novelraw Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 5 - Karna Unleashes the Bhārgava Astra
Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 5 - Karna Unleashes the Bhārgava Astra
Sañjaya said:
Meanwhile, Aśvatthāmā, son of Droṇa, surrounded by a great host of cars, rushed suddenly toward the spot where Pārtha stood. But Arjuna, having Keśava beside him, stood unmoved like a mountain resisting the roaring sea. Then the valiant son of Droṇa, filled with wrath, covered both Arjuna and Vāsudeva with showers of arrows. Seeing the two Kṛṣṇas thus shrouded, all the warriors, both of the Pāṇḍava and Kaurava sides, gazed in wonder at that sight.
Shafts rained like fire; the sky grew dim,
The earth beneath was red with flame;
The bowstring hummed a deadly hymn—
Each stroke proclaimed a hero’s name.
Then Arjuna, smiling faintly, invoked a celestial weapon. But Aśvatthāmā, versed in mantras and arms, baffled it with ease. Every divine missile that Pārtha hurled forth for his destruction was countered and destroyed by the preceptor’s son, master of celestial lore. During that fierce encounter of weapon and counter-weapon, Aśvatthāmā seemed as the Destroyer himself, his mouth wide and terrible.
He covered all directions with straight shafts and pierced Vāsudeva in the arm with three arrows. Then Arjuna, striking down the steeds of his assailant, turned the field crimson with a river of blood that bore lifeless bodies like logs upon its current.
Aśvatthāmā also, slaying foes in hundreds, created his own river of gore leading toward the realm of Yama. In that tumultuous conflict, no man showed mercy; warriors slew one another, heedless of friend or kin. Cars overturned, steeds ran riderless, elephants trampled men and were themselves felled. Amidst that carnage, Arjuna shone like Rudra in the dance of dissolution.
Then the valiant son of Droṇa, enraged beyond measure, came against Arjuna, shaking his golden bow and piercing him from all sides with countless shafts. Again he struck him in the chest with a cruel arrow.
Arjuna, deeply wounded, raised his Gāṇḍīva and poured a storm of arrows in reply, cutting off his foe’s bow. Taking up a heavy mace that blazed like lightning, Aśvatthāmā hurled it at Arjuna.
The thunder roared, the weapon sped,
The firmament was cleft in twain;
But Pārtha’s shafts the tempest met—
And hurled it shattered to the plain.
Then, filled with rage, Droṇa’s son invoked the Aindra weapon, sending down a shower of arrows that covered heaven and earth. Seeing this storm, Arjuna took up his Gāṇḍīva again and fixed upon it another mighty missile created by Indra himself, destroying Aśvatthāmā’s celestial assault.
Having shattered that Aindra storm, Arjuna enveloped his foe’s chariot in his own shafts. Aśvatthāmā, struggling through that rain of arrows, approached and pierced Kṛṣṇa with a hundred darts and Arjuna with thrice that number.
Then Pārtha struck him in all his vital parts with a hundred shafts, wounding his steeds, his driver, and even the cord of his bow. Felling the driver from the chariot, Arjuna left Aśvatthāmā to guide the steeds himself. The sight of the Brahmana warrior, wounded and bleeding yet fighting while handling the reins, filled all with astonishment.
Arjuna smiled and, with a keen razor-headed shaft, cut the traces of Aśvatthāmā’s horses. Maddened by pain and fear, the steeds fled across the field, bearing their master away. Loud shouts rose from both armies, for the Pāṇḍavas had prevailed.
The sons of Pāṇḍu, seizing the moment, pressed the broken Kuru ranks from all sides. The vast host of Dhṛtarāṣṭra was shaken like the ocean by a tempest. Though Duryodhana and his brothers sought to rally it, confusion and fear seized the army, and men fled in all directions despite Karṇa’s call to stand firm.
“Stay, stay!” the son of the Sūta cried,
His voice resounding through the din;
But none obeyed—like leaves they flew,
Before the storm they could not win.
Then Duryodhana, beholding his host in ruin, turned to Karṇa and spoke with despairing affection:
“Behold, O Karṇa, our vast army breaks before the Pāṇḍavas’ might!
Though thou art here, our warriors flee.
Rise, O hero, and act as the hour demands.
Thousands cry thy name upon the field—
their hope is set on thee alone!”
Hearing these words, Karṇa smiled grimly and spoke to Śalya, the ruler of Madra:
“Now shalt thou see my arm’s full power,
The fire that sleeps within my frame;
This day shall fall the Pāñcālas all—
The sons of Pāṇḍu shall know my name.
Drive on, O king, the hour is here!
I swear by truth and warrior’s breath—
Before the sun shall dip from heaven,
They all shall meet their destined death.”
Thus speaking, the son of Rādhā took up his ancient and celestial bow Vijaya, its string resounding like thunder. He fixed upon it the terrible weapon of Bhṛgu’s line, known as the Bhārgava Astra. From it streamed millions upon millions of keen arrows, blazing and terrible, feathered with Kanka and peacock plumes.
The sky grew dark with shafts; the Pāṇḍava host saw neither sun nor ground. Loud wails arose among the Pāñcālas as Karṇa’s fiery storm consumed men, elephants, steeds, and cars alike. The earth shook beneath the slaughter, trembling under the weight of blood and death.
Then the mighty Sūta’s son, resplendent as a smokeless fire, seemed a god of destruction amidst the ruin. The cries of the dying echoed like the roar of the final dissolution. Even beasts and birds fled in terror from that field where the Bhārgava weapon burned.
The stricken warriors, gasping in despair, called aloud for Arjuna and Vāsudeva, as souls cry to Yama in his dark dominion.
Beholding this massacre and the might of the Bhārgava Astra, Arjuna said to Kṛṣṇa:
“Behold, O Mādhava, the Sūta’s son—
His weapon blazes fierce and dread!
Unchecked it falls, none may withstand—
The earth is strewn with hosts of dead.
Yet see, he glances toward me still,
With eyes like flame, with heart of ire;
Shall I, a warrior born of will,
Turn back before that wrathful fire?
Nay, death itself is victory won;
For none can lose who yields his breath.
The living meet both loss and gain—
But he who dies is lord of death.”
Hearing these words, Kṛṣṇa replied to Pārtha with calm resolve:
“Thy brother, royal son of Kuntī,
Lies wounded deep by Karṇa’s hand.
Go, see him first and soothe his heart,
Then shalt thou slay thy foe as planned.”
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Thus speaking, Kṛṣṇa turned the chariot toward Yudhiṣṭhira’s camp, judging that Karṇa would soon be spent with toil. Arjuna, obeying his charioteer, passed from the battle seeking his wounded brother. But though he gazed upon the field in all directions, he saw not the banner of Dharma’s son.
And so, having vanquished Aśvatthāmā, and conquered one whom even the wielder of the thunderbolt could scarce resist, the son of Kuntī hastened across the field, his heart intent on his brother’s safety and his eyes already set upon his destined foe.
Sañjaya said:
Having vanquished the son of Droṇa and performed a deed of terrible valour—one that few among men could hope to accomplish—the mighty Dhanañjaya, his bow still stretched in his hands, turned his gaze toward his own army. Seeing his warriors still battling steadfastly at the front, he praised them aloud, gladdening their hearts. To those who had shown great valour in earlier encounters he spoke words of approval, urging all to stand firm at their posts and hold the lines together.
Yet when he looked about, he saw not his brother Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma and of Ajamīḍha’s race. Adorned with his golden diadem and shining necklace, the diadem-decked Arjuna hastened toward Bhīma, and said urgently:
“O Bhīma, tell me where the king hath gone!
Our brother, lord of truth and law—
I see not his chariot, nor his banner high;
Say quickly where Yudhiṣṭhira lies!”
Thus questioned, Bhīmasena, breathing hard from the fury of battle, replied:
“The king, O Pārtha, pierced and scorched
With Karṇa’s shafts of fire and flame,
Hath turned away and left the field—
I doubt, alas, if he yet lives!”
Hearing those words, Arjuna’s face grew grave, and he said:
“The king must indeed have gone to our camp, pierced deeply by Karṇa’s arrows. Go thou quickly, Bhīma, and bring tidings of him—that foremost among men of Kuru’s line! For though he was struck before by Droṇa’s keen shafts, still did he remain in battle until the preceptor was slain. But today, endangered anew by Karṇa’s wrath, his life is uncertain. Hasten, therefore—ascertain his condition, while I remain here, holding our foes at bay!”
Then Bhīmasena answered:
“O thou of mighty arms, it is thou who shouldst go thyself to the king. If I withdraw from battle, men will say that Bhīma fled for fear of fight.”
Arjuna replied firmly:
“The Saṃsaptakas stand before my lines! Until these self-sworn warriors are crushed, I cannot move hence.”
Then Bhīma said with thunderous confidence:
“Rely upon my strength, O brother mine!
Alone will I face the gathered foe.
Do thou go, O Dhanañjaya divine,
To learn of the king, and swiftly go!”
Sañjaya continued:
Hearing these brave words from amidst the circle of foes, Arjuna, eager to see his brother, turned to Vāsudeva and said:
“Urge on the steeds, O Hṛṣīkeśa!
Leave this ocean of men and cars behind—
My heart is drawn to Ajātaśatru;
I must behold him with mine eyes!”
Just as Kṛṣṇa gathered the reins, that foremost of the Vṛṣṇis spoke to Bhīma with affectionate resolve:
“This deed, O Bhīma, is well within thy power.
Stand fast and slay the foes of Pārtha!”
So saying, Hṛṣīkeśa sped away, driving the white steeds that shone like Garuḍa himself in flight. He left Bhīma as guardian of the field and commander against the Saṃsaptakas, while he and Arjuna flew toward the Pāṇḍava camp.
Their chariot rolled like thunder through the dust of battle until they reached the tent of Yudhiṣṭhira, who lay upon his bed, pale and wounded. Dismounting, both heroes—the two Kṛṣṇas—bowed before the feet of the righteous king. Seeing his brothers alive and unharmed, Yudhiṣṭhira, that bull among men, felt his heart lifted with joy.
They, too, rejoiced exceedingly, like the twin Aśvins beholding Indra in victory, or as Bṛhaspati greeting Śaṅkara and Viṣṇu after the slaying of the mighty demon Jambha.
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, imagining that Karṇa had already fallen beneath Arjuna’s hand, spoke with trembling delight, his voice choked by emotion:
“O mighty heroes, light of our race,
Have ye indeed slain Rādhā’s son?
Tell me, O Pārtha, tell me, Kṛṣṇa—
Hath justice triumphed, is the task well done?”
Sañjaya said:
Then the son of Dharma, Yudhiṣṭhira, beheld the two heroes—Kṛṣṇa, son of Devakī, and Dhanañjaya, the wielder of Gāṇḍīva—standing before him. Rising from his couch with joy, that bull of men welcomed them with affection. His heart, filled with relief and long-suppressed fire, poured forth words like molten gold—radiant, burning, and heavy with years of torment.
“Welcome, O Kṛṣṇa of the Vṛṣṇis,
And welcome to thee, O Dhanañjaya!
Blessed am I to behold you both—
My eyes are soothed as by cool rain.
Ye stand unhurt—by fortune’s grace— And Karṇa, our dread foe, lies slain! That serpent fierce, whose poisoned fangs Had scorched my sleep for many years. In all the world none matched his might, In arms, in warcraft, or in fame. Rama himself had taught him lore; Fire and Wind in him combined.
Vr̥ṣasena’s strength, Suṣeṇa’s guard, Ever surrounded him in strife. Chief of the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, He was their tower, their shield, their life. To Duryodhana ever true, His bow was wrath, his heart was guile. He sought our ruin night and day— Now lies he low, by fortune’s smile!
Equal to Indra in battle’s roar,
To Yama fierce in discipline,
To Rāma skilled in every art—
O joy! that Karṇa is no more!
O blessed be this sight today,
Ye two celestial warriors twain,
Who, conquering death like gods of heaven,
Return with glory from the slain!”
Yudhiṣṭhira paused, his chest heaving, his eyes flashing with mingled joy and shame. Then, as memory returned of his own defeat before Karṇa, his words darkened and deepened like a storm rolling over the hills.
“Today, O Acyuta, O Arjuna, A battle fierce was fought by me; Alone I faced that fiery sun, Whose arrows burned like destiny.
My banner fell, my charioteers
Were struck and slain before my sight;
My steeds lay bleeding on the field—
I stood unarmed amidst the fight.
Before Yuyudhāna and the twins, Before the sons of Draupadī, Before the Pāñcālas’ gathered ranks— He struck me down in infamy. Pursuing me, that mighty lord, Spoke words as sharp as barbed steel; And I, who once defied the gods, Was spared by pity—shame to feel!
For thirteen years my nights were dark, My days were void, my slumber fled. In waking thought and fevered dream, The face of Karṇa filled my head.
Wherever I looked, there Karṇa stood;
Wherever I turned, his shadow fell.
I saw him in the noonday light,
I heard his laughter in my hell.
The fear of Karṇa choked my breath;
His bowstring’s hum still haunts my ear.
Awake or dreaming, calm or wrath,
His form alone would reappear.
What life have I, what joy, what crown, When he who shamed me walked in might? Today, O Pārtha, only thou Can cleanse my heart by battle’s light! Never did Bhīṣma, nor Droṇa stern, Nor Kṛpa bend my pride so low; But Karṇa’s arrows tore my soul— Their sting I never shall forgo.
Tell me, therefore, O son of Indra,
How thou didst slay this lord of war.
How fell that peerless, blazing bowman,
Whose fame like lightning spread afar?
He whom Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons adored,
Their hope, their refuge, their delight;
How didst thou fell that mountain’s heart,
That stood unmoved through storm and fight?
Did he lie low, that fiery one, Whose vow had cursed thy living breath— ‘I shall not wash my feet again Till Pārtha’s fall shall crown my death’? Didst thou behold his vaunting mouth, That mocked our grief, at last struck dumb? Didst thou behold the golden helm, That shone like Indra’s crown—now numb?
Hath that proud arm, so oft upraised
In Duryodhana’s cause, been cleft?
Hath that defiance now been quenched,
Which blazed till none of mercy left?
He who once mocked in Kuru’s hall
The dark-haired queen, our wedded flame—
He who bade Duḥśāsana seize
The wife of Pāṇḍu’s son in shame—
Lies he now slain, that wretch accurst, Whose laughter burned like acid pain? Speak, O Arjuna, speak the truth— And cleanse my heart of grief again! He who once scorned our grandsire’s name, And called him half a car-warrior weak— Lies he now low, his glory quenched, His pride struck down, his body meek?
Say, O Savyasācin bold,
Hast thou with arrows keen and bright
Cleft from his trunk that golden head,
Decked with its rings of ruddy light?
The fire of vengeance burns in me,
Long fanned by insult’s bitter wind.
Quench it, O Pārtha, tell me plain—
That Karṇa’s breath is stilled and pinned!
As Viṣṇu waits for Indra’s word,
To learn of Vṛtra’s doom and fall,
So have I waited, years on years—
Speak now, O son of Kuntī, all!”
Thus, before Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna, Yudhiṣṭhira poured forth the fire of many years—his heart at once exalted and tormented, yearning to hear that Karṇa, the long-feared rival, the shadow of his dreams, the torment of his waking hours, had finally fallen. The tent of the wounded king trembled with his words, echoing with the sound of vengeance long delayed.
Sañjaya said:
Hearing these words of the righteous king, burning with anger and wounded pride, Jīṣṇu, the high-souled hero of immeasurable energy, bowed slightly and replied with calm strength. His eyes still glowed from the dust and fire of battle as he spoke to Yudhiṣṭhira, the invincible lord of men.
“While I contended with the Saṃsaptakas today, O king of kings, fierce foes who swear to slay or die, The son of Droṇa, foremost of the Kurus’ might, Appeared before me, his arrows hissing like vipers’ breath.
My car roared like thunder, its flag trembling high,
And all the hosts encompassed me with fear.
Five hundred warriors fell before my shafts,
Then the preceptor’s son himself advanced.
Like an elephant charging the lion in rage,
He rushed upon me, seeking to save
The Kaurava heroes whom I struck down—
And loosed on me his shafts of flame.
Eight great carts with eight bullocks each
Bore his arrows in heaps—
And all he sped at me in storm,
But I, like wind dispersing clouds, destroyed them all.
His bow was drawn in circles unceasing, His hand moved swift as thought; We could not see from whence he loosed, So thick his shafts obscured the day.
At last he pierced me, O king, with five keen arrows, And Keśava also with five bright shafts. But in the space of a heartbeat I returned his fire— My shafts fell like thunderbolts.
His body became as that of a porcupine,
Each limb bathed crimson with his blood.
Seeing his warriors fall and flee,
He turned and fled toward Karṇa’s line.
Then came the son of Rādhā himself,
Like death advancing with fifty kings.
I smote them all and turned aside,
For I sought first to see thee, O lord of men.
The Pāñcālas quail before Karṇa’s face,
Like cows that scent the forest-lion.
The Prabhadrakas rush upon him still—
Like moths into the mouth of flame.
Seventeen hundred heroes hath he slain already; Yet his heart knows no weariness, Until his eyes shall rest on me.”
Then, turning toward his brother, Arjuna’s voice deepened, solemn as a vow:
“Thou, O king, wast first engaged with Droṇa’s son,
And sorely wounded by his darts;
Thereafter Karṇa met thee,
And I deemed thou hadst gone to rest.
But I have beheld, O son of Pāṇḍu, The mighty Bhārgava weapon of Karṇa, Flaming across the field like the sun’s own wrath— No other hero among the Śṛñjayas can withstand him now.
Let Sātyaki of the Vṛṣṇis and Dṛṣṭadyumna, The slayer of Droṇa, guard my wheels; Let Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas shield my rear.
For today I shall meet that mighty warrior,
The Sūta’s son, face to face—
As Indra met Vṛtra in the storm,
As fire meets darkness and devours it.
Come then, O king, and behold our strife—
Me and Karṇa, locked in battle’s flame.
Six thousand princes rush this day
Into the jaws of death for heaven’s sake.
If I do not slay Karṇa with his kin, With every friend that fights beside him— Then may my fate be as of one Who breaks the vow he swore before the gods.
Bless me, O lord of men, with victory’s word! For even now Duryodhana’s hosts Press hard upon Bhīma like devouring wolves. I go to slay the Sūta’s son, his troops, And every foe that still draws breath!”
Thus spoke Arjuna, his words ringing like steel. The tent seemed to tremble with his resolve, as if the air itself awaited the clash of two destinies long foretold. Kṛṣṇa, silent and watchful, gazed upon the son of Pāṇḍu—the bowman whose heart was fire, whose vow was fate itself.