novelraw Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 9 - Sātyaki vs Kṛtavarman
Arc 3 - Jayadhratha-Vadha Parva - Chapter 9 - Sātyaki vs Kṛtavarman
Sañjaya said:
“Hear, O King, with undivided mind. When thy host exulted for the moment under Hṛdika’s son and the Pārthas were abashed, the guardian of the Pandavas—Sātyaki, the Sini’s grandson—heard the fierce uproar and wheeled about, hastening toward Kṛtavarman.
Hṛdika’s son, angered, veiled Sātyaki in sharp-smiting shafts. The Sātvata, blazing with wrath, answered in an instant: one broad-headed arrow and four that followed—those four cut down Kṛtavarman’s steeds, the first sheared off his bow. Then Sātyaki pierced the charioteer and the rear-guard protectors; the Bhoja division, smitten, cracked and scattered. Having thus broken the press and triumphed, the hero said to his charioteer, ‘Drive on—steadily, without fear.’
But beholding a darkling mass to the left—elephants like rain-clouds, Rukmaratha leading—the Sātvata spoke again: ‘There stand the Trigartas, princely bowmen with gold-bright standards, urged by Duryodhana to cast away their lives for fame. Bring me to them, that I may fight beneath Bharadvāja’s eye.’ The white Sindhu steeds, conch-hued and wind-swift, bore his sun-bright car; the Trigarta elephants ringed him round and rained keen shafts.
Sātyaki loosed his storm. Like a summer’s-end thundercloud he poured; his arrows struck like thunder-touch. Tusks snapped; frontal globes split; trunks and ears and standards fell; riders toppled; blankets tore away. Blood-striped, bellowing like storming clouds, many beasts fled, some wandered maimed, some limped, some fell as life went pale. Thus the elephant-legion, scorched by Yuyudhāna’s fury, broke and fled on every side.
Iron sang and banners bowed,
The war-elephants fled like cloud;
The bow was lightning, wrath was rain—
And fortune withered on the plain.
When that host was spent, Jālasaṃdha, lord of Magadha, came on cool and resolute, his elephant towering; he glittered with Angadas and diadem, chain and cuirass, red sandal bright upon his breast. Standing high upon his mount, golden-bowed, he shone like a thunder-charged cloud. Sātyaki met him as a continent meets the sea. Checked by the Vrishni’s arrows, the Magadhan burned with rage and struck the Sini’s grandson on the broad chest; with a keen broad-head he cut the Sātvata’s bow and, smiling, smote him with five more. The mighty-armed Yuyudhāna, pierced yet unshaken, seized another bow and cried, “Wait, wait!”—then sixty arrows flowered upon Jālasaṃdha’s breast, a razor-edge shore his bow at the handle, and three more struck the king himself.
Then Jālasaṃdha hurled a lance; it hissed through Sātyaki’s left arm and sank in earth like a serpent seeking shade. Bleeding, the Sātvata answered with thirty keen shafts. The Magadhan lifted scimitar and shield bright with a hundred moons; he whirled and flung. The blade sheared Sātyaki’s stringing bow and fell, a fiery circle, upon the ground. Swiftly Yuyudhāna took a Sala-tall bow whose thunder-twang shook air and heart, and with one shaft he smote the king; then, smiling, with twin razor-blades he lopped both arms of Jālasaṃdha—be-jewelled, battle-strong, they fell like twin five-hooded serpents from a mountain. A third razor-head shore off his head, ear-rings flashing, teeth bright. Headless, armless, the trunk dyed the elephant with blood; the costly howdah crashed; the maddened beast, arrow-tormented, trampled friend and file as it fled with dreadful cries.
Two arms like maces fell from height,
A moon-bright head rolled out of light;
The elephant, red-rained and wild,
Fled weeping like a frightened child.
Seeing Jālasaṃdha slain by that bull of the Vṛṣṇis, thy hosts wailed and broke; hope ebbed, and flight was all. Meanwhile, Droṇa, foremost of bowmen, drove at speed toward the mighty Yuyudhāna; many Kuru bulls rallied with him, angered by the Sātvata’s swelling wrath. There began a battle, O King—Droṇa and the Kurus on one side, Sātyaki alone on the other—vast and awful, like the olden war of gods and Asuras.
The teacher’s fire and Sini’s flame
Stood face to face in dharma’s name;
The sky grew narrow with their might—
And Day held breath to watch the fight.
Sañjaya said—
“When the warriors of thy host, O King, saw the Sātvata lion returning, they loosed their arrow-clouds together, each vying in skill. Droṇa smote him with seven and seventy barbed shafts; Durmarṣaṇa with twelve, Duḥśāsana with ten; Vikarna on the breast and flank with thirty Kanka-feathered points; Durmukha with ten, and Chitrasena with two. Duryodhana himself and many other sons of thine assailed him with storms of arrows.
Yet the Vrishni hero, unshaken, answered each by name—three shafts for Bharadvāja’s son, nine for Duḥśāsana, five-and-twenty for Vikarna, seven for Chitrasena, twelve for Durmarṣaṇa, eight for Vivimśati, nine for Satyavrata, ten for Vijaya. Having pierced Rukmāṅgada too, he shook his bow and rushed toward the king.
Then between Sātyaki and Duryodhana raged a mighty duel. Both rained their shafts till neither could be seen. Blood streamed down Yuyudhāna’s golden armour, making him gleam like a sandal tree weeping resin; and Duryodhana, struck by Sātyaki’s ceaseless arrows, glittered like a sacrificial post wrapped in gold.
Bow to bow and flame to flame,
They fought where honour was the aim;
Blood and sunlight met midway—
Glory turned the dusk to day.
Smiling, Sātyaki cut the Kuru king’s bow with a keen razor-edge and pierced him again with countless shafts. Enraged, Duryodhana seized another bow chased with gold and shot a hundred arrows into the Vrishni’s frame. Inflamed, Sātyaki struck back with double fury. The Kaurava princes closed round their brother, shrouding the Sātvata in a mist of iron. But he, laughing, pierced each with five, then seven, and at last smote Duryodhana with eight swift arrows. Smiling still, he clipped the king’s bow, felled his elephant-crested standard, slew his four Sindhu steeds with four well-aimed shafts, and struck down the charioteer with a razor-headed arrow.
Wounded and helpless, Duryodhana fled and mounted Chitrasena’s car. A wail rose through the Kuru ranks, as when Soma is swallowed by Rāhu—for they beheld their king overborne by Sātyaki.
Hearing that cry, the mighty Kṛtavarman, of the Hṛdika line, came speeding like Death himself. “Faster, faster!” he urged his driver, his golden bow flashing. Seeing him, Sātyaki said to his charioteer, “The Bhoja prince comes on, armed and raging—drive me to meet him.”
Then, like twin fires, those tigers among men clashed. Kṛtavarman smote the grandson of Sini with six-and-twenty arrows and the charioteer with five. He pierced the four Sindhu steeds with four broad-heads and hemmed the Vrishni in with golden-winged shafts.
But Sātyaki, eager to reach Dhanañjaya, loosed eight arrows in answer; the Bhoja trembled like a mountain in quake. Then the Sātvata, swift as thought, struck Kṛtavarman’s steeds with three-and-sixty arrows and the driver with seven. Taking a flaming shaft whose blaze seemed that of Time’s own rod, he pierced the Bhoja’s mail. The arrow passed through the golden cuirass and entered the earth red with blood.
Kṛtavarman, drenched and faint, dropped his bow and fell upon his knees upon the car—like the ocean when its surge is broken. Sātyaki, having quelled that mighty warrior, pressed on through the Bhoja ranks, red ground beneath, the air dark with darts and arrows, like Indra advancing through the Asura storm.
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Through blood and smoke his banner shone,
The lion crests of Sini’s own;
Past Bhoja steel and battle’s flame—
He carved his road in Arjuna’s name.
Yet the son of Hṛdika, rising again, seized another massive bow and stood his ground, holding the Pāṇḍava hosts at bay once more.”
Sañjaya said—
“When the Kuru host reeled beneath the charge of Sini’s grandson, the son of Bharadvāja veiled him in a rain of arrows. Before all eyes Droṇa and Sātyaki met—terrible as the clash of Vāli and Indra in ages past.
Droṇa pierced the Vrishni hero upon the brow with three iron shafts like venomous serpents. Blood streamed down his face, and Yuyudhāna shone like a red mountain with three peaks. Then the master of weapons loosed a hail of arrows whose whirring seemed the thunder of heaven, but Sātyaki clove them all with two winged shafts bright as lightning. Smiling, Droṇa redoubled his art and pierced him with thirty arrows—then with fifty, then a hundred more, each darting like an angry snake. Yuyudhāna’s answering flights came thick as rain; Droṇa’s car was hidden beneath their storm. None could discern whose hand was swifter—for in skill they were as equal as fire and light.
Inflamed, Sātyaki struck Droṇa with nine keen arrows, and his standard and charioteer with a hundred. The old preceptor, admiring that dexterity, in turn pierced Yuyudhāna’s driver with seventy shafts and each white steed with three, then shore down the Sātvata’s banner with a single broad-head and his bow with another golden-feathered shaft.
Then the Vrishni hero, his wrath rising like a tempest, cast aside the shorn bow and lifted a mace bound with iron cords. He hurled it roaring across the field; Droṇa shattered it mid-flight with a storm of arrows. Again Sātyaki took up a bow and pierced the Brahmana with countless shafts till the welkin rang with his lion-cry. That shout Droṇa could not endure. He seized a gleaming dart with a golden haft and cast it at the Vrishni’s car; it flew shrieking past and buried itself in the earth.
Yuyudhāna’s counter-flight struck Droṇa on the right arm, drawing blood; the preceptor’s crescent arrow severed his bow once more, and a dart felled his charioteer senseless. Then Sātyaki, holding the reins himself, fought on like a man possessed—one hand guiding the steeds, the other scattering death. He rained a hundred shafts upon the Brahmana and shouted for joy.
Droṇa, calm as ever, loosed five fierce arrows that pierced Sātyaki’s mail and drank his blood; the Vrishni, enraged, struck back with golden shafts, and with one well-aimed arrow felled Droṇa’s driver. The master’s steeds, wild and masterless, broke free and galloped, dragging the bright chariot in widening circles upon the field, blazing like the sun in motion.
The teacher’s car, a wheel of flame,
Whirled driverless amid the frame;
Kings cried aloud—“Go! seize the rein!”—
But fear had bound them fast again.
Abandoning Sātyaki, the Kuru lords ran shouting to Droṇa’s aid, while their ranks, smitten by the Vrishni’s shafts, broke and scattered.
Meanwhile, Droṇa’s steeds, fleet as wind, bore him from Sātyaki’s sight to the gate of the array. There he took his stand once more, seeing the Panchālas and Pāṇḍavas pressing through the breach. He did not follow Sini’s grandson, but turned to guard the sundered line.
Then blazed the wrath of Bharadvāja’s son—like the sun at the world’s end it rose, consuming all before it, restraining the Pandava flood and kindling once more the fury of war.”
Sañjaya said—
“Having subdued Droṇa, the son of Hṛdika, and the chiefs of thy host, that foremost of men, the bull among the Sini clan, laughed aloud and said to his charioteer—
‘The foes, O Sūta, were slain already—
By Keśava’s will and Phālguna’s bow.
We but reap what destiny sowed;
We strike the fallen—shadow of the blow.’
Thus speaking with a smile, the mighty Sātvata, destroyer of hosts, whirled his great bow in circles of light, scattering arrows like a hawk diving through storm. Though the Kurus closed on every side, not one could bar his path. He shone among them like the autumn sun through a field of clouds—radiant, unassailable, fierce with celestial fire.
None in thy army, O Bhārata, could withstand Yuyudhāna of unshaken might, whose splendour and valour equalled that of Indra himself, whose steeds were white as moonlight or conch, whose car blazed like the rising sun.
Then came forth King Sudarśana, master of every arm, clad in mail of gold, his heart inflamed. He drew his bow and met the rushing Yādava in combat. The field watched, breathless, as gods and men once watched Vṛtra and Vāsava strive.
Sudarśana’s shafts fell thick as hail, seeking the Sātvata’s heart; but Yuyudhāna’s arrows split them in twain, falling harmless in the dust. Baffled, the king grew furious, loosing gilded shafts like serpents from flame. Three pierced Sātyaki’s armour and drank his blood, reddening his mail; four more smote his moon-bright steeds, staining their snowy flanks with crimson.
Then the grandson of Sini, his wrath unbridled, shot in return a rain of fire. His shafts cut down Sudarśana’s steeds, and the battlefield rang with his lion-roar.
Through gold and mail his arrows sped,
One cleft the charioteer’s bright head;
The next, flame-tongued, Yuga-fire,
Shore off the monarch’s crown entire.
Suddenly, Sudarśana’s head, radiant with jewelled earrings and a face like the full moon, fell from his shoulders— as once Indra smote the mighty Vala, hurling down the titan’s head with his thunderbolt.
Then shone the Sātvata hero, blood-splashed and bright, like Indra himself crowned with victory after the storm. The gods, the Pāṇḍavas, and all kings beheld him, awe-struck and silent.
Yuyudhāna pressed onward along the path that Arjuna had cut before him, loosing his arrows like storm-winds scattering cloud. None of thy warriors could check him; they fell as forests fall before a conflagration.
Where Sātyaki rode, the heavens burned;
Each shaft a sun, each foe it spurned.
Through Kuru ranks his fury rolled—
A tide of flame through fields of gold.
Thus the grandson of Sini, blazing with valour, followed the track of the two Kṛṣṇas—triumphant, irresistible, and death to the hosts of Dhṛtarāṣṭra.”
Sañjaya said—
“Then that lion of the Vṛṣṇis, the high-souled Sātyaki, having slain the proud Sudarśana, spoke again to his charioteer with laughter in his eyes and the calm of one whose courage knew no bound:
‘O Sūta, we have crossed the unfordable ocean of Droṇa’s array—
whose waves are arrows and whose fishes are swords,
whose maces move like alligators, and whose roars are the whizz of shafts and clash of steel.
It is an ocean of death, dreadful to the heart of men,
its shores guarded by the cannibal hosts of Jalasandha.
But that sea is now behind us.
The waters that remain are but a shallow stream.
Urge the steeds onward; Arjuna must be near.’
The track before them lay choked with fallen cars, elephants, and steeds—the broken wreckage of the Kuru host. Dust rolled in brown clouds, and from afar the air trembled with the twang of Gāṇḍīva. Seeing those signs, Sātyaki’s eyes brightened.
‘The sound of the bow I know! The White-Steeded One is near.
By the omens of the sky I know—ere the sun sinks,
the Sindhu king shall fall by Arjuna’s hand.
Drive on, but not with haste. Let the steeds breathe;
their strength will serve when the last battle calls.
There stand the Kamvojas, the Yavanas, and the Śakas,
the Daradas, the Barbaras, and the Tamraliptakas—
all clad in mail, their faces turned toward me.
Regard them, O charioteer, as already slain.’
Then the driver, fearless and loyal, bowed his head and replied:
‘O hero of the Vṛṣṇis, fear I know not—
not before Jamadagni’s son, nor before Droṇa,
nor before Śalya of Madra’s race.
As long as thy shadow covers me, no terror touches my heart.
Thou hast scattered the Kamvojas, the Yavanas, and the Śakas before.
Tell me only whom thou wouldst strike—
for whom today shall Yama make ready his seat?’
Sātyaki smiled and answered:
‘Like Vāsava among the Dānavas, I shall mow down these Kamvojas with their shaven heads.
Their blood shall mark my path to Dhanañjaya.
Let Duryodhana see what the pupil of Arjuna can do.
When the Kuru host wails beneath my arrows,
then shall my preceptor know his teaching was not in vain.
Let the bow in my hand blaze like a circle of fire;
let the Kauravas behold two Arjunas in this field.’
Hearing these fierce and joyous words, the charioteer loosed the reins. The moon-white horses leapt forward, devouring the road like the wind. Soon they reached the dark mass of the Yavanas, whose arrows flashed like swarming meteors.
Sātyaki met their storm with his own—shafts of gold-winged death. He cut down their arrows in mid-air, then struck them in hundreds. Pierced through mail of iron and brass, their bodies fell like broken kites. Five, six, or ten Yavanas fell with each pull of his bow. The Kamvojas, the Śakas, the Barbaras, and the wild tribes from the mountains all perished together.
The earth was drenched with blood;
trunks lay headless, heads lay bearded and bare,
their long locks spreading like wings of fallen birds.
The field glowed red as a copper sky at dawn;
and still the shafts of Sātyaki fell,
thunderbolts from the hand of Indra’s equal.
At last, broken and terrified, the remnant of the mail-clad Mlecchas fled in all directions, urging their steeds with whip and goad. The tiger-hearted hero, having shattered their ranks like a storm through reeds, raised his voice once more—
‘Onward, O charioteer! Arjuna awaits!’
And the gandharvas and cāraṇas in the heavens, beholding that feat beyond mortal reach, sang aloud in wonder, while even the Kuru warriors, awed though they were his foes, cried praise to the valor of Yuyudhāna, who burned through their host like fire through dry grass, speeding toward his preceptor and victory.”