Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 8 - Yudhiṣṭhira’s Orders to Satyaki

Sañjaya said, “Hearing the son of Dharma’s command, that bull among the Sinis weighed two fears in a single breath: the censure of Arjuna if he left the king, and the world’s charge of cowardice if he disobeyed Yudhiṣṭhira. ‘Let no one say I quailed from following Pārtha,’ he thought, and, resolving swiftly, spoke to the king.”

Sātyaki said, “If these arrangements suffice for thy protection, O monarch, I shall obey and follow Vibhatsu. None in the three worlds is dearer to me than Phālguna. At thy word I will do all things: I will cleave Droṇa’s host like a fish the sea, and reach Jayadratha where he stands ringed by Droṇa’s son, by Karṇa, and by Kṛpa. Though Pārtha be three yojanas distant, I shall find his track and tarry with him till the Sindhu-ruler falls. Yet hear also Keśava’s charge and Arjuna’s words spoken before all: ‘Guard the king, O Mādhava, till I fell Jayadratha, for Bharadvāja’s son is sworn to seize him.’ Therefore am I entrusted with thee—yet I too am named a match for Droṇa, and must not stain that name nor neglect my preceptor’s will nor leave thee unwarded. Were Rukmiṇī’s son here, bannered with the Makara, I would give thee into his hands; lacking him, guard thyself with care when I depart, for who will face Droṇa in my stead? Still, fear not for Arjuna. The earth with gods and Asuras together could not curb him; where the two Kṛṣṇas stand, no purpose fails.”

O king, command sits crowned on thee,

On me, its garlanded decree;

For friend and vow, for dharma’s fame,

I stake my breath, my blood, my name.

He pointed then across the heaving plain. “Look, O Bhārata, upon the ocean of men and iron—ploughshares, darts, maces, shields, scimitars, swords, and the keenest shafts. I shall stir this sea today. Behold that thousand-elephant corps of the Āñjana breed, ridden by Mlecchas fierce in smiting—beasts that shed ichor like rain-filled clouds and do not turn unless felled. There too the Rukmarathas—thousands of royal maharathas—masters of car and elephant, of fist and mace, of close fight with sword and shield, eager with rival pride: devoted to Duḥśāsana, commanded by Karṇa, lauded even by Vāsudeva. Returning unworn from pursuing Arjuna, they wait for me in mail and with strong bows. I shall break them for thy good and then take Pārtha’s path.

Look also on seven hundred elephants armoured and adorned, ridden by Kirātas sprung of Agni’s race—once given to Pārtha by the Kirāta king, now turned by Time against us. I shall lay them low and hasten after Arjuna. Those other vast elephants, northern-bred, bright in golden mail, with ichor dripping and riders steel-clad—robbers and hybrids of strange birth—stand with the smoky-hued Mleccha division out of Himavat’s fastnesses. With them are countless Kṣatriyas, and Kṛpa, and Droṇa, and Jayadratha, and Karṇa; trusting to such aid, Duryodhana deems himself crowned. Fate drives him; my arrows will reach them though they fled with the mind’s own speed.

And mark the Kāmbojas with golden standards—a full akṣauhiṇī, united, wrathful, skilled in every arm, watching for me beneath Kuru shields. I will burn them as fire a heap of straw. Therefore let my car be furnished beyond the rule—quivers and every engine of war fivefold, for I must meet Kāmbojas like serpent-poison, Kirātas well-weaponed and well-favoured by Duryodhana, and the Śakas fierce as Indra’s fire. Let the best steeds be yoked, their thirst slaked, their coats groomed, auspicious marks upon their limbs.”

So addressed, Yudhiṣṭhira ordered quivers filled and diverse weapons stowed. Sātyaki’s four Sindhu steeds were watered, walked, bathed, and fed; re-yoked in golden trappings, docile and swift as wind, they stamped and neighed. A high standard was set upon the car—a lion brandishing golden maces—ringed with cloud-white banners rimmed in gold. Then the younger brother of Dāruka, dear friend and charioteer of Sātyaki, announced all was ready, as Mātali would to Vāsava.

Sātyaki bathed, purified himself, and bestowed golden niṣkas upon a thousand snātaka Brāhmaṇas, who blessed him. Fair maidens cast fried grain and flowers and perfumes; the rites of propitiation were performed by the twice-born. Having tasted kairāta honey, his eyes shone red, his splendour doubled like a blazing fire seen through dawn. Bow and arrows upon his shoulder, mail and ornaments upon his frame, he bowed to Yudhiṣṭhira; the king smelled his head. Then he mounted the foremost of cars, and the Sindhu steeds, invincible and exultant, bore him forth.

Trumpets kissed the trembling sky,

White banners learned the wind to fly;

A lion roared from gilded crest—

The Sinis’ vow burned in his breast.

Bhīmasena too, honoured by the king, saluted and set out beside Sātyaki. Seeing those two breakers of ranks ready to pierce thy host, O King, thy troops halted in fear with Droṇa at their head. Sātyaki, beholding Bhīma mailed and following, saluted him and spoke with joy: “O Bhīma, guard the king; this is thy highest task. I will pierce this host whose hour has come. Whether now or later, the king’s protection is thine. Thou knowest my power and desire my good—return, O son of Prithā.”

Bhīma answered, “Go then, and prosper in thy aim. I will protect the king.” Sātyaki said, “Go back, O Bhīma; my success is certain, for won by my merit thou art obedient to my wish. The omens smile; victory is assured. When the sinful Sindhu-lord is slain by the high-souled son of Pāṇḍu, I shall embrace the righteous king.” Embracing Bhīma, the Madhu hero cast his tiger-glance upon thy army; thy ranks trembled anew.

Then, at the command of Yudhiṣṭhira and eager to behold Arjuna, Sātyaki dashed upon thy forces, O King—like a comet flung across a midnight sea, seeking the horizon where the archer’s vow and the sun’s last rim would meet.

Sañjaya said, “When Yuyudhāna, eager for combat, sped against thy ranks, king Yudhiṣṭhira followed with his divisions, aiming to fix upon Droṇa’s car. Then Dhṛṣṭadyumna, fire-born slayer of foes, and king Vasudāna cried out with the Pāṇḍava host, ‘Strike! press forward! Clear the path so Sātyaki may pass the Kaurava sea!’ With that vow, the great car-warriors fell upon thy lines, proclaiming, ‘We will crush all who stand to crush Sātyaki.’

Around the Sinis’ lion a tumult rose; thy son’s battalions, darkened by Sātyaki’s shafts, gave way. The hero of the Sātvatas shattered the front—seven foremost bowmen he felled in one rush, and many other kings he sent to Yama with arrows that burned like fire. At times a single shaft pierced a hundred; at times a hundred shafts consumed a single foe. Like Rudra in his wrath, he smote elephant-riders and car-warriors with steeds and charioteers. None among thy troops dared advance upon him, so swift his hand, so thick his storm of arrows. Panic-stricken, they fled from the proud hero whose arms seemed everywhere at once; alone, he looked manifold to blinded eyes.

Standards snapped and umbrellas fell,

The wheels lay cracked like broken shell;

Moon-bright faces stilled in gore—

The earth wore war’s grim jewels once more.

The field shone terrible—cars splintered, nīḍas crushed, wheels overturned; head-gears gilt with gold, armlets bright upon severed arms anointed with sandal; thighs like elephant-trunks or tapering serpents; moon-like faces with great eyes and jewelled earrings strewn like stars on bloodied ground. Huge elephants, sundered in many ways, lay like black hills on a plain; steeds, fair of form, dead in gold-traced yokes and pearl-strung harness, beautified the carnage even in their fall. Thus harrowing thy host, the Sātvata pierced deeper, seeking the very track that Dhanañjaya had cut.

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There Droṇa barred his way. Yuyudhāna, meeting Bharadvāja’s son, surged like a flood striking an embankment. The preceptor checked him and pierced him with five keen shafts that drank his life-blood and sank to earth. Sātyaki answered with seven stone-whetted arrows, feathered with peacock and kanka, and Droṇa in turn smote his horses and driver with six. The Sinis’ hero roared and struck the Brahmana with ten, then six, then eight; again ten for the master, one for his charioteer, four for his steeds, and a razor-head that clipped his standard. Droṇa veiled Sātyaki—car, steeds, driver, banner—beneath a cloud of arrows like locusts; Yuyudhāna, unafraid, returned the sky with shafts of equal number and speed.

Then Droṇa cried, “Thy preceptor skulked away, avoiding me by the flank. If thou, O Madhu’s scion, avoid me not like him, thou shalt not escape with life today!”

Sātyaki replied, “By Yudhiṣṭhira’s charge I follow Dhanañjaya. Blessed Brahmana, to fight thee now were but to waste the sun. A disciple treads his master’s path; I go where my preceptor went.”

Saying thus, the grandson of Sini slipped past the teacher and urged his charioteer: “Droṇa will by all means seek to halt us. Drive heedfully, O Sūta—mark my words. There gleam the Avanti host; next the Southerners; beyond them the Vāhlīkas; beside them stands Karṇa’s vast array. Each wing distinct, yet leaning each on each. Seek the opening between their lines and bear me swiftly where Vāhlīka spears are lifted and the countless Southerners crowd beneath the Sūta’s son, a bristling rampart of elephants, steeds, cars, and foot.”

Avoiding the Brahmana, he cut for the gap and sped toward Karṇa’s fierce division. Droṇa, wrathful, chased from behind, showering countless shafts; but Yuyudhāna would not turn. Smite by smite he beat upon Karṇa’s host and drove into the immeasurable Bhārata sea. Where he entered, the ranks broke and fled—till Kṛtavarman, the Hṛdika prince, rose up to bar him. Sātyaki struck the Bhoja chief with six arrows, then slew his four steeds with four; again he smote him twice—first four keen shafts to the breast, then sixteen straight and swift. Stung, Kṛtavarman aimed a calf-toothed arrow, snake-swift and venom-keen; it pierced Sātyaki’s mail and flesh and vanished crimson into the ground. Then, raging, the Bhoja clipped Sātyaki’s bow and scored his chest with ten sharp points.

The Sinis’ bull hurled a dart at Kṛtavarman’s right arm, seized a tougher bow, and poured a storm by hundreds and thousands, shrouding car and lord and standard. He lopped the charioteer’s head with a broad-head; the driver fell, the steeds bolted. The Bhoja, mastering his team with his own hands, stood fearless upon his car to cheers from his men; then, gathering himself, he wheeled away and rushed upon Bhīmasena, abandoning pursuit.

Arrows hissed like winter rain,

The Bhoja’s wrath, the Sātvata’s bane;

Yet Fate unreeled another thread—

For Bhīma’s path drew Kṛtavarman’s tread.

Issuing from the Bhoja wing, Sātyaki raced upon the Kāmboja division, but there a phalanx of fierce car-warriors halted him; the path would not yield. Meanwhile Droṇa, setting his troops in order and entrusting their ward to the Bhoja ruler, fixed his will upon Yuyudhāna and came on fast. The foremost Pāṇḍava heroes, seeing the preceptor pressing Sātyaki’s back, moved to check him with cheerful hearts; yet the Pañchālas under Bhīmasena grew grave upon meeting the Hṛdika’s son. Kṛtavarman, fearless, weakened steed and beast with scything flights; still the Pāṇḍava captains, though sore afflicted by the Bhoja’s rain, chose to stand and win renown by breaking the Bhoja host itself.

Between two storms the Sātvata strode—

The teacher’s wrath, the Kāmboja road;

His vow the compass, sunset nigh,

He split the ranks and dared the sky.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “Our army, O Sañjaya, is no way inferior. It is ordered by the science of war, vast in number, tried in prowess, and fair to behold. Its soldiers are neither too old nor too young, neither lean nor heavy; they are hardy, healthy, trained in every drill—mounting and leaping from elephants, advancing, withdrawing, smiting, wheeling, and reforming ranks. Oft have they been tested with elephant and steed and car; chosen not for lineage or favour but for skill and duly paid. They are content, honoured, intelligent, guarded by our best counsellors and many righteous kings who have joined us of their own will. Truly, our host is like the ocean fed by rivers from every side, bright with cars and steeds that, though wingless, seem to fly, and with elephants whose temples stream like rainy clouds.

What then but Destiny could slay such an army? In that ocean, men are the waters without end, steeds the waves that break; swords, maces, darts, and lances are the oars that churn; pearls and gems on brows are its lotuses; rushing herds are the storm-winds that lash it. Droṇa is its caverned depth, Kṛtavarman its whirlpool, Jalasaṃdha its great alligator, and Karṇa—O grief!—the moon whose rise swells it with pride. Yet when that bull of the Pāṇḍavas, alone upon a single car, pierced my ocean like a god, and when Yuyudhāna followed, I see no hope that even a remnant shall live beneath Savyasācin and the Sātvata lion.

Beholding them break our van and Jayadratha lie within the range of Gāṇḍīva, what measures did my fated Kurus adopt? Surely Death has overtaken them; their old valour is not seen. Kṛṣṇa and Pārtha entered our host unwounded; none can withstand them. We examined and hired our mahārathas, honoured each with due pay and word; none is unskilled, none unpaid, none uncherished—yet at the mere approach of Savyasācin and the grandson of Sini, they are overthrown. What can it be but Destiny? The protectors and the protected fall by the same road. Tell me: when Arjuna reached Jayadratha, what did my foolish son resolve? When Sātyaki entered our ranks, what step did Duryodhana deem fit? Methinks, seeing Keśava of the Daśārhas and the Sini bull striving for Arjuna, my sons were filled with grief; seeing the Kurus fly, their hearts broke; seeing elephants topple under Arjuna’s shafts, their courage cracked; seeing riders cast down by Sātyaki and Pārtha, their hope departed. Those two heroes pierced Droṇa’s division in a moment—how could this be? Tell me, O wise Sañjaya, how the Panchālas struck at Droṇa, inveterate in hate, and how Arjuna wrought for the overthrow of the Sindhu king.”

Fortunes we build with iron walls,

We fill the sea with shining oars—

Yet Destiny walks through the halls

And locks our well-appointed doors.

Sañjaya said, “O bull of Bharata’s race, thou art snared by the fruit of thine own deed; lament not like common men. Long ago did thy wise well-wishers—Vidura among them—counsel thee: ‘Do not abandon the sons of Pāṇḍu.’ Thou didst not heed. He of the Daśārhas sought peace and found it not. Beholding thy jealousy and crooked intent, Keśava—knower of all—let war’s fire blaze among the Kurus. This ruin, O King, is of thine own sowing; impute it not to Duryodhana. Neither at the beginning, nor the midst, nor the end is thy merit seen. Be still, hear how god-like the battle raged.

When the grandson of Sini had entered thy host irresistible, the Pāṇḍavas, led by Bhīmasena, rushed also. Alone, Kṛtavarman, son of Hṛdika, stood against them like the continent against the ocean’s surge. The might we saw in him was wondrous—the united Parthas could not at first pass that single arm. Bhīma pierced him with three shafts and blew his conch; Sahadeva smote him with twenty; Yudhiṣṭhira with five; Nakula with a hundred; the sons of Draupadī with three-and-seventy; Ghaṭotkaca with seven; Virāṭa and Drupada and Dhṛṣṭadyumna with five each; Śikhaṇḍin with five and smiling, five-and-twenty again. Then the Bhoja pierced them all in turn—five for each, and Bhīma again with seven—and with keen arrows he struck away Bhīma’s bow and standard. Seventy sharp shafts he planted in Vāyusuta’s breast; the mighty one trembled on his car like a hill in earthquake.

The Parthas closed round to shield the Wind-god’s son and showered shafts upon the Bhoja lord. Bhīma, recovering, seized a steel dart with golden staff and hurled it fiery-bright; Hṛdika’s son clove it with two arrows; it fell like a meteor lighting the ten quarters. In wrath, Bhīma took a tougher bow and struck Kṛtavarman with five shafts, so that the Bhoja shone blood-bright like a red aśoka in flower. Smiling, Kṛtavarman pierced Bhīma with three and, turning as a flame in wind, wounded each great car-warrior with three.

Śikhaṇḍin’s bow he shore with a razor-edge; Yājñasena’s son sprang with sword and moon-bright shield, whirled it, and cast—the blade cut the Bhoja’s strung bow and fell to earth like a loosened star. The Pāṇḍava chiefs pressed him sore; he cast his broken bow, took another, and thrice-three shafts he fixed in each; with three and then with five he marked Śikhaṇḍin again. Enraged, the Bhoja tiger leapt upon Śikhaṇḍin, the slayer whose shafts had once unseated Bhīṣma.

Two suns arose with arrowed rays,

Two fires that scorched the shaken ways;

Bow sang to bow in burning light—

Noon doubled on the field of fight.

Kṛtavarman smote Śikhaṇḍin with three-and-seventy shafts, and seven more; faint and in pain, the Panchāla prince swooned upon his car and dropped his bow. Thy troops waved cloths and shouted praise to Hṛdika’s son. The charioteer bore Śikhaṇḍin swiftly from the press. Then the Parthas with many cars encompassed Kṛtavarman, but he alone held them—wonderful to see—then beat the Cedis, the Pañchālas, the Śṛñjayas, the Kekayas, heroes all, and made the Pāṇḍava lines run broken, unable to stand coolly under his storm.

Having thus repelled the sons of Pāṇḍu, Kṛtavarman blazed like fire at full wind; and the great car-warriors, drenched in his arrow-rain, dared not face him.”

Counsel unheeded ripens doom;

Pride builds a throne within a tomb.

Where dharma’s word is cast away,

War answers—debt is paid today.