novelraw Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 7 - Krishna Warns Arjuna About Karna
Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 7 - Krishna Warns Arjuna About Karna
Sañjaya said:
Then Arjuna bowed, clasping his brother’s feet, and Yudhiṣṭhira, lifting him tenderly, kissed his head and said with joy:
“O mighty-armed one, honoured am I;
May victory dwell with thee alway.
Let fame and strength, long life, and joy,
Attend thy bow this glorious day.”
And Arjuna replied:
“I go, O king, to meet the proud,
The boastful son of Rādhā’s race.
Today my shafts shall drink his life,
His sin shall perish face to face.
The hand that wounded thee shall fall,
The voice that mocked thee shall be still.
And when he lies upon the dust,
I’ll walk behind thee, as I will.”
He touched his brother’s feet once more and rose. His eyes burned with resolve, his heart clear as the midday sky.
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, with a voice bright as blessing, spoke the words that sealed the hour:
“May glory crown thy righteous aim,
May life and victory heed thy call.
Go, O Partha, slay thy foe,
As Indra smote great Vṛtra’s fall.”
Sañjaya said:
Thus reconciled, blessed, and bound by vow, Arjuna mounted his chariot beside Kṛṣṇa. The white steeds neighed like thunderclouds. The flag of Hanumān streamed in the wind. The earth itself seemed to pause and listen— for the hour of Karna’s fall had come.
Sanjaya said,—Having with a cheerful heart gratified king Yudhishthira the just, Phalguna prepared to slay the Suta’s son. He bade Govinda equip his chariot once more, yoke his foremost steeds, and lay out every weapon upon that great car. At Krishna’s command Daruka yoked those steeds to the tiger-skin car; the rites were done, benedictions breathed by the Brahmanas, and, with Yudhishthira’s blessing, Arjuna ascended his vehicle and rode forth to meet Karna.
The world itself seemed to pause as Partha advanced. Birds of bright omen — king-fishers, parrots, and herons — wheeled about his course; carrion-birds and cranes cleft the air before him, drawn by the scent of battle and the coming fall of kings. These omens, both fair and fierce, thronged the heavens and the field, and they urged on Arjuna’s chariot as if Nature herself pressed him toward his vow. Yet, though his limbs were strong and his armour whole, a sweat ran down the slayer of Madhu, and anxiety clouded his brow; the weight of his vow sat upon him like a sacrificial load.
Then Vasudeva, seeing the stir of heart in the wielder of Gandiva, spoke in counsel and exhortation, and his words were such as princes and sages must ponder.
Born of bow and Brahma, none on earth can match thee,
With Gandiva in thy grasp, thou art the storm and the sea.
Heaven’s weapons clothe thy arm; resolve is thine alone—
Stand firm, O Partha; by thy hand the hostile root be overthrown.
Sanjaya said,—With these verses I report what Vasudeva declared: Krishna first reminded Arjuna of his unparalleled birthright and the divine nature of his bow, Gandiva. He invoked the witness of past heroes and gods to make Arjuna aware that his strength was not mere chance but a destiny wrought by cosmic hands.
The gods and great heroes have met thy might and fell,
Drona, Bhishma, Bhagadatta — all have known thy spell.
None, save thee, could send them hence; thy aim is calm and clear;
Act with care, but act with force—let no false scruple steer.
Sanjaya said,—Krishna named the foremost warriors whom Arjuna had vanquished or could vanquish but used the naming chiefly to steel Partha’s resolve: that those mighty whom the world reveres had yielded before him, and therefore to shrink now would be to betray his duty and the boon of his skill.
Yet hear this truth, O son of Pandu, and mark it well:
Karna stands like Agni fierce, like wind in fleetness fell.
In pride he walks, in weapons skilled; a maharatha proud—
Meet him with care, with steady heart; strike true, not rash or loud.
Sanjaya said,—Krishna, though singing Arjuna’s praise, did not lessen his warning. He counselled that Karna was no mean foe: mighty in body and mind, versed in all modes of war. Thus Krishna’s exhortation combined praise with a pointed caution—slay him, but slay him with the greatest care and resolution.
He is broad-chested, eagle-armed, eight ratnis in his frame,
A lion in his fury, in the field a burning flame.
To leave him live is hazard grave; his hate to thee is sworn;
Fulfil thy vow; dispatch him now — so shall thy honour be reborn.
Sanjaya said,—By these lines Krishna put before Arjuna the character of Karna: beautiful and terrible, a warrior whose enmity toward the sons of Pandu was deep and rooted. To delay would be to furnish Duryodhana with life and hope; to hew him down now would fulfill both vow and justice.
No mortal save thyself—and yet even gods would tire—
Could face that wrath and live; only thy bow can quench that fire.
Dispatch, O Dhananjaya, that Suta’s son this day;
By slaying him show love for Yudhishthira and end the foe’s array.
Sanjaya said,—Thus Krishna urged Arjuna to remember his oath to Yudhishthira: that the death of Karna was not merely vengeance but the removal of a root from which Duryodhana’s sin had grown. Krishna framed the act as an act of duty (dharma): to Yudhishthira, to the order of kings, and to the balance of justice on the field.
He who is pride’s own offspring, harsh of heart and fierce,
Hath set himself against thee and for Duryodhana’s peace.
Slay him, O slayer of foes, and let the battle’s truth be plain;
So shall the Kuru’s house be cleansed, and righteousness remain.
Sanjaya said,—Having thus counselled, Krishna made clear that Karna’s slaying served the larger end of cleansing the Kuru-house of the root of many sins. His speech mixed divine assurance with sober strategy: Arjuna’s prowess was supreme, Karna’s danger real; the need of the hour was valour measured by care and guided by dharma.
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So spake Vasudeva; and the words laid upon Partha a double burden — the consolation of destiny and the caution of duty. Thus urged, Phalguna tightened his grasp on Gandiva and urged his horses; the field drew breath, and the two great bowmen closed, each set like a pair of fates upon the wheel of war.
Sanjaya said,—Once more Keśava of immeasurable soul spoke to the son of Kunti, even as Partha advanced, firm in his vow to cut down the son of the Suta. “This,” said he, “is the seventeenth day of the dread carnage of men, elephants, and steeds. Vast at dawn was thy enemy’s host; meeting thee, O Bharata, it has withered away. The Kaurava ranks that once teemed with tuskers and chargers now lie shorn of strength. Meanwhile the lords of Earth who side with thee—Sṛñjayas and Pāṇḍavas—stand their ground beneath thy protection; the Pāñcālas, Matsyas, Karūṣas, and Cedis have wrought great destruction among thy foes because thou leadest them.”
He reminded Arjuna that no mortal could break the gathered Kauravas while he stood guard, nor could any force withstand the Pāṇḍava heroes when shielded by him. “Thou alone,” said Keśava, “couldst strike down kings like Bhagadātta; thou alone hast made it possible for Śikhaṇḍin and Dhṛṣṭadyumna to fell Bhīṣma and Droṇa. Who else on earth could face in one field Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Karṇa, Kṛpa, the son of Droṇa, and Duryodhana—lords of divisions, invincible and unreturning?”
O king, Krishna’s words flowed like a river of memory through the field’s dust: how numberless steeds, cars, and elephants had been shattered by Arjuna; how fierce Kṣatriyas from many provinces—Govāsas, Daśāmiyas, Vasatis, Easterners, Vātadhanas, and honour-sensitive Bhojas—fell before Arjuna and mighty Bhīma. He named the Tukhāras and Yavanas, the Khāsas, Darvabhīsaras and Daradas, Śakas, Kāmāthas and Rāmāthas, Taṅgaṇas, Āndhrakas, Pulindas, and Kirātas of blazing prowess; the Mlecchas, the Mountaineers, and the sea-coast races—wrathful and strong—who, fighting for Duryodhana, could be mastered by none but Partha.
Like a raft on a torrent, thou hast borne thy allies,
Through dust and iron rain, through thunder of the skies.
Hosts swelled like storm-tossed seas before thy arrow’s light—
They ebbed; they broke; they fled the day and feared the night.
Sanjaya said,—Thus did Mādhava praise the protector of the Pāṇḍavas and recount the ruin of the foe. He recalled Abhimanyu’s fall seven days past, Jayatsena’s death and the ten thousand elephants that Bhīma hurled down with his mace, and the countless other tuskers and cars broken thereafter. He spoke of Bhīṣma, who for ten days rained golden-feathered shafts, emptying terraces and felling steeds and men by the hundred-thousand, rescuing Suyodhana as one drags a drowning man from a raftless sea—till, meeting Śikhaṇḍin while sheltered by Arjuna, the grandsire, like Vṛtra before the Lord of Heaven, lay upon his bed of arrows.
He spoke of Droṇa, who five days guarded Jayadratha and burned the opposing lines, till, encountering the son of Pṛṣata, he reached eternity. “But for thee,” said Keśava, “holding in check the chariot-lords of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Droṇa had not been slain. Thou it was who fixed the circle and slew the Sindhu-king; great the wonder others saw, but I deem it no marvel—for thou didst it, and thou art that warrior.”
A sky bereft of moon and star—such is the Kuru host,
Its pillars—Bhīṣma, Droṇa—fallen like broken posts.
What now remains is but a flame on failing coals:
Five chariots fierce—Ashvatthāman, Karṇa, Kṛtavarmā, Śalya, Kṛpa—souls of goals.
Sanjaya said,—Keśava pointed to the remnant: five great car-warriors still ablaze. “Strike them down today,” he urged, “and give the Earth with her islands and cities to Yudhiṣṭhira. As Viṣṇu of old smote Daityas and Dānavas and bestowed the worlds on Śakra, so do thou, O Partha, smite and bestow. Let the Pāñcālas rejoice as the gods rejoiced after the asura-slaying.”
Then, mindful of bonds and reverence, Kṛṣṇa weighed compassion against duty: “If for thy preceptor thou wouldst spare Aśvatthāman; if honour for a teacher inclines thee to spare Kṛpa; if kinship on thy mother’s side softens thy heart toward Kṛtavarmā; if compassion stays thy hand from Śalya, thy mother’s brother—then all the more, O lotus-eyed one, hew down today the Suta’s son, whose heart is crooked and whose hate is fiercest. This is thy right work; there is no fault in it. In every wrong Duryodhana wrought against you—nightly fire for your mother and her sons, the crooked dice, the unending spite—Karna stood first and loudest. He has ever buoyed up Suyodhana with boast and vow, proclaiming he would crush the Pāṇḍavas and even overthrow Vāsudeva.”
Let the ash of his taunts be washed in the red of the field;
Let words that burned be quenched by iron, edge and shield.
Loose cloth-yard thunder—lightning-bright—through marrow and through mail;
Let pride lie prone; let justice rise; let truth, not mockery, prevail.
Sanjaya said,—Keśava’s voice sank as he recalled the slaughter of Subhadrā’s son: how Abhimanyu—bull-necked, dear to Kuru and Vṛṣṇi fame—sundered elephants from riders and princes from their cars, till, ringed by many, he fell by foul concert after Karṇa had shorn his bow at Droṇa’s word. “I swear by truth,” said Kṛṣṇa, “my limbs still burn to think that while that young lion blazed, Karṇa ever sought his hurt—till, breath drawn in rage, blood-washed, and reeling beneath the boy’s shafts, he cut the bow and turned the tide. Then five, apt in crooked war, slew him.”
O Partha, remember the laughter that day in the Kuru hall—
The cruel words he flung at Kṛṣṇā and at all thy fall.
Let arrow-script upon his flesh answer each bitter line;
Let law be written in his blood; let justice be the sign.
Sanjaya said,—Keśava urged that the shafts from Arjuna’s great bow (I name it not, O King, yet thou knowest it) should drink the life of that offender, and that Karṇa, feeling their bite, should recall the cautions once spoken by Bhīṣma and Droṇa. “Let all royal eyes behold him fall; let Adhiratha’s son lie stretched in dust; let his banner of the elephant-rope be cleft and cast down; let Śalya, beholding the warrior slain, leap from the glittering car and fly. Let Suyodhana, seeing him fallen, despair of life and crown.”
Then, pointing to the present press of battle, Keśava showed where Karṇa, equal to a storm-god in heat, smote the Pāñcālas, Dhrishtadyumna, Śikhaṇḍin, the sons of Draupadī, and many chiefs—Nakula’s son Satanika, Nakula and Sahadeva, Durmukha, Janamejaya, Sudharman, and Sātyaki—till the clamour of wounded allies rose like surf. “They did not turn before Bhīṣma nor before the blazing Droṇa; they will not turn before Adhiratha’s son. Yet he, like fire in summer grass, consumes them in their hundreds. Be thou the raft for those brave archers drowning in the raftless sea that is Karṇa.”
Like bees his arrows swarm, their stings a scorching rain;
A Brāhmarṣi’s gift he wields—a weapon fierce and fain.
It circles like a ring of flame, it hems thy legions round—
Break through, O Partha; quench that blaze; dash weapon upon ground.
Sanjaya said,—Keśava warned that if neglected, Karṇa was a sickness rooted in the body of war—left untended, fatal. “Save thee, I see none in Yudhiṣṭhira’s ranks who might meet him and return unharmed. Therefore, fulfill thy vow today—strike down the mighty car-warrior, win thy purpose, and be at peace.”
This is the hour of oath and steel; this is the dharma’s claim:
To fell the root that feeds the wrong, and crown the rightful name.
Go forth, O best of archers; let Earth to Dharma bend—
By Karṇa’s fall, by justice done, let grief and quarrel end.
Sanjaya said,—Hearing Keśava’s words, O Bhārata, Vibhatsu cast off his misgivings and grew cheerful. He rubbed the string of his great bow and drew it long for the destruction of Karṇa. Then he spoke to Keśava with steady heart and blazing purpose.
With thee beside me, timeless guide, whose sight beholds all ways,
The past and future, dark and bright, lie open to thy gaze.
So guarded, I need fear no foe—let Karṇa’s pride be hurled;
If I so willed, with thee, O Lord, I’d shake the triple world.
Sanjaya said,—Thus did Pārtha lift his vow into speech, O King, and his eyes grew terrible. He beheld the Pāñcāla host give ground, and Karṇa careering in the van, and the fiery weapon of Bhārgava flaming about the field like the thunderbolt of Śakra.
This is the day that men shall name while earth endures her round;
This is the hour the Sūta’s son shall meet his destined ground.
Unbarbed and keen, my shafts shall fly, O Kṛṣṇa, true and straight,
And bear him down to Yama’s gate, fast-fettered by his fate.
Today shall blind Dhṛtarāṣṭra mourn the counsel of his heart,
That set unworthy rule on high and tore his house apart.
His joy, his city, sons and throne—like foam they break and flee;
For Karṇa’s fall undoes the hope of proud Suyodhana’s sea.
Sanjaya said,—He invoked, O Monarch, the memory of those taunts and ancient wrongs committed in the assembly and upon the field, and turned them all to iron in his speech.
Let dice be shafts, my car the cloth, my bow the rattling box;
Let throw on throw be cast in war to break his boastful locks.
I’ll wake the royal son of Prithā from long and sleepless woe—
When Karṇa falls, Yudhiṣṭhira’s heart shall find its peace to glow.
He swore that vow—“Till Pārtha’s slain I will not wash my feet”—
Let falsehood fail! This very day that vow I’ll render meet.
From chariot’s crest I’ll cast him down with straight and biting rain;
The earth shall drink the Sūta’s blood and cool remembered pain.
Sanjaya said,—He spoke, O King, of the cruel words once hurled at Kṛṣṇā in the hall, and of the boasting made before the Kurus. In answer to those stings he promised cloth-yard thunder and lightning-feathered doom.
Like serpents hot with virulent hate my arrows seek his breath;
They’ll drink his life like summer dust drinks rain that signals death.
Let gold-winged fires I loose today, from bow and arm made one,
Cut cords of pride and send to Night Adhiratha’s son.
He mocked our fall; he swore to guard the Kaurava-lord from harm—
My iron script shall blot his boast and still his vaunting arm.
He vowed to fell the Pāñcālas all, their sons and chiefs beside—
Before the host and all the kings I’ll answer back his pride.
Sanjaya said,—Thus, O Dhṛtarāṣṭra, did Dhanañjaya lift wrath into vow and vow into a rule of action. He foresaw the rout of the Dhārtarāṣṭras when Karṇa should lie low, and the birds of prey alight upon that fallen trunk.
Let cranes and kites and ravens dark make sport about his frame;
Let banner of the elephant-rope fall, cleft by shaft of flame.
Let Śalya fling the reins and fly, his golden car undone;
Let Duryodhana’s heart lose crown and breath in seeing Karṇa won.
Today I’ll shear his limbs in war with razor-tempered hail;
Today the long grief caged within Yudhiṣṭhira’s breast shall fail.
For Abhimanyu’s foemen all, for friends with faces pale,
My arrow-fire shall reap the field and cut the serpent’s trail.
Sanjaya said,—He vowed gifts to his allies in blood and battle: the Earth freed of the Dhārtarāṣṭras for the son of Dharma; the heads of Abhimanyu’s killers hewn in retribution; the joy of Bhīma and the twins and of Sātyaki made full; and the debt he owed to bowmen, to wrath, to the Kurus, to his arrows, and to his own great bow—paid in the coin of Karṇa’s fall.
I’ll burn the gathered Kurus down like grass in winter’s drought;
From palm and sole the marks declare the road I take in rout.
Who meets me armed when such a sign goes forth to seek the fray—
That man returns not home again to see the light of day.
Sanjaya said,—Having thus spoken to Acyuta, that foremost of heroes, the slayer of foes, with eyes blood-red and purpose fixed, urged on his coursers and sped into the press—to rescue Bhīma and to hew the head from Karṇa’s trunk.