Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 5 - Droṇa-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Aśvatthāman’s Wrath and The Nārāyaṇa Astra

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“O Sañjaya, tell me truly—when the valiant Aśvatthāman heard that his aged sire, that foremost of Brāhmaṇas and righteous men, was slain by Dhṛṣṭadyumna through deceit and iniquity—what said he then? He, in whom dwell the weapons of Varuṇa and Agni, of Brahmā, Indra, and Nārāyaṇa, what words burst forth from that wrathful heart?

The high-souled Droṇa, having learned the entire science of arms from the mighty son of Jamadagni, imparted every secret of celestial weapons to his beloved son, desiring to see him adorned with the full accomplishments of a warrior. For in this world, O Sañjaya, there is none whom a man would wish greater than himself save his own son. All noble preceptors are thus—ever eager to bestow their deepest knowledge upon their children or their truest disciples.

Becoming the pupil of his own father, and mastering every mystery with exactness, the son of Śaradvat’s daughter has become, indeed, another Droṇa himself—a hero of unfailing might. Aśvatthāman equals Karṇa in his command of weapons, Purandara in battle, Kārtavīrya in energy, and Bṛhaspati in wisdom. In fortitude he is like a mountain, in energy like fire; in depth he is like the ocean, and in wrath like the venom of a serpent.

Foremost among car-warriors, unwearied in conflict, he is swift as the wind and dreadful as Yama when enraged. When he showers his arrows, the earth herself seems to tremble. No foe can baffle his might; no labour can weary him. Purified by Vedic study and vows, he is the perfect master of the science of arms—like Rāma of the solar race. Calm as the ocean, unshaken by storm, he moves in battle like a god.

Fire in his glance, and storm in his breath,

A vow-bound heart that laughs at death—

Such is the son of Droṇa’s line,

By fate ordained through wrath divine.

Tell me, O Sañjaya, what said this lion among men when he learned that his father, holy and stainless, was struck down unrighteously by Dhṛṣṭadyumna—cruel, reckless, and blind of heart? For as Dhṛṣṭadyumna was fated to slay Droṇa, so is Aśvatthāman destined by destiny’s hand to slay Dhṛṣṭadyumna.

What words, what fire, burst forth from him when that dire news entered his soul?”

Sañjaya said:

Hearing, O King, that his sire had been slain by Dhṛṣṭadyumna—wicked of heart and sinful in deed—the son of Droṇa was seized with grief and rage. His whole body blazed like the Destroyer at the end of the Yuga when he devours all creatures. Repeatedly wiping the hot tears from his eyes, sighing like a furnace in wrath, Aśvatthāman spoke unto Duryodhana in a voice deep as thunder.

Aśvatthāman said:

“I have heard, O King, how my father, laying down his weapons, was slain by wretches unworthy even to touch his feet; how the false-hearted son of Dharma, veiled in virtue’s robe, committed unrighteousness. I know now the full measure of deceit—the cruel act by which the sinless preceptor was struck down.

To those who fight, there can be but two ends—victory or death. The death that comes in battle to one who stands upright in righteousness, the wise have declared praiseworthy, not lamentable. Without doubt, my father has gone to the regions of the brave. For that I grieve not. But—”

“When I recall that sight of shame,

His sacred locks in battle’s flame—

While yet I breathed, that insult done,

It burns my heart, O Kuru’s son.”

“Alive was I, his child and pupil, strong as a mountain; yet his locks were seized! Fie upon my arms and all their vaunted strength! Fie upon my weapons and their celestial might! Of what worth are they if, while I live, my sire was so dishonoured?

By lust, by wrath, by folly, or by levity, men commit sin or humiliation upon others. The cruel son of Pṛṣata, void of restraint, has wrought a deed that blackens heaven and earth. Therefore shall Dhṛṣṭadyumna reap the fruit of that sin. And the false-speaking son of Pāṇḍu who urged deceit upon the preceptor shall also drink the draught of death.

I swear by truth and by my vows of righteousness—if I fail to exterminate the Pāñcālas, may I bear the burden of life no longer! Mild or fierce be the means—by every path shall I strike them down. I will surely slay Dhṛṣṭadyumna in battle, that doer of wicked deeds. Before peace returns to my soul, I shall see the Pāñcālas destroyed.

Why do men beget sons, O Bhārata? To be their refuge in peril and in death. Yet my father died as one friendless and forsaken, though I live! The debt I owe him burns within me like fire. I shall repay it in the blood of his slayer.

Let the world behold my power today! Let Keśava and Arjuna and all the hosts of the Pāṇḍavas witness how Aśvatthāman rages, like the world-ending flame that leaves no life behind. Neither gods, nor Gandharvas, nor Asuras, nor Nāgas, nor Rākṣasas, nor any man upon this earth shall withstand me. There is none in the world my equal or Pārtha’s in the lore of weapons.

Like the sun amidst his rays, I shall enter their midst. My arrows shall fall in countless forms, gleaming like serpents of fire. The quarters shall be veiled in iron rain, and the sky itself shrouded by my shafts. The storm of my wrath shall fell them as a tempest lays low the forest.

Neither Vibhatsu, nor Janārdana, nor Bhīmasena, nor Nakula, nor Sahadeva, nor king Yudhiṣṭhira, nor the sinful Dhṛṣṭadyumna, nor Śikhaṇḍin, nor Sātyaki—none of them know the weapon that I bear, the invincible Nārāyaṇa missile, with its mantras for summoning and withdrawing.

Hear, O King, the tale of its origin. Long ago, the Lord Nārāyaṇa himself, taking the guise of a Brāhmaṇa, came to my father. My sire, reverent and humble, offered him worship and gifts. The divine Lord, well pleased, granted him a boon. Droṇa prayed for the supreme weapon known as Nārāyaṇa.

Then the God of gods said:

‘No warrior on earth shall equal thee in battle, but beware, O Brāhmaṇa—use not this weapon in haste. None may escape its touch; even the unslayable would fall before it. Therefore wield it not against the helpless—those who have cast aside their arms, or beg for quarter, or yield themselves. Whoever seeks to strike the guiltless with this, perishes by it himself.’

Thus instructed, my father received that weapon. And then the divine Lord, turning to me, said:

‘Thou too, Aśvatthāman, shalt one day wield this in battle, and its brilliance shall make thee blaze like a god!’

Having spoken, the Supreme ascended to heaven.

Such, O Bhārata, is the Nārāyaṇa weapon—my inheritance and my vow. With it will I rout the Pāṇḍavas, the Pāñcālas, the Matsyas, and the Kaikeyas, as Indra routed the Asuras. My arrows shall take the shapes I will, and sweep through the sky like flaming serpents. I shall rain upon them axes, spears, and wheels of fire, until none remain alive. Dhṛṣṭadyumna, slayer of Brāhmaṇas and betrayer of friends, shall not escape my hand.”

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“Now dawns the night of wrath divine,

The debt is due, the doom is mine.

The Nārāyaṇa fire shall sweep—

And heroes fall in endless sleep.”

Sañjaya continued:

Having spoken thus, O King, the son of Droṇa touched water and invoked the celestial Nārāyaṇa weapon. At his words, the Kuru host—revived from terror—rallied once more. Conches blared, drums thundered, and cymbals clashed. The earth shook beneath the hoofs of steeds and the grinding of wheels; the tumult rose like storm-clouds bursting. Hearing that roar, deep as heaven’s own thunder, the sons of Pāṇḍu gathered and took counsel, for they knew that the wrath of Aśvatthāman had begun.

Sañjaya said:

When the weapon called Nārāyaṇa was invoked, O King, dread portents shook the three worlds. Fierce winds arose, hurling sand and dust; the sun grew dim; though the sky was clear, thunder rumbled and rain fell in torrents. The seas swelled as if boiling; the earth quaked; rivers turned backward; mountain peaks split and fell. Beasts howled on the left of the Pāṇḍava host; vultures, jackals, and crows screamed in frenzy; the heavens grew dark though it was day, and the light of the sun was veiled as if by mourning.

The sky without a cloud did moan,

The mountains cracked, the rivers groan;

The seas rose up, the daylight fled—

The world bewailed the mighty dead.

All beings—Devas, Dānavas, Gandharvas—trembled with fear, asking one another, “What power has been awakened?” For the air burned, the waters seethed, and the very stars seemed to shudder. Thus was the earth shaken by the terrible Nārāyaṇa weapon of Droṇa’s son.

Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, pale with dread, said:

“Tell me, O Sañjaya, what counsel did the sons of Pāṇḍu take to guard Dhṛṣṭadyumna, when once more the rallied Kauravas advanced—led by the furious Aśvatthāman, burning with grief at his father’s fall?”

Sañjaya said:

After seeing the Dhārtarāṣṭras routed and then re-forming with renewed fury, King Yudhiṣṭhira spoke to Arjuna amidst the thunder of returning battle:

“O Dhanañjaya, after Droṇa, the mighty preceptor, was slain by Dhṛṣṭadyumna—like Vṛtra by Indra—the Kurus fled in despair, their hopes of victory gone. They fled like ships in storm, some without helmsmen, some broken and overturned. Horses ran riderless, elephants trampled their own ranks; fathers lost their sons, brothers knew not one another; the host dissolved into chaos and dust.

Yet now, O son of Pāṇḍu, they rally again. Whose power is this? Who fills the sky with neighing steeds, trumpeting elephants, and roaring drums? The earth trembles; the air quakes; the sound is as of Indra himself descending in wrath! Who is this hero that rallies the broken Kuru sea?”

Then Arjuna answered:

“He, O King, upon whose strength the Kurus lean again—whose roar resounds like thunder, whose tread is as that of an infuriate elephant, whose face glows like a tiger’s—he is none other than Aśvatthāman, the son of Droṇa.

When he was born, he neighed like Indra’s steed, and that sound shook the three worlds. From the heavens, an unseen voice proclaimed his name—Aśvatthāman, the horse-voiced one! Even now he roars the same roar, for the son of Pṛṣata has seized the hair of his father.

Know that he will never forgive this insult. You, O King, deceived your preceptor for the sake of sovereignty. Though learned in righteousness, you uttered untruth wrapped in the garb of truth. You said ‘Aśvatthāman is slain,’ adding softly ‘(the elephant),’ yet Droṇa heard only the first, and laying down his arms, he died believing your words.

Thus has sin entered our hearts and fame departed from our race. Your deed will live in infamy through the three worlds, as Rāma’s did for the slaying of Vāli. Droṇa trusted you utterly—‘Yudhiṣṭhira will never lie to me,’ he thought. Trusting that faith, he yielded.

And Dhṛṣṭadyumna, his disciple, slew him—an act of darkness, slaying his master in Yoga. He, who was as a father to us, is slain by our deceit, and for a fleeting throne we have bartered our honour.”

The bow is silent, the truth undone,

The master slain, the sin begun;

What king shall rule with such a stain?

What crown can cleanse the teacher’s bane?

“We are old, O King, our days are nearly spent, yet this stain will cling beyond our years. For sovereignty’s sake we slew a Brāhmaṇa, our elder, our teacher—weaponless, devoted to Yoga. He who once gave us wisdom we have sent to death by guile. Better for me were death itself than life beneath this guilt.

My preceptor thought me his own son. For his sake I would have given up father, brother, child, wife, and life. Yet when he fell, I stood silent. Therefore, O King, I have already sunk into hell through shame. Having slain Droṇa for the lust of kingship, I have destroyed myself. Let death come swiftly, for it is better now than breath!”

Sañjaya said:

Thus spoke Arjuna, filled with anguish and remorse, while around them the air trembled with the wrath of Aśvatthāman and the awakening of the Nārāyaṇa weapon. The Pandava host, hearing his lament, stood silent—like a forest awaiting the storm.

Hearing the bitter lament of Arjuna, none among the mighty car-warriors present—neither Yudhiṣṭhira nor the sons of Madri, nor Sātyaki nor Dhṛṣṭadyumna—uttered a word, O monarch, either of praise or blame. A heavy silence fell upon the host. Then Bhīmasena, the son of Vāyu, filled with indignation and wrath, spoke, reproaching his brother in fierce and flaming words.

Bhīmasena said:

“O son of Kuntī! Thou speakest of virtue like an ascetic dwelling in the forest, like a Brāhmaṇa given to vows and self-restraint. But thou art a Kṣatriya—born to rescue others from harm and to guard thyself from disgrace!

Forgiveness, indeed, is to be shown to the gods, to Brāhmaṇas, and to the preceptor—but the duty of the warrior is battle, and from battle he wins both piety and fame. Thou art endowed with every quality of a Kṣatriya, O Arjuna, yet thou speakest words unworthy of thy race. Thy prowess is as Indra’s; thy nature as firm as the ocean that transgresseth not its shore.

Who would not adore thee, who hast subdued thy wrath for thirteen long years? But, O Partha, though thou seekest virtue, remember what befell us!

They dragged our queen through the court of shame,

They cast us forth, they mocked our name.

Our forest years they made our chain—

Wilt thou forgive such deeds again?

Clad in bark and skins, we wandered in exile, enduring wrong for wrong’s sake. Thou hast forgiven all—insult to thy wife, loss of thy realm, and the sneers of thine enemies. But, O sinless one, when shall wrath awaken?

If thou wilt not strike for vengeance, I shall! Alone will I slay those wretches who robbed us of our kingdom. Didst thou not vow—‘We shall fight to the last breath’? Yet now thou preachest pity and restraint! Thy words, O Partha, burn my heart like acid upon an open wound.

Know me, brother—I can rend the earth with this mace; I can shatter mountains; I can scatter the gods and Asuras alike. Think not I fear Droṇa’s son! If thou wilt not fight, then stand aside and watch—I alone will crush Aśvatthāman as the tempest fells the forest!”

Sañjaya continued:

When Bhīma ceased, the fiery son of Drupada rose—his eyes red as coals, his voice quivering like a storm. He turned to Arjuna, and his words were sharp as arrows.

Dhṛṣṭadyumna said:

“O Vibhatsu! The sages have declared six duties of a Brāhmaṇa—

to assist at sacrifices,

to teach,

to give,

to perform sacrifice,

to receive gifts,

and to study as the sixth.

To which of these was Droṇa devoted?

He forsook the path of his order and took up arms as a Kṣatriya, slaying thousands with celestial weapons. Professing to be a Brāhmaṇa, he dealt death like a wrathful god—therefore was he slain through illusion, the very power he wielded. What fault lies in this?

He who fights like a warrior should die as one. By his deceitful arts he destroyed our race; by deceit he met his end. That is justice, O Arjuna! Why should I be reproached for punishing such a foe?

He left the book, he took the blade,

By wrath and guile his war was made.

By guile he fell, by fire he burned—

Thus justice walks when fate is turned.

If Droṇa’s son now roars in wrath, what loss is it to us? Let him slay or perish—it is his destiny. He cannot protect those he rallies, for his heart is blinded by grief. Thou speakest of morality, but where was Droṇa’s righteousness when he loosed the Brahma-weapons upon the unarmed?

He was poison, O Pārtha, and the righteous slay poison by any means. Shall we pity one who smote the helpless in fury? I struck him down, and my heart knows no guilt. Nay, it burns still, for I cast not his head among the Niṣādas as it deserved!

Is not the duty of a Kṣatriya to slay or be slain? Was he not my foe? I slew him as thou didst slay Bhagadatta, thy friend. Didst thou not strike down thy grandsire Bhīṣma? Why then reproach me for felling mine enemy?

Because we are kin, I bow before thee, yet reproach me not. For the sake of Draupadī and her sons I endure thy words, not from weakness. My enmity with Droṇa was born with me—declared by fate, known to all.

The eldest son of Pāṇḍu has not lied, nor have I sinned. The wretched Droṇa hated his disciples and fought against dharma. He is gone—let the war go on. Rise, O Arjuna! Draw thy bow! Victory shall be thine!”

Sañjaya concluded:

Thus spoke the son of Drupada—his voice like the clash of steel, his words quivering with the pride of vengeance. And the hearts of the warriors burned anew, for wrath was rekindled like fire fanned by the wind, while in the distance the Nārāyaṇa weapon blazed like the sun about to rise upon destruction.