Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 3 - Aśvatthāman’s Fury

Sañjaya said:

Meanwhile, O King, Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, beheld Yudhiṣṭhira, guarded by the valiant Sātyaki and the heroic sons of Draupadī. Smiling with the joy of battle, he advanced swiftly upon them, scattering countless arrows tipped with gold and whetted upon stone, his bow flashing like lightning in the storm.

He whirled his chariot with wondrous skill, displaying the full mastery of his craft and the lightness of his hand. The heavens grew dark with shafts—each one charged with the power of celestial weapons. The sky itself seemed woven into a golden net of arrows.

Across the air his bright shafts streamed,

A shining canopy they seemed;

The sun was dimmed, the winds grew still,

As war eclipsed the world’s own will.

So dense was that rain of missiles that neither sun nor sky could be seen. All space before Droṇa’s son became a single sea of arrows. It was as though a vast golden awning had been drawn across the firmament, or a twilight cloud had risen at noon.

The Pandava heroes, caught beneath that storm, could scarcely move. Yudhiṣṭhira and Sātyaki, and all the princes of Pāñcāla and Śṛñjaya, stood dazzled and confined, their arms hindered by the brilliance and the press of arrows. None could even look upon Aśvatthāman, for he blazed like the sun at its fiercest zenith.

Then the Pandava warriors, setting fear aside, rushed all together upon Droṇa’s son.

Sātyaki, lion-hearted, pierced him with seventy shafts, and seven more tipped with shining gold.

Yudhiṣṭhira, calm and wrathful, struck him with three and seventy arrows.

Prativindhya, Śrutakarman, Śrutakīrti, Sutasoma, and Satanika, the sons of Draupadī, each loosed his shafts—three, five, nine, seven—in the warrior’s face.

And the other princes joined, sending arrows thick as rain.

But Aśvatthāman, breathing like a wrathful serpent, answered them all:

Five and twenty arrows struck Sātyaki; nine smote Śrutakīrti, five Sutasoma, eight Śrutakarman, three Prativindhya, nine Satanika, and five Yudhiṣṭhira himself. The others each he touched with twin shafts, and then, smiling, he sheared away Śrutakīrti’s bow with one keen arrow.

The Pāñcāla prince seized another weapon and rained his darts again; but Droṇa’s son, spreading his bow wide, covered the whole Pandava host with arrows till the air seemed aflame.

Then he laughed softly and, with swift precision, cut away the bow of Yudhiṣṭhira and struck the son of Dharma thrice upon the breast. But the steadfast king, taking up a new bow, smote back with seventy shafts that tore Aśvatthāman’s arms and chest.

Sātyaki, his wrath rekindled, severed Droṇa’s son’s bow with a crescent-headed arrow and shouted a lion’s roar. In answer, Aśvatthāman hurled a dart and felled Sātyaki’s charioteer. Grasping a fresh bow, he covered the grandson of Sini with a deluge of shafts until his driverless horses scattered wild across the field.

Seeing Sātyaki endangered, Yudhiṣṭhira and the sons of Draupadī rushed in, their arrows whistling like bees about a flame. But the son of Droṇa met them all head-on, his rage unshaken.

He burned them as the forest fire

Devours the grass in secret ire;

His arrows blazed, his bowstring sang—

And Pandu’s host in torment rang.

The Pandava army, scorched and torn, reeled like the mouth of a river swallowed by a whale. Men cried that Aśvatthāman alone would destroy them all.

Then Yudhiṣṭhira, disciple of Droṇa, his patience spent, raised his voice amid the roar:

“O tiger among men! Thou hast no love, no gratitude!

Thou seekest today to slay thy teacher’s son.

A Brāhmaṇa’s duty is gift, and study, and the peace of penance;

The bow belongs to the Kṣatriya alone!

Therefore art thou Brāhmaṇa but in name.

In thy very sight shall I vanquish the Kurus—

Do what thou wilt, O ingrate, false to thy race!”

Aśvatthāman smiled, silent and composed. Knowing truth from vanity, he answered not, but drew his bow and sent a storm of arrows so fierce it seemed the wrath of Kāla himself.

Yudhiṣṭhira, overwhelmed by that fiery rain, turned his chariot away, leaving that section of his army broken. Droṇa’s son, seeing him depart, also drew back, still blazing like a torch upon the field.

Then the son of Dharma, steering aside from Aśvatthāman’s fury, turned once more upon thy host, O King—his heart set upon completing that cruel and inexorable task of slaughter.

Sañjaya said:

Then Vikartana’s son, Karṇa, the mighty-armed and terrible in fight, opposed Bhīmasena, who was supported by the Pāñcālas, the Cedis, and the Kaikeyas. He poured upon him a thousand arrows, each bright as lightning and deadly as the wrath of Rudra.

Before Bhīma’s eyes, the son of the charioteer slew many lords of cars among the Cedis, Karūṣas, and Śṛñjayas, making the earth tremble beneath the weight of their fall. Seeing Karṇa thus raging in the van, Bhīma avoided him for the moment and fell upon the Kaurava host, blazing like a fire upon a heap of dry grass.

Karna, too, wheeled his car through the ranks of the Pāñcālas and Śṛñjayas, slaying their heroes by thousands. Thus did three mighty warriors divide the slaughter among themselves: Arjuna destroyed the Samsaptakas, Bhīma tore through the Kauravas, and Karṇa smote down the Pāñcālas—each blazing like a fire kindled by thy unrighteous counsel, O King.

The field was red with chariot’s flood,

Where heroes bathed in shining blood;

And three fierce suns of battle burned—

Till all the sky to crimson turned.

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Then Duryodhana, thy son, furious with wrath, pierced Nakula and his four steeds with nine arrows. With a razor-edged shaft, he cut down Sahadeva’s golden standard. Stung by his taunts, Nakula smote the Kaurava prince with three and seventy arrows, and Sahadeva with five.

Duryodhana answered with five arrows upon each of them, and with two sharp shafts he shivered both their bows. Again he wounded each twin with three and seventy arrows, making their armour ring like thunder. But the sons of Mādrī, taking up new bows like twin gods of war, rained ceaseless arrows upon their cousin—like storm-clouds emptying their wrath upon a mountain.

The bow of Duryodhana shone,

A wheel of flame his hands had drawn;

His shafts flew thick on every side,

Like sunlight when the clouds divide.

The twins were veiled beneath that storm; their splendour dimmed as the Sun and Moon shrouded by monsoon clouds. Beholding Duryodhana’s fury, the warriors around cried that Death himself stood before Nakula and Sahadeva.

Then the Pāṇḍava commander, Dṛṣṭadyumna, the son of Pṛṣata, advanced to that spot where Duryodhana fought. Passing the twins, he loosed a storm of arrows upon the Kaurava king.

Duryodhana, smiling in pride and rage, pierced the Pāñcāla prince with five and twenty shafts, then again with sixty, and once more with five. With a razor-headed arrow, he cut off Dṛṣṭadyumna’s bow and guard. The prince seized another mighty bow, his eyes red with fury, his wounds glistening like molten copper.

His chest was streaked with ruby flame,

His gaze was wrath, his breath was shame;

And like a Kinsuka tree in bloom,

He burned amidst the battle’s gloom.

He struck Duryodhana with fifteen arrows, long and sharp, that tore through his golden mail and passed into the earth. Thy son, pierced through and through, seemed a crimson tree beneath the spring’s first light.

Yet filled with rage, Duryodhana cut off Dṛṣṭadyumna’s bow and struck him on the brow with ten keen arrows. The shafts adorned the Pāñcāla’s face like bees clustering on a lotus.

Seizing another bow, Dṛṣṭadyumna loosed sixteen arrows—five slew Duryodhana’s steeds, one cut off his bow, and the rest destroyed his car, his umbrella, his weapons, and his elephant-banner glittering with jewels.

The kings beheld with wonder that glorious standard of the Kuru line—bearing an elephant wrought in gems—fall shattered upon the dust.

Then Durdhara, Duryodhana’s brother, hastened to the spot, set the king upon his car, and bore him swiftly away before Dṛṣṭadyumna’s wrath could strike again.

Meanwhile, Karna, having defeated Sātyaki and burning to rescue Duryodhana, turned his steeds towards the son of Pṛṣata. But Sātyaki, unyielding, pursued him like an elephant striking another from behind. Between them raged a fierce battle—no warrior on either side turned his face from the fight.

Karna sped onward through the Pāñcāla ranks. The sun had reached its zenith, and the air was thick with blood and dust; elephants and horses fell like broken stars.

The Pāñcālas, craving victory, rushed at Karṇa as birds rush at a fruit-laden tree. The son of Adhiratha met them front to front, his wrath blazing like fire from the mouth of Death. He singled out their leaders—Vyaghraketu, Suśarma, Citra, Ugrayudha, Jaya, Śukla, Rochamāna, and Siṃhasena—and pierced each with flaming arrows.

Surrounding him with chariots, those eight heroes poured arrows thick as monsoon rain. But Karṇa answered with eight shafts, one for each—each like a thunderbolt hurled by Indra. Then, raging, he slew thousands more of the Pāñcālas and Śṛñjayas.

His bowstring hummed, his banner streamed,

His wrath a furnace, bright it gleamed;

And through that storm of men he came—

A lion loosed in fields of flame.

He slew Jishnu, Jishnukarman, Devāpi, Citra, Citrāyudha, Hari, Siṃhaketū, Rochamāna, Śālaba, and many Cedis besides. Their blood flowed over his car and bathed his limbs in crimson light.

Elephants pierced by his arrows fled shrieking in all directions, shaking the ground. Others toppled and died, split asunder by his shafts like mountains cleft by lightning.

The earth was strewn with carcasses of men, steeds, and tuskers, and broken cars lay thick along Karṇa’s path.

Neither Bhīṣma nor Droṇa, nor any Kuru chief before him,

Had wrought such havoc as the son of Rādha wrought that day.

Among elephants, among steeds, among men, among chariots—

He moved like Death unbound, smiling beneath the sun.

As a lion scatters deer in terror, so did Karṇa scatter the Pāñcāla hosts. None that approached him returned alive. And as dry reeds perish in a flame, so perished the Śṛñjayas when they met the fire of Karṇa’s wrath.

Then, O Bharata, seeing his splendour and his slaughter, I thought within my heart—

“Not one Pāñcāla shall escape the hands of Adhiratha’s son.”

Sañjaya said:

Seeing Karṇa mowing down the Pāñcālas, Yudhiṣṭhira rushed at him in anger. With him came Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the sons of Draupadī, Śikhaṇḍin, Sahadeva, Nakula (with his son), Janamejaya, Sātyaki, and ranks of Prabhadrakas—an iron ring of bows and blades closing on the son of a charioteer. But Karṇa, like Garuḍa diving into a nest of serpents, met them single-handed and held them all at bay, his arrows burning like daybreak driving out the dark.

While Karṇa grappled with that knot of heroes, Bhīma, blazing with wrath, crashed into the Kuru lines—Bāhlikas, Kaikeyas, Matsyas, Vāsatis, Madras, Sindhus—felling elephants at their temples, riders and horses together, chariots by the thousand. The field ran red; fear took thy host; it stood stunned and motionless like the autumn sea in a windless hush.

So, side by side, two wild fires raged—Karṇa routing the Pāñcālas, Bhīma routing the Kurus—while far off Arjuna finished breaking the Saṁsaptakas and said to Keśava: “Their back is broken. But look—Karṇa’s elephant-rope banner wheels amid Yudhiṣṭhira’s troops. None can master him save us. Take me to him.”

Kṛṣṇa smiled: “Slay the Kauravas without delay.” The white horses flew; the Ape-bannered car tore thy array like a thunderhead cleaving cloud. Red-eyed and wrathful, the Two Krishṇas drove deep, shining like the Aśvins called to a sacrifice.

Duryodhana, desperate, hurled the Saṁsaptakas back on Arjuna—1,000 cars, 300 elephants, 14,000 horses, 200,000 bowmen closed like a storm. Arjuna stood like Time with his noose: the sky turned to gold-feathered rain as Gandīva sang; ten thousand kṣatriyas fell; then the far wing of Kambojas shattered. Sudakṣiṇa’s brother he shore of arms and head with crescent and razor—down he dropped like a golden Sumeru peak split by thunder. Yavanas, Śakas, Kambojas died each with a single shaft; riderless beasts and driverless cars crashed together in blind slaughter.

Then, blazing and lion-loud, Aśvatthāman stormed at Arjuna, his bowstring flashing like lightning. Such was his veil of arrows that both Kṛṣṇa and Pārtha vanished in it; even the Siddhas cried “Alas!” For a moment Arjuna’s power seemed dimmed; Keśava’s wrath kindled: “This is no time to spare the preceptor’s son!”

Stung, Pārtha in a breath cut Aśvatthāman’s bow, banner, umbrella, car, mace, and dart; then with calf-toothed shafts smote his shoulder. Swooning, Droṇa’s son was borne off by his charioteer.

Freed, Arjuna hewed down thy troops by the hundred-thousand; Vṛkodara broke the Kurus; Vasusena (Karṇa) broke the Pāñcālas—headless trunks sprang up and fell like trees in a gale.

Meanwhile Yudhiṣṭhira, sore-wounded, withdrew about two miles from the press and rested a little—while, O King, by thy crooked counsel, ruin like a devouring night settled upon thy host.

Sañjaya said:

Then Duryodhana, O chief of the Bharatas, hastened to Karna, and standing beside him, addressed both the son of Rādha and the ruler of Madra with these words—his voice ringing clear above the clamour of the field:

“Without seeking, O heroes, the occasion has come—

the very gates of Heaven stand open!

Blessed are the Kṣatriyas who gain such a war,

where brave meet brave in equal might.

Either let us, slaying the sons of Pāṇḍu,

enjoy the wide Earth and her wealth;

or, slain by them in this righteous fight,

ascend to those shining worlds reserved for heroes.”

Hearing the king, those bulls among men, their hearts lifted with valour, blew their conches, beat their drums, and filled the sky with exultant roars. The whole Kaurava host, drunk on the fever of glory, surged forward like a rising sea.

Then Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, standing before them all, spoke with fire in his eyes and thunder in his voice:

“Behold! In the sight of you all,

my father—weapon laid aside—

was slain by Dhṛṣṭadyumna the Pāñcāla.

By the wrath that such a deed can kindle,

by the friendship I bear my fallen sire,

I swear before you, O kings—

I shall not lay down this armour

till Dhṛṣṭadyumna lies dead upon the earth.

Should I fail this vow,

may I never win heaven!

And be it Arjuna, Bhīmasena, or any other—

who comes against me, I shall crush him.

So let all the worlds bear witness!”

At his terrible oath the Kaurava host raised a shout that shook the sky; then both armies—like twin oceans driven by opposing storms—rushed upon each other.

The ground quaked,

the heavens trembled,

the clash of chariots rolled like thunder;

and the meeting of those hosts of men

seemed like the last dissolving of the worlds.

From the sky descended divine beings and Apsarās, radiant with joy, to behold that dread encounter of the greatest of warriors. They cast down garlands woven of celestial blooms and sprinkled perfumes upon the field; gems rained like drops of light from their hands.

Soft, fragrant winds wandered through the ranks, bearing to every nostril the scent of heaven. Then, inspired anew by those airs and odours, the warriors turned again to the work of death.

The earth, strewn with shining arrows winged with gold, with fallen heroes, and with garlands from the sky, shone bright and terrible—like the firmament spangled with a thousand stars.

The heavens rang with conch and cymbal,

the earth with bowstring and wheel;

and amid that storm of sound,

the fury of battle flamed brighter still—

fierce, unending, and glorious.