novelraw Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 2 - Abhimanyu Scatters the Kuru Host
Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 2 - Abhimanyu Scatters the Kuru Host
Sanjaya said
Beholding his host broken and scattered by Subhadrā’s son of immeasurable energy, Duryodhana, blazing with wrath, turned his car once more toward the youth. Then, seeing the king wheel back into peril, Droṇa spoke aloud to the assembled Kaurava chiefs
“Rescue the king! Before our very eyes, Abhimanyu, lion among men, slays whomsoever he aims at. Hasten, therefore, O warriors of the Kuru line! Close round the king and guard him well!”
Hearing the preceptor’s command, many mighty heroes—grateful, valiant, and devoted to Duryodhana’s welfare—gathered around the monarch. Droṇa and his son, and Kṛpa, and Karṇa, and Kṛtavarman, and Śakuni, and Vṛhadbala, and the ruler of Madra, with Bhūri and Bhūriśravā and Śala, and Paurava and Vṛṣasena—all showered arrows upon Subhadrā’s son, their shafts descending like serpents spitting fire.
Confounding him with that rain of weapons, they rescued the king from the jaws of death. But Arjuna’s son brooked not that act of snatching the prey from his mouth.
As lion robbed of half his kill,
He turned with laughter loud and shrill;
“Not thus,” he cried, “shall mortals play—
My hand must finish what it slay.”
Then, covering Droṇa and the lords of earth with a deluge of arrows, he forced them back and uttered a roar that shook the sky—a lion’s call before the hunt. Hearing that cry, fierce as hunger’s own voice, the heroes, stung with rage, surrounded him on every side with a flood of cars and bowmen.
Their shafts darkened the heavens, but the son of Subhadrā, swift as thought, cut them down in mid-air before they touched him, and pierced each assailant with lightning-speeded shafts. The watching hosts marvelled at his skill.
Provoked by that youthful hero, whose arrows glowed like venomous serpents, the great lords of the Kaurava army encompassed him in wrath. Yet, single-handed, he held that sea of warriors as the continent holds back the surging tide. None turned away; neither the youth nor the veterans yielded ground.
One youth stood firm, a wave of flame,
Against the tide of gathered fame;
The sea roared round, but could not drown
The fire that dared a nation’s crown.
Then in that grim encounter, Duḥsaha pierced Abhimanyu with nine arrows; Duḥśāsana struck him with twelve; Kṛpa, the son of Śaradvat, with three; Droṇa, the preceptor, with seventeen shafts bright as venomous snakes; Vivingsati with seventy; Kṛtavarman with seven; Vṛhadbala with eight; Aśvatthāman with seven keen shafts; Bhūriśravā with three; the ruler of Madra with six; Śakuni with two; and Duryodhana himself with three.
But Abhimanyu, whirling on his car like a dancer of the battle, returned three shafts to each with unerring aim. His wrath now blazing like a sacred fire fed with clarified butter, he revealed the strength born of training, valor, and divine birth.
Guided by steeds swift as the Wind, obedient to his will, he met the heir of the Aśmakas in open field. That prince, fair and valiant, cried aloud, “Wait! Stand and fight!” and pierced him with ten arrows.
Abhimanyu answered smiling with ten shafts he cut down his foe’s steeds, charioteer, and standard; with others, he severed his two arms, his bow, and his head, which fell earthward like a lotus stem cut by steel. The host of the Aśmakas broke and fled in terror.
He smiled, and from his string there sped
The song of ruin; life lay dead.
The chariot fell, the banners reeled,
And fear ran shouting through the field.
Then Karṇa and Kṛpa, and Droṇa with his son, and Śakuni, Śala, Śalya, Bhūriśravā, Kratha, Somadatta, Vivingsati, Vṛṣasena, Suṣeṇa, Kundavedhin, Pratardana, Vṛndaraka, Lalithya, Pravāhu, Dṛghalocana, and Duryodhana himself—all these showered arrows upon Abhimanyu from every side.
The youthful warrior, pierced all over, shone like a hill of fire bristling with golden shafts. Yet, enraged, he drew a single arrow capable of cleaving any armor or flesh, and shot it at Karṇa. It tore through Karṇa’s mail and body and buried itself in the earth like a serpent entering its hole.
Stricken deep, Karṇa trembled in agony as the earth trembles under the shock of thunder.
Then, stringing three more shafts, Abhimanyu slew the warriors Suṣeṇa, Dṛghalocana, and Kundavedhin in swift succession. Karṇa, recovering from the shock, pierced him again with five and twenty arrows; Aśvatthāman with twenty; and Kṛtavarman with seven.
Covered from head to foot with arrows, the son of Arjuna seemed Yama himself, Lord of Death, armed with the noose and the rod. In wrath, he rained arrows upon Śalya, striking his vital parts until the Madra king swooned upon his car, sinking back faint and bloodied.
Beholding Śalya thus overwhelmed, the Kaurava ranks wavered and fled—even in Droṇa’s sight—as deer before the tiger’s roar.
Gold-winged shafts like sunlight burned,
As Madra’s lord to silence turned;
And seeing him fall, the hosts in dread
Fled from the youth the heavens had fed.
And Abhimanyu, radiant amid carnage, was glorified by the Pitṛs and the Devas, by the Cāraṇas and Siddhas, and by every living creature upon earth. Their unseen voices blessed him, praising his valour and skill.
Thus shone Subhadrā’s son, O king—like a sacrificial fire blazing on all sides, fed by the ghee of heroic hearts—terrible, invincible, and bright with immortal fame.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said
“While Arjuna’s son thus ground down, with his straight and terrible arrows, the foremost bowmen of our host, tell me, O Sañjaya—what warriors of my army stood to check him?”
Sañjaya said
Hear now, O king, of the marvellous prowess of youthful Abhimanyu as he broke through the Kaurava car-ranks—while even Droṇa himself, that lion among preceptors, stood watchful for his protection.
When the ruler of Madra had been struck down and rendered powerless by Subhadrā’s son, his younger brother, filled with wrath, rushed forward, whirling his bow and scattering shafts that fell like a rain of fire. But Abhimanyu, light of hand and quick as lightning, met him in full career. With flashing arrows, he sheared away his foe’s head, his charioteer, and his triple bamboo-pole; the very wheels, yoke, and shaft of the car; its golden banner, its quiver, its bed, its ornaments, and all that pertained to battle.
So swift was his motion that no eye could mark it—only the play of his bow was seen, a ceaseless circle of fire in air. Deprived of life, that chief among warriors fell like a great mountain loosened by a storm. His followers, stricken with fear, fled on all sides.
Then, O Bhārata, a shout of wonder rose from the field; gods and men together cried, “Excellent! Excellent!” praising the deed of Pārtha’s son.
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He moved unseen, a streak of flame,
No foe could mark the hand that came.
The headless fell, the war-cry soared,
And Heaven itself his skill adored.
After the fall of Śalya’s brother, many warriors of that host—calling aloud their family names, their clans, and their cities—rushed upon Abhimanyu in fury. Some came upon cars, some upon chargers, some upon elephants, and some on foot, all armed and fierce in heart.
Their arrows whizzed like serpents; their wheels roared; they shouted with wrathful cries, slapping their palms and stringing bows till the very sky trembled. “Thou shalt not escape alive today!” they roared.
Hearing them, the son of Subhadrā smiled gently, and answering shaft for shaft, pierced those who had pierced him first. Calm as a god, he moved among them, wielding the diverse celestial weapons he had learned from Keśava and from Dhanañjaya. His arms seemed everywhere at once—no interval lay between his drawing and his release.
The bowstring sang, the arrows sped,
A sunfire halo crowned his head.
Each dart a beam of molten gold—
A storm of splendour, fierce and bold.
Only the quivering curve of his drawn bow could be seen, shining like the blazing disc of the autumn sun. The twang of his string and the slap of his palm resounded over the field like thunder from charged clouds.
Though modest by nature, reverent to elders, and tender in youth, the son of Subhadrā grew terrible in the fury of battle. Beginning gently, he rose to full wrath like the Sun himself bursting forth when the rains have passed.
Filled with fire, he loosed hundreds and thousands of arrows, each tipped with gold, till the sky was veiled with a burning rain. Before Droṇa’s very eyes, he covered the car-divisions of the Kaurava host with unending shafts. The whole army, smitten by his hand, wavered like ripened corn before the wind and turned its back upon the field.
Mild as the moon, then fierce as flame,
He shone, and none could check his aim.
The hosts of Kuru broke and fled—
Before a child, the mighty bled.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said
“My heart, O Sañjaya, is torn between shame and joy. Shame—because our entire army was held at bay by one alone; joy—because that hero was the son of Arjuna, born of Subhadrā, who shone like the war-god Skanda himself amidst the hosts of the Asuras. Tell me once more, O son of Gāvalgana, in full detail of that encounter—how the youthful Abhimanyu fought against the many, like Kārttikeya among the celestials.”
Sañjaya said
Listen, O king, to the tale of that fearful combat, fierce and unequal, when one youth stood against the multitude.
Mounted on his chariot, Abhimanyu—undaunted and radiant—rained arrows upon thy warriors who were renowned among men, all slayers of foes and skilled in arms. Circling about like a flaming wheel, he pierced Droṇa and Karṇa, and Kṛpa, and Śalya, and the son of Droṇa, and Kṛtavarman of the Bhoja race; and Vṛhadbala, and Duryodhana himself, and Somadatta, and the crafty Śakuni; and many kings and princes and regiments in their thousands.
Wherever he turned, destruction followed. He seemed, O Bhārata, to be everywhere at once, scattering shafts as the wind scatters leaves in autumn. Beholding his boundless prowess, the ranks of thy sons trembled like reeds in a rising gale.
Swift as flame and bright as morn,
Through host and banner his arrows torn.
One youth against a sea of men—
The gods looked down and smiled again.
Seeing the boy’s splendour and his skill in arms, Droṇa, wise and steadfast, gazed with eyes wide in admiration. Turning to Kṛpa, he spoke with joy, his words piercing Duryodhana’s heart as a blade of truth
“Behold, O Kṛpa, the son of Subhadrā advancing at the head of the Pārthas. He brings delight to Yudhiṣṭhira, to Nakula and Sahadeva, to Bhīmasena, and to all his kin who watch the field in wonder. I know of no bowman on earth his equal. If he willed it, he could slay this host entire. For some secret reason, it seems, he restrains his power.”
Hearing these words, Duryodhana bit his lip and smiled faintly through his anger. Turning to Karṇa, to King Bāhlika, to Duḥśāsana, and to the lords of Madra and others, he said with bitter irony
“The preceptor of all Kṣatriyas—the foremost among those who know Brahma—has grown soft-hearted, stupefied, and spares the son of Arjuna. None who meet Droṇa can escape with life—not even Rudra, if he opposed him. Yet this boy he guards. It is because the lad is his disciple’s son; sons and pupils are ever dear to the virtuous. Protected thus, the boy deems himself a hero. He is a fool, thinking his strength his own. Crush him quickly, before pride crowns him further.”
The king’s words burned with hidden flame,
Jealousy masked in duty’s name.
Around him rose his wrathful peers—
The sky itself seemed filled with spears.
Then the warriors, stung by the Kuru king’s reproach, rushed toward Abhimanyu in the sight of Droṇa. Foremost among them came Duḥśāsana, roaring like a tiger.
“O king,” he cried, “I myself shall slay this boy before the eyes of the Pāṇḍavas and the Pāñcālas! I shall devour him as Rāhu devours the sun! When Keśava and Arjuna hear that I have slain Subhadrā’s son, they shall abandon this world in grief, and all the sons of Pāṇḍu will perish of despair. Grant me thy blessing—I go to end this foe!”
So speaking, Duḥśāsana advanced, shouting, his bow drawn to its full curve. His arrows fell like rain upon Abhimanyu’s chariot.
Then the youth, undaunted, received that storm with six-and-twenty keen shafts. Both heroes, masters of the car-fight, wheeled their steeds in swift circles—one turning to the right, the other to the left—while the earth shook beneath the wheels.
The din of battle rose again the thunder of drums and cymbals, the clash of anakas and bheris, the roar of conches and the cries of men. It was as though the ocean itself had broken loose upon the world.
Drums rolled, the war-shells rent the air,
Two chariots blazed in deadly glare;
The lion-cub and tiger met—
The field remembered battle yet.
Sanjaya said
Then the intelligent Abhimanyu, his body mangled with arrows yet his face still radiant, addressed thy son Duḥśāsana with a fearless smile. Though pierced and bleeding, he stood erect upon his car like a flame unbent by wind, and his words rang clear across the tumult of war.
“O cruel boaster void of shame,
Who loud proclaim’st thine own false name,
Behold me now, thy doom is near—
My shafts shall cleanse this earth of fear!
Thou who in dice deceived my kin,
And mocked their fall with lying grin,
The debt of wrath thou ow’st to all—
Today my hand shall pay it full.”
Thus he spoke, recalling that day in Hastināpura’s hall when Duḥśāsana’s harsh words had stung Yudhiṣṭhira, and his laughter had mocked Bhīma’s rage. “Relying on the fraud of dice,” said Abhimanyu, “thou didst rob my sires of their kingdom and their honour. Therefore, O wretch of wicked heart, reap now the fruit of thy greed, thy injustice, thy hatred of peace, and thy crimes against our house! I shall today free myself of the debt I owe to my mother’s wrath and to my sire’s vow. Thou shalt not escape with life!”
Then, drawing his bow to a perfect circle, the mighty-armed youth loosed a shaft blazing like the fire of Yama or the breath of Vāyu. It sped like lightning and struck Duḥśāsana on the shoulder, piercing deep as a serpent into an anthill. The Kaurava staggered, swooning with pain.
The arrow sang—a thunder’s cry,
It struck, and silence filled the sky.
The boaster fell, his glory gone,
His heart undone by Arjuna’s son.
Then, swiftly, Abhimanyu followed with five-and-twenty more arrows, keen and hot as flame. Pierced and bleeding, Duḥśāsana sank upon the terrace of his chariot, faint and helpless. His charioteer, trembling, bore him swiftly from the field.
Beholding this, the sons of Pāṇḍu, the sons of Draupadī, Virāṭa, the Pañchālas, and the Kekayas raised great lion-cries. Drums, cymbals, and conches thundered in joy. The warriors laughed aloud, and the heavens echoed with their shout. The foes of Duḥśāsana rejoiced, for their implacable tormentor had fallen.
Among those that exulted were Sātyaki, Chekitāna, Dhṛṣṭadyumna, Śikhaṇḍin, Dhṛṣṭaketu, and the princes of the Pañchālas, Matsyas, and Śṛñjayas—all glowing with delight, and Yudhiṣṭhira at their head. Together they pressed forward, eager to pierce Droṇa’s array anew.
Then arose another furious battle—terrible, unyielding, and filled with the cry of victory and vengeance.
Meanwhile, Duryodhana, beholding his brother fallen and his line shaken, turned in anguish to Karṇa and said, “Behold, the heroic Duḥśāsana, who blazed like the summer sun in battle, hath himself been struck down by Abhimanyu! The sons of Pāṇḍu, like lions roused, rush toward us to aid the son of Subhadrā. O Rādheya, the hour is dire—do what thou must to save the Kuru host!”
Stung by these words, Karṇa, desiring his friend’s good, loosed showers of sharp arrows upon the invincible youth. Proud and wrathful, he even struck at Abhimanyu’s followers, as though scorning them. But Abhimanyu, intent on reaching Droṇa, turned his shafts upon Karṇa. With seventy-three keen arrows he pierced him from crest to heel.
At that moment, none in thy army could stay Abhimanyu’s advance. He seemed a blazing comet cutting through the stars.
Karna, burning with anger, then smote the son of Subhadrā with hundreds of shafts, each bright as gold, till the sky was thick with steel. The pupil of Paraśurāma poured forth his skill, but the youth, though struck on every side, showed no pain nor fear.
The shafts of Karṇa darked the day,
Yet light grew bright where Abhi lay.
For pain and fear he knew them not—
A god in flesh, with mortal shot.
Then, drawing arrows whetted on stone, Abhimanyu smote back fiercely. With serpent-like shafts he struck down charioteers and steeds, shattering bows and banners. Smiling, he aimed at Karṇa’s car and with flashing shots cut down his umbrella, his standard, his charioteer, and his steeds in one swift moment.
Karna, furious and shamed, took up another bow and shot five straight arrows at the youth. Abhimanyu caught them on his breast unflinching and with a single shaft cut down Karṇa’s bow and standard, leaving him weaponless and confounded.
At this sight, Karṇa’s younger brother, enraged, seized his own bow and charged upon Subhadrā’s son. Then the sons of Pāṇḍu and their allies burst forth in joyous uproar. Drums and conches blared, praises rose like thunder, and the earth itself seemed to tremble in acclaim of Abhimanyu, the lion-cub of Arjuna, whose glory shone like the morning sun above the stricken field.
The son of Pārtha, bright with flame,
Smote kings and kindled death and fame.
Through storm of steel his banner shone—
The gods beheld and called him “One.”