novelraw Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Duryodhana’s Celestial Armor
Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Duryodhana’s Celestial Armor
Sañjaya said:
Then, O monarch, Duryodhana, swelling with wrath, bent his mighty bow and, like Death himself loosing his shafts, struck Dhanañjaya with three keen arrows that whistled as they flew, piercing deep into his breast. With four others he smote the white steeds of Pārtha’s car, and with ten fierce shafts he wounded Vāsudeva full upon the chest. Then, cutting off with a broad-headed arrow the whip from Keśava’s hand, he struck it to the dust.
Beholding this, Arjuna, unperturbed as a mountain beneath rain, drew back his great bow and shot fourteen arrows whetted on stone, plumed with golden feathers, and blazing like fire. But, wonder of wonders! all those shafts glanced aside, turned by the Kaurava’s armour as though striking stone. Again, Partha loosed nine and then five more, but they too failed, rebounding like waves from a rock.
When eight and twenty arrows had proved fruitless, the slayer of Madhu, with brows knit in marvel, spake thus to Arjuna:
“Never before, O Pārtha, have mine eyes beheld such a sight! Thy shafts, that pierce elephants and rend mountains, Turn aside from this prince as from the breast of a hill! Hath thy Gāṇḍīva lost its might? Have thy arms grown weary, thy grasp unsteady? Can this, perchance, be thy final meeting with Duryodhana? Speak, for I am filled with wonder! The arrows of thunder fall upon him like rain, yet harm him not— Alas! what unseen power guards him today?”
Then Arjuna smiled faintly and replied with calm reverence:
“No decay hath touched my bow, O Keśava,
Nor have my arms lost their strength.
This armour, O Govinda, hath been bound upon Duryodhana by Droṇa himself.
Its power is vast—it holds the might of the three worlds.
None but that sage of Bharadvāja’s line knoweth its secret,
And from him have I learned the lore of its making.
Even Indra’s thunderbolt could not pierce this mail.
Thou knowest this, O Mādhava—why dost thou test me thus?
For all that was, all that is, and all that yet shall be
Lies open before thine eyes like a crystal sea.
He weareth this divine mail as a fool wears jewels,
Knowing not the duty that comes with the gift.
Yet behold, O Janārdana, the power of my arms and of my bow!
Though cased in such celestial steel, I shall break his pride and vanquish him still.
This armour, bright as dawn, was once given by the Lord of the Gods to Aṅgiras,
Thence to Bṛhaspati, then to Indra,
And from Indra to me, with mantras divine.
Yet though Brahmā himself had wrought it,
It shall not save this wretch of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s line
From the flight of my arrows and the harvest of his sins.”
Sañjaya continued:
Having thus spoken, the son of Pāṇḍu drew forth arrows charged with secret mantras, their tips glowing with subtle fire. But even as he drew the string, the son of Droṇa—Aśvatthāman, master of Brahma’s weapons—cut them down with a single missile that nullified all others. Beholding his shafts thus baffled from afar, Arjuna said to Keśava in wonder:
“That weapon may not be used again, O Janārdana,
For it would consume my own men as well as theirs.
Some things, though within one’s grasp, must not be twice invoked.”
Meanwhile, O king, Duryodhana, filled with the pride of his mail, shot nine barbed shafts at once, striking both the Krishnas, each arrow hissing like a serpent of poison. Again he poured a rain of arrows upon them, and thy warriors shouted aloud for joy. The conchs and drums of the Kurus thundered, and the host roared like the sea in tempest.
Then Pārtha, his fury kindled, licked his lips and cast his gaze on his foe. He saw not a span of flesh bare of armour. Then with sharp arrows, keen as Death, he struck down the steeds of Duryodhana’s car, slew his two rear guards, and cut the king’s bow in twain. In a breath he shattered the leathern guard from Duryodhana’s fingers, splintered his chariot into fragments, and pierced both his palms.
“The mailed prince stood carless and bare,
His hands red-blooded from the sting;
Yet still he faced that storm of air—
Proud Duryodhana, fate’s blind king.”
Beholding their lord in distress, the Kaurava warriors rushed as one to his rescue—
thousands of chariots, elephants with towers, steeds and footmen surged around him like waves around a sinking rock. The car of Arjuna vanished within that flood; none could see him or Keśava for the press of men.
Then Pārtha, like Time himself loosing the years, filled the field with death. His arrows cut through elephants, horses, and men, and the earth grew dark with dust and blood.
The Vrishni hero cried aloud:
“Quickly, O Partha! Draw the Gāṇḍīva to its full!
I shall blow the Pāñcajanya that the worlds may tremble.”
At his word, Arjuna bent his bow till it sang, pouring a ceaseless storm of shafts upon the foe. And Keśava, his face powdered with the dust of battle, blew his conch, deep and dreadful as the voice of the ocean.
That sound, mingled with the twang of the Gāṇḍīva, smote the hearts of all thy warriors. The strong and the weak alike fell to the ground, their senses stunned, their spirits broken.
Then, free of the surrounding host, Arjuna’s chariot shone again like a white cloud driven by the wind.
“The ape-bannered car emerged from night,
A comet through a sky of war;
The heavens echoed with its light,
And dread returned to men once more.”
Beholding him thus freed, the protectors of Jayadratha— lords of earth and masters of chariots—rushed forward in wrath. Their arrows whizzed like serpents, their conchs blared like tempests over the sea, and their war-cries filled the sky.
Then Vāsudeva and Dhanañjaya, fearless and godlike, lifted their conchs again, and the sound rolled across earth, mountain, and ocean, reverberating through all worlds and echoing back from both armies.
The Kaurava heroes, beholding those two radiant warriors advance once more,their eyes blazing like twin suns at the world’s end,felt terror clutch their hearts.
Yet they rallied, shouting in defiance,and rushed once more upon the car of the two Krishnas—whose splendour, O king, was a wonder to gods and men alike.”
Sañjaya said:
Then, O king, when those foremost of the Vrishni, Andhaka, and Kuru races — Keśava and Dhanañjaya — appeared on the field like blazing fires arisen together, thy warriors, filled with wrath and the lust of battle, rushed forward from all sides, each striving to be first to strike them down. But Arjuna also, that tiger among men, rushed forth to meet them like a lion springing upon a herd of elephants.
The golden chariots of thy mighty heroes thundered across the earth, each decked with tiger-skins and crowned with blazing banners. On them rode Bhūriśravā, Śala, Karṇa, Vṛṣasena, Jayadratha, Kṛpa, the ruler of Madra, and the fierce son of Droṇa — eight mighty warriors, terrible as the fires of dissolution, illumining the ten quarters with their splendour. Clad in shining mail, their bows gleaming like lightning, they encircled Arjuna on all sides and poured upon him a ceaseless rain of arrows.
Eight fires hemmed him, eight tempests roared,
Their golden bows flashed bright;
Yet calm he stood, that lion-souled,
A mountain crowned with light.
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The steeds that drew their chariots were of noble breed and unmatched in speed — some born in the Sindhu land, some from the river-vales, and some from the high mountains. Rushing and circling, they made the field resound like the ocean lashed by storm.
Then, O monarch, those warriors blew their conchs together — a sound vast and dreadful, shaking the hearts of men and beasts alike. But even as that tumult rose, the two Krishnas answered it. Arjuna blew Devadatta, and Keśava blew Pāñcajanya, their sacred conchs resounding like thunder rolling through the three worlds.
The blast of Devadatta filled the earth and sky; the roar of Pāñcajanya drowned every other sound. The timid were struck with terror; the brave rejoiced. The very air quivered beneath that dreadful harmony.
The earth was smoke, the sky was flame,
The conchs like thunder rolled;
Men’s hearts forgot their very name—
For doom itself took hold.
Drums, cymbals, and mṛdaṅgas beat without ceasing; and kings from distant realms, though shaken by fear, answered that mighty challenge, their own conchs blaring feebly against the storm of sound. But the voice of the two Krishnas, deep and unending, swallowed all lesser clamour, as the ocean swallows the rivers that fall into it.
Thy host, O king, was seized with trembling. Elephants shrieked, steeds neighed wildly, and men, their hearts faltering, looked on one another in dismay. That vast Kaurava army, echoing with its own blare of horns, seemed to totter like the heavens at the end of the age.
Then Duryodhana, with his eight chosen guardians of Jayadratha, closed round Pārtha like mountains hemming in a storm-cloud. Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, loosed seventy-three arrows at Keśava, three broad-headed shafts at Arjuna, and five that struck his white steeds. Beholding Vāsudeva pierced, the wrath of Pārtha blazed forth.
With a hundred arrows he smote Aśvatthāman, with ten he pierced Karṇa, and with three he struck Vṛṣasena. Śalya’s bow he cut in twain, even as it was strung for the shot.
Śalya took up another bow and pierced the son of Pāṇḍu, while Bhūriśravā smote him with three keen arrows, and Karṇa with two and thirty.
Vṛṣasena struck him with seven; Jayadratha with three and seventy; Kṛpa with ten; the ruler of Madra with ten more. Droṇa’s son followed with sixty arrows, and then five that bit the flesh of Pārtha, and twenty that wounded Keśava.
Then Arjuna of the white steeds, his fury mounting like the tide of the sea, shot back with speed surpassing thought. He pierced Karṇa with twelve arrows, Vṛṣasena with three, cut again the bow of Śalya, smote Somadatta’s son with three, Śalya with ten, Kṛpa with five and twenty, the Sindhu king with a hundred, and Droṇa’s son with seventy sharp shafts.
Then Bhūriśravā, burning with rage, cut the goad from Keśava’s hand and wounded Arjuna with three and twenty arrows. But Pārtha, his eyes red with wrath, rose like a tempest tearing through the clouds, and filled the sky with an unbroken storm of shafts.
Clouds of steel and flame he poured,
Till day was drowned in night;
The winds stood still, the heavens roared—
Arjuna burned in light.
Thus surrounded by those eight blazing chariots, each shining like a fire on the altar of war, the son of Pāṇḍu stood alone, his bow a circle of lightning, his wrath a storm that shook the world.
Alone he stood, yet none could near,
His bowstring sang the flame;
The gods looked down from heaven in fear,
And whispered Arjuna’s name.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “Describe to me, O Sañjaya, the diverse standards of those mighty warriors—both of the sons of Pṛthā and of our host—resplendent with beauty and radiance upon that sacred field of Kurukṣetra.”
Sañjaya replied, “Hear, O King, of the banners and standards of those high-souled heroes, each blazing like a sacrificial flame. Upon the chariots of those foremost among men shone emblems wrought of gold or adorned with golden strings, each as bright as Mount Meru when bathed in the dawn. Around every standard hung banners of many hues, moving in the wind like celestial nymphs in joyous dance. Their colours gleamed like rainbows stretched across the sky, and each warrior’s car seemed a moving altar of splendour.”
Like lightning above the darkened field,
Each standard burned through dust revealed;
Gold-woven emblems, high and fair,
Made heaven and earth one vision rare.
On the chariot of Dhanañjaya shone the mighty ape of fierce visage, its golden form with tail uplifted like that of a lion. That emblem, born of the son of Pāvana, seemed to roar across the heavens and fill the Kaurava host with trembling. Beneath it stood Arjuna, wielder of the bow Gandiva, and that ape-banner made the sky itself seem aflame.
The standard of Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, bore a lion-tail bright as the rising sun. Floating in the wind, decked with chains of gold, it gleamed like Indra’s own bow among the clouds, filling the hearts of Kurus with joy.
That of Karna, son of Adhiratha, displayed a golden elephant-rope, vast as the vault of the sky, its glittering strands like serpents of fire. The banner above his car was adorned with wreaths and chains, and when the wind stirred it, it seemed to dance proudly upon the seat of the mighty Sūta’s son.
Kripa, the sage-born preceptor of the Pāṇḍavas, had upon his standard the sign of a bull, symbol of strength and dharma. With that sacred emblem, the son of Gotama shone like Rudra himself accompanied by his celestial bull, Nandi.
Vrishasena, Karna’s valiant son, bore a peacock of gold, jeweled and radiant, standing as if about to cry in triumph. His chariot blazed across the ranks like that of Skanda, the god of war, whose own mount is a peacock.
Śalya of the Madras displayed upon his standard a ploughshare of gold, glowing like fire, emblem of prosperity and toil. Near him, the ruler of the Sindhus—Jayadratha—bore a silver boar bright as crystal, decked with golden chains. It shimmered in the sun like the blazing disk of Sūrya when he fought the Asuras of old.
Somadatta’s son, brave Bhūriśravas, devoted to sacrifice, had for his mark the yūpa, the sacrificial stake made of gold, shining like the sun or moon, recalling the lofty post raised in the Rājasūya yajña.
The Madra king’s standard bore also a silver elephant, huge and bright, surrounded by golden peacocks. It seemed, O King, as if Indra’s own white Airāvata had descended to lead the host of men.
Upon Duryodhana’s chariot rose a tall standard adorned with a gemmed elephant, tinkling with the sound of a hundred bells. With it the Kuru prince shone in splendour, like a storm-cloud crowned with thunder.
Nine such standards stood like blazing pillars among the divisions of thy army, O Bhārata. The tenth, surpassing all, was that of Arjuna—the banner bearing the great ape, Hanumān. With it the son of Kuntī gleamed like the Himalaya crowned with a fire upon its peak.
Then from both hosts rose the clash of arms. Mighty car-warriors seized their bright bows; the heroes of the Kuru line on one side, and Arjuna, that lion among men, on the other. The Pāṇḍava, having Kṛṣṇa as his charioteer, performed feats wondrous to behold. Alone he met all those united kings, his Gandiva stretched like the rainbow of destruction.
Arrows rained from both sides, veiling the sun and darkening the field.
Arjuna’s shafts, swift as wind and countless as storm-drops,
Covered the earth and sky till all the Kaurava warriors vanished from sight;
Yet they too, roaring like lions, showered arrows till even Arjuna was hidden.
Then, O King, when the warriors of thy host beheld the son of Pṛthā thus enveloped by clouds of shafts, a tumult arose—great as the roar of ocean lashed by storm. The field of Kurukṣetra shone with banners and blood, with standards burning like suns amidst the dust of fate.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “After Arjuna had at last beheld the ruler of the Sindhus within his sight, what, O Sañjaya, did the Pāñcālas do, being sorely pressed by the son of Bharadvāja? Tell me how they fared when they encountered the Kurus.”
Sañjaya said, “In the afternoon of that day, O monarch, when the fierce battle raged between the Kurus and the Pāñcālas, Droṇa became the centre round whom all fought as though for the prize of life or death. The Pāñcālas, eager to slay him, filled the heavens with their war cries, shooting countless arrows in glittering showers. That encounter, terrible and wondrous, seemed like the primeval clash between Devas and Asuras in the age of darkness.”
The sky was veiled with shafts of flame,
Earth shook beneath each warrior’s name;
The chariots rolled like thunder loud,
While death looked down from cloud to cloud.
Car-warriors of both sides pressed forward, making the very ground tremble. The Pāñcālas and their allies, finding Droṇa’s chariot within reach, hurled mighty weapons, eager to pierce through his defence. Then Vrihatkṣatra, the Kaikeya prince, whirled forth showers of arrows like Indra’s lightning, and rushed upon the preceptor’s car.
Kshemadhurti, skilled in arms, met him in equal fury, raining shafts in thousands. Seeing the Kaikeya prince thus engaged, Dṛṣṭaketu, the Chedi lord, fierce as Rudra himself, drove against Kshemadhurti like Indra confronting the Asura Śambara. Against him came Viradhanvan, swift and terrible as the god of Death himself.
At the head of his array stood king Yudhiṣṭhira, calm yet resolute, striving for victory, and him Droṇa himself opposed. Vikarna, son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, rushed against Nakula, that graceful and terrible warrior. Durmukha met Sahadeva and rained a storm of shafts upon him. Vyūghradatta resisted the charge of Sātyaki, striking him with sharp arrows till even that lion among men trembled under the blows. Somadatta’s son, heroic Bhūriśravas, opposed the five sons of Draupadī, all fierce and noble, who shot their arrows in wrath like tigers roused from sleep.
Then the fierce Rākṣasa Alamvusha, son of Ṛṣyaśṛṅga, with monstrous form and eyes like burning coals, rushed upon Bhīmasena. Their duel, O King, seemed as the ancient war between Rāma and Rāvaṇa—the clash of man and demon shaking heaven and earth alike.
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, noble son of Dharma, drew his bow and struck Droṇa with ninety straight shafts in all his vital parts. In return, the preceptor, filled with wrath, smote him on the breast with five-and-twenty keen arrows, and again, before the gaze of all, he pierced the king’s steeds, charioteer, and banner with twenty more. But Yudhiṣṭhira, master of calm and quick of hand, shattered Droṇa’s assault with his own streaming flight of shafts.
Enraged, Droṇa cut Yudhiṣṭhira’s bow clean in twain. Then, with unbroken swiftness, he covered the Pandava king with a cloud of arrows till he was hidden from sight. Many thought the son of Dharma slain, others that he had fled the field; and cries arose from the ranks, saying, “Alas! the king is fallen by the hand of the Brahmana!”
Yet Yudhiṣṭhira, unshaken in heart, cast aside the sundered bow and took up another, stronger and bright as the sun. With it he struck down all the shafts Droṇa had loosed in thousands.
Then, wrath blazing in his eyes, Yudhiṣṭhira seized a mighty dart, golden-staffed, wreathed with eight bells, and shining like a serpent freed from its slough. Raising it high, he uttered a roar that echoed like thunder over the field.
That roar shook heaven and hill,
The wind grew cold, the air stood still;
Men and beasts in terror cried,
“Blessed be Droṇa!”—far and wide.
The son of Dharma hurled that gleaming dart, bright as lightning, across the welkin, and it sped toward Droṇa like a fire-tongued serpent seeking its prey. The preceptor, foremost among those skilled in celestial arms, invoked the Brahma weapon, which reduced that mighty dart to dust and turned its flame against Yudhiṣṭhira himself.
But the king, wise and steadfast, met that assault by calling forth the same Brahma weapon, neutralizing the power of his teacher. Then he pierced Droṇa with five straight arrows and, with a razor-edged shaft, cut away his bow.
Casting aside the broken weapon, Droṇa hurled a massive mace that thundered through the sky. Yudhiṣṭhira, aflame with anger, seized his own mace and hurled it in return. Both weapons met in midair; sparks burst like suns colliding, and the two fell shattered to the earth.
Droṇa, his wrath unquenched, slew the four steeds of Yudhiṣṭhira with shafts keen as death, cut off his bow again, and smote down his standard. Wounded in body and bereft of car, Yudhiṣṭhira leapt down, standing unarmed with hands upraised, like a sage who has cast away violence.
Beholding him thus, weaponless, the armies on both sides grew silent, struck with awe. Droṇa, loyal to his vow and terrible in his craft, rushed forward showering arrows as a lion springs upon a stag. Then from the Pāṇḍava host arose cries of despair—
“The king is slain! the son of Dharma falls!”
Echoed through heaven and battle’s walls.
Fear seized the ranks; their hearts grew pale,
As tempest thundered through the vale.
But Yudhiṣṭhira, rescued by Sahadeva, mounted the latter’s chariot, and swiftly the steeds bore him away from the fury of Bharadvāja’s son. Thus, O King, the just ruler withdrew from that flaming field, while Arjuna yet pressed on, seeking Jayadratha amid the darkened host of the Kurus.