novelraw Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 7 - Alamvusha’s Fall
Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 7 - Alamvusha’s Fall
Sañjaya said:
“Then Kshemadhurti, O monarch, pierced the advancing Vṛhatkṣatra of the Kaikeyas, that prince of mighty valor, with many arrows in the breast. The Kaikeya, intent on breaking through Droṇa’s array, answered with ninety sharp shafts that struck like the fall of thunderbolts. But Kshemadhurti, filled with wrath, with one keen, broad-headed arrow cut off the bow of that heroic prince, and with another shaft wounded him full in the chest.
Unshaken, Vṛhatkṣatra took up another bow, smiling as he did so, and struck down the steeds and charioteer of Kshemadhurti with well-aimed arrows. Then with a broad-headed shaft, bright and keen, he lopped from the trunk the head of his royal foe. That head, adorned with locks and a jewelled diadem, rolled down upon the earth, blazing like a fallen star. Having slain his enemy, the Kaikeya prince roared aloud and fell upon thy troops for the sake of the sons of Pāṇḍu.”
Beneath the sun the banners burned,
The wind of fate through chariots turned;
A prince’s head, like fire’s own crest,
Fell shining down on earth’s red breast.
“Then the mighty bowman Virādhanvan, possessed of great prowess, rushed against Dṛṣṭaketu, lord of the Cedis. Those two, fierce as serpents and armed with shafts that hissed like their fangs, fought a furious duel, striking each other by thousands. Their combat resembled two forest-elephants locking tusks in a storm of rage. Even the Siddhas and Cāraṇas, gathered above, gazed in wonder upon their strife.
Then Virādhanvan, laughing aloud, severed Dṛṣṭaketu’s bow with sharp, broad-headed shafts. But the Cedi king, fearless and fierce, seized a heavy dart of iron, inlaid with gold, and hurled it with both hands. That weapon, flaming through the air like lightning cleaving a dark cloud, struck Virādhanvan full in the heart and felled him from his chariot to the ground. When that Trigarta prince fell, the troops of thy son were broken and fled before the Pandava host.”
He fell like a storm-torn tree in flame,
And fear through the Trigarta army came;
The dust of war, with sorrow spread,
Wrapped all the field where heroes bled.
“Then Durmukha, thy son, roared aloud, sending sixty shafts at Sahadeva and challenging him to combat. The son of Mādrī, calm yet wrathful, smiling as brothers might in contest, pierced Durmukha in return with many keen arrows. Seeing him rage, Sahadeva struck again with nine straight shafts, cutting down Durmukha’s standard, slaying his four steeds, and then, with one broad-headed arrow, beheaded his charioteer whose golden earrings flashed as he fell.
Cutting Durmukha’s bow with a razor-edged shaft, the son of Mādrī wounded him with five more arrows. Durmukha, leaping from his shattered car, mounted that of Niramitra, the Trigarta prince. But Sahadeva, enraged, sent a sharp, broad-headed shaft that struck Niramitra full in the chest and slew him outright. The Trigarta fell from his car, his armour gleaming as he died, and the cry of ‘Alas! Alas!’ rose among the host. Then Sahadeva stood like Rāma of old after slaying Khara, radiant amid the rout.”
The son of Mādrī shone in might,
His bow a serpent coiled in light;
The Trigartas wailed, their courage fled,
And fear walked softly where he tread.
“Meanwhile, Nakula, O king, in but a moment vanquished thy son Vikarna, who had eyes large and fierce. It was a deed wondrous to behold, for Vikarna, brave among the Kurus, fell beneath the younger twin’s might.
Vyāghradatta, hurling arrows thick as rain, made Sātyaki invisible—his steeds, charioteer, and standard veiled in a torrent of shafts. But the grandson of Sini, deft of hand and quick as lightning, shattered that storm of arrows and slew Vyāghradatta with a fatal flight that struck down his car, horses, and driver.
When that Magadha prince fell, his warriors gathered and rushed upon Sātyaki from all sides, casting lances, spears, clubs, and maces. The air grew dark with their weapons, but Sātyaki, lion-hearted and unwearied, laughed amid the storm. Moving like Garuḍa among serpents, he slew them in scores, scattering the Magadha ranks till only a few remained.
Then the whole Kaurava army, shaken and fearful, turned back from the Satwata’s bow. That foremost of the race of Madhu stood radiant, his bow quivering like lightning after a storm. And when Drona, beholding his troops broken and his warriors slain, burned with wrath, he rolled his eyes like a lion and rushed toward Sātyaki, invincible in battle.”
Across the field the thunder ran,
The sage of war became a man;
And Sātyaki, with fearless grace,
Awaited Drona face to face.
Sañjaya said:
“The illustrious son of Somadatta, that great bowman Bhūriśravas, pierced each of the sons of Draupadī with five keen arrows, and then once again with seven. Sorely wounded by that fierce warrior, they were for a moment confounded, unable to act. Then Sātānīka, son of Nakula, filled with wrath, struck the son of Somadatta with two sharp shafts and uttered a cry of joy that echoed over the field.
His brothers too, valiant and swift, closed round their foe, shooting three straight arrows each. Then the mighty Bhūriśravas, unmoved as a mountain, pierced each of them again with five well-aimed shafts. Encompassed thus, the sons of Draupadī assailed him fiercely from every side, their arrows darkening the sky.
Then Abhimanyu, son of Arjuna, wrathful as a serpent struck, smote Bhūriśravas’s four steeds and sent them to Yama’s realm. Sutasoma, son of Bhīma, severed the preceptor’s bow, crying aloud in triumph as the string snapped. Śrutakarma, the son of Yudhiṣṭhira, shot down his standard that fluttered like a white cloud in the wind, while Śatānīka, again, struck down his charioteer.
Then Śrutakīrti, son of Sahadeva, seeing the foe reeling and alone, loosed a razor-edged shaft that shore away Bhūriśravas’s head. It fell, adorned with golden earrings, shining like the sun descending at the end of the Yuga. Beholding that head roll upon the earth, thy troops, O King, seized with terror, broke and fled in all directions.”
The golden helm rolled down in flame,
The Kuru host cried out his name;
And like a setting sun he lay,
Whose light had fled, whose life’s decay.
“Then the Rākṣasa Alamvusha, son of Ṛṣyaśṛṅga, filled with fury, fought with Bhīmasena, even as Indrajit of old with Lakṣmaṇa. Beholding man and demon joined in combat, the watchers of heaven gazed in awe and dread.
Then Bhīma, laughing aloud, pierced that monstrous prince with nine keen shafts, each blazing like fire. The Rākṣasa, roaring terribly, rushed upon him with his followers, piercing Bhīma with five straight arrows and striking down thirty of the cars that surrounded him. Again he shattered four hundred chariots of Bhīma’s array and struck the mighty son of the Wind in the breast with arrows like flames.
Bhīma sank upon the terrace of his car, stunned and bleeding; yet recovering swiftly, his eyes blazed like copper in wrath. Seizing his mighty bow, he sent forth a thousand shafts, striking Alamvusha in every limb till that dark-skinned demon shone red as a flowering kiṃśuka tree.
Then Alamvusha, recalling his brother Vaka, slain by Bhīma in days gone by, cried aloud—
“Wait, O Pārtha! Behold today my power!
The Rākṣasa Vaka was my brother—
Slain by thee while I was far away.
Now shall I requite that deed!”
Thus speaking, the Rākṣasa vanished from sight, enveloped in illusion, and from the invisible welkin showered arrows thick as rain. Bhīma, unable to see his foe, sent shafts upward that covered heaven and earth in a storm of steel. Then the Rākṣasa reappeared upon his car, plunged into the ground, rose again into the air, changing form unceasingly—now vast as a hill, now subtle as smoke, roaring like the clouds of dissolution.
From sky to earth his weapons came,
Spears and clubs and darts of flame;
Blades and maces whirled in flight,
Filling day with ghastly night.
A dreadful rain of arrows and weapons fell from the sky. Thousands of Pandava soldiers perished—elephants and steeds were hewn down, warriors crushed beneath shattered cars. A river of blood flowed across the field, its eddies made of wheels and shields, its mire of flesh and bone, its alligators the elephants of war, its serpents the severed arms of men. The Rakṣasas drank its flood, and the air was filled with their cries. The flood bore away the Cedis, the Pañcālas, and the Śṛñjayas alike.
Beholding Alamvusha thus triumphant, the hearts of thy troops leapt with joy, while the sons of Pāṇḍu grew anxious. The Kaurava host sounded conches and drums; the sky rang with the clash of cymbals and trumpets.
But Bhīma could not bear that sound—
As a cobra cannot brook the drum.
His breath was fire, his glance was flame;
The wrath of Vāyu burned his frame.
Then the son of the Wind-god invoked the Tvashṭṛ weapon. From that mystic missile sprang countless arrows, flashing like stars, destroying the Rākṣasa’s illusion. Struck in every part of his monstrous body, Alamvusha shrieked in agony and fled—his power broken, his magic dispelled—toward the division of Droṇa.
Then the Pandava host roared in triumph, praising the mighty Bhīma, the son of Marut, even as the Maruts worship Indra after he has struck down Prahlāda. The earth shook with their shouts; heaven echoed with the cry—‘Victory to Bhīmasena!’”
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Sañjaya said:
“Having fled from the wrath of Bhīmasena, the Rākṣasa Alamvusha coursed fearlessly once more through another part of the field, roaring in pride like a storm-cloud freed from restraint. But there he was met by Ghaṭotkaca, the son of Bhīma and Hidimbā, who rushed upon him with the fury of the tempest and pierced him with keen shafts that blazed like tongues of fire.
Then began a dreadful battle, O King, between those two lions among Rākṣasas—terrible, swift, and vast as the conflict of Śakra and Śambara in ages past. Both, inflamed with rage, invoked their illusions upon the field; and the earth trembled beneath their roars.”
Two demons met where thunder rolled,
Their forms were flame, their eyes were gold;
Illusion crossed illusion’s fire—
And smoke rose high from battle’s pyre.
“Alamvusha, his heart aflame, struck at Ghaṭotkaca’s chest with twenty long shafts, while the mighty son of Hidimbā roared like a lion shaking the forest. Alamvusha, laughing, returned the blows, and their roars together filled heaven and earth.
Then began a contest of sorcery—each creating a hundred illusions to bewilder the other. Mountains rose and vanished; rivers of fire flowed across the sky; serpents of flame coiled round phantom elephants. Yet neither could prevail. Every illusion that Ghaṭotkaca wrought, Alamvusha dispelled by his own, and every trick of Alamvusha’s craft was broken in turn by Ghaṭotkaca’s might.
Seeing that prince of Rākṣasas so powerful in illusion, the Pāṇḍavas grew anxious, and surrounding him on every side, they poured showers of arrows upon him like men encircling an elephant with torches in the dark forest. But Alamvusha baffled that storm of shafts by his mystic power and freed himself, even as a tusker breaks forth from fire.
Drawing his tremendous bow, whose twang sounded like Indra’s thunder, he pierced Bhīmasena with five-and-twenty shafts, Ghaṭotkaca with five, Yudhiṣṭhira with three, Sahadeva with seven, Nakula with three and seventy, and each of the sons of Draupadī with five arrows, and then he roared aloud, his voice shaking the firmament.
Bhīma struck him in turn with nine arrows; Sahadeva followed with five; Yudhiṣṭhira smote him with a hundred shafts; Nakula with three; and Ghaṭotkaca, his eyes blazing red, with five hundred arrows that fell upon Alamvusha like the ceaseless rain of a monsoon cloud.
Enraged, Alamvusha shot seventy golden-winged arrows that entered Ghaṭotkaca’s body like venomous serpents biting into a mountain. Yet the son of Hidimbā stood unshaken and roared, his voice like the crash of worlds at dissolution. The earth trembled with its mountains and forests, the rivers quivered in their beds, and even the gods paused in wonder.”
The clouds replied to Rakṣasa cries,
The earth beneath in fear did rise;
And mountain roots and rivers swayed,
As if the world itself dismayed.
“Then Alamvusha, pierced by the combined arrows of the Pāṇḍavas and by the shafts of Ghaṭotkaca, grew desperate. Mortal though he was, his mind was confounded. Seeing him thus bewildered, Ghaṭotkaca resolved to end him. Inflamed with wrath, he leapt from his own chariot to that of Alamvusha, which glimmered dark and broken like a burned mountain peak.
Seizing the Rākṣasa in his arms, Ghaṭotkaca lifted him high as Garuḍa lifts a serpent from the earth. Whirling him round with the strength of a tempest, he dashed him down, crushing his body upon the ground as a man smashes a clay pot against stone.
The bones of Alamvusha were ground to dust; his limbs shattered like branches of a storm-broken tree. That fearful night-wanderer, slain by the mighty son of Bhīma, lay upon the field like a giant śāla uprooted by the wind.
Upon the fall of that dark prince, the Pāṇḍavas exulted, roaring like lions on the mountains. They waved their garments, sounded conches, and beat their drums in triumph. But thy warriors, O King, beheld the fallen Rākṣasa lying black and crushed upon the ground like a burnt heap of charcoal, and they cried aloud in grief, ‘Alas! Alamvusha is slain!’
Then men and soldiers gathered round, gazing in awe at the shattered form that had once darkened the sky. And Ghaṭotkaca, towering above them, raised his great voice in a shout that shook the firmament, even as Indra roared after slaying the Asura Vala.
Thus was Alamvusha slain by the son of Hidimbā—
A deed praised by gods and men alike.
The Pāṇḍava host rang with conches and cries of joy,
While the Kauravas answered with thunderous shouts,
And the echoes of both hosts rolled across the earth like the sound of doom.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “Tell me, O Sañjaya, how Yuyudhāna rushed against the son of Bharadvāja in battle. My heart burns to hear it.”
Sañjaya said, “Hear then, O King, of that encounter whose memory makes the hair stand on end—the clash between Droṇa and the Pāṇḍava hosts led by Yuyudhāna. Beholding his army cut down by Sātyaki’s hand, Droṇa himself drove upon that undefeated hero. Yuyudhāna struck the preceptor first with five-and-twenty keen shafts; Droṇa, firm of aim, answered with five arrows feathered with gold that drank the warrior’s blood and vanished into the earth like hissing serpents.
Inflamed like an elephant stung by the hook, Sātyaki smote Droṇa with fifty long shafts that burned like tongues of flame. The son of Bharadvāja, unshaken, covered Sātyaki in turn with a storm of arrows, swift, straight, and many. Then the Satvata lion, pressed sore, wavered for a moment, while thy sons, O King, lifted their voices in roaring delight.”
Steel sang against the sky in flight,
The sun was veiled by shafts of light;
A teacher’s bow, a lion’s glare—
And courage choked the trembling air.
“Beholding Sātyaki so beset, Yudhiṣṭhira spoke amid the din: ‘That foremost of the Vṛṣṇis is being swallowed by Droṇa even as the sun by Rāhu. Hasten!—all of you—to where Sātyaki stands.’ He called to Dhṛṣṭadyumna: ‘Why tarriest thou, O son of Pṛṣata? Seest thou not how peril mounts from Droṇa’s hand? He toys with Yuyudhāna as a child with a bird bound by a string. Go you all—led by Bhīmasena. I will follow with my ranks. Rescue Sātyaki, already in the jaws of Death!’
Then, O Bhārata, the Pāṇḍavas and Śṛñjayas, for Sātyaki’s sake, rushed together at Droṇa and covered him with a ceaseless rain of barbed and peacock-feathered shafts. The preceptor received them smilingly, like a householder welcoming guests with seat and water. His arrows sped like the sun’s own rays at midday; no eye could rest upon him, blazing as he did in wrath. He scorched the great bowmen as the summer orb scorches all below. The Panchālas, Śṛñjayas, Matsyas, and Kekayas fell by hundreds and thousands; five-and-twenty Panchāla maharathas approved by Dhṛṣṭadyumna he struck down in swift succession. Their cries were like the wails of forest creatures ringed by fire. ‘Behold,’ said gods and Gandharvas, ‘how the Somakas and Pāṇḍavas flee!’ None dared advance; none could pierce the circle of his wrath.
Amid this slaughter the son of Kuntī heard the deep-throated voice of Pāñcajanya sounding from Vāsudeva’s lips, and though the Kauravas roared before the chariot of Pārtha, the twang of that famed bow was not heard. Yudhiṣṭhira swooned again and again, thinking, ‘Surely something has befallen Dhanañjaya—else why this conch’s cry and these triumphant shouts?’ Mastering his grief, he turned to Sātyaki with words that trembled yet were clear.”
O bull of the Sinis, the hour has come—
The ancient dharma friends owe friends.
Among our well-wishers none stands
Truer than thou in deed and end.
As Keśava is our refuge sure,
So art thou—matchless, resolute.
Go, aid thy friend, thy lord, thy guide;
Let loyal vows bear fearless fruit.
To fall for friends in battle’s blaze
Surpasses gifts of earth and gold;
Win now that heaven-honoured praise—
A lion’s death, a hero’s hold.
Arjuna praised thy peerless art—
Thy swiftness, strength, unfailing hand:
“In every weapon skilled in heart;
In war’s full science firm you stand.”
“In Dvaita’s woods he lauded thee: ‘Yuyudhāna is light of hand, wise in all modes of fight, tireless in onset, my disciple and my friend; dear am I to him and he to me. Though Keśava and Rāma, and Aniruddha, Pradyumna, Gada, Śaraṇa, and Sāmba should all gird on mail for our aid, I would still appoint Sātyaki foremost—for none is his equal.’
Therefore, O Satvata, falsify not that trust of Pārtha and of us. Thou art truth-fast, fear-quelling, renowned. Go in his track. Such as thou should follow such as he when urged by such as I. Among the Vṛṣṇis two are named atirathas—Pradyumna and thyself. In weapons thou art as Nārāyaṇa; in strength as Saṅkarṣaṇa; in valour as Dhanañjaya; thou surpassest Bhīṣma and Droṇa in the daring of thy heart. We Sinis do not hide behind walls; the Dāśārhas guard not life at the cost of honour.
Behold the ocean-like Kuru host heaving at full tide beneath a tempest; see dust rising from a thousand wheels; hear the drums, the conches, the leonine shouts; the grunt of elephants, the tramp of foot, the thunder of coursing horse. In front stands Jayadratha’s division; behind him Droṇa’s. Pārtha is ringed by Sindhu-Sauvīras with pikes and lances—till they are broken, Jayadratha cannot fall. The day hastens to its end; Vibhatsu plunged alone into the fathomless sea at sunrise—does he yet live? My judgment falters under many burdens; still this is foremost—aid Arjuna.
Go, O Yuyudhāna! Pierce the ranks of the wicked son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra; meet their greatest car-warriors; display deeds worthy of thy lineage, thy prowess, thy truth. Bhīma and I with all our strength will hold Droṇa from thy back. Speed like a comet to the chariot of Pārtha; let the Kuru host learn again the name of Sātyaki.”
Thus spoke the son of Dharma, his palms joined, his voice both command and prayer. And Sātyaki, hearing the praise once sung by Arjuna and the charge now laid by the king, tightened his bowstring and made ready to depart.
He bowed to dharma’s sovereign call,
He smiled at danger’s iron gate;
For friends, for vow, for honour’s all,
He sprang—swift messenger of Fate.
Sañjaya said, “Then that bull among the Sini clan—Sātyaki, Yuyudhāna—hearing the king’s words, full of affection and justice, timely, sweet, and noble, bowed and replied.”
Sātyaki said, “O king of unfading glory, I have heard thy command—righteous, delightful, and famed for Pārtha’s sake. In such an hour it is meet that one devoted to thee should be charged as thou wouldst charge Arjuna himself. For Dhanañjaya’s sake I am ready to cast away my life; and, being commanded by thee, what deed would I not attempt in battle? Speak of the weak Dhṛtarāṣṭra host no more—urged by thee, I would face the three worlds with gods and Asuras and men. Today I shall break the army of Suyodhana and prevail. Truly I declare: I shall reach Dhanañjaya in safety, and, when Jayadratha is slain, I shall return to thee.
Yet hear, O lord, the charge once laid on me by Vāsudeva and by Arjuna. In the midst of all our warriors, in Keśava’s hearing, Pārtha said: ‘O Mādhava, guard the king well today until I slay Jayadratha! If I commit Yudhiṣṭhira to thy care—or to Pradyumna’s—I can go against the Sindhu lord with an easy heart. Thou knowest Droṇa, foremost of Kurus in the science of arms, and his vow declared before all. He ever seeks to seize the king; he is able to afflict him sore. Therefore, accepting Yudhiṣṭhira as a sacred trust, I speed today to smite the Sindhu-ruler. When he is fallen, I shall return, O Mādhava. See that Droṇa seize not the king; if he be taken, my vow will fail, and grief will burn me. If truth’s own son be seized, we must again taste the exile of the woods; what gain then in felling Jayadratha?’
Thus, O King, Savyasācin made thee over to me, fearing ever the prowess of Bharadvāja’s son. I tell thee truly: among men only Pradyumna matches Droṇa; I too am named his equal, and must not stain that name or disobey my preceptor, or abandon thee. If the preceptor, light of hand and clad in mail, gain thee in battle, he will sport with thee as a child with a bird held by a string. Had Rukmiṇī’s son, the banner-marked with Makara, stood here, I would have committed thee to him; he would have guarded thee as Arjuna himself.
Guard thyself, therefore, O King. When I depart, who will stand against Droṇa while I hasten toward Arjuna? Yet have no fear for Pārtha. He faints not beneath any burden. The Sauvīras and Sindhu-Pauravas, those from north and south, and even Karṇa with his foremost lords, are not a sixteenth part of Arjuna’s measure. Yea, if earth rose against him with gods and Asuras and men and Rākṣasas and Kinnaras and nāgas—with all that moves and is still—she would not match him in battle. Where the two Krishnas stand together, nothing can thwart their purpose. Think of thy brother’s might—his weapons, wrath, and gratitude; think too of Droṇa’s deep knowledge of arms that he will display when I set forth. He longs to seize thee and to fulfil his vow. Be vigilant, O King. I will not go unless I entrust thee; command me, weighing all with thy wise judgment.”
Like thunder pledged to cleave the cloud,
He swore where battle’s dust was loud;
For friend and vow, for righteous fame,
He staked his life, his house, his name.
Sañjaya said, “Hearing him, Yudhiṣṭhira answered gravely.”
Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Even so, O mighty-armed, as thou hast spoken; yet my heart is not at rest for Arjuna. I shall be most careful of my own defence. Commanded by me, go where Dhanañjaya has gone. Weighing my safety against thy going to him, the latter seems higher. Make ready, then, to follow Pārtha’s path. Bhīma will guard me; Dhṛṣṭadyumna with his brothers and many kings, the sons of Draupadī, the five Kekayas, Ghaṭotkaca, Virāṭa, Drupada, Śikhaṇḍin, Dhṛṣṭaketu, Kuntibhoja, and my brothers Nakula and Sahadeva, the Pañcālas and the Śṛñjayas—all will shield me well. Droṇa at the head of his troops, and Kṛtavarman also, shall not break us or afflict me. Dhṛṣṭadyumna, raging like the sea but fixed as the continent, will restrain Droṇa. He sprang from the sacrificial fire for Droṇa’s end, mailed and armed and bright with jewels. Go, O grandson of Sini, with an easy heart; be not anxious for me. In the place where Pṛṣata’s son stands, Droṇa shall not pass our lines.”
Where fire-born vow and dharma meet,
The ocean’s surge forgets to beat;
For fate has forged a living wall—
To hold the tide, to break its fall.
Sañjaya said, “Thus charged and consoled, the lion of the Satvatas bent his bow and made ready to cleave the Kuru sea, to find Arjuna ere the sun should sink, while the sons of Pṛthā arrayed themselves to face the storm of Droṇa.”