Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 1 - Karna-senāpati-nirmāṇa Parva - Chapter 2 - Death-Roll of the War

Vaiśampāyana said:

Hearing Sanjaya’s words, O monarch, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, son of Ambikā, felt his heart pierced as by an arrow of fire. His mind, already torn by grief, now sank into the black ocean of despair. Striking his breast, the old king cried aloud, his voice broken with agony:

“O Sanjaya, my heart is riven,

My sons are lost, my hopes are driven.

Vikartana’s son, my chiefest stay—

His death hath swept my life away!”

Then, his breath trembling, he said:

“O Sanjaya, this intelligence rends me to the core. The son of the charioteer is slain, and with him the last of my hopes. My heart is like a vessel cracked by heat, yet I must hear all. Tell me truly—who among the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas yet live, and who have gone to the realm of Yama? Let me cross this sea of grief by knowledge of its depths!”

Sanjaya said:

“O king of kings, listen then. Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu—mighty and invincible—having slain countless Śṛñjayas and Pāñcālas, fell after ten days, pierced by Arjuna’s arrows.

Droṇa, master of all weapons, golden-carred and godlike in battle, having mown down the armies of Pāñcālas, also fell—slain by Dhṛṣṭadyumna, son of Drupada.

After them, Karṇa—Vikartana’s son, the sun among men—having destroyed half the remnant of those slain by Bhīṣma and Droṇa, was himself laid low by Arjuna.

Thy valiant sons too, O king, fell in turn. Vivingsati, slayer of hundreds of warriors, was slain. Vikarna, noble yet doomed, fought on foot, unarmed, remembering the true dharma of a Kṣatriya; Bhīma, mindful of Draupadī’s wrongs, slew him with his mace.

The brothers Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti, fierce and proud, performed mighty deeds and then attained to Yama’s abode. Jayadratha, lord of Sindhu—he who once mocked the sons of Pāṇḍu—fell beneath Arjuna’s wrath after the destruction of eleven akṣauhiṇīs.

Duryodhana’s son, brave but young, was slain by Subhadrā’s child; and the fierce son of Duḥśāsana, whose arms were like iron, was cut down by Draupadī’s son, who fought as fire unchained.

Bhagadatta, lord of the Kirātas and friend of Indra, wielder of the elephant host, fell before Dhanañjaya’s unfailing arrows. Bhūriśravā, son of Somadatta, valiant as a lion, met his end at Sātyaki’s hand.

Śrutāyus, the fearless Amvāṣṭha king, was slain by Arjuna. Duḥśāsana himself—wrathful and invincible—was torn apart by Bhīma, who drank his blood in fulfilment of his vow. Sudakṣiṇa, lord of the Kosalas, proud of his elephants, was struck down by Arjuna’s shafts.

Citraseṇa, thy son, after battling with Bhīma himself, was slain by that same mighty arm. Rukmaratha, son of Śalya, fell by Sahadeva’s hand, though the slayer mourned the blood of kin. Vṛṣasena, son of Karṇa and equal to his sire in prowess, was slain before Karṇa’s eyes by Arjuna, who remembered Abhimanyu’s death and the vow born of that memory.

Śrutāyus, hater of the Pāṇḍavas, met his end under Arjuna’s fire. The ancient kings Bhagiratha and Vṛhatkṣatra of the Kaikeyas, both mighty in valor, have fallen. Bhagadatta’s son too, wise and strong, was slain by Nakula, hawk-like in swiftness.

Thy grandsire Bāhlika, unyielding in battle, was brought down by Bhīmasena. Jayatsena, son of Jarāsandha, prince of the Magadhas, fell before Abhimanyu’s brother. Thy sons Durmukha and Duśśaha were both crushed by Bhīma’s mace, their valor ending in dust.

Durmarṣaṇa, Durviṣaha, and Durjaya—all fierce heroes—met the same fate. The twin kings of Kaliṅga, Vr̥ṣaka and Kalinga, unyielding in combat, have perished. Vr̥ṣavarman, thy counsellor, fell to Bhīma’s fury. Paurava, mightier than ten thousand elephants, was slain by Arjuna.

The Vasatis, two thousand strong, and the valiant Sūrasenas—all lie dead. The Abhiṣāhas, the Śivis, the fierce Kalingas, and the Narāyaṇa Gopas of Gokula—all these have fallen under Savyasācī’s hand. The Sāṁsaptakas, maddened by oaths of death, were scattered and slain by his bow.

Thy brothers-in-law, Vr̥ṣaka and Achala, have also fallen for thy cause, O king. Śālva, the terrible, was slain by Bhīma. Oghavat and Vr̥ṣānta, who fought together, have both gone to Yama’s halls. Kṣemadhurti too was crushed by Bhīma’s mace. Jālasaṇḍha, destroyer of thousands, fell by Sātyaki’s strength.

Alāyudha, the Rākṣasa whose asses drew his chariot, was slain by Ghaṭotkaca before his own fall. Karṇa’s brothers, the Sūtas born of Rādhā’s line, lie dead beside him. The Kaikeyas, Mālavas, Madrakas, Drāviḍas, Yaudheyas, Lalittyas, Kṣudrakas, Uśīnaras, Tundikeras, Savitriputras—peoples from every quarter of the earth—have perished, their banners broken, their kings gone.

The armies of men and beasts—the elephants, horses, and foot soldiers—numbering by the myriads, have been consumed in this fiery war. The field is strewn with armor, crowns, and weapons flashing like fallen stars.

Thus hath it all come to pass, O king. When Arjuna and Karṇa met in combat, the earth itself seemed to shake. Like Indra slaying Vṛtra, like Paraśurāma felling Kārtavīrya, like Kṛṣṇa striking down Naraka, like Skanda smiting the Asura Mahisha—so did Arjuna, son of Pāṇḍu, in single combat, slay Karṇa, invincible and glorious, with all his kin and followers.

He upon whom thou didst rest all hope of victory, he who was the root of thy sons’ pride and the seed of their enmity—he lies fallen upon the dust of Kurukṣetra. That calamity which wise men foretold, which thou wouldst not believe, hath now befallen. The fruit of blindness and greed hath ripened, O king, and its taste is bitter beyond all measure.

The earth is bare, the thrones are gone,

The sun of Kuru’s race is done.

The crown of pride, the dream of fame—

All turned to ash, all lost to name.

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The bow is broken, the wheel is sunk,

The chariots lie in ruin drunk.

And silence reigns where armies trod—

For all returns at last to God.

Thus spoke Sanjaya to the blind old monarch. The great war had ended. The wheel of fate, long turning, had crushed the house of Kuru beneath its weight.

Vaiśampāyana said:

When the long catalogue of Kuru deaths had been spoken, O king, the blind monarch, his heart still restless with the thirst of grief, addressed Sanjaya once more.

“O Sanjaya,” said Dhṛtarāṣṭra, “thou hast recounted the fall of my sons and kinsmen. Tell me now, I pray thee, of those mighty ones among the sons of Pāṇḍu who have been slain by our warriors. Let my heart, though torn, find measure in hearing the fate of both.”

Sanjaya bowed and answered in sorrowful tones:

“O monarch, hear then of the great souls who have gone hence, heroes of the Pāṇḍava host who lie upon the sacred field of Kurukṣetra.”

“As stars are lost when dawn is nigh,

So kings have set beneath this sky.

Their glory blazed, their vows were true—

And now they sleep beyond thy view.”

The mighty sons of Kuntī’s line, together with their allies and kindred counsellors, were mown down in battle by Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu. The Nārāyaṇas and Vālabhadras, and hundreds of devoted friends of the Pāṇḍavas, were slain beneath his arrows.

Satyajit, equal in might to Arjuna himself, fell to Droṇa’s shafts. Many gallant Pāñcāla bowmen, skilled in every weapon, encountered the preceptor and reached the abode of Yama. The aged kings Virāṭa and Drupada, those pillars of alliance, were slain with their sons by the same invincible master of arms.

Abhimanyu, the tender youth of Subhadrā’s womb—equal in prowess to Arjuna, Kṛṣṇa, or Baladeva—having cut down vast hosts, was at last surrounded by six of the foremost car-warriors and slain. Bereft of his chariot, he still fought on, remembering his Kṣatriya duty, until Duḥśāsana’s son struck him down.

The handsome Amvāṣṭha prince, slayer of the Paṭacchatras, made great slaughter among the foe before meeting Lakṣmaṇa, Duryodhana’s son, by whose hand he fell. Bhīṣma’s teaching did not save Vṛhanta, master of arms, whom Duḥśāsana slew in single combat.

The kings Manimat and Dandadhara, valiant and unyielding, were slain by Droṇa; and Aṅśumat of the Bhojas, mighty car-warrior, also fell beneath his shafts. Citraseṇa, ruler of the sea-coast, with his son, was slain by Samudrasena; Nīla and Vyāghradatta, both fierce, were cut down by Aśvatthāman.

Citrāyudha and Citrāyodhin, after mighty deeds, were slain by Vikarna, who fought with subtle turns of his car. The Kaikeya chief, equal to Bhīma in wrath, was slain by his own brother—brother by brother’s hand. Janamejaya of the hills, deft with the mace, was slain by thy son Durmukha. The twin heroes Rochamāna, shining like twin stars, were pierced by Droṇa’s rain of arrows.

Purujit and Kuntibhoja, maternal uncles of Arjuna, were struck down by Droṇa and attained the warrior’s heaven. Abhibhū of Kāśī fell to the son of Vasudāna. Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas—guardians of Arjuna’s car—after slaying hundreds of foes, were themselves slain by the Kaurava host.

Mitravarman the Pāñcāla prince was cut down by Droṇa. Kṣatradeva, son of Śikhaṇḍin, brave beyond measure, was slain by thy grandson Lakṣmaṇa. Sucitra and Citravarman, father and son, fell together beneath Droṇa’s shafts. Vardhakṣemī, valiant as the ocean, died weaponless and found his rest. Senavindu, foremost of Sūtas, who had consumed many foes, was slain by the aged Bāhlika.

Dhṛṣṭaketu, lion of the Cedis, after deeds renowned, was laid low; so too Satyadhṛti, his prowess spent for the Pāṇḍavas. Śiśupāla’s son Suketu, destroyer of enemies, met his end by Droṇa’s hand. Virāṭa’s sons Śaṅkha and Uttara, heroic and fair, fell likewise; Satyadhṛti of the Matsyas, Madirāśva, and Suryadatta were all slain by Droṇa’s unerring arrows.

Śreṇimat, having fought with great energy, attained Yama’s abode. The chief of the Magadhas, skilled in celestial weapons, sleeps upon the field, slain by Bhīṣma. Vasudāna too, after vast carnage, was slain by Droṇa. These, and many other kings—warriors whose names filled the earth with splendour—have perished.

“They fought as fire against the wind,

Their vows fulfilled, their hearts unpinned.

Their banners fall, their trumpets cease—

The field of war lies hushed in peace.”

Thus, O monarch, hath the great destruction come to pass. When Arjuna and Karṇa met, Time himself drove the chariot wheels. Even as Indra smote Vṛtra, as Paraśurāma slew Kārtavīrya, as Skanda felled Mahisha, and Rudra laid low Andhaka—so did Arjuna slay Karṇa, the pillar of thy hopes and the cause of this vast enmity.

What the wise foretold and thou wouldst not heed hath now unfolded in blood and dust. The harvest of pride and blindness is reaped, O king; its fruit is bitter as gall.

“The east is red with kindled flame,

The west is dark with Kuru’s shame.

The sons of Pāṇḍu stand, but torn—

For peace is bought when worlds are worn.”

Thus spoke Sanjaya, voice of destiny, to the sightless lord of Hastināpura. And Vaiśampāyana, turning to Janamejaya, said:

“So ended the tale of the great slaughter. The wheel of time had turned full, grinding to dust both virtue and pride alike. The sons of men had fulfilled their fates, and only the wind moved now across the field of the dead.”

Vaiśampāyana said:

Hearing of the destruction of his sons and kinsmen, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, son of Ambikā, his mind tossed like a leaf in storm, again spoke to Sanjaya with trembling voice:

“O Sanjaya, when all my foremost warriors—those tigers among men—have perished, what hope can remain for the remnant? When Bhīṣma and Droṇa, those twin pillars of my kingdom, have fallen, of what use is life to me now?

How shall I endure the death of Rādhā’s son, Karṇa, whose might equaled that of ten thousand elephants, whose bow was the terror of the world? Tell me, O Sūta, who still lives among my army’s wreck, though I deem them all already dead. Thou hast told me of those who have fallen; now tell me who yet breathe amid this ruin.”

Sanjaya said:

“O king, though thy host is shattered, there still remain warriors of might and fame—each blazing like fire, each resolute in battle for thy cause.

There stands the high-souled Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, to whom the preceptor imparted the fourfold lore of weapons—celestial, divine, human, and demonic. Light of hand, firm of grasp, his arrows strike as lightning, and his heart burns for vengeance on behalf of thee.

There, too, abides Kṛtavarman, son of Hṛidika, foremost among the Sātvatas and chief of the Bhojas, skilled in arms and fearless in war.

Also stands Śalya, king of Madra—peerless in valour, equal to Indra in energy—who once renounced his sister’s sons, the Pāṇḍavas, to keep his word to Duryodhana. In his chariot gleaming like the morning sun, he remains on the field, resolved to humble Karṇa’s pride even in death, and to fight now for thy sake.

With him are the forces of the north and west—the Ājāneyas, Saindhavas, mountain tribes, river-dwellers, Kambojas, and Vāṇayas—arrayed beneath the banner of the Gandhāra king, Śakuni, ever deceitful yet steadfast in enmity, waiting for the last throw of fate.

There is Kṛpa, son of Śaradvat, master of many weapons and forms of war, his bow strung and eyes aflame; and the Kaikeya prince, valiant as Agni, mounted on his golden car and eager for combat.

Among thy sons, Purumitra, fierce and bright as the sun, still lives, and Duryodhana, the last hope of the Kurus, abides amidst his elephant hosts, his armour radiant with gold, his gaze fixed on victory though doom encircles him. Surrounded by kings and warriors, he shines like fire with little smoke, or like the sun emerging from storm.

Beside him stand his brothers—Suṣeṇa, Satyasena, and Citraseṇa—their hearts high with fevered courage, resolved to die sword in hand. Near them remain the princes Citrāyudha, Śrutavarman, Jaya, Dala, Satyavrata, and even Duśśalā’s sons, bearing the banner of their fading race.

The Kaitavya king, proud of his strength, with footmen, horse, elephants, and cars, still stands ready. So too the valorous Śrutāyus and Śrutāyudha, Citrāṅgada and Citravarman—archers of sure aim—remain, thirsting for battle.

Even now, the sons of Karṇa—Satyasandha and two others, versed in celestial weapons—stand at the head of dense divisions that no weak warrior may pierce. Supported by these few yet mighty survivors, O king, thy son Duryodhana stands like a second Indra in the midst of his elephant host, waiting for the hour decreed by destiny.”

Few now remain, yet fierce they burn,

Like embers red that will not turn.

But fate hath marked, the hour is near—

The final dawn shall soon appear.