novelraw Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 1 - Drona’s Trap
Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 1 - Drona’s Trap
Sanjaya said, “Hear now, O king, how the tide of battle turned and how the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, humbled and sore, passed that night in silence and thought.
Having been first broken by Arjuna — that peerless archer whose prowess knows no bound — and through the collapse of Drona’s vow at the very hour when Yudhiṣṭhira was well guarded, thy warriors were accounted defeated. All of them, their coats of mail rent and their bodies daubed with dust, cast anxious glances about them. With Drona’s leave they retired from the plain, beaten by foes of true aim and humbled in the sight of men. As they moved from the field, the praises of Phalguni rose everywhere, and the friendship of Kesava for Arjuna was on every tongue. They spent the night like men under a curse — silent, pensive, and weighing the course of destiny.
When Arjuna’s arrow sang and banners sighed,
The mighty fell, and pride was mortified.
Praise rose for Phalguni, for friendship sung,
And in the night grim counsel wrapped the tongue.
At break of day Duryodhana, stung with petulance and the bitterness of defeat, spoke to Drona before all the hosts. Skilled in speech though filled with rage, the king reproached the preceptor that he had set them down as men to be destroyed; that, though Yudhiṣṭhira had been within reach, he had not seized him; that one whom Drona once saw and pursued could never have escaped had the seizer but acted. He declared that noble men must not falsify the hopes of their devotees. Thus reproached, Bharadwāja’s son felt deep shame.
“O guardian of the Kuru fold,” cried he in fire,
“Why spare the prey when counsel urged thine ire?
A king’s hope pinned on thee, a trust betrayed,
Let not thy vow in battle’s hour be swayed.”
Answering the king with calm dignity, Drona said it beseemed not that he be so judged. He spoke of the might around Arjuna — the three worlds and their hosts, gods, Āsuras, Gandharvas, Yakṣas, Nāgas, and Rākṣasas — none could prevail against him when Govinda and Arjuna stood as shield and commander. Who, save Mahādeva of the three eyes, could contend? He declared the truth plainly this day he would slay a mighty car-warrior among the foes, and would marshal an array that even the gods could not pierce. Yet he entreated the king that Arjuna be drawn from the field by some means, for Arjuna knew all the arts of war and matched them all, having learned from many sources.
“Where Kṛṣṇa leads, where Arjuna stands aligned,
No host on earth may turn the fates assigned.
I’ll make a wall the very gods shall dread,
But from the field remove that matchless head.”
Thereupon Drona marshalled the samsaptakas and once more challenged Arjuna; the two forces moved southward and there ensued between Arjuna and his rivals a combat unparalleled in report or memory. Drona’s formation gleamed like the sun at noon — resplendent and terrible, scorching alike to look upon. At the bidding of his sire’s eldest brother, Abhimanyu, that young lion, pierced that circular phalanx in many places. Having achieved deeds the most arduous and having felled heroes by the thousands, he at last was assailed by six champions together. Overborne by the son of Duhśāsana, Subhadrā’s son — Arjuna’s scion — yielded up his life.
Young lion-heart, through rampart cleft and flame,
He rent the ring and carved himself a name.
A thousand foes before his pennon fell,
Yet fate and iron hands then closed his knell.
At the news of Subhadrā’s son’s slaughter, joy filled our ranks while anguish seized the Pandavas. Our troops withdrew then to rest for the night. Hearing, O Dhṛtarāṣṭra, that thy son’s son had fallen in his minority — that valiant youth — thy heart is rent, and rightly so. Cruel, indeed, are the duties of kṣatriyas as the lawgivers teach, when men desirous of sovereignty do not spare even a child. Thou didst ask how such accomplished warriors could slay that boy who, though nurtured in ease, moved the field with fearless courage. I will relate, O monarch, in detail how that youth, having pierced thy ranks, sported with his weapons and how the irresistible heroes of thy host, all inspired by hope, were afflicted by him. Like trees in a forest consumed at once by a sweeping fire, thy warriors were stricken with fear when he was among them.
So fell the brave whose daylight met the night,
A lamp put out amid the thundered fight.
Listen, O king, and let the tale be read —
How young blood ran where destiny was led.”
Sanjaya continued his recital, and the tale of Abhimanyu’s last deeds and the manner of his fall was unfolded to Dhṛtarāṣṭra with all sorrowful particularity.
Sanjaya said
Hear me, O king, as I recount the measureless valour of those sons of Pāṇḍu — heroes who, though wearied by ceaseless war, shone unwearied in spirit. For even the gods, when faced with their might and with Keśava beside them, could not have prevailed.
In righteousness, in noble deeds, in lineage, in learning, in renown, and in prosperity, never has there been, nor will there ever be, a man such as Yudhiṣṭhira. Devoted to truth, firm in restraint, gentle toward all beings, he ever honours the Brāhmaṇas and follows the sacred law. Therefore, O king, he moves already in the fragrance of Heaven, though his body yet walks upon the earth.
Of Bhīmasena — fierce in battle, terrible in wrath — it is said that only the Destroyer at the end of the Yuga, or Jamadagni’s son Rāma, could be his equal. Of Pārtha, the wielder of the celestial bow, who fulfils each vow he utters in combat, there is no equal at all among men.
Nakula, ever modest, embodies reverence, secrecy, grace, beauty, and courage. Sahadeva, grave and wise, rich in the scriptures and pure of heart, equals the twin Aśvins themselves in righteousness and learning.
Yet all those virtues that dwell separately in the Pāṇḍavas and in Keśava were united in one youth alone — in Abhimanyu, son of Subhadrā and Arjuna.
In wisdom like his grandsire’s line,
In deeds as fierce as Bhīma’s shine,
In grace as calm as Kṛṣṇa’s mien,
Abhimanyu moved, a flame serene.
In firmness, he matched Yudhiṣṭhira; in conduct, he rivalled Kṛṣṇa; in the fury of arms, he was equal to Bhīmasena; in beauty, prowess, and scripture-knowledge, he resembled Dhanañjaya himself. In humility, he was as the gentle twins, Sahadeva and Nakula.
Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “O Sūta, I desire to hear in full how that invincible son of Subhadrā fell in battle. Tell me all, for my heart trembles beneath the burden of this grief.”
And Sanjaya, soothing the blind king, spoke again.
“Be still, O monarch. Bear thy sorrow as befits a ruler. I shall speak to thee of the great carnage that befell thy kin that day.”
Then the preceptor Drona formed his mighty circular array, radiant as the moving sun. Within it stood kings and warriors, each as powerful as Śakra himself. At its gate were princes radiant as the sun, clad in scarlet mail, crowned with golden ornaments, and waving banners of crimson hue. Their standards glittered like fire, their bodies were anointed with sandal paste and adorned with wreaths of gold and blossoms.
Ten thousand archers of firm hand and keen aim advanced as one body toward Arjuna’s son, their hearts aflame for battle. At their head stood Lakṣmaṇa, thy son’s handsome child, leading them forth with courage and the pride of lineage. All were bound together by vows — each to stand by the other in death or victory, each burning to outshine the next in valour.
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In the centre stood Duryodhana himself, shielded by the mighty car-warriors Karṇa, Duḥśāsana, and Kṛpa. Over his head a white umbrella gleamed, and yak-tail fans waved around him, making him resplendent like Indra amid the gods.
At the army’s head blazed Drona, the commander, brilliant as the rising sun; beside him stood Jayadratha, lord of Sindhu, steadfast as Mount Meru. Around the Sindhu-rāja stood thy thirty sons, led by Aśvatthāman, radiant as celestials. And near Jayadratha’s flank were the king of Gandhāra, the cunning Śakuni, the valiant Śalya, and the mighty Bhūriśravā.
Red flags burned in dawn’s first light,
Golden mail gleamed sharp and bright.
Death rode forth through battle’s breath—
Two hosts made one in vow to death.
Thus began that battle — fierce, vast, and hair-raising to behold — between the Kauravas and the sons of Pāṇḍu. Each host, reckless of life, made Death itself the aim of glory.
And so the field of Kurukṣetra flamed again beneath the gaze of gods and men, while Abhimanyu, radiant as the morning sun, stood ready to pierce the circle of doom.
Sanjaya said
Then, O king, the sons of Pāṇḍu, headed by Bhīmasena, advanced toward that vast and impenetrable array which was guarded by the mighty son of Bharadvāja. Their standards shone like tongues of flame; their conches resounded through heaven and earth, and the dust of their chariot wheels rose like storm-clouds over the field.
With Bhīma in the van came Sātyaki, Chekitāna, and Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the son of Pṛṣata; noble Kuntibhoja of fierce prowess; and the aged Drupada, mighty in his car. Beside them rode Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu, radiant with youthful strength, followed by Kṣatradharman, brave Vrihatkṣatra, and Dhṛṣṭaketu, lord of the Cedis.
The twins Nakula and Sahadeva came like a pair of blazing fires, and with them the fierce Ghaṭotkaca, and the unyielding Yudhamanyu and Śikhaṇḍin, ever irresistible in war. With them were the bold Uttamaujas, king Virāṭa, and the five sons of Draupadī, each burning with wrath. The son of Śiśupāla, the Kaikeyas of indomitable might, and the Śṛñjayas by thousands—all, accomplished in weapons and fierce in spirit, surged forward with thunderous intent, eager to break the wall of Drona’s formation.
But Drona, O monarch, stood unshaken—calm amid the storm. As soon as those warriors neared him, he rained upon them a shower of arrows thick as rain upon a mountain slope. Like a mighty wave striking an unyielding cliff, or the ocean rushing against its shore, the heroes of the Pāṇḍavas were driven back by the master of celestial weapons. The Panchālas and the Śṛñjayas, scorched by Drona’s shafts, could not stand before him, and the strength of his arms, O king, was a marvel even among the gods.
Seeing Drona advancing like a blazing forest fire, Yudhiṣṭhira pondered many means to check his fury. But knowing him invincible to all others, he placed that heavy task—the burden of hope and danger alike—upon the shoulders of Subhadrā’s son.
To youth he turned, whose light was clear,
Whose birth had sprung from love and spear;
“Go forth,” he said, “O lion-born flame,
Win us our honour, guard our name.”
Then Yudhiṣṭhira spoke to Abhimanyu, the slayer of hostile heroes, who was not inferior even to Vāsudeva himself, and whose energy rivalled Arjuna’s
“O child, act so that, when Arjuna returns from the field of the Saṁsaptakas, he shall not reprove us. We know not how to break this circular array. Thou, or Arjuna, or Kṛṣṇa, or Pradyumna alone can pierce it—no fifth can be found upon earth capable of such a deed. Therefore, O mighty-armed one, fulfil the prayer of thy fathers, thy uncles, and of all our hosts. Take up thy weapons and break Drona’s array. If thou succeed not, Arjuna, returning from his foes, will reproach us all.”
Then Abhimanyu, his eyes like blazing fire, spoke with modesty and pride intertwined.
“For my sires’ glory I shall fight,
Through Drona’s wall of iron might.
My father taught me how to break,
But not return—if death awake.”
Then said Yudhiṣṭhira gently, “Break that array once, O foremost of warriors, and make a passage for us. We shall follow in the path thou openest, guarding thee on every side. In prowess thou art equal to Dhanañjaya himself.”
Bhīma, with a lion’s laugh, declared, “I shall follow thee, and so shall Dhṛṣṭadyumna and Sātyaki, and the princes of the Panchālas and Prabhadrakas. Once thou cleavest that circle, we shall rush in and strike down the foremost among the foe.”
Abhimanyu bowed and spoke again, his voice ringing like steel drawn from the scabbard.
“I’ll enter Drona’s blazing snare,
As insect leaps through fiery air.
For sire and mother both I fight—
And burn to ash the Kaurava might.
If any foe shall meet my hand
And yet with life escape this land,
Then false my birth of Pārtha’s flame,
And Subhadrā’s womb shall know but shame.”
Hearing those words, Yudhiṣṭhira was filled with awe and blessing. “Since, protected by heroes who are tigers among men—by bowmen fierce as the Sādhyas, Rudras, and Maruts—thou venturest alone into the array of Drona, may thy strength, O son of Subhadrā, be multiplied! May victory attend thee!”
Then Sanjaya said
Hearing his uncle’s blessing, Abhimanyu, glowing like a fire fed with sacred ghee, turned to his charioteer and commanded
“Quick, Sumitra! to battle’s tide—
Drive on where Drona’s hosts abide.
The wheel awaits, the hour is nigh—
This day I live, or this day I die.”
Thus, O Dhṛtarāṣṭra, with fearless heart and divine radiance, Abhimanyu urged his steeds toward Drona’s shining host—
and fate itself began to turn upon his chariot wheels.
Sanjaya said
Hearing the command of Yudhiṣṭhira, the wise son of Subhadrā bowed low and urged his charioteer towards the blazing array of Droṇa. His voice rang clear as a trumpet “Proceed, proceed, O Sumitra!”—and the reins tightened like lightning in the hands of the Sūta.
But Sumitra, the charioteer, fearing for his young lord, replied with reverent caution
“O thou of long life and noble birth, a heavy burden the sons of Pāṇḍu have placed upon thy shoulders. Judge well thine own strength before thou enterest the tempest of Droṇa. The preceptor is master of every celestial weapon, seasoned in battle, subtle of aim. Thou, O prince, hast been nurtured in ease, not hardened in long warfare.”
Then Abhimanyu laughed—a sound bright and fearless like the ring of steel upon stone.
“Who is this Droṇa men so dread?
And what this host whose hearts have fled?
Were Śakra himself my foe today,
On Airāvata, I’d bar his way!
I fear not men nor gods nor fate,
This army weighs not on my state.
If Kṛṣṇa’s self or Pārtha came,
I’d meet their hands without a shame.”
Thus scorning the words of caution, he urged again, “Drive on, O charioteer! swiftly toward the army of Droṇa.” With a heart uneasy yet obedient, Sumitra loosed the reins. The steeds, three years old, crested with golden trappings, leapt forward, neighing loud like thunder in the hollow of the sky.
Seeing him thus advancing, O king, all the Kaurava warriors, led by Droṇa himself, moved forth to check his path. Behind him, the heroes of the Pāṇḍavas followed close, their conches blaring, their bows drawn.
Then Abhimanyu, clad in golden mail, his standard bearing the blossom of the karṇikāra tree, shone radiant like a young lion charging a herd of elephants. Desiring battle, he dashed into the heart of Droṇa’s formation.
For a moment the vast host quivered, whirling as when the waters of Gaṅgā swirl into the sea; the air was filled with cries and clangor, and the clash of chariots echoed like storm upon mountain walls.
The chariots roared, the banners streamed,
The cymbals clanged, the lances gleamed.
Within that tide of dust and flame,
The lion-cub to battle came.
And in the very sight of Droṇa, that youth, untrembling and divine in courage, shattered the impregnable array and entered it like a bolt of fire. At once the Kaurava host—elephants, horsemen, and warriors on foot—closed round him, shouting, roaring, clashing their arms, and blowing their conches. The din that rose upon that field was like the rolling of the ocean in storm.
There were cries of “Wait! Come here! Hold! Strike!”—confused yells and laughter, the slap of arm-pits, and the crash of wheels; the grunt of maddened elephants, the ringing of bells and ornaments, the thunder of hoofs—all blending into one dreadful hymn of war.
But Abhimanyu, light of hand and flawless in aim, loosed his weapons in a storm of steel. Knowing the vital spots of men and beasts, he slew with shafts that entered the heart, and the warriors, struck down, fell helpless like moths into a sacrificial flame.
The earth was soon strewn with their bodies and the severed limbs of heroes, as priests strew kuśa-grass upon the sacred altar. Arms fell in heaps—some sheathed in mail of iguana-skin, some bearing bows, some swords, shields, or hooked spears. Many clutched maces, axes, and lances; others held spiked clubs, goads, darts, and banners.
Those limbs, adorned with armlets and perfumed with unguents, lay gleaming red in the dust, so that the field appeared like a bed of five-headed serpents slain by mighty Garuḍa.
Limbs shone with gems and gold arrayed,
As though the very dawn were flayed.
Heads, bright as moons, in crimson rolled,
And perfumed dust to heaven was told.
Abhimanyu cut off countless heads, fair of face, decked with earrings and crowns, garlands and pearls. Blood streamed from their lips; their eyes burned still with rage. They lay like lotus flowers torn from their stalks.
Chariots—splendid as sky-born palaces—were shorn of wheels and axles, standards and terraces. The banners fell, the golden ornaments broke; warriors perished by the thousands.
Coursing through all sides like Indra in his fury, Abhimanyu smote elephants, shattering their armor, tearing down hooks, banners, bells, and tusks. The footmen who guarded them were trampled under the weight of ruin.
Steeds of the Vānāyu, the Kāmbhoja, and the Bāhlika breeds—swift, high-born, proud—fell mangled, their riders slain, their tails torn, their tongues lolling out. The field ran red and the air grew foul. Beasts of prey and Rākṣasas gathered, rejoicing in that ghastly feast.
Thus, single-handed, Abhimanyu crushed the mighty host of thy sons and allies, as once the Three-eyed Lord of Umā crushed the hosts of the Asuras. Alone, he wrought a deed beyond mortal bearing; his bow sang like a god’s decree, and the earth trembled beneath him.
As Skanda smote the Asura band,
So smote he, fire-bow in hand.
The Kaurava host, a sea of dread,
Turned pale before the flame it fed.
Beholding the host thus torn apart by the son of Arjuna, the Kauravas and thy sons gazed on every side in terror. Their mouths were parched, their eyes wild, their bodies drenched in sweat, and their hair stood on end.
Despairing of victory, they called each other by name, crying for kinsmen and sons. Abandoning the wounded and the dying, they fled like deer before the lion, urging their steeds and elephants in mad retreat.
Thus, O king, the child of Subhadrā stood alone amid the ruins of thy army, bright as the midday sun—undaunted, unassailable, and marked by destiny for immortal fame.