novelraw Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Abhimanyu’s Final Fight
Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Abhimanyu’s Final Fight
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said
“That which thou tellest me, O Sūta, of the dreadful battle between one and many, and of the triumph of that heroic youth—the son of Subhadrā—appears wondrous and scarce believable! Yet, I doubt it not, for righteousness guards those who stand in dharma. Tell me then, O Sañjaya, after Duryodhana was driven back and a hundred princes slain, what course did my warriors take against that lion-born child?”
Sañjaya said
Their mouths grew dry, their eyes rolled with fear; sweat bathed their bodies and their hair stood on end. Hopeless of victory, they turned to flee—abandoning fathers, sons, brothers, and friends upon the field. Urging their steeds and elephants to full speed, they sought escape from the wrath of Abhimanyu, as deer flee before a forest fire.
Beholding them broken, Droṇa and his son, Vṛhadvala and Kṛpa, Duryodhana and Karṇa, Kṛtavarman, and the cunning son of Śakuni, rushed together in wrath upon the unvanquished youth. But even these, O King, were driven back by thy grandson’s fury.
Then one alone advanced—Lakṣmaṇa, thy son, youthful and fearless, his heart puffed with pride born of inexperience. Brought up in every luxury, fair of form and high of spirit, he raised his bow and sped forth like a golden prince of the Yakṣas. Duryodhana, beholding his child thus rush to peril, turned his own chariot to follow, and other mighty warriors wheeled after him.
They came on like clouds before the tempest, drenching Abhimanyu in their rain of shafts. But the son of Arjuna, single-handed, broke through them like the dry wind scattering storm-clouds.
Lone stood the youth, his bow a flame,
Where kings like rivers to him came;
He smote their ranks and flung them wide,
As gusts that tear the ocean’s tide.
Then began the encounter between the two princes—Abhimanyu and Lakṣmaṇa—each radiant in youth, each filled with the pride of arms. Their arrows met in mid-air like clashing serpents; their bows twanged like thunder in the sky. Abhimanyu’s breast and arms were struck with sharp shafts, but his wrath blazed higher.
Fixing his gaze upon the young Kaurava, he spoke aloud, his voice terrible as the storm
“Look well upon this world of men,
For ne’er shalt thou behold it again!
Before the eyes of all thy kin,
To Yama’s gate I hurl thee in!”
So saying, the son of Subhadrā drew from his quiver a broad-headed shaft, bright and keen, gleaming like a serpent new-sloughed and venomous. With arms like the trunk of an elephant he bent his bow and loosed it.
The arrow sped hissing, struck Lakṣmaṇa’s neck, and severed his head, adorned with ear-rings and curls, beautiful as the moon. That fair head rolled to the dust, and a cry of woe arose from all the Kaurava ranks—“Alas! Alas!”
Duryodhana beheld his son fallen and his heart was rent with anguish. His eyes reddened with fury, his voice trembled as he shouted to his host “Slay this one! Slay the son of Arjuna!”
Then Droṇa, Kṛpa, Karṇa, Aśvatthāman, Vṛhadvala, and Kṛtavarman—six mighty chariot-warriors—surrounded Abhimanyu on every side. But the youth, piercing each with sharp shafts, shook himself free and, blazing with wrath, rushed upon the vast host led by Jayadratha.
The Kalingas and Niṣādas, with the valiant son of Kratha at their head, advanced in an elephant division and hemmed him in. The ground trembled under the tread of tuskers, their bells clanging, their riders roaring. But Abhimanyu, O king, fell upon them like the storm-wind breaking banks of clouds—slaying men and elephants alike with shafts that whirled and pierced like firebrands.
Kratha’s son, a noble warrior of famed lineage, then covered him with a torrent of arrows. And many others—headed by Droṇa—returned to join the fray, hurling mighty weapons at the lone youth. But Abhimanyu, striking down each missile with his own shafts, rained ceaseless arrows upon Kratha’s son till his bow, arms, and head were shorn away.
Umbrella, charioteer, steeds, and banner all were hewn down; the prince fell lifeless, his diadem rolling in the dust.
So fell that lord of noble race,
His pride undone, his form defaced;
And when his blood had stained the plain,
The rest drew back, nor fought again.
Thus perished Kratha’s son—strong, learned, and honoured—slain by the single might of Abhimanyu. Beholding his fall, the surviving kings lost heart; the brave turned pale, and almost all abandoned the fight, for none could endure the fury of that youth who seemed the very incarnation of Death upon the field.
One stood, and hosts like shadows fell,
Before his bow’s resounding knell;
And even Time, that ends all strife,
Looked on and named him lord of life.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said
“While the youthful and invincible son of Subhadrā, fearless in battle and never turning back, had pierced our host—his steeds young, mighty, and swift as the wind, seeming to bound upon the sky—tell me, O Sañjaya, what heroes of my army surrounded him in that dread fight?”
Sañjaya said
Having broken into the heart of thy array, O king, the son of Pāṇḍu’s son shone there like the midday sun. With his shafts swift and sure, he turned to flight many mighty kings who could not endure his onslaught.
Then Droṇa, and Kṛpa, and Karṇa, and Droṇa’s son Aśvatthāman, and Vṛhadbala, ruler of the Kosalas, and Kṛtavarman of the Bhojas—these six great car-warriors—encircled him, hemming him in like mountains ring a flame.
Meanwhile, the other warriors of thy host, seeing that Jayadratha had taken upon himself the burden of holding the Pāṇḍavas back, hastened to support him by rushing against Yudhiṣṭhira.
But the six heroes who encompassed Abhimanyu, drawing their bows full six cubits long, showered upon him torrents of arrows, thick as rain-clouds over a mountain peak.
From six great bows the arrows streamed,
As if six tempests ’gainst him teamed;
But firm he stood, with fearless might—
A sun unmoved amid their night.
Then that slayer of hostile heroes, Subhadrā’s son, paralyzed them all with his shafts—those masters of arms and learning, warriors equal to the gods.
He pierced Droṇa with fifty arrows, and Vṛhadbala with twenty.
Kṛtavarman he struck with fourscore shafts, and Kṛpa with sixty.
Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, he smote with ten golden-winged arrows, swift as thought and driven by the full draw of his mighty bow.
And Karṇa, standing amidst his warriors, he pierced with one broad-headed arrow that shone like a flame and struck with the force of fate itself.
Felling the steeds of Kṛpa’s car, his two charioteers, and his banner, Abhimanyu struck Kṛpa himself in the breast with ten more arrows. Then, before the eyes of all thy sons, he slew the valiant Vṛndāraka, that hero who was the pride of the Kurus.
The princes fell as forests fall,
When storms of fire through dry leaves crawl;
Each shaft he loosed, a serpent’s breath—
Each glance, the herald-song of death.
Beholding such slaughter, Aśvatthāman, filled with wrath, pierced Abhimanyu with five and twenty arrows of deadly keenness. But the youth, unshaken, returned upon him a shower of whetted shafts, blazing like gold.
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Then Aśvatthāman struck again, loosing sixty fierce arrows that flew like lightning, yet the son of Arjuna quivered not, but stood immovable as the golden mountain Maināka rising from the sea.
Then, mighty in spirit, Abhimanyu answered with seventy-three straight arrows, each tipped with golden feathers. The shafts hissed and struck with thunderous sound.
Droṇa, seeing his son endangered, rained a hundred arrows upon the boy; Aśvatthāman again, in turn, sent sixty more to guard his sire. Karṇa then loosed twenty-two broad-headed shafts; Kṛtavarman followed with fourteen. Vṛhadbala sent fifty; Kṛpa added ten.
But Abhimanyu, like a revolving wheel of fire, struck each of them in return with ten swift arrows, scattering them as the wind scatters leaves.
Then the ruler of Kosala pierced him in the breast with a barbed arrow; but the son of Subhadrā, unmoved, struck down his steeds, his standard, his bow, and his charioteer with shafts bright as lightning.
The Kosala king, bereft of car and driver, leapt down, sword in hand, and rushed at Abhimanyu to strike him down. But the youth, drawing his bow to his ear, sent an arrow straight to the heart. The shaft entered deep, and Vṛhadbala fell lifeless, his sword slipping from his hand.
Beholding their monarch slain, ten thousand kings fled in terror, casting away their banners and bows, crying aloud in despair and cursing Duryodhana’s fate.
Then the son of Subhadrā, radiant as Rudra in wrath, coursed through the field, mowing down warriors and elephants, his arrows falling thick as the rain of doomsday, till the Kuru host stood paralysed beneath the storm.
Beneath his storm the bright sky dimmed,
The earth with blood and armour brimmed;
And mid that flood, the hero’s flame—
Burned deathless in eternal fame.
Sañjaya said
Once more, O King, Phālguni’s son pierced Karṇa in his car with a barbed arrow, and, to rouse his wrath yet further, followed it with fifty more shafts that sped like tongues of fire. The son of Rādhā, enraged, pierced Abhimanyu with an equal number of arrows, each blazing like the stroke of destiny.
Soon both heroes stood before the hosts—bleeding, radiant, and terrible to behold. Each bathed in his own blood, each wrapped in shafts like a garland of flame, they shone resplendent like twin Kiṁśuka trees in bloom upon a mountain slope.
Blood-bright and fierce they faced as one,
Each mirrored flame beneath the sun;
As red as dawn, their anger burned,
And death from either bow was spurned.
Then the son of Subhadrā, with the swiftness of wind and the keenness of lightning, slew six of Karṇa’s chosen counsellors—masters of weapons, bold and wise—with their steeds, charioteers, and shining cars. The other great bowmen he struck in turn with ten arrows each, so fast that they scarce knew whence the strokes had come.
Next he slew the son of the ruler of Magadha with a flight of six keen shafts, and the youthful Aśvaketu with his four steeds and charioteer. Thereafter he struck down the prince of the Bhojas, who bore an elephant upon his banner, shearing his life away with a razor-headed arrow. Shouting aloud in triumph, Abhimanyu scattered his shafts upon all sides, and the heavens rang with their hiss.
Then the son of Duḥśāsana, burning to avenge his kin, pierced Abhimanyu’s steeds with four arrows, his charioteer with one, and the hero himself with ten. But Abhimanyu, smiling through his wounds, answered him with ten winged shafts and cried aloud
“Thy sire hath fled the field in fear,
Yet stand’st thou here with vaunted spear;
Thy skill is good—thy heart untrue,
And death this day shall come for you!”
Thus speaking, he loosed a long, polished arrow—straight and deadly as the smith’s finest craft—but Aśvatthāman, alert and subtle, cut it off with three quick shafts of his own.
Leaving Droṇa’s son unheeded, Abhimanyu turned upon Śalya, and pierced him nine times in the chest with iron-pointed arrows fletched with vulture’s wings. That deed all beheld as wondrous. Then the youth severed Śalya’s bow and slew his two rear guards; next he struck the Madra king himself with six steel shafts, causing him to leap from his shattered chariot to another.
Abhimanyu’s rage deepened. In swift succession he slew five heroes—Śatrunjaya, Candraketu, Mahāmegha, Suvarcas, and Sūryabhāsa—and pierced the crafty Śakuni, son of Suvala.
Śakuni, writhing with pain, turned to Duryodhana and cried
“Unless we grind him together, O King, he will slay us all! Take counsel quickly with Droṇa, Kṛpa, and Karṇa—find a way to fell this lion!”
Then Karṇa, crimson with shame and blood, said to Droṇa
“This youth afflicts us sorely, O Preceptor! His arrows are fire itself. Tell us how we may slay him.”
Droṇa, smiling gently, his gaze steady amid the storm, answered
“Behold him move—a lightning’s gleam,
A thousand shafts—one endless stream;
No flaw in aim, no space, no stay,
A lion’s son in war’s wild play.”
Then, turning to the warriors, Droṇa said
“Have any of you marked the slightest weakness in this youth? He moves in all directions, yet none can touch him. His hand is light, his motion swift; only the circle of his bow is seen, so fast he aims and lets fly. Even as he wounds my very breath, he delights me by his skill. There is no difference between him and Arjuna himself.
“Yet, listen well, O Karṇa. His coat of mail is impenetrable—his father learned from me the science of defensive armour and taught it to his son. But his bow, his bow-string, the reins of his steeds, the steeds themselves, and his two rear guards—these may be cut. Deprive him of his car, of his bow, and then strike him down. With his bow in hand, even the gods and Asuras together cannot subdue him.”
Hearing these words, Karṇa swiftly drew his string and severed Abhimanyu’s bow, though the youth fought with furious speed. Then Kṛtavarman of the Bhojas slew his steeds, and Kṛpa slew his two rear charioteers. The rest rained arrows upon him without pause, a storm against a single tree.
Surrounded by six great warriors, deprived of his bow and car, the boy still stood unshaken, his eyes blazing. Then, remembering his kṣatriya duty, Abhimanyu seized a sword and shield and leapt high into the air.
Like Garuḍa in the vault he flew,
Bright steel and gold around him drew;
The sky itself seemed struck with flame,
And fear on every banner came.
But the mighty bowmen below watched keenly, loosing arrows upward, seeking his fall. Then Droṇa, vigilant, cut the gem-studded hilt of his sword; Karṇa followed, cleaving his shining shield with keen shafts. Deprived of both sword and guard, Abhimanyu descended unharmed, his limbs unbroken, his eyes still afire.
Seizing the wheel of a shattered car, he lifted it high above his head and rushed roaring toward Droṇa. Dust clung to his blood-dyed form; his garments were crimson with wounds. Holding that wheel aloft like Viṣṇu his discus, he blazed in splendour. His brows knotted, his chest heaving, and his voice echoing like a lion’s, Abhimanyu shone in the midst of the Kurus—terrible as Nārāyaṇa himself in the hour of cosmic wrath.
The wheel he raised—the world stood still,
The hosts beheld with shuddering will;
For in that youth, fierce, bright, and dread,
They saw the living god of red.
Sañjaya said
That joy of Vāsudeva’s sister, that lion among men—Abhimanyu—shone on the field of battle like another Janārdana himself. Decked with celestial weapons, radiant as Viṣṇu’s own lightning form, with the curls of his loosened hair streaming in the wind, he stood, wheel in hand, like the Discus-bearing Lord in wrath. So brilliant was his splendour that even the gods could scarce gaze upon him.
But the kings, beholding that youth of boundless might with the blazing wheel uplifted, trembled in fear and cut the discus-like weapon into a hundred fragments.
The wheel he raised to smite his foe,
They shivered it with shafts’ swift glow;
Yet still he stood, a fire’s frame,
Unbent, unbroken, one with flame.
Deprived of bow, car, sword, and wheel, the mighty-armed son of Arjuna seized a heavy mace, vast as the thunderbolt of Indra, and rushed like a tempest toward Aśvatthāman. The tiger among men, beholding that mace whirling above his head like the rod of Death, leapt thrice from his chariot to escape its sweep.
Abhimanyu struck down Aśvatthāman’s steeds and his two rear guards, and though his own body was bristling with arrows like a porcupine’s hide, his spirit blazed undiminished. Then, pressing Suvala’s son Kalikeya to the earth, he crushed seventy-seven Gandhāra warriors who fought at his side. Ten car-warriors of the Brahma-Vāsatiya clan next fell before his mace, then ten huge elephants whose bells and mail rang as they sank.
Raging onward, Abhimanyu reached the car of Duḥśāsana’s son and shattered it, steeds and wheels alike, deep into the ground. The Kaurava youth, leaping forth, lifted his own mace and shouted—“Wait, O son of Arjuna! Wait!”
Then those cousins, equal in splendour and wrath, met each other—
like Rudra and the demon Andhaka of old—each striking, each seeking the other’s death.
Mace clashed on mace with thunder’s cry,
The earth beneath began to sigh;
Two lions met, in flame and breath—
Each wrestling for the crown of death.
At last, struck by each other’s mace-ends, they fell—two mighty standards toppled in honour of Indra. But Duḥśāsana’s son, rising first, smote Abhimanyu on the crown of the head with a savage blow.
Stunned by the force of that stroke, wearied by wounds, and drained of his strength, the son of Subhadrā—slayer of countless hosts—fell lifeless upon the earth, his spirit departing like a flame consumed of its own fire.
Thus, O King, was one slain by many—he who had ground thy army like a maddened elephant crushing lotus-stalks in a lake.
As he lay upon the blood-stained field, the heroic Abhimanyu looked like a forest elephant slain by hunters; or like a blazing fire quenched after devouring a whole woodland; or like the storm that, having shattered the mountains, sank into silence; or like the sun set behind the western hills; or like Soma swallowed by Rāhu; or like the ocean emptied of its tide.
Thy warriors thronged about him, their faces bright with triumph; but the Pāṇḍavas, beholding him fallen, wept bitterly. His countenance was radiant like the full moon, his eyes framed by lashes dark as raven wings. Around him the Kaurava host raised leonine shouts of victory, while from the heavens voices cried—
“Alas! Alone he stood to fight,
’Gainst six great lords of arméd might;
By Drona’s band unrighteously slain—
The world shall speak this act with pain.”
The field, O King, glimmered with a dreadful beauty. Arrows with golden wings lay like scattered rays; blood ran in streams that shone crimson in the sun. The severed heads of heroes—adorned with jeweled earrings and crested turbans—gleamed like fallen stars.
There lay bright banners, yak-tail fans, and swords sharp as serpent-fangs; there shivered shields and splintered bows; there sprawled elephants great as hills, their armor rent; there lay steeds weltering in blood, and shattered cars whose warriors were no more. The ground became impassable, strewn with mangled limbs, broken standards, and the ornaments of fallen kings.
Abhimanyu’s slain foes covered the earth like withered leaves after a tempest. Yet even among ruin, his form lay radiant—like the moon fallen from heaven, his glory undimmed by death.
When the youthful hero, scarce beyond boyhood, fell, the Pāṇḍava ranks wavered in grief and fled before the eyes of Dharmarāja Yudhiṣṭhira. Seeing them falter, the righteous king spoke with calm resolve
Yudhiṣṭhira said
“Grieve not, O warriors! The son of Arjuna, who fell without retreating, hath ascended to heaven. He fought as one born of Kṛṣṇa’s race should fight—undaunted, glorious, and free.
He who slew ten thousand kings—Vṛhadbala of the Kosalas and countless others—he who shone like Keśava and Pārtha combined, hath surely reached the realms of Indra.
Why then lament? For he who conquers his foes, performs his dharma, and lays down his life on the field—such a one, O heroes, goeth not to death, but to immortality.”
Thus fell the youth, in battle’s flame,
His glory writ, eternal name;
No mortal’s grief his rest could mar—
He sleeps beside the deathless star.