Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Start of the 12th Day’s Battles

Sañjaya said:

After the bull among men, Duryodhana, set forth from the rear in pursuit of Pārtha and him of the Vṛṣṇis—both already deep within the Kaurava sea—the Pāṇḍavas with the Somakas wheeled and rushed upon Droṇa with great shouts. Then began a battle at the very mouth of the array—fierce, hair-raising, and wondrous to behold. The sun stood blazing at the meridian; never had we seen or heard of such a clash.

Pr̥ṣata’s son led the Pāṇḍavas, well arrayed and deft in smiting, and they poured arrow-showers upon Droṇa’s host. We, placing Droṇa—foremost in all weapons—at our head, returned their deluge against the Parthas clustered round the Panchāla prince. Two radiant hosts, crested with cars, rolled toward each other like summer storm-clouds driven by contrary winds.

“Cloud surged to cloud with lightning’s glare,

The bowstring’s thunder shook the air;

The rivers—hosts—together ran,

As Gaṅgā meets Yamunā’s span.”

The Kuru mass, urged by the Droṇa-tempest, hurled incessant shafts like torrents of rain to quench the Pandava-fire; maces flashed as thunder, darts and lances as jagged bolts. Droṇa, best of Brāhmaṇas, agitated the Pandava ranks like a summer gale whipping the ocean. The Pāṇḍavas, straining with all their might, rushed at Droṇa alone to split his gate, as a flood presses on a strong embankment to sweep it down. But firm as an unmoving hill resisting fiercest waters, Droṇa held fast against the enraged Pāṇḍavas, the Panchālas, and the Kekayas, while many kings of great heart closed from the flanks.

Then the tiger of Panchāla, the son of Pr̥ṣata, joined with the Pāṇḍavas and smote Droṇa again and again, striving to pierce the host. As Droṇa rained on him, so did he rain on Droṇa. A Dṛṣṭadyumna-cloud gathered, scimitars and swords for wind, bowstring for lightning, the bow’s twang for thunder, and showers of missiles for pelting stones; it deluged the foe with weapons and steeds and the foremost charioteers fell.

“Where Droṇa sought a path to cleave,

The Panchāla blaze forbade his leave;

He turned and found, on every side,

The lion-son of Pr̥ṣata stride.”

Though Droṇa strove mightily, his line, meeting Dṛṣṭadyumna, split into three. One column bent toward Kṛtavarman of the Bhojas; one toward Jālasandha; the third, fiercely hewn by the Parthas, recoiled toward Droṇa himself. Oft did Droṇa reunite his troops; as oft did the mighty Panchāla hew and scatter them. Thus was the Dhārtarāṣṭra force, parted threefold, slaughtered by Pāṇḍavas and Śrīñjayas like a herd in the wood when many beasts of prey are at hand and no herdsman guards.

Men said: “Here Death himself devours, first benumbing with Dṛṣṭadyumna’s stroke.” As a realm under a bad king falls to famine, pestilence, and thieves, even so did thy host waste beneath the sons of Pāṇḍu. Sun-glare on steel and dust from feet and wheels tortured the eye; helms, banners, and cuirasses burned under the noon.

Stung, Droṇa blazed and consumed the Panchālas with shafts; crushing and exterminating, he took on the visage of the Yuga-fire. With single arrows he pierced car, elephant, steed, and foot, never wasting a second barb; none among the Pāṇḍavas could endure the flight from Droṇa’s bow. Scorched by the sun’s rays and Droṇa’s darts, the Pandava wings reeled; and thy host, likewise, under Pr̥ṣata’s son, flamed at every point like a dry forest on fire. Both chiefs slaughtered both armies, and warriors, despising death, fought to their uttermost. In neither host did any flee for fear, O bull of Bharata’s race.

Thy uterine sons—Vivimśati, Citraseṇa, and the mighty car-warrior Vikarna—surrounded Bhīmasena; and Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti, with Kṣemadhurti of great prowess, supported them. King Vāhlīka, high-born and vehement, with his counsellors and troops, held the sons of Draupadī. Śaivya, lord of the Govasānas, with a thousand foremost warriors, faced the puissant Kāśi-prince’s son. King Śalya of the Madras encompassed Yudhiṣṭhira, fire-like and steady. Wrathful Duḥśāsana, well-buttressed by his divisions, drove upon Sātyaki. I myself, O king, with my own mail-clad bowmen—four hundred of the best—resisted Chekitāna. Śakuni, with seven hundred Gandhāra archers, met Sahadeva, son of Mādrī. The Avanti brothers, for their friend Duryodhana’s sake, encountered Virāṭa of Matsya. Vāhlīka laboured hard against unshaken Śikhaṇḍin, Yajñasena’s son. The Avanti chief, with Sauvīras and cruel Prabhadrakas, grappled with wrathful Dṛṣṭadyumna, Panchāla’s prince. Ālambūṣa rushed at the fierce Rākṣasa Ghaṭotkaca; Kuntibhoja, with a large force, met Ālambūṣa in turn. Thus, O Bhārata, hundreds of separate encounters flared between thy warriors and theirs.

“Each banner sought its fated foe,

Each conch replied to kindred note;

The plain became a star-strewn flow,

Where vows and destinies were wrote.”

As for the Sindhu-ruler, he remained in the army’s deep rear, hedged by foremost bowmen and car-warriors, Kṛpa among them. To guard his wheels stood two chiefs—on the right Droṇa’s son, on the left the Sūta’s son Karṇa. In his rear were Somadatta’s son, Kṛpa, Vṛṣasena, Śala, and the invincible Śalya—masters of policy and accomplished in war. Having wrought these enclosures about Jayadratha, the Kuru warriors fought on against the Pāṇḍavas.”

Sañjaya said:

“Listen, O king, while I recount to thee the marvellous battle that flamed between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas. When the sons of Prithā pressed toward the gate of Droṇa’s array, they encountered Bharadvāja’s son himself—guardian of the passage—who stood firm, determined to bar their advance. The Pāṇḍavas fought fiercely, eager to pierce his wall; and Droṇa too, seeking glory, fought to protect his array, his chariot blazing like a sacrificial altar amid the smoke of arrows.

Then Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti, wrathful and resolute to serve thy son, struck Virāṭa with ten keen shafts. The Matsya king, turning upon those lion-hearted brothers, fought them and their followers with equal fury. The field ran with blood like a flooded river—terrible was their encounter, like a lion clashing with two tusked elephants maddened by rut.

Meanwhile, the mighty son of Yajñasena, Śikhaṇḍin, smote old king Vāhlīka with sharp arrows that pierced to the vitals. Vāhlīka, enraged, returned nine straight shafts, their golden wings gleaming like sunlight on stone. Between those two noble warriors the battle blazed high, dense showers of darts and arrows veiling the sky. The timid quaked; heroes exulted; for the heavens themselves seemed closed by that storm of death.

“Like summer clouds with lightning fraught,

Their bows resounded, fierce and taut;

The welkin hid, the sunlight fled—

Day seemed a night of arrows spread.”

At the van of the troops, the Govasāna king Śaivya fought the Kāśi prince, both mighty car-warriors, as two huge elephants contend by a forest stream. Elsewhere, Vāhlīka, crimson with wrath, stood alone against the five sons of Draupadī, resplendent like the mind embattled with its five senses. Those princes, surrounding him from all sides, shot shafts unceasingly, like the restless senses ever striving against thought.

Thy son Duḥśāsana assailed Sātyaki of the Vṛṣṇi race with nine arrows of keen edge. The Yādava hero, struck deep, reeled for a moment beneath the blow; but soon, recovering his strength, he pierced Duḥśāsana with ten shafts, Kanka-feathered and whetted bright. They wounded each other sorely, their blood mingling on their armour, glowing like twin kiṃśuka trees heavy with red bloom.

“Each tree of flame, each trunk of steel,

Their blossoms—wounds—did fire reveal;

Two rivers met of crimson hue—

And neither swerved, but smote anew.”

Alamvusha the Rākṣasa, wounded by Kuntibhoja’s arrows, shone red as a flowering kiṃśuka. Roaring terribly, he pierced that king with many shafts and filled the air with his demonic cries. Their duel was like that of Indra and the Asura Jambha in ancient days.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

The twin sons of Mādrī, Nakula and Sahadeva, their wrath blazing like fire, ground the Gandhāra prince Śakuni, who had long offended them. The carnage, O monarch, was dreadful beyond words. Born of thy schemes, nursed by Karṇa, and fed by thy sons, the fire of the Pāṇḍavas’ wrath now swelled to consume the earth. Driven backward by their shafts, Śakuni, confounded and bleeding, turned in flight, his valour spent. But the twins pursued him with relentless showers of arrows, as twin storm-clouds drench a mountain’s brow. Pierced by countless shafts, Suvala’s son fled toward Droṇa’s division, his steeds swift as fear itself.

Then the mighty Rākṣasa Ghaṭotkaca rushed upon Alamvusha with impetuous speed, though yet withholding half his might. The combat of those two beings of equal race—one fierce with youth, one ripe with cunning—was a sight to shake the heart, like the primeval battle of Rāma and Rāvaṇa.

King Yudhiṣṭhira, too, met the ruler of the Madras, piercing him first with five hundred shafts, then with seven more. Between them raged a wondrous duel, O Bhārata—like that of the Asura Śambara against the thunder-wielding Indra of old.

Elsewhere, thy sons Vivimśati, Citraseṇa, and brave Vikarna, surrounded by their legions, fought Bhīmasena, whose wrath burned like a forest fire driven by storm.”

“Thus clashed the kings beneath the sun,

Their vows like sparks from steel begun;

Each heart a furnace, each shaft flame—

Till dusk itself forgot its name.”

Sañjaya said:

“When that fierce battle began, O king—terrible and hair-raising to behold—the Pāṇḍavas rushed upon the Kauravas, who stood divided in three great masses. Bhīmasena sped like a tempest against the mighty-armed Jālasandha. Yudhiṣṭhira, at the head of his troops, moved upon Kṛtavarman of the Bhojas. Dṛṣṭadyumna, scattering his shafts like the sun shooting rays, advanced against Droṇa himself.

Then commenced that tumultuous clash of bowmen—both hosts aflame with wrath, eager to strike and to die. Amid the dreadful carnage, the mighty Droṇa met the Panchāla prince, each resolute in his art. The sky darkened with their arrows, and all that beheld them marvelled.

“Their bows were rain-clouds, strings the wind,

Their arrows flashed like fire refined;

And from their storm of golden reed,

Red lotuses of death did bleed.”

Thousands of heads rolled upon the ground, severed by their weapons, till the earth seemed a lake of crimson lotuses. Robes, armours, and ornaments lay heaped with standards torn and coats of mail, while golden corselets, soaked in blood, glimmered like storm-clouds veined with lightning. Mighty warriors drew their great six-cubit bows and smote elephants, steeds, and men alike. Swords, shields, broken bows, and severed heads lay scattered everywhere, gleaming under the sun like gems strewn on crimson earth.

Headless trunks still moved and fought; vultures and kites swooped low, tearing flesh, drinking blood, or dragging limbs through the mire. Jackals licked the wounds of fallen steeds; ravens rolled human heads along the dust. The field, filled with such horror, blazed like a pyre fed by wind.

“The living slew, the dying cried,

The earth herself was crucified;

And through the smoke of dust and gore,

Rose battle’s unrelenting roar.”

Amid this slaughter, warriors skilled in arms fought only for fame, their eyes red with wrath. Swordsmen danced their grim evolutions; spears, darts, axes, and maces whirled in every quarter; men even grappled with bare hands when weapons broke. Car met car, horsemen charged horsemen, elephants crushed elephants, and footmen trampled footmen. Many tuskers, frenzied and shrieking, slew one another as if in a sport of madness.

In that wild mêlée, O king, Dṛṣṭadyumna urged his steeds to mingle with Droṇa’s own. Theirs were steeds white as pigeons, his red as blood—mingled thus they shone like storm-clouds streaked with lightning. Then the slayer of hostile heroes, the son of Pṛṣata, beholding Droṇa so near, cast aside his bow, took up sword and shield, and leapt upon his foe’s car to perform a deed almost beyond mortal power.

Seizing the shaft of Droṇa’s chariot, he sprang upon it like a hawk upon prey—sometimes standing on the yoke, sometimes on the joints, sometimes behind the steeds, flashing and vanishing like flame in wind. So swift was his movement that Droṇa could find no opening to strike him. All who saw it marvelled exceedingly.

“He glided like a bird of light,

Across the steeds, from left to right;

The teacher’s shafts in vain did gleam,

Before that dancer in the dream.”

But Droṇa, the lion among men, quick as thought, loosed a hundred arrows that shivered Dṛṣṭadyumna’s moon-decked shield; with ten more he cut his sword in twain. With sixty-four sharp shafts he slew his adversary’s steeds, and with two broad-headed arrows cut down his banner and umbrella. Then he pierced both his rear-guard charioteers.

Drawing to his ear a shaft like Death’s own fang, he aimed to end the Panchāla prince. Yet before that fatal arrow struck, Sātyaki the Vṛṣṇi hero, seeing the peril, loosed fourteen shafts of diamond edge and cut it down in midair. Thus the grandson of Sini rescued Dṛṣṭadyumna, as a lion rescues a deer seized by another in the forest.

Droṇa, enraged, turned his bow upon Sātyaki and covered him with six and twenty arrows; but the Yādava, smiling, returned as many, piercing the preceptor in the breast while he was still devouring the Śṛñjayas with his shafts.

Then all the Panchāla chariot-warriors, rallying to the Satvata hero, closed in around and swiftly drew Dṛṣṭadyumna away from the field, like friends who snatch a flame from the storm’s mouth.

“So passed the prince, his life reprieved,

From under Droṇa’s wrath relieved;

While Sātyaki, bright as morning’s sun,

Held high the honour Dṛṣṭadyumna won.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“When Droṇa’s shafts had been cut off, and Dṛṣṭadyumna rescued by Yuyudhāna of the Vṛṣṇi line, what, O Sañjaya, did that foremost of all wielders of weapons—Droṇa, the great bowman—do unto that tiger among men, the grandson of Sini?”

Sañjaya said:

Then Droṇa, his wrath kindled like poison in a mighty serpent, came forth blazing upon Sātyaki. His stretched bow was the serpent’s gaping mouth, his keen shafts were its fangs, and his whetted arrows, the venom that burned within him. His eyes were red as molten copper; his breath came heavy as storm; and borne upon red steeds fleet as the wind, he seemed to rise to the heavens or leap upon a mountain-top. Thus that lion among men, fearless and terrible, rushed upon Yuyudhāna, loosing a tempest of arrows winged with gold.

Beholding the preceptor’s onrush—a Droṇa-cloud roaring with the rattle of wheels, its stretched bow the arching storm-front, its shafts the flashing rain, its swords the thunder, its wrath the wind—Yuyudhāna smiled.

And turning to his charioteer, he said:

“O Sūta, drive swiftly and with joy!

Spur our steeds like gusts that fly,

Against that Brahman—fallen, proud—

The staff of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s crowd!

That teacher of princes, that boastful lord,

Let us repay his vaunted word!”

Then the silvery steeds of the Madhus, radiant and swift as the north wind, dashed forward toward Droṇa’s blazing car. And the two warriors met, O king—Droṇa and Sātyaki—each striking the other with thousands of arrows.

They filled the whole firmament with their shafts, veiling the ten quarters, as two rain clouds pour torrents at the end of summer. The sun grew dim; the wind fell still; a deep gloom hung in the heavens. Such was the deluge of arrows that none could discern cessation in either. Both were quick and peerless—lions among men—and the clash of their arrows struck like thunder upon mountain peaks.

“Dark fell the noon, the daylight died,

As storm to storm their fury tied;

Their arrows hissed like cobras sped,

The earth with fire and shadow fed.”

The cars of both, with their steeds and charioteers, glittered under a rain of golden-winged shafts. Umbrellas were torn, banners shorn, armour shattered; and both heroes stood streaming with blood, beautiful as twin elephants with ichor trickling down their limbs. The downpour of arrows shone like serpents freed of slough, bright and straight, filling the sky with fire.

Then silence fell across the field. The roar of conchs and the beat of drums, the cries and shouts of soldiers—all ceased. Men of both armies, struck with wonder, halted their fight. Footmen, horsemen, and elephants stood still in their ranks; even the winds seemed hushed, as the gaze of all turned to the duel.

The armies of Kurus and Pāṇḍavas, their elephants caparisoned with gold, their horses jewelled, their banners fluttering, their coats of mail gleaming crimson with blood, appeared like summer clouds heavy with lightning, adorned with cranes and rainbows.

“Still stood the world, the heavens bent low,

To watch the streaming shafts that glow;

Gods and sages in air did lean—

To mark that duel vast, serene.”

Indeed, the gods with Brahmā and Soma, the Siddhas, Cāraṇas, and Vidyādharas, and the great serpents, gazing from their airy cars, beheld the two lions among men circling and striking in swift arcs of light. Droṇa and Sātyaki, both possessed of might and mastery, displayed their wondrous skill.

Sātyaki, with his swiftest shafts, cut through those of Droṇa and, within a moment, severed his bow. But the preceptor, quicker than thought, strung another. That, too, Sātyaki cut down. Again and again Droṇa snatched fresh bows; again and again they were sundered—seven and nine times in all.

A murmur of awe arose among all who saw it. Droṇa himself, marveling, thought:

“This swiftness of hand—this force of arms—

Dwells only in Rāma and Dhanañjaya;

In Kārtavīrya, and in Bhīṣma’s might.

This Yuyudhāna is of their kind.”

And the son of Bharadvāja silently applauded Sātyaki’s prowess. Even the gods were pleased; for never had the Gandharvas or Siddhas witnessed such a display of arms, not even in Droṇa’s own prime.

Then the preceptor, grinder of Kṣatriyas, invoked celestial weapons. Sātyaki, unflinching, met them with his own mystic counter-spells, baffling the preceptor’s art with the illusion of his own arms. Arrows clashed mid-air, flames bent to waves, and light conquered light—each feat seeming a miracle.

“Fire met water in mid-sky,

Flame and flood their might did try;

The heavens reeled, the earth was dumb—

The end of day at last had come.”

Droṇa loosed the Agneya weapon; Sātyaki summoned the Varuṇa. The fiery storm met the oceanic flood, and both dissolved, quenched in their own grandeur. A cry of “Alas!” rose from gods and men alike. Even the creatures of the air ceased to move.

Just then, the sun sank low upon the horizon. Seeing it, Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma, Nakula, and Sahadeva, together with the Matsyas and the Sālveyas, hastened forward to protect Sātyaki. And thousands of princes, led by Duḥśāsana, rushed to shield Droṇa from the encircling foe.

The battle rekindled—dust and arrows veiled the earth, and neither army could discern friend from foe. And thus, amid darkness and storm, the combat raged on, heedless of rule or reason.

“The dust was smoke, the sky was flame,

And all the world forgot its name;

As Droṇa’s wrath and Sātyaki’s might

Turned day to death, and noon to night.”