṛpa.
At its neck were stationed the Kalingas, Siṅhalas, Śūrasenas, Kāmbhojas, Yavanas, Śakas, Hāṅsapādas, Abhīras, Daradas, and Madrakas, with countless elephants, steeds, chariots, and foot-soldiers.
Its right wing was guarded by Bhūriśravā, Śalya, Somadatta, and Vāhlika, heroes surrounded by a full Akṣauhiṇī of troops.
Its left wing was led by Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti and Sudakṣiṇa of the Kāmbhojas, at whose head stood Drona’s fiery son Aśvatthāman.
At the back were placed the Kalingas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Pāṇḍras, Gandhāras, Mādras, and Vasatis—the hillsmen and border tribes.
At the tail stood Karna, the son of Vikartana, surrounded by his sons, kinsmen, and friends, together with Jayadratha, Bhīmaratha, Sampāti, the Bhojas, the Niṣādhas, and others—heroes from many realms.
That vast array of Drona surged forward like a tempest-tossed ocean, roaring and flashing with banners and spears. From its wings and flanks warriors leapt forth like thunderclouds bursting with lightning in the monsoon.
In the midst of that living sea shone Bhagadatta, ruler of Pragjyotiṣa, seated on his immense elephant, radiant as the rising sun. Decked in garlands, shaded by a white umbrella, he seemed the full moon joined with the stars of Kṛttikā. His elephant, dark as a storm-cloud and dripping ichor, shone like a mountain washed by rain. Around him gathered many kings from the hill countries, armed with diverse weapons, as the celestials gather about Indra.
Beholding that superhuman array, invincible in battle, Yudhiṣṭhira turned to Dhṛṣṭadyumna, and said:
“O lord of the Panchālas,
Whose steeds are white as pigeons,
Devise thou means that I fall not
Into the hands of the Brāhmaṇa preceptor.”
And Dhṛṣṭadyumna replied:
“O King of Dharma, set thy heart at ease.
Never shalt thou be taken by Drona while I breathe.
Today I shall meet him with all his host,
And hold him back as long as life is mine.
So long as I stand, O Bhārata,
Let no fear disturb thy heart.”
Then the valiant son of Drupada, his steeds white as pigeons, scattering his shafts like fire-sparks in wind, rushed toward Drona. Beholding his old foe before him—an omen dark and dire—Drona’s heart grew heavy.
Seeing this, Durmukha, thy valiant son, eager to serve Drona’s cause, advanced to meet Dhṛṣṭadyumna. Then arose a fierce and terrible conflict between the prince of the Panchālas and Durmukha.
Dhṛṣṭadyumna quickly enveloped him in a storm of arrows, and at the same time checked Drona himself with a thick, impenetrable shower. Drona, momentarily restrained, watched as Durmukha pressed hard upon Dhṛṣṭadyumna with ceaseless shafts.
And while these heroes strove with furious hearts, Drona, that mighty preceptor, fell upon Yudhiṣṭhira’s divisions like the wind scattering clouds.
For a short while the battle seemed but mortal; then it swelled into a dreadful chaos where no man knew his kin. Warriors struck friend and foe alike, guided only by cries and banners.
Gleamed the gems upon their helmets,
Flashed the mail upon their breasts;
Cars and elephants and steeds
Rolled like thunderclouds in unrest.
Men slew men, steeds trampled steeds, elephants grappled elephants,
their tusks grinding and sparking fire as they clashed—
and from those fires arose smoke and flame,
as though the end of the world had come.
The earth trembled beneath the fall of elephants huge as hills.
Their roars, mingled with trumpet-blasts and the cries of men,
rolled like storm-clouds at the world’s destruction.
Tusks gored flesh, hooks bit hide,
Standards fell like trees in storm;
Drivers pierced by shafts of steel
Slid lifeless down the bleeding form.
Elephants, wounded and maddened, trampled their own ranks;
some turned back only to charge again,
their riders urging them on with burning goads.
Others, their masters slain, roamed riderless like clouds torn from their mass.
Those that fell dragged down chariots and warriors together,
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and the earth groaned beneath their weight.
The ground was drenched with blood;
the dust of battle turned to mire.
Broken chariots, shattered wheels,
and dead men floated like wrecks upon a crimson sea.
Fathers slew sons, and sons their sires;
friend knew not friend in that dreadful gloom.
Men sank ankle-deep in the blood-soaked field
like trees half-swallowed in a forest fire.
Umbrellas, banners, coats of mail,
All gleamed red beneath the sun;
The world was bathed in blood that day—
The war of Kurus had begun.
The field became a sea of horror:
elephants its currents, slain men its weeds,
chariots its whirlpools, and warriors its swimmers,
each striving to drown the other for victory’s sake.
And amidst that chaos, none lost heart,
though all were blinded by the rain of arrows.
Then, confounding the senses of his foes,
the mighty Drona—terrible as Death himself—
pressed forward like a consuming flame,
rushing straight at Yudhiṣṭhira,
the son of Dharma, in the heart of battle.
Sañjaya said:
Beholding Yudhiṣṭhira before him, Droṇa fearlessly received the son of Dharma with a thick, hissing storm of arrows. A roar rose from the Paṇḍava ranks like the bellowing of a herd when the tusked lion springs at their leader. Then the brave Satyajit of the Pañcālas, in prowess not to be baffled, rushed to bar the preceptor’s path, for Droṇa burned with the intent to seize the king. The two—Droṇa and the Pañcāla prince—smote each other and shook their armies, like Indra and Bali meeting in their prime. Satyajit, invoking a mighty missile, riddled Droṇa with keen shafts, and struck the charioteer with five arrows cruel as serpent-venom till the man reeled senseless; then he wounded the steeds, the parṣṇi-drivers, and wheeled his car in bright circles, lopping the preceptor’s standard in wrath.
Two storms collided on one plain,
Their thunders crossed, their lightnings ran;
A bowstring’s cry, a banner’s fall—
Thus Fate selects her chosen man.
Droṇa, marking those feats, resolved within to send his foe beyond this world. He shore Satyajit’s strung bow and planted ten life-seeking arrows in his frame. The Pañcāla seized a tougher bow and answered with thirty Kanka-feathered shafts; the Paṇḍava hosts shouted and waved their cloths to see the preceptor checked. Then Vṛka, enraged, struck Droṇa in the breast with sixty arrows—marvelous to behold. But Droṇa, eyes widened, gathered all his force; he cut the bows of both Satyajit and Vṛka, and with six sharp shafts laid Vṛka, his charioteer, and his horses low. Satyajit, unshaken, smote again—steeds, driver, and standard of Droṇa—but the son of Bharadvāja, intolerant of that scourge, darkened him in return with arrow-rain, shearing bows as fast as they were lifted. Then, as Satyajit’s valor swelled, Droṇa’s crescented blade of reed and steel took the Pañcāla’s head; the hero fell like a bright star torn from the vault.
At the fall of that foremost warrior, Yudhiṣṭhira, fearing the preceptor’s grasp, turned his fleet steeds and fled. The Pañcālas, Kekayas, Matsyas, Cedis, Karūṣas, and Kośalas rushed to rescue the king, but Droṇa—slayer of many—stalked among those divisions like fire eating heaps of cotton. Satanika, younger brother to the Matsya lord, pierced Droṇa, his driver, and steeds with six sun-bright arrows, and shouted loud, then covered the red-steeded preceptor with cruel flights. Droṇa’s razor arrow flashed; Satanika’s head, earring-decked, fell as he cried his challenge. The Matsyas broke and fled.
A river rose of mail and flags,
Of helms for stones, of shields for boats;
Its current bows, its wavelets darts,
And blood the mire on which it floats.
Again and again Droṇa routed the Cedis, Karūṣas, Kekayas, Pañcālas, Śṛñjayas, and the sons of Pāṇḍu; the Śṛñjayas trembled to see that golden car devour their ranks like a forest-fire. The twang of his bow was heard on every side; his swift arrows shattered elephants, steeds, footmen, chariots, and mahouts, pelting like summer hail driven by a violent wind. His gold-decked bow flashed through the press like lightning in storm-cloud; the altar on his banner rode above the carnage like the crest of Himavat. The slaughter Droṇa wrought was as Viṣṇu’s among the Dāityas in primeval wars.
He made a river dreadful to the timid: coats of mail its waves, standards its eddies, elephants and horses its alligators, swords its fish, bones its pebbles, drums and cymbals its tortoises, shields and armours its boats, hair its floating weeds, arrows its ripples, bows its swift current, and severed arms its serpents. Heads were its stones, thighs its larger fish, maces its rafts, headgear its froth, entrails its crawling things; blood and flesh its mire. It bore Kuru and Śṛñjaya alike toward Yama’s gate; Rākṣasas, dogs, and jackals haunted its banks as thousands of kṣatriyas sank within.
O King, that torrent ran to Death,
Its banks were trees of broken spears;
It drank the oath of many breasts
And whispered fame in failing ears.
Then Kuntī’s son and many Paṇḍava heroes closed from all quarters, seeking to ring the preceptor round while he scorched the field like the sun at noon. Thy princes and kings raised weapons high and surged to support that elephant among archers. Śikhaṇḍin pierced Droṇa with five straight shafts; Kṣatradharman with twenty; Vasudeva with five; Uttamaujas with three; Kṣatradeva with five; Sātyaki with a hundred; Yudhamanyu with eight; Yudhiṣṭhira with twelve; Dhṛṣṭadyumna with ten; Chekitāna with three. Droṇa, irresistible, vaulted the car-divisions and overthrew Dr̥ḍhasena; he struck King Kṣema with nine arrows and the monarch fell lifeless from his car. He ranged the hostile press, protector of others, himself needing none. He pierced Śikhaṇḍin with twelve, Uttamaujas with twenty; he sped a broadhead that sent Vasudeva to Yama’s hall; he marked Kṣemavarman with eighty, Sudakṣiṇa with six-and-twenty; he felled Kṣatradeva from his stand; he stung Yudhamanyu with sixty-four and Sātyaki with thirty—then rushed again toward Yudhiṣṭhira. The best of kings fled swiftly once more. A Pañcāla prince sprang to bar the path; Droṇa cut bow, felled steeds and charioteer, and the youth dropped to earth like a loosened orb from heaven.
At that fall the cry rose, “Slay Droṇa! Slay Droṇa!” But the preceptor crushed Pañcālas, Matsyas, Kekayas, Śṛñjayas, and Paṇḍavas alike, all burning with rage yet bent by his storm. With the Kurus to his flanks he mastered Sātyaki, Chekitāna’s son, Senavindu, Suvarchas, and many other kings; thy warriors held the field and struck the Paṇḍavas as they broke away on every side. Then Pañcālas, Kekayas, Matsyas—slaughtered round like Dānavas beneath Indra’s lash—trembled in the dust of Kurukṣetra.
Thus rolled the day beneath his hand,
A burning wheel, a reaping bow;
Where Droṇa’s shadow crossed the land,
The bravest fell like sheaves in row.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
When the sons of Pāṇḍu were routed by the son of Bharadvāja in that dreadful conflict, and the Pāñcālas too were scattered, tell me, O Sañjaya—was there none who dared to approach Droṇa for battle? Alas! Beholding him there, terrible as a prowling tiger, or like an elephant with temples rent and dripping ichor—armed, resolute, conversant with every mode of fight, a true bowman, a terror to his foes, grateful, steadfast, and ever devoted to Duryodhana—was there no warrior who faced him in that hour?
Such determination is born only of the highest kṣatriya spirit—an iron resolve that kindles fame, which the timid can never form, and which belongs solely to the foremost of heroes. Tell me then, O Sañjaya, who among the brave stood before the son of Bharadvāja, beholding him at the head of his host like fire fed by wind?
Sañjaya said:
Beholding the Pāñcālas, Pāṇḍavas, Matsyas, Śṛñjayas, Cedis, and Kālikeyas broken and scattered by Droṇa’s ceaseless arrows—seeing them drift like ships in a storm-tossed sea—the Kauravas raised triumphant shouts, beating conchs and drums, and attacked from every side. The uproar swelled like thunder over the plain.
Amid that tumult, King Duryodhana, surrounded by his brothers and kinsmen, his heart filled with joy, laughed aloud and turned to Karna, saying—
“Behold, O son of Rādhā,
How the Pāñcālas flee before Droṇa’s wrath—
Like deer scattered by a roaring lion,
They shall not return to the fray.
Shorn by his golden-winged arrows,
They break apart, no two together;
Tossed like leaves by storming winds,
They flee the fire of Bharadvāja’s bow.
Hemmed by the Kurus and the preceptor,
They huddle like elephants ringed by flame;
Like flowering trees beset by bees,
They shudder under his shafts.
There stands Bhīma—alone, surrounded,
Deserted by friend and kin;
My heart rejoices, O Karṇa,
For that wolf-bellied one is snared by fate.
Today, methinks, he sees the world
As nothing but Droṇa’s blazing form;
Surely the son of Kuntī
Has lost both life and crown!”
Karna replied:
“Never, O king, will that mighty-armed hero
Quit the field while breath remains;
Nor will he brook our lion-shouts,
Nor turn away in fear.
Nor will the sons of Pāṇḍu yield,
Brave and skilled in every weapon;
They are wrath’s own flame—remember, sire,
The wrongs we wrought upon their house.
The poison, the fire, the loaded dice,
The exile long endured—
Bearing these in memory’s heart,
The sons of Kuntī will not flee.
Already Vṛkodara turns again,
His mace and arrows thirst for war;
With car and steed, with sword and spear,
He’ll mow our legions down.
Behind him come the Pāñcālas, Kekayas, Matsyas,
Heroes fierce and resolute;
Like clouds that girdle the flaming sun,
They close on Droṇa’s light.
Unshielded stands the preceptor there—
They’ll swarm him like moths to flame;
To strike or die, one single vow
Burns in their hearts the same.
Great is the weight that rests today
Upon the son of Bharadvāja’s hand;
Come then—let us speed to his side,
Lest wolves devour the elephant grand!”
Sañjaya continued:
Hearing Karṇa’s counsel, Duryodhana at once ordered his brothers and warriors to advance. The Kaurava standards gleamed like lightning as they pressed toward Droṇa’s chariot. The din of war rose again; the conchs of the Pāṇḍavas answered back.
For the sons of Kuntī, rallying their scattered host, returned in wrath, their steeds of many hues flying like the wind, their banners blazing against the sun—each warrior burning with a single thought:
“To strike down Droṇa,
The lion of the Kurus—
Or perish
In his fire.”