Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Arjuna Saves Dhṛṣṭadyumna from Aśvatthāman

Sañjaya said:

Thus raged that mighty battle, O King, when Arjuna, Bhīmasena, and Karna, all blazing with wrath, were like three fires kindled at the end of the Yuga to consume the worlds. Having routed Aśvatthāman and many other lords of chariots, Arjuna, the son of Pāṇḍu, turned to Keśava and said—his eyes scanning the field veiled in dust and flame:

“Behold, O Kṛṣṇa of mighty arms,

the Pāṇḍava host is broken and scattered!

Karṇa is slaying our heroes—

their banners fall like stars struck from heaven.

I see not Yudhiṣṭhira’s flag,

nor the sign of Dharma’s son among the warriors.

The day is waning; a third yet remains.

None among the Dhārtarāṣṭras dareth face me.

Therefore, O Hṛṣīkeśa,

drive where Yudhiṣṭhira fights;

once I behold him safe with his brothers,

I shall return and face the foe again.”

Hearing this, Vāsudeva turned his steeds toward the embattled king. The divine chariot of Arjuna, shining with celestial fire, cleaved the press like the sun dispersing clouds.

As they advanced, Kṛṣṇa gazed upon the slaughtered field and said, his voice low and grave amid the cries of dying men:

“Behold, O son of Pāṇḍu, the splendour and the sorrow of this war— gold-backed bows fallen from their masters’ hands, quivers spilt, their arrows shining like freed serpents; scimitars with hilts of ivory and gold, shields and standards crushed into the mire; lances and maces twined with gold, swords and darts strewn like broken suns. Look how the earth is strewn with arms bright with gems and sandal paste, severed thighs huge as elephant trunks, and heads of warriors decked with earrings flashing like moons amidst the blood. The ground is red as an altar of sacrifice, and over it lie chariots shattered, elephants huge as hills, steeds white as foam, and conchs and banners cast down in ruin.

“See those faces, fair as the moon,

their eyes still open to the sky;

their kinsmen run to them weeping,

bearing water for parched lips.

Some die while drinking,

some drop the cup and fall;

others, though their hearts are breaking,

turn once more to battle,

leaving their kin to mourn.”

While Kṛṣṇa spoke thus, the white steeds of Arjuna sped across the field, the dust swirling like smoke around the ape-bannered car. Urged by Pārtha’s cry of “Proceed, O Mādhava!”, they flew like wind across the trampled earth.

Then Keśava, as they neared the king, said softly, pointing to the distant turmoil:

“Behold, O Pārtha, where the kings press round Yudhiṣṭhira;

behold Karṇa, blazing like a rising sun amid their ranks;

behold Bhīma advancing,

and behind him Dhṛṣṭadyumna with the hosts of the Śṛñjayas and Pāñcālas.

See how the enemy’s lines again are breaking,

and how Karṇa strives to rally them,

while Aśvatthāman, that lion among warriors,

thunders down upon Dhṛṣṭadyumna.

The Śṛñjayas fall beneath his fury—

behold, O son of Kuntī, their banners sinking to the dust!”

Thus, with eyes that saw all directions, Vāsudeva narrated each movement to the diademed Arjuna as the chariot sped on.

Then began anew a terrible battle, loud with the crash of drums and the roar of lions’ shouts—

Kauravas and Pāṇḍavas, resolved on death, clashed like mountains meeting.

The sky rang, the earth trembled, and amid that ruin of kings,

the wheel of destiny turned—

all because, O Bhārata, of thy son’s dark counsel.

Sañjaya said:

Then once more, O King, the Kurus and the Śṛñjayas rushed upon each other with fearless hearts — the Pāṇḍavas led by Yudhiṣṭhira, and the Kauravas by Karna, the son of the Sūta.

A dreadful encounter began, fierce as the final dissolution, swelling the dominion of Yama, the Lord of Death.

When that furious battle broke forth, and only a remnant of the brave Saṁsaptakas yet lived, all the kings on the Pāṇḍava side, together with the valiant Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the sons of Pāṇḍu, and their foremost warriors, rushed at Karna alone.

But like a mountain receiving the torrents of the rainy season, Karna, unaided, received them all — their arrows striking his armour like streams upon rock. The flood of heroes broke upon him and was thrown back in foam, as waves recoil from a cliff.

The hair of all who beheld that combat stood erect.

Dhṛṣṭadyumna, approaching the son of Rādha, cried aloud —

“Wait, O Karṇa, wait!”

And he struck him with a straight, keen shaft.

Then the mighty Karna, burning with rage, shook his bow Vijaya, and with his arrows cut off Dhṛṣṭadyumna’s bow and pierced him with nine shafts that sank through his gold-inlaid armour till they shone crimson with blood.

The Pāñcāla prince, casting aside his broken bow, took up another and seventy shafts bright as snakes.

These he shot upon Karna, who, unmoved, shrouded him again with arrows.

Both heroes, like twin fires, blazed against each other.

Then Karna, with wrathful might, sped a golden shaft that shone like the Rod of Death;

but even as it flew, the mighty Sātyaki, with seven swift arrows, cut it into fragments, displaying matchless dexterity.

Foiled, Karna turned his fury upon the grandson of Sini. They pierced each other with golden-winged shafts, their combat so fierce and splendid that all creatures trembled yet marveled at its beauty.

Meanwhile the mighty Aśvatthāman advanced against Dhṛṣṭadyumna, roaring like a lion. Full of wrath, the son of Droṇa cried—

“Stay, stay, O slayer of Brāhmaṇas!

Thou shalt not escape me today.

The sin of slaying my father shall drag thee down to death!”

To him Dhṛṣṭadyumna replied—

“That same sword which answered thy sire in battle

shall answer thee also, O Brāhmaṇa in name alone!

If Droṇa fell by my hand,

why shouldst thou, his son, not meet the same fate today?”

So speaking, he struck Aśvatthāman with a keen shaft; but the Brahma-warrior in rage covered him with countless arrows till neither earth nor sky was seen. And Dhṛṣṭadyumna, in turn, veiled his foe with his own storm of shafts.

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Meanwhile Karna, alone and unwearied, held at bay the Pāñcālas, the sons of Draupadī, Yuyudhāna, and Yudhamanyu, so that all eyes turned to him in wonder.

Then Dhṛṣṭadyumna, watching his moment, cut off the bow of Aśvatthāman and all his arrows;

but Droṇa’s son, quick as lightning, shattered the prince’s bow, dart, mace, standard, steeds, driver, and car.

Leaping to the ground, Dhṛṣṭadyumna seized a sword and shield decked with a hundred moons,

but Aśvatthāman, before he could descend, severed those weapons too with a shower of broad-headed shafts.

All marveled at his speed and mastery.

Though wounded and faint, Dhṛṣṭadyumna yet could not be slain, for weapons could not take his life.

When Aśvatthāman saw this, he cast aside his bow and rushed forward on foot, impetuous as Garuḍa swooping on a serpent.

Then Mādhava, beholding this, cried to Arjuna:

“Behold, O Pārtha! The son of Droṇa rushes upon Dhṛṣṭadyumna!

Soon he will fall, for the Brahma-warrior is fierce as Death himself.

Rescue the prince, O crusher of foes, from those jaws of peril!”

Urged by Kṛṣṇa, the white steeds flew like wind, and the chariot of the two Krishṇas glimmered like a moon racing through storm-clouds.

Seeing them approach, Aśvatthāman, in desperate haste to kill his prey, dragged Dhṛṣṭadyumna by the arm. Then Arjuna, loosing arrows like lightning from Gāṇḍīva, pierced the son of Droṇa in every limb. His shafts, gleaming like golden serpents, struck deep; Aśvatthāman, bleeding and dazed, loosed his hold and fell back upon his car.

Rising again, he snatched his bow and poured arrows upon Arjuna; but Sahadeva had already borne away Dhṛṣṭadyumna on his chariot to safety.

Then Arjuna, enraged, pierced Droṇa’s son once more, and the latter, in fierce return, struck Pārtha on the chest and arms. Thereat Arjuna, taking up a terrible shaft bright as the Rod of Death, shot it with all his strength. It smote Aśvatthāman on the shoulder; and the Brahma-warrior, stunned and swooning, sank upon his car, senseless.

Then Karna, beholding the fall of Droṇa’s son, lifted Vijaya and gazed at Arjuna with wrathful eyes, yearning for single combat. But the driver of Aśvatthāman, seeing his master fainting, swiftly bore him away from the field.

The Pāñcālas, seeing Dhṛṣṭadyumna saved and Aśvatthāman overthrown, raised shouts of triumph; conches and drums resounded, and lion-roars of warriors filled the sky. Having thus rescued the prince and humbled the foe, Arjuna said to Vāsudeva—

“Now, O Keśava, turn the car once more toward the Saṁsaptakas,

for that, above all, is my heart’s desire.”

Then the mighty-armed Kṛṣṇa, smiling faintly, urged the steeds—white as moonbeams—forward, their speed equal to wind and thought, and the chariot of the two Krishṇas sped on, its banners streaming like tongues of flame amid the storm of war.

Sañjaya said:

As the battle boiled, Kṛṣṇa pointed out Yudhiṣṭhira to Arjuna:

“Look there, Pārtha—your elder brother is being hounded by a swarm of Kaurava bowmen. Duryodhana, mail-clad and roaring with his brothers, drives at him like beggars rushing a fallen gem. Though Sātyaki and Bhīma keep throwing them back, their numbers surge again like monsoon waters to the sea.

I fear the king stands at Death’s very jaws. Karna—swift-handed, terrible—has already once turned him from the field, and now with Śakunī, Kṛpa, and Aśvatthāman he presses on, his standard with the elephant-rope gliding everywhere. See how he scatters the Pāñcālas as an elephant shreds lotuses. He sights your ape-banner and burns to meet you—like a moth flying into the lamp.

Yet take heart: Yudhiṣṭhira lives. Bhīma has returned to the van, and with the Śṛñjayas and Sātyaki he is ripping the Kaurava host. Standards, umbrellas, mail, and beasts lie heaped like storm-wreckage; the Pāñcālas charge like swans from Lake Mānasa into the Gaṅgā, snatching weapons from armed foes and felling heads and arms with a lion’s ferocity. Hear Bhīma’s lion-roar! Elephants drop under his cloth-yard shafts like thunder-split hills; riders spill; ranks break. Even three full akṣauhiṇīs cannot stem him.”

Urged thus, Arjuna sped on. While Bhīma performed deeds hard to match, Arjuna with keen, straight shafts finished the remnant before him. The mighty Saṁsaptakas, slaughtered and broken, fled in all directions—many ascending to Indra’s halls. And Pārtha, tiger among men, drove on, his Gandiva singing, to mow the Dhārtarāṣṭra host of elephants, horses, chariots, and foot—unceasing, unstoppable.

Sañjaya said:

Seeing the Kaurava line buckle before Bhīma, Karna—eyes blood-red—drove in, rallied the fugitives, and hurled himself at the Pandava front. The field splintered into duels:

·Śikhaṇḍin checked Karna—only to lose steeds, driver, and standard; wounded and on foot, he flung a dart that Karna shredded mid-flight, then withdrew under a prickling storm of nine shafts.

·Dhṛṣṭadyumna and Duḥśāsana traded fierce volleys—standards cut, bows sundered—till the Kaurava prince, cool and relentless, hemmed the Pāñcāla commander in a net of arrows.

·Beside his father, Vṛṣasena and Nakula stitched the air with cloth-yard shafts, each staggering the other; when the Kaurava ranks wavered, Karna wheeled back to stiffen them, and Vṛṣasena sped after him to guard the wheel.

·Sahadeva broke Ulūka’s team and felled his driver; Subala’s son slipped into the Trigarta files.

·Sātyaki smashed Śakuni’s standard and horses; Śakuni leapt to Ulūka’s car and fled while Sātyaki’s arrows split the Kuru line like a floodgate burst.

Elsewhere, the twins of Pāñḍu crossed the blades of veterans: Kṛpa stripped Yudhamanyu of standard and driver; Kṛtavarmā’s chest-shot sat Uttamaujas down on his footboard and away.

Then the field tilted. Duryodhana rushed Bhīma—and in a blink stood steedless, driverless, bannerless, backing off under a hail of iron. The Kuru host surged to smother Vṛkodara with an elephant corps. Bhīma’s answer was wrath and weapons: he met tusk with thunder, loosing swarms of shafts till the sky looked like fireflies over a blaze. Gilt-housed tuskers reeled, crumpled, ran—frontal globes split, trunks pierced, mountains of flesh collapsing like hills struck by Indra’s bolt. The earth glittered bizarrely—golden howdahs amid fallen “planets” of gem-bright mail—while Bhīma’s two arms, slick with unguents and cord-welts, worked like twin serpents drawing the bow. At the twang of his string and the crack of his palms, elephants voided in terror and broke. Alone, laughing like Rudra at dissolution, Bhīmasena shattered the elephant tide and stood unshaken in the gore-red dust.

Sañjaya said:

Then appeared Arjuna, radiant upon his foremost of chariots, yoked with white steeds and driven by Nārāyaṇa himself.

Like a tempest stirring the ocean’s depths, Vijaya entered the field, shaking thy host that teemed with elephants, steeds, and car-warriors.

While Arjuna was yet engaged elsewhere, Duryodhana, inflamed with wrath and thirsting for revenge, gathered half his host about him and fell upon Yudhiṣṭhira, whose banner yet advanced.

The Kuru king loosed seventy-three arrows tipped like razors, striking the son of Dharma full in the breast. Roused to fury, Yudhiṣṭhira answered with thirty broad-headed shafts, that drank blood from his cousin’s mail.

Then the Kaurava host surged forward, crying, “Seize him! Seize the king!”

But the heroes of the Pāṇḍava side—Nakula, Sahadeva, and Dhṛṣṭadyumna, each leading a full akṣauhiṇī,—hurried to guard him,

while Bhīmasena, scattering cars like reeds before the gale, hewed his path toward the embattled king.

There stood Karna, the son of the Sūta, lone and terrible, his bow Vijaya singing.

Dense as a monsoon rain, his arrows met the Pandavas’ charge; spears and darts fell useless before him.

Though many heroes struck at once, none could pierce the circle of his wrath.

Yet Sahadeva, swift and fearless, came through, and invoking a celestial weapon, struck Duryodhana with twenty keen shafts. The Kuru king, streaming blood, shone like an elephant with split temples. Seeing his friend so wounded, Karna, blazing with anger, whirled upon the rescuers and loosed the fires of heaven. Under that storm of shafts, the troops of Yudhiṣṭhira and Dhṛṣṭadyumna broke and fled.

Arrows met arrows in midair, colliding like meteors; the welkin seemed aflame. Thence, Karna darkened all quarters, his flights of shafts falling like locust-clouds, his jewelled arms smeared with sandalwood gleaming as he drew the string. Then, hemming in the son of Dharma, he poured his wrath like burning rain.

Pierced and blazing, Yudhiṣṭhira fought back with fifty arrows, and the darkness of that duel turned dreadful to behold. Cries of woe rose from the Kuru side as Dharma’s son struck down warriors with shafts winged with gold and Kanka feathers, broad blades, darts, and swords that flashed like lightning. Wherever Yudhiṣṭhira’s gaze fell, there thy army broke—such was the virtue of the righteous king’s fury.

Then Karna, his face flushed like the setting sun, rushed once more against Yudhiṣṭhira, shooting cloth-yard shafts, crescent-headed arrows, and keen points shaped like a calf’s tooth. Yudhiṣṭhira, calm but wounded, met him with golden-winged arrows, till Karna, half-smiling in battle’s fever, drove three broad-headed shafts into the king’s chest.

Sore stricken, Yudhiṣṭhira sank upon his car’s terrace and bade his charioteer withdraw. At once, a shout arose among the Kurus—“Seize him! Seize the king!”— and the Dhārtarāṣṭras pressed forward like waves behind their cry. But seventeen hundred Kekayas and a body of Pāñcālas, swift and fearless, closed about the retreating king and checked the enemy’s pursuit.

In that whirling conflict, as banners sank and trumpets wailed,

Duryodhana and Bhīmasena,

those twin lions of wrath and might,

met once more in single combat.

Sañjaya said:

Then Karna, the mighty son of the Sūta, began to pour his arrows like rain from a thundercloud. The Kaikaya princes, heroic bowmen all, stood before him as mountains before the storm. But his shafts struck them down one after another—five hundred warriors fell to the earth and went to Yama’s abode. The rest, wounded and broken, fled toward Bhīmasena, unable to bear the force of Rādhā’s son.

Having scattered that great car-force like wind scattering reeds, Karna, standing alone upon his chariot, pursued King Yudhiṣṭhira, who, sorely wounded and faint, was retreating slowly toward his camp, flanked by Nakula and Sahadeva. Coming upon the king, eager to serve Duryodhana’s cause, Karna pierced him with three cruel arrows. Though bleeding and reeling, Yudhiṣṭhira swiftly retaliated, sending three shafts that struck Karna in the breast and his driver beside him.

The twin sons of Mādrī then rushed forward to guard their brother’s wheels, their bows singing as they loosed showers of shafts that veiled the sun. Karna laughed aloud, answering them with his own storm of steel.

Two arrows, broad and sharp as death,

He loosed with calm and deadly art;

They pierced the twins, and crimson cloth

Was stained by blood from warrior hearts.

Then, bending his bow Vijaya, he slew Yudhiṣṭhira’s steeds—white as ivory, swift as thought, with tails black as storm-clouds. Smiling cruelly, he next struck off the royal headpiece of Kuntī’s son. Turning upon Nakula, he shattered his car, his shafts, and bow. Thus left afoot, the princes climbed upon Sahadeva’s chariot, standing firm though weaponless, like twin lions amidst the tempest.

Their maternal uncle Śalya, beholding their plight, spoke with grave compassion:

“Son of Rādhā, spare thy strength!

For Pārtha waits thee still today.

Thy bow is strained, thy quivers drained,

Thy steeds are worn upon the way.

When thou shalt meet the mighty one,

The world will gaze with mocking breath—

‘Behold, proud Karna spent and lone,

Hath come unarmed to greet his death!’”

But Karna, burning with fury, heeded not the words of his charioteer. He rained his arrows yet more fiercely upon Yudhiṣṭhira and the sons of Mādrī until the king, smiling faintly in pain, turned his chariot from the fray.

Then Śalya, with laughter touched by both irony and concern, spoke again:

“Strike him, Karna, whom thy fame demands,

The son of Pāṇḍu, Pārtha’s might!

The Gāṇḍīva sings, the conch-shells roar—

The storm of Kṛṣṇa shakes the fight.

Around him stand his guarding four:

Yudhamanyu, Uttamaujas near,

Sātyaki, Dhṛṣṭadyumna brave—

Their battle-shouts the heavens hear.

Behold, where Bhīma fierce and vast

O’ermasters now thy monarch’s will!

Go, rescue him while breath may last,

For peril grasps his spirit still.

What gain in striking Mādrī’s sons,

Or weary king of righteous fame?

Go face the foe whose bow resounds,

And crown with fire thy warrior name.”

Hearing these words and seeing Duryodhana pressed down beneath Bhīma’s rage, Karna turned his chariot toward his endangered king. Urged by the ruler of Madra, his steeds—swift as hawks—bore him across the field, their wheels flashing like lightning.

When Karna had departed, Yudhiṣṭhira, faint and bleeding, was borne swiftly away in Sahadeva’s chariot. Reaching his camp, his body torn and weary, he descended and sat upon a couch while the arrows were drawn from his flesh. His heart was heavy with shame. Turning to his brothers, he spoke softly:

“Go swiftly to Bhīma’s side;

The lion roars—the storm is nigh.

Aid him ere the sun shall fall,

For there our fate and honour lie.”

Then Nakula and Sahadeva, fierce and faithful, mounted a new chariot drawn by steeds bright as fire. Together they rode to join Bhīma, taking their stand beside him like twin flames beside a mountain blaze.