Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 5 - Droṇa-Vadha Parva - Chapter 2 - Drona’s Divine Wrath Halted by His Student

Sañjaya said:

Then Duhśāsana, filled with wrath, rushed upon Sahadeva, shaking the earth with the speed of his chariot. But the son of Mādrī, swift as thought and terrible in battle, loosed a broad-headed arrow that severed the head of Duhśāsana’s charioteer, still decked with his golden helm. So quick was that stroke that neither Duhśāsana nor the warriors around knew that the driver had fallen lifeless. The reins, slipping from his grasp, fluttered in the wind as the steeds ran wildly upon the field.

Perceiving his driver slain, the Kaurava prince, skilled in the management of steeds, seized the reins himself and guided the horses with wondrous skill. Friends and foes alike marveled at his mastery as he wheeled his driverless car amidst the slaughter, fearless and proud. Then Sahadeva pierced those steeds with keen arrows; afflicted and maddened by pain, they turned and ran at random, shaking the earth with their flight. As Duhśāsana alternately caught up the reins and his bow, the son of Mādrī showered him with shafts whenever he found him unguarded.

Then Karṇa, beholding the peril of Duryodhana’s brother, rushed forward to rescue him. Bhīmasena, alert and fierce, pierced Karṇa in the chest and arms with three broad-headed shafts drawn to the fullest stretch. Struck like a serpent with a staff, Karṇa halted and turned upon Bhīma, sending back his own storm of arrows.

A great battle then flared between them. Both roared like maddened bulls, their eyes wide with wrath. Their chariots came so near that bows grew useless, and the duel turned to maces. Bhīma, whirling his mighty weapon, shattered the Kuvara of Karṇa’s car—a feat that drew wonder from every side. The son of Rādhā, strong and unyielding, hurled his own mace at Bhīma’s chariot, but Bhīma struck it aside with a crash of iron upon iron.

Like thunder meeting thunder rolled,

The sound of iron fierce and bold.

Their maces blazed, the sparks took flight—

Two suns had met in noonday light.

Then Bhīma, seizing another heavy mace, hurled it at Adhiratha’s son. Karṇa, smiling grimly, met it with a storm of arrows winged with gold, so that the mace, struck midair, turned back like a serpent stung by fire. Whirling back upon its master, it struck Bhīma’s own banner and felled it, then smote his charioteer senseless to the ground.

Maddened with fury, Bhīma loosed eight arrows that cut down Karṇa’s standard, bow, and leathern fence. The son of Rādhā, undaunted, took up another bow, golden and unbreakable, and slew Bhīma’s steeds of dark bear-hue, then his two charioteers. Bereft of his car, Bhīma leapt into Nakula’s chariot with the agility of a lion springing down from a mountain height.

Meanwhile, upon another part of the field, a sight both wondrous and fearful unfolded—Droṇa and Arjuna, preceptor and pupil, met in mortal combat. Both masters of celestial weapons, both flawless in aim, they filled the eyes of the world with astonishment. The motion of their chariots, the rhythm of their release, and the counterplay of their arrows seemed like music wrought of flame.

All other warriors paused to gaze upon that duel. None could tell who prevailed; each sought to place the other upon his right, as teacher and disciple whirled through the dust. Their contest, said men, was like two hawks in the sky struggling for the same morsel of flesh. Whatever weapon Droṇa loosed, Arjuna met it with its equal; each art was mirrored by the other.

Teacher and pupil, flame with flame,

Reflected skill, reflected aim.

The wind stood still, the sky was hushed—

While godlike bows in music clashed.

When Droṇa saw that he gained no advantage, he summoned the powers of heaven. The Aindra, the Pāśupata, the Tvaṣṭra, the Vāyavya, and the Yāmya weapons blazed from his bow, filling the sky with fire. But Dhanañjaya, master of the divine art, destroyed them all with counter-weapons as swiftly as they came.

Then Droṇa, wrathful and resolute, invoked his mightiest missiles, yet every shaft was turned aside by the son of Pāṇḍu. In his heart, the sage rejoiced to behold his disciple’s mastery, even as he fought him to the death.

From the heavens, the Siddhas, Ṛṣis, and Gandharvas gathered to witness that radiant battle. The sky was dark with celestial hosts—Apsaras, Yakṣas, Rākṣasas, and spirits of the air. An unseen voice rang through the firmament, extolling Droṇa and Arjuna alike.

“This strife,” the unseen voices cried,

“Is not of gods nor men allied.

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It is Brahma’s war—divine, supreme—

Where knowledge meets its living dream.”

The sages said among themselves: “Here stands wisdom in the teacher; here stands valor in the pupil. If Rudra himself were to divide in twain and fight his own image, such a battle might be seen again.”

Then Droṇa, the high-souled, invoked the Brahma weapon. The earth trembled; the mountains shook; the oceans rose in surging waves. Fierce winds howled, and men and beasts alike were seized with terror. But Arjuna, undaunted, met it with his own Brahma missile, and the fury of nature grew still once more.

When neither could subdue the other, confusion seized the field. A vast general engagement broke out among all the hosts. Clouds of arrows darkened the sky; day turned to twilight; and even the creatures that moved through air could no longer find their paths through that dense and fiery storm.

The heavens burned, the earth was flame,

No man could tell his friend’s true name.

And through that storm of dust and fire,

Fought teacher, pupil—fate, desire.

Sañjaya said:

Amid that fearful carnage of men, steeds, and elephants, Duḥśāsana rushed upon the prince of the Pāñcālas, Dṛṣṭadyumna. Mounted on his golden car, the son of Pṛśata, though sorely smitten by the Kuru’s shafts, in wrath showered arrows upon the steeds of thy son. Soon Duḥśāsana’s car—standard and driver—was hidden beneath that fall of steel. Afflicted by those showers, Duḥśāsana could not long abide before the fire-born hero. Forced back by the Pāñcāla’s relentless strokes, the son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra turned his course away, while the son of Pṛthā, scattering shafts like rain, sped towards Droṇa.

At that moment, Kṛtavarman, son of Hṛidika, with three uterine brothers, advanced to bar Dṛṣṭadyumna’s path. But the twins—Nakula and Sahadeva—following in the wake of the Pāñcāla prince, guarded him like loyal hounds the lion. Then all those great car-warriors, eager for victory and soul-pure, fought as Kṣatriyas ought—fairly, with heaven in their thought and dharma in their aim. No cruel barbed heads, no poisoned tips, no horn-bladed or bone-tanged shafts, no crooked or cankered irons flew that day. Simple, righteous weapons sang in the air as they strove for fame and blessed regions.

Between those four on thy side and the three on ours arose a dreadful yet faultless fight. Dṛṣṭadyumna, quick as lightning with his bow, seeing the twins hold those heroes in check, pressed on against Droṇa. Those four, like winds assailing immovable crags, broke upon the steadfast brothers and were stayed. Each twin matched two foes, and the Pāñcāla prince, invincible, bore down upon the Pot-born preceptor. Then Duryodhana, beholding his warriors bound by that guard, rushed in, scattering blood-drinking shafts. Seeing the Kuru king’s onset, Sātyaki of the Sātvatas wheeled his car and came swiftly, eager as the hawk for prey.

When the two descendants of Kuru and Madhu drew near, they remembered their sports of childhood, looked full upon each other, and smiled.

Duryodhana said:

“Fie on my wrath and pride today,

Fie on this Kṣatra’s iron way!

O friend once dearer than my breath,

Why aim we now the shafts of death?

Time is a net no hand can break;

Desire for wealth our minds did take.

What joy in gold, when friendship’s slain—

And we in greed have come to pain?”

Sātyaki replied smiling:

“This is no hall of sport or song,

Nor preceptor’s peaceful throng.

If dear I am, then do thy best—

Strike true, O king, and grant me rest.

So runs the vow of Kṣatriya line—

To face our kin when fates align.

Spend all thy might without delay;

I seek not life to watch friends’ fray.”

Thus speaking, fearless Sātyaki sped forward. Thy son received him with a storm of arrows, and the lions of Kuru and Madhu met like elephant and lion in the wood. Duryodhana, wrathful, pierced Sātyaki with shafts drawn home to the ear; Sātyaki answered with fifty keen points, then twenty, then ten, hemming the Kuru prince in steel. Smiling still, Duryodhana cut the hero’s bow with a razor-headed shaft; Sātyaki, light-handed, caught up a tougher bow and poured fresh showers, whose lines thy son cleft again to roaring shouts. With three-and-seventy oil-steeped, gold-winged arrows, the Kuru smote the Yādava; yet Sātyaki shore bow and string and sent a rain in return that drove thy son to another car. Resting a moment, Duryodhana came on anew; the sky rang like a burning forest as their arrows filled earth and heaven.

Beholding the Madhu hero outmatch the Kuru prince, Karṇa drove forward to rescue thy son. Mighty Bhīma could not bear that sight; he rushed at Karṇa with innumerable shafts. Karṇa, with ease, cut off Bhīma’s bow, his arrows, and his driver; but Bhīma, aflame, seized a mace and smashed Karṇa’s bow, standard, and charioteer, and brake a wheel of his car. Firm as Mount Meru, Karṇa stood upon his single-wheeled car, borne like Sūrya’s own by his noble steeds. Incensed, he plied many weapons in abundance, and Bhīma, red with wrath, answered blow for blow.

In that confusion of a general onset, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, beheld our foremost champions locked with the Dhārtarāṣṭras and stirred the Pāñcālas and Matsyas with a king’s command.

Yudhiṣṭhira said:

“Why stand ye still with senses numb,

While chiefs, our life and head, have come

To grapple death? Remember, fight!

For victor’s fame or heaven’s light.

If ye prevail, then gifts and fire—

Bright sacrifice shall crown desire.

If ye are slain in righteous war,

Ye dwell with gods in deathless star!”

Urged by the king, those mighty car-warriors, observant of Kṣatriya duty, sped against Droṇa. From one side the Pāñcālas assailed him with numberless shafts; from another, Bhīmasena and others held him fast. Among the Pāṇḍavas were three crooked-minded heroes—Bhīma and the twins—who cried aloud to Dhanañjaya: “Rush, O Arjuna, and drive the Kurus from Droṇa’s side! If the preceptor is stripped of his guardians, the Pāñcālas will slay him with ease.”

Thus addressed, Pārtha suddenly swept upon the Kauravas, while Droṇa surged to meet the Pāñcālas under Dṛṣṭadyumna. On the fifth day of Droṇa’s command, O Bhārata, those heroes were grounded and crushed with great celerity by the son of Bharadvāja, even as a tempest flattens the reeds upon a swollen marsh.

Vows burned like brands; the bows sang flame;

Old friends as foes sought deathless name.

Time turned the wheel; the field was fate—

And Droṇa’s day drew dark and great.