Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 2 - Arjuna Pierces Drona’s Formation

Sañjaya said:

“After Droṇa’s mighty array had been formed and the Kaurava legions stood ready, a loud uproar arose, O king, shaking heaven and earth alike. Drums and mṛdaṅgas thundered, cymbals clashed, and the neigh of steeds mingled with the bellow of elephants and the cries of warriors thirsting for battle.

Conches were blown from every quarter, their sound mingling with the roar of thousands. The tumult rose, making the very hair stand on end. The field of Kurukṣetra, vast as the sea, was slowly covered by heroes of the Bharata line, all aflame with the desire to fight.

The dreadful hour of Rudra had come.”

“The red sun rose through dust and cries,

The wind was sharp with omen’s breath;

Ravens wheeled across the skies,

Foretelling wrath, and fire, and death.”

“At that moment, Savyasāchin appeared.

Before him flew thousands of ravens and crows, circling and cawing in grim delight. Jackals howled with inauspicious voice, and wild beasts uttered cries that curdled the blood. Blazing meteors fell from the heavens with thunderous sound, and the trembling earth quaked beneath them.

Dry winds swept across the field, carrying pebbles and dust; thunder rolled though no cloud was seen. It seemed, O Bhārata, as if Nature herself trembled to behold Arjuna, the son of Kuntī, rising in wrath.”

“Then rose from east the bow of flame,

Gandiva shone through heaven’s frame;

Its note was like the wrath of Time,

A chord of death, a sacred chime.”

“Then the sons of Pāṇḍu prepared for battle. The wise Dṛṣṭadyumna and Śatānīka, Nakula’s son, arrayed the divisions with skill.

At the head of the Kaurava host stood thy son Durmarṣaṇa, proud and fierce. A thousand chariots surrounded him, with a hundred elephants, three thousand heroes, and ten thousand footmen clad in armour. Covering a space vast as a forest, he stood and proclaimed aloud before all:

‘Even as the continent withstands the surging sea, so will I resist today the wielder of Gāṇḍīva! Let men behold my clash with Dhanañjaya—stone against stone, thunder against thunder. Alone, I shall fight the sons of Pāṇḍu for honour and everlasting fame!’

Thus speaking, that valiant prince stood in splendour, surrounded by many great bowmen.”

“Like Indra with his thunder mace,

He shone with courage on his face;

His words were flame, his glance was steel,

His heart was fixed on death’s ordeal.”

“But then, O king, from the eastern ranks came a vision blazing like the end of Time.

Arjuna, the slayer of the Nivātakavacas, arose like fire kindled at the world’s dissolution—his wrath kindled, his vow aflame. Clad in shining mail, adorned with a golden diadem and garlands of white flowers, he shone resplendent upon his chariot. His arms glittered with jewelled armlets; his earrings flamed like twin suns.

Upon that divine car stood Nara, and by his side—Nārāyaṇa. The Two, united, gleamed like the twin fires of heaven.

Arjuna shook his Gāṇḍīva, and its sound rolled across the plains like thunder from a riven cloud. Placing his car at the van, where the storm of arrows would fall thickest, he raised his conch Devadatta and blew.”

“The earth stood still; the sky grew pale,

When Arjuna’s conch began to wail.

From Krishna’s lips Panchajanya cried,

And fear swept all the Kauravas’ side.”

“At that awful sound, O monarch, thy warriors trembled. Their hearts failed; their hair stood on end. The beasts of war ejected urine and dung in terror. The whole army, filled with dread, seemed robbed of strength.

Some warriors lost their senses, others fled. The ape upon Arjuna’s banner—Hanumān himself—opening his vast mouth, uttered a cry that shook the field, echoing with the roars of lions, elephants, and tigers.

Then, striving to rouse their courage, thy men once more beat their drums and blew their conches and trumpets. The clamour of cymbals, horns, and anakas mingled with the shouts of warriors striking their arm-pits and roaring challenges to one another. Yet beneath it all, the Pandava conches still thundered like the voice of destiny.”

“The sky was torn with sound and flame,

The world itself seemed turned to fire;

Men shouted each his rival’s name—

Each heart consumed by fierce desire.”

“Then, filled with joy at the onset, the son of Pākasāsana—Arjuna—spoke to Keśava, the slayer of Madhu.”

Arjuna said:

“Urge the steeds, O Hṛṣīkeśa!

Where Durmarṣaṇa stands, drive swift!

Through his elephants I’ll pierce the host,

And break their pride in battle’s drift.”

Sañjaya continued:

“Thus addressed, the mighty-armed Keśava urged his steeds toward Durmarṣaṇa’s ranks. Then began a fierce and terrible encounter—one against the many—destroying cars, elephants, and men alike.

Arjuna, resembling a rain-cloud dark and full, poured showers of arrows upon his foes like torrents upon the mountainside. The warriors of thy host, displaying great skill, covered Keśava and Arjuna with clouds of shafts in return.

But the mighty son of Pāṇḍu, roused to wrath, began to strike off heads with his arrows—swift, unerring, and dreadful.”

“The field grew red, the sky grew dim,

The wind blew hot with blood and flame;

Heads fell like lotus plucked from stem,

And beauty died that bore a name.”

“Golden mail, drenched in gore, gleamed like storm clouds streaked with lightning. The sound of severed heads striking the ground was like palmyra fruits dropping ripe. Headless trunks rose and swayed—some grasping bows, others swinging swords—as though still alive in death’s mad dance.

The earth was strewn with arms adorned with gems, like serpents writhing in crimson dust. Warriors perished without even knowing when Arjuna’s shafts had struck them.

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The field became a sea of blood, filled with severed limbs of men, horses, and elephants. And wherever one turned, only the name of Pārtha was heard.”

“‘This is Pārtha!’ ‘Where is Pārtha?’

cried the hosts in wild despair;

‘The world is Pārtha!’ said the dying—

for none saw aught but him there.”

“Deluded by Time, thy warriors struck one another down. Some pierced themselves, thinking to strike Arjuna. The field rang with cries of agony; heroes covered in blood called for their kin and fell.

Arms bearing weapons, still adorned with bracelets, leapt and quivered upon the earth. Each that advanced in wrath against Pārtha perished, pierced by his unfailing shafts.

Moving upon his car, dancing and drawing his bow, no eye could detect even the smallest pause in his motion. So swift was he that no enemy could find an instant’s opening.

Elephants, horses, men, and chariots fell beneath his arrows. None, whether near or far, could escape. As the sun dispels darkness, so did Arjuna, radiant with fury, scatter the Kaurava host.

The ground was heaped with elephants like fallen hills; the plain was torn and red as at the world’s end. None could look upon him—bright as the midday sun, blazing with wrath.”

“Then fled thy men, O blinded king,

As clouds before the tempest’s wing;

The host was broken, scattered, torn—

By Arjuna’s wrath the world was shorn.”

“Thy troops, pierced and terrified, broke and fled. Car-warriors urged their steeds with whips and spurs, shouting in vain; elephants fled, goaded by iron hooks.

And some, in their confusion, ran upon Arjuna himself, only to be cut down. All thy warriors, O king, became cheerless, their senses confounded, their courage lost.

Thus was the van of thy army shattered by Pārtha—like a dark storm scattering dry leaves—while Kṛṣṇa, unshaken, guided his chariot through the ruin.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“When the van of my army, slaughtered by the diadem-decked son of Pāṇḍu, broke and fled, Who, O Sañjaya, were the heroes that stood against him? Did any venture forth to battle that blazing warrior? Or did all, abandoning resolve, seek refuge behind Droṇa’s solid wall, Entering the Śakata array in fear?”

Sañjaya said:

“When Indra’s son Arjuna began to break and scatter thy army with ceaseless showers of arrows, O king, countless heroes fell; many fled dispirited and pale. None among them, O monarch, could even gaze upon Pārtha’s face, for he shone like the sun at noon in fury.

Then thy son Duḥśāsana, beholding his troops crushed and confounded, rose in wrath. Clad in a mail of gold, his head bound with a shining turban, he rushed against Arjuna at the head of a mighty host. Around him surged a vast elephant-force, roaring like the ocean, as though it would devour the earth.”

“Trumpets blared and conches cried,

The ground itself in thunder sighed;

Tuskers, fierce and iron-mailed,

Like winged hills through heaven sailed.”

“With the clang of weapons, the blare of conches, the deep bell-notes of elephants, the twang of bows and the rolling of chariot wheels—the air, the earth, and the firmament seemed filled with dreadful music.

That moment became fierce and fateful, O king. Huge beasts with uplifted trunks charged forward, like mountains in motion, urged on by their riders’ hooks. Then Dhanañjaya, lion among men, gave forth a roar that pierced the tumult and sent tremors through the ranks.”

“He roared, and all the sky was rent,

His arrows sang, his bow was bent;

Through tusked and towering beasts he sped,

As Garuḍa through serpents’ bed.”

“Like a makara diving into the stormy sea, Arjuna plunged into that host of elephants. His shafts rained ceaselessly from Gāṇḍīva, striking beasts and men alike. The preceptor’s pupil seemed to blaze like the fire that devours the worlds when Time’s day has come.

The earth shook with the tread of elephants and the rush of chariots. Horses neighed, warriors shouted, and the twin conches—Devadatta and Pāñcajanya—blared together. The roar of Gāṇḍīva rose among them like thunder bursting from a storm.”

“Flame-winged arrows through darkness flew,

Their hiss was death, their flash was light;

The air was fire, the ground was red—

Day turned to night, and night to fright.”

“Men and beasts alike were torn by the shafts of Savyasāchin, whose touch was as that of venomous serpents. Thousands of elephants were pierced in their flanks, temples, and jaws, their trunks writhing, their bodies bleeding from a thousand wounds.

The great beasts roared in agony and fell to the earth like wingless mountains hurled from the sky. Some, pierced in the temples or eyes, cried out like cranes; others toppled with their riders crushed beneath them.

Arjuna’s arrows cut off the heads of warriors standing upon the elephants’ necks—those heads, decked with golden earrings, fell to the ground like lotus blooms flung by the god of death in sacrifice.”

“Lotuses fell where arrows flew,

And blood like sandal perfume drew;

The earth became an altar wide—

And warriors bloomed, and perished, side by side.”

“Many elephants roamed the field, their sides red with blood, their riders hanging limp and lifeless. In some places, two or three warriors fell at once, transfixed by a single shaft winged with eagle feathers.

Huge tuskers, pierced deep by long arrows, collapsed, vomiting blood, their trunks coiling like dying serpents. They fell with their riders upon them, resembling wooded hills struck down by the wrath of Time.”

“Then Arjuna, with his straight-flying shafts, cut through bows, bow-strings, standards, chariot-yokes, and axles of the foremost warriors that faced him. None could discern when he drew the string, when he fixed the arrow, or when he let it fly.

Only one vision met the eye: Pārtha dancing upon his chariot, his bow drawn to a perfect circle, his motion unbroken, his wrath divine. Elephants pierced through their hearts fell like mountains struck by lightning.”

“His hands were flame, his eyes were storm,

His car a sun in mortal form;

None marked the instant, none could see,

When death was loosed from Gāṇḍīvī.”

“In that carnage, innumerable headless trunks stood swaying. Arms still bearing bows or swords lay strewn about, their golden ornaments flashing amid the dust. Shields, garlands, banners, crowns, and crushed wheels carpeted the earth.

The field glowed red with the blood of kings and beasts. Fallen standards and broken chariots lay everywhere, and the slain elephants and steeds made the ground impassable, dreadful as the night of dissolution.”

“Then Duḥśāsana’s division, torn and bleeding, broke and fled. The prince himself, pierced and wounded, overcome by fear, turned back from the fight. With his surviving men he entered the Śakata array, seeking the shelter of Droṇa, as a ship runs for harbour in the midst of storm.”

“The wrath of Pārtha none withstands,

The storm of Time obeys no hands;

Duḥśāsana fled, his glory slain,

Seeking the wall of Droṇa’s chain.”

Sañjaya said:

“Having slain the forces of Duḥśāsana, the mighty car-warrior Savyasāchin, eager to reach the ruler of the Sindhus, advanced toward Droṇa’s division.

At the mouth of that dreadful array stood Droṇa, guardian of its gate, bow in hand, unshaken as a mountain. Then Arjuna, at Kṛṣṇa’s urging, drew near and, joining his hands, spoke to his revered preceptor.”

“Revered one, wish me well! Say svasti, holy lord,

That I may pass this iron ward.

Thou art my father, master, friend—

On thee my vow and life depend.

As Aśvatthāman is dear to thee,

So should thy grace fall also on me.

Through thy good will may I restrain

Sindhu’s proud lord upon the plain.”

“Saying thus, Arjuna bowed low. The preceptor, smiling gently, replied—

‘O Vibhatsu, without first vanquishing me, thou canst not vanquish Jayadratha.’

So saying, Droṇa, master of celestial arms, raised his bow and covered Arjuna, his chariot, steeds, and banner with a shower of sharp arrows.

But Arjuna, baffling that torrent with his own shafts, rushed upon his teacher with greater force, loosing volleys that darkened the air. Observant of the warrior’s code, he pierced Droṇa with nine keen arrows.”

“Bow answered bow in storm and flame,

Each shaft a hymn to battle’s name;

The guru smiled, the pupil’s eyes

Were meteors fallen from the skies.”

“Droṇa, unruffled, struck Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna with many shafts that hissed like serpents or burned like fire. While Arjuna thought to cut his teacher’s bowstring, Droṇa, fearless and swift, severed the string of Gāṇḍīva instead, piercing Arjuna’s steeds, standard, and charioteer. Smiling still, the venerable one enveloped Pārtha in an arrowy rain.

Quickly restraining his steeds, Arjuna restrung Gāṇḍīva, and, regaining the upper hand, he loosed his wrath.”

“Six hundred shafts he drew as one,

Then seven, a thousand, ten—

A sea of fire, a rising sun,

That slew ten thousand men.

Warriors fell as forests fall

When winds of dissolution call;

Elephants crashed like crumbling hills,

Horses dropped as dying swans.”

“The earth, drenched with blood, trembled beneath the slain. Arjuna’s arrows rained like the rays of the sun drying the floods at the end of Time. Droṇa, the cloud of war, poured his counter-shower, hiding the blazing Pandava-sun with arrows winged like lightning.

Then the preceptor struck Arjuna full in the breast with a shaft that drank the life-blood of heroes. Pārtha shook like a mountain in an earthquake; yet, regaining composure, he pierced Droṇa with many arrows.

Droṇa in turn struck Vāsudeva with five shafts, Arjuna with seventy-three, and smote his banner thrice. Then, gaining advantage, the preceptor veiled his pupil in ceaseless rain of steel, making Arjuna invisible within the storm.”

“We saw no man—only the bow,

Curved to a circle, drawn too low;

And from that circle, line on line,

Fell arrows thick as summer rain.”

“The shafts of Bharadvāja’s son fell in endless streams upon Arjuna and Vāsudeva. Beholding that dread encounter, Keśava, whose mind is never perturbed, pondered the task yet unfinished.

Then he spoke softly to Pārtha.”

Kṛṣṇa said:

“O son of Pāṇḍu, time speeds on;

This battle’s hour will soon be gone.

Avoid the master—pass him by,

For graver work before us lies.”

“Arjuna bowed and answered:

‘As thou commandest, O Keśava!’

Then, keeping Droṇa on their right as one honours a sacred fire, Arjuna drove forward. Turning his face backward even as he advanced, he shot arrows to cover his withdrawal.

Droṇa called after him—

‘Whither goest thou, O son of Pāṇḍu? Ceasest thou not till thy foe is slain?’

Arjuna replied—

‘Thou art my preceptor, not my foe. I am thy disciple, thy son in spirit. None in the world can vanquish thee in battle.’

Thus saying, he passed on.”

“Then rolled his car through war’s wide sea,

The wind of vows his canopy;

For Sindhu’s king his arrow burned,

While Droṇa smiled and homeward turned.”