novelraw Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 1 - Fierce battles of the 17th Day
Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 1 - Fierce battles of the 17th Day
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“When the two armies, duly arrayed, mingled like tempest-driven seas, tell me, O Sañjaya, how did Pārtha assail the Saṃśaptakas, and how did Karṇa meet the sons of Pāṇḍu? Tell me in full. Thou art skilled in the tale of battle, and I, hearing of the valour of heroes, am never sated.”
Sañjaya said:
“Beholding the vast host of thine, ranged deep and terrible under thy son’s design, Arjuna set his own troops in ordered form. Then shone the Pāṇḍava array—dense with horse and elephant, car and man—its wings curved like Garuḍa’s pinions. At its head stood Dhṛṣṭadyumna, son of Pṛṣata, bright as the sun in mail of gold, his steeds white as pigeons, his bow gleaming like a streak of lightning. By him stood the sons of Draupadī, fierce and eager for war, their armour radiant, their hands firm upon the bowstring—cubs pacing beside their lion-uncle, stars about the moon.
Then, seeing the Saṃśaptakas standing firm in challenge, Arjuna’s wrath blazed forth. Grasping the Gandīva, he urged on his steeds and rushed upon them like Rudra smiting the hosts of creation. The Saṃśaptakas, sworn to death and glory, came thundering to meet him—men and horses and elephants and chariots surging in waves, determined to perish if they could not prevail.
Their onset was a storm. But Arjuna, standing firm upon his chariot, loosed his shafts in ceaseless rain.
His arrows flashed like serpents’ tongues,
Each hiss a herald of doom;
Helm and horse and standard fell—
The sky itself seemed tomb.
With scything shafts he cut down cars and steeds and banners; he clove through elephants and men; he severed lifted arms that still gripped weapons; and heads rolled in thousands, crowned and fair as moons. The Saṃśaptakas roared aloud, thinking his car engulfed within their whirlpool, but Partha struck before, behind, and to each side, felling all as Rudra in fury smites the living world.
Elsewhere, the Pāñcālas, Cedis, and Śṛñjayas met thy warriors in battle fierce and foaming. Kṛpa and Kṛtavarman, and Śakuni, son of Subala—heroes hard to break—led joyful troops, their hearts alight with rage. Against them came the Kosalas, the Kāśis, the Matsyas, the Kārusas, the Kekayas, and the Sūrasenas—valiant, roaring for fame. That field became a furnace of death, cleansing warriors of sin even as it claimed their flesh—granting heaven to the steadfast, renown to the brave, and the final rest to all.
Meanwhile, Duryodhana with his brothers, ringed by Kuru chiefs and the strong Mādra captains, guarded Karṇa as he fought. The son of Rādhā, his bow a sunbeam, his armour a blaze, fell upon the Pāṇḍava lines—on the Pāñcālas, the Cedis, and Sātyaki. His arrows tore through ranks, splintered mail, cleft banners and bodies; and as thousands fell, slain or broken, his friends shouted for joy.
Thus, O sire, that battle of men, steeds, and cars—where Karṇa and Arjuna shone like twin fires of dissolution—resembled of old the war between gods and Asuras, shaking the world and reddening heaven itself with flame.”
Two storms met upon Kurukṣetra’s plain,
Each vowing to sweep the other away;
The sky grew red, the earth grew slain—
And dharma itself stood trembling that day.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“Tell me, O Sañjaya, how Karṇa, having wrought vast slaughter, pierced the heart of the Pāṇḍava host and smote king Yudhiṣṭhira. Who among the foremost heroes of the sons of Pāṇḍu opposed him? Who fell before him ere he reached the king?”
Sañjaya said:
Beholding the Pāṇḍava host drawn up beneath Dhṛṣṭadyumna’s command—its banners bright as planets—Karna, crusher of foes, surged forth like a sea in storm. The Pāñcālas, eager for victory, rushed to meet him as swans hasten toward the ocean.
Then blared a thousand conchs; drums rolled like thunder; cymbals, trumpets, and kettles mingled their tumult with the shrill cry of elephants, neighing of steeds, and the roar of warriors.
The earth quivered; mountains and trees trembled; clouds tossed and stars grew dim, as though creation itself shuddered beneath that sound. The weak-hearted among creatures fell lifeless with terror.
Then Karṇa, inflamed with wrath, invoked his celestial weapons and smote the Pāṇḍava army as Maghavat once smote the Asuras. He pierced through their ranks, loosing arrows thick as rain, and slew seven and seventy chiefs among the Prabhadrakas.
With five-and-twenty barbed shafts he felled five-and-twenty Pāñcālas; and with golden-winged arrows he struck down the Cedis by hundreds and by thousands.
The Pāñcāla warriors, enclosing him round like hunters a lion, hurled spears and darts upon him; but he, drawing his mighty bow, shot five arrows of death—
“Bhānudeva, Citraseṇa, Senavindu, Tāpana, and Sūrasena—
These five fell together, their chariots broken, their standards cast down.”
The cry of “Alas! Alas!” rose from the Pāñcāla ranks, echoing over the plain like wailing winds. Ten other chieftains then rushed upon Karṇa, and he smote them also unto death.
At his wheels stood his two invincible sons—Suṣeṇa and Satyasena—guarding their sire like the Aśvins guarding Indra’s car. Behind him, Vr̥ṣasena, eldest-born, kept the rear, a bright star in the red dusk of war.
Then the heroes of the Pāṇḍava host—Dhṛṣṭadyumna, Sātyaki, the five sons of Draupadī, Bhīma, Janamejaya, Śikhaṇḍin, and many chiefs of the Prabhadrakas, Cedis, Kekayas, Pāñcālas, and Matsyas—advanced upon Karṇa from all sides, eager for his fall. Clouds of shafts and javelins rained upon him, drenching his car like the monsoon over the mountain breast.
To rescue their father, Karṇa’s sons and many warriors of the Kaurava host opposed those Pāṇḍava heroes, and battle flared anew.
Then rage met rage, and might met might,
The dust rose red as blood;
Bows sang like wind, the air was flame—
And earth forgot her flood.
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Suṣeṇa, with a broad-headed shaft, cut Bhīma’s bow and pierced him in the chest with seven arrows, roaring in triumph.
Bhīma, furious, strung another bow, cut down Suṣeṇa’s weapon, and pierced him with ten shafts. Then, turning his wrath upon Karṇa, he smote him with seventy more.
With a single keen arrow he slew Bhānusena, Karṇa’s son—horses, driver, and banner falling in ruin. The youth’s head, radiant as the moon, rolled upon the earth like a lotus torn from its stalk.
Having slain Karṇa’s son, Bhīma rushed on, scattering the Kaurava ranks, cutting the bows of Kṛpa and Kṛtavarman, piercing Duḥśāsana and Śakuni, and striking down Ulūka and his brother from their cars.
When he cried to Suṣeṇa—“Thou art slain!”—Karna struck that arrow aside and wounded Bhīma with three keen shafts. But Bhīma seized another, swift as lightning; Karṇa again cut it down and rained upon him seventy-three arrows, each like a serpent in flight.
Meanwhile Suṣeṇa, drawing a bow of iron strength, smote Nakula with five shafts in arm and breast. Nakula answered with twenty, his lion’s roar shaking Karṇa’s heart; yet Suṣeṇa, undaunted, pierced him again and cut his bow with a razor-head.
Then Nakula, in fury, took up a new bow and, shrouding the quarters with arrows, slew Suṣeṇa’s driver and shattered his bow in three parts. But Suṣeṇa, raging, strung yet another and wounded Nakula and Sahadeva both, sixty shafts for one, seven for the other.
Thus those brothers of Pāṇḍu fought the sons of Karṇa like gods against Asuras—unceasing, terrible, and grand.
Sātyaki, slaying the driver of Vr̥ṣasena with three arrows, cut off his bow, struck his steeds and banner, and smote him in the chest.
Vr̥ṣasena, stunned, leapt down from his shattered car, sword and shield in hand, rushing upon Sātyaki. But the grandson of Sini, swift and sure, shot ten shafts that clove his weapon and shield like reeds in storm.
Then Duḥśāsana, seeing Vr̥ṣasena unhorsed, lifted him to his own chariot and bore him off. Soon, mounted anew, Vr̥ṣasena returned, showering arrows—seventy upon the sons of Draupadī, five upon Sātyaki, sixty-four upon Bhīma, five upon Sahadeva, thirty upon Nakula, seven upon Satanika, ten upon Śikhaṇḍin, and a hundred upon Yudhiṣṭhira himself.
That youthful lion, Karṇa’s son, covered all the field with shafts, standing as a wall behind his sire.
Meanwhile Sātyaki smote Duḥśāsana, cutting down his horses, driver, and car with nine times nine iron arrows, and pierced him in the brow with ten more.
The Kuru prince, mounting another car, re-entered the field within Karṇa’s division, burning for revenge.
Dhṛṣṭadyumna then pierced Karṇa with ten arrows; the sons of Draupadī with seventy-three; Sātyaki with seven; Bhīma with sixty-four; Sahadeva with seven; Nakula with thirty; Satanika with seven; Śikhaṇḍin with ten; and king Yudhiṣṭhira with a hundred.
But Karṇa, circling his car with dancer’s grace, answered each shaft with three of his own. His hands moved faster than sight could follow—none saw him draw, aim, or loose; they only saw his foes fall dying. The sky and earth grew dark beneath the swarm of his arrows, as if red clouds had drowned the day.
Roaring aloud, the son of Rādhā burst through the circle of his assailants. The way opened before him like sea parting for a storm. Unresisted, he broke into Yudhiṣṭhira’s host, slaying thirty Cedi chariots and scattering the rest like dust before the wind. Then he smote the king himself with many barbed arrows.
The Pāṇḍava chiefs, with Śikhaṇḍin and Sātyaki, pressed round to shield their sovereign; and all the Kaurava heroes gathered to guard Karṇa.
Then drums rolled, conchs blared, and lion-shouts filled the sky once more as both hosts met headlong—thy warriors led by the son of Rādhā, and the sons of Pāṇḍu by Dharmarāja himself.
As rivers meet with rivers in flood,
As tempests clash mid thunder loud—
So met the hosts beneath the sun,
Till heaven was fire and earth was cloud.
Sañjaya said:
Piercing the Pāṇḍava host like a burning spear, Karṇa—ringed by thousands of cars, elephants, steeds, and footmen—drove straight for king Yudhiṣṭhira. Showers of weapons met him; he shore them with hundreds of keen shafts, and heads and arms and thighs hewed down fell together like palmyra groves in a cyclone. Drāviḍas, Andhakas, Niṣādas—whom Sātyaki urged on—closed once more; archer after archer dropped, helms torn away, as a whole stand of śāl trees felled by the axe.
The Pāṇḍavas and Pāñcālas swarmed him as men fight a wasting fever with charms and herbs; but Karṇa, wrath walking, crushed through, rushing again at Dharmarāja like a plague that rites cannot curb. At last, hemmed by Pāṇḍus, Pāñcālas, and Kekayas burning to save their king, Vaikartana paused—like Death himself held back by those who know Brahman.
Yudhiṣṭhira’s eyes reddened. “O Karṇa, O vain-eyed Sūta’s son!” he cried, “ever thou challengest Phālguṇa and opposest us at the blind king’s bidding. Muster all thy hate, thy strength, thy skill. I will purge thee of this hunger for battle!” He loosed ten iron, gold-winged shafts that rang upon Karṇa’s mail; and Karṇa, in cool contempt, answered with ten calf-toothed heads. The son of Pṛthā blazed like sacrificial flame fed with ghee, bent his gold-decked bow to full, and sped a hill-piercing shaft whose thunderlike whizz struck Karṇa in the left. Limbs weakened, bow slipping, the great bowman swooned upon his car; the Kaurava faces blanched, while leonine roars leapt from the Pāṇḍava ranks.
One arrow like a lightning-breath
Found out the tiger’s heart;
Day reeled; the drums forgot their beat—
And hope and terror part.
But the cruel-souled son of Rādhā rose swiftly from that darkness, set his heart upon the fall of Dharmarāja, and drew golden Vijaya. With twin razors he shore down Candradeva and Daṇḍadhara, twin Pāñcāla guardians of the king’s wheels—bright as Punarvasu beside the moon, now fallen. Yudhiṣṭhira struck again—thirty for Karṇa, three each for Suṣeṇa and Satyasena, three for every guard about him. Karṇa laughed, shook his bow, planted a broad-headed gash upon the king, followed with sixty more, and shouted so the banners trembled.
Then a flood rose to rescue the son of Dharma—Sātyaki, Cekitāna, Yuyutsu, Śikhaṇḍin, the sons of Draupadī, the Prabhadrakas, Nakula and Sahadeva, Bhīma like a black storm, and the Karūṣas, Matsyas, Śūras, Kaikayas, Kāśis, and Kośalas—ringing Vasuṣena with iron rain. Janamejaya of the Pāñcālas pierced him hard. Hemmed from all quarters, Karṇa lit the brahmāstra; the winds and points flamed with arrows, and he careered like a forest fire through resinous pines, burning that woodland of Pāṇḍava ranks.
In a blink he cut Yudhiṣṭhira’s great bow; in another, ninety straight shafts stripped the king’s gem-bright armour. It fell whirling like a night-sky shaken from his shoulders, stars tumbling. Blood-wet and wrathful, the son of Pṛthā hurled an iron dart; Karṇa clove it mid-air with seven arrows, and it died upon the dust. Yudhiṣṭhira answered with four lances scoring arms, brow, and chest; Karṇa, snake-breathing, severed his standard, cracked his quivers, and splintered his car.
Mounting another chariot—ivory-white steeds with black tail-tufts—the king turned and fled. Karṇa pursued, touched him on the shoulder with his auspicious palm—thunderbolt, parasol, hook, fish, tortoise, conch traced there—and reached to seize him. Then he remembered Kuntī’s secret vow; and Śalya the Madra spoke: “Touch not this best of kings; grasp him and both of us are ash.” Karṇa laughed, and with mocking mercy released Dharmarāja:
“Born high, Veda-wise, why flee to save thy life? Rail not at warriors, nor come again to great battles. Go where Keśava and Arjuna guard thee. Karṇa slays not such as thee.” So saying, he turned back upon the Pāṇḍava ranks and smote them as Vāsava smites the Asuras. Yudhiṣṭhira, borne on Śrutakīrti’s car, watched the foe’s prowess, then, seeing his troops fast slaughtered, flamed with rage and cried, “Strike! Exert! Face them!” The Pāṇḍava lords, Bhīma at the fore, surged forth; shouts from both hosts, axle-cry of cars, tusker-trumpet and bowstring-song shook the field till a shadow like storm-clouds lay over all.
Banners snapped; umbrellas fell; steeds ran riderless; drivers lay atop torn yokes; lords of earth, limb-shorn, lay upon the earth. Elephants, backs ridged like hills, crashed like peaks cloven by thunder. Thousands of horses in shattered mail sprawled with their masters. Car-heroes, weapons loosened from dead hands, toppled among broken axles; footmen by scores of thousands sank where iron met bone. The ground was paved with moon-bright faces and coppery eyes, severed heads like lotuses cut at the stem.
Above, celestial cars thronged; Apsarases sang and lutes replied, welcoming heroes new-slain to Indra’s courts, and bore them heavenward. Seeing and hearing, many fought with smiling faces, eager for the upward road. Car matched car, foot met foot, tusk clashed tusk, hoof struck hoof; dust rose and made another dusk between earth and sky. Enemies slew enemies; friends, in the whirl, slew friends; warriors dragged by their hair, bit and clawed and pummeled, grappling bare-armed when steel was gone.
Blood ran like a river red,
Thick with mail and mane;
Elephants drifted like isle and reef,
And heroes like hewn cane.
Some forded through with victory’s cry,
Some sank without a sound;
Some drank that flood, some bathed in death,
Till sky and soil were one blood-brown.
Smeared with blood were harness and habit, weapon and wreath; the four quarters glowed crimson, and the very wind smelt of iron. Then the Pāṇḍavas, Bhīma and Sātyaki driving like twin storms, hurled themselves again; and thy vast host, O King—cars loosed from order, mail torn, bows fallen—broke and turned its back under that irresistible rush, even as a forest herd scatters before lions.