novelraw Arc 1 - Śalya-vadha Parva - Chapter 8 - The Last Two Sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra
Arc 1 - Śalya-vadha Parva - Chapter 8 - The Last Two Sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra
Sañjaya said:
Then, O King, among the vast wreckage of that slaughtered host, there yet remained but two sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra—Duryodhana and the youthful Sudarśana. These two, survivors of the tempest, stood amidst the Kaurava cavalry like twin rocks still unshattered by the tide.
Beholding Duryodhana in the midst of that horse-division, Govinda, the son of Devakī, spoke unto Dhanañjaya, saying:
“O son of Kuntī, behold! The kinsmen whom we protected and cherished have been swept away by fate. Yonder returns the bull of Sini’s race, bringing Sanjaya captive. Nakula and Sahadeva are spent with battle against the wicked sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Kripa, Kṛtavarmā, and Aśvatthāman have withdrawn to other quarters.
“The prince of the Pāñcālas stands there radiant among the Prabhadrakas, having hewn down Duryodhana’s host. And lo—thy foe, O Partha—Duryodhana himself—stands beneath a white umbrella, glancing around him, pride still unbroken though ruin rings him round. He has rallied the shattered remnant of his army and holds the field. Strike him now with thy keen shafts, O chastiser of foes, before his troops take flight! Let someone summon Dhṛṣṭadyumna hither, for the Kaurava ranks are weary, their hearts failing them. The sinful Duryodhana cannot escape!
“See, he glows still with the fire of arrogance, fancying that victory is his. Slay him, O Pārtha, and fulfil destiny’s decree!”
Then Arjuna, bowing to Keśava, replied:
“O Janārdana, of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s hundred sons, all lie low save these two—Duryodhana and Sudarśana—and they also shall fall this day. Bhīṣma is gone, Droṇa has fallen, Karṇa lies slain, Śalya is dead, Jayadratha and Bahlīka have perished. Of Śakuni’s host, but five hundred horses and two hundred cars remain. Of elephants, a hundred yet live; of footmen, three thousand. With them stand Aśvatthāman, Kṛpa, the Trigarta lord, Ulūka, and Kṛtavarmā—this is all that remains of Duryodhana’s strength.
“Truly, O Mādhava, none can escape death when destiny draws near. The earth is drenched with blood, and still Duryodhana stands! But this day will Yudhiṣṭhira be freed of his foes.
“I shall slay the Gandhāra prince, O Kṛṣṇa, and dispel that long sleeplessness which has troubled Yudhiṣṭhira’s nights. I shall win back the wealth lost to deceit in the gambling hall. The women of Hastināpura shall wail when they hear that their lords and sons are fallen. Today Duryodhana shall cast away his pomp and his breath together. Consider him dead already, O Keśava, if he does not flee the field! Drive the steeds, for I shall end this war today.”
He spoke, and Gandiva leapt to song,
Its string the thunder’s breath;
And destiny, delayed too long,
Bowed down her head to death.
At Arjuna’s word, Vāsudeva urged his steeds forward. The white horses flashed like moonlight through the dust. Seeing the Kaurava force still drawn in order round their king, three mighty heroes advanced—Bhīmasena, Arjuna, and Sahadeva—roaring like lions at the scent of prey.
Beholding them rush together with uplifted bows, Śakuni, son of Subala, moved swiftly to meet them. Sudarśana, thy son, charged Bhīmasena; Śakuni and the ruler of Prasthala, Suśarman, rode against Arjuna; and Duryodhana himself, on horseback, sped toward Sahadeva.
Then the Kuru prince, darting forward with fierce resolve, smote Sahadeva on the head with a shining lance. The youngest Pāṇḍava reeled upon his car, blood streaming down his limbs. For a moment he sat, panting like a serpent struck, then rose again with rage renewed and covered Duryodhana with a storm of arrows.
Meanwhile, Arjuna fell upon the horsemen. His shafts cut down men and steeds alike until the field was thick with corpses. Passing from the fallen cavalry, he turned upon the chariots of the Trigartas.
The Trigarta princes, united, showered arrows upon Pārtha and Vāsudeva. Then Arjuna, smiling faintly, drew forth razor-headed shafts. One struck Satyakarman and clove his car-pole; another shore his head crowned with gold. Satyeṣu fell next, slain like a deer by a lion in the wood. Suśarman, the ruler of Prasthala, came against him, but Arjuna, blazing with wrath long stored, covered him with a hundred arrows and slew his steeds. Then, fixing an arrow bright as Yama’s rod, he pierced Suśarman’s heart. The king fell lifeless from his car, gladdening the sons of Pāṇḍu and casting grief upon the Kurus.
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Thereafter, Arjuna smote down the five and thirty sons of that monarch and laid them low with his flaming shafts.
He moved like fire through autumn reeds,
His arrows red as tongues of flame;
And where they struck, the earth took seeds
Of death and bore no name.
Having annihilated the Trigartas, Pārtha turned upon the remnants of the host. Elsewhere Bhīma met Sudarśana in battle. Smiling grimly, he wrapped the prince in a rain of arrows, then loosed a single keen-edged shaft that severed head from body. The young Kuru fell to earth as a tree split at the root.
Seeing him slain, the warriors around closed upon Bhīma, loosing flights of arrows; but Vṛkodara’s shafts fell thicker still. His arrows were thunderbolts; none could endure them. In a moment he slew them all.
Then, O monarch, many mighty Kaurava chiefs rushed in fury to avenge their kin, while the Pāṇḍava heroes on every side pressed upon them. The whole field, dark with dust and thick with arrows, roared like the ocean lashed by wind. Warriors smote warriors; chariots crashed together; elephants reeled and fell.
Steel rang on steel, the standards broke,
The air was thick with cries and flame;
And Kuru’s crown, through blood and smoke,
Was sinking in its shame.
Thus, in that final hour, the two armies mingled, pierced, and perished—each man striking, each man dying—as fate drew the curtain upon the house of Bharata.
Sañjaya said:
In that ruinous welter of men and steeds and elephants, Subala’s son, Śakuni, wheeled his car upon Sahadeva. As the Gandhāra king rushed in, the youngest Pāṇḍava met him with a storm of arrows—fine-feathered, gold-winged, stone-whetted—coming on like a cloud of stinging midges. Ulūka, his son, meanwhile struck Bhīma with ten shafts; Śakuni himself, stinging like a scorpion, pricked Bhīma with three and wrapped Sahadeva in ninety more.
The two lines closed. Bowstrings sang.
Feather and iron flew.
The sky put on a mail of rain,
And all the quarters grew
As dim as dusk at noon.
Then Bhīma and Sahadeva, wrath-fed and resolute, carved wide lanes of death. Horses, still harnessed, dragged the fallen like boats through a choking tide; shields and spears tiled the ground as if the earth wore a garland of iron. Heads dropped like lotus bulbs—eyes rolled back in anger, teeth set on bitten lips. Arms, bright with armlets and leather guards, fell gripping axes and swords; headless torsos, by some last spasm, staggered and kicked among the jackals.
When the Kaurava mass was pared to a remnant, the sons of Pāṇḍu, hearts lifted, sent them in files to Yama’s gate. Then Ulūka’s lance rose and crashed on Sahadeva’s helm. Shaken, the Madrī-born prince sank to the footboard of his car. Seeing him thus, Bhīma sprang forward roaring, and with cloth-yard shafts pierced hundreds at a breath. His shout went out like a lion’s; the followers of Śakuni broke, horses and elephants stumbling in panic.
“Stand, Kṣatriyas!” Cried Duryodhana. “What use is flight? He who casts away his breath without showing his back wins fame here and joy hereafter!” Recalled by the king’s fierce shame, Subala’s men rolled back like a torn wave. The field shivered under their charge; the Pāṇḍavas, unwearied, met them. Sahadeva, steady once more, marked his debtor and struck: ten arrows in Śakuni, three in his steeds; with a feathered razor he clipped the Gandhāra’s bow in splinters. Śakuni seized another, gashed Nakula with sixty, Bhīma with seven; Ulūka, burning to save his sire, riddled Bhīma with seven and Sahadeva with seventy.
Bhīma answered with a dark monsoon—
Sixty and four for Śakuni,
Three apiece for all around—
And thundered on.
The Kauravas, angered past reason, turned their cloud upon Sahadeva. Then the youngest Pāṇḍava lifted a single broadhead and, as Ulūka came on, struck off the prince’s head. He fell like a felled palm, blood leafing every limb. Śakuni, seeing his son down, choked on Vidura’s warning—tears and breath in knots—then loosed three shafts at Sahadeva. The Madrī-born prince beat them aside with a glittering spray, sheared Śakuni’s bow, and when the Gandhāra cast a scimitar, cut it clean in mid-flight. A mace followed—dead at his feet. Then Śakuni hurled a wicked dart, night-black with omen; Sahadeva split it into three bright shards that fell hissing like thunder-flakes.
The Gandhāras wavered; Subala’s son wavered with them.
The Pāṇḍavas shouted for victory;
The Dhārtarāṣṭras lost the taste for war.
Sahadeva pressed, and Śakuni fled behind his Gandhāra horse.
The youngest lion gave chase.
Stringing hard and drawing deep, Sahadeva harried the fleeing king with vulture-winged shafts—each a lance-point against an elephant’s hide. And he cried aloud, making him remember:
“O gambler who laughed in the hall, now reap the throw! Those that mocked us lie in their dust; only the wretch Duryodhana and thou, his mother’s brother, remain. Fight, Kṣatriya—be a man! I’ll pluck thy head like a fruit from a branch with a razor’s edge!”
He closed. Ten arrows in the foe, four in the horses. The umbrella fell, the banner fell, the bow fell— Sahadeva roared.
Still raging, Śakuni snatched a lance chased with gold and rushed. In that breath, Sahadeva loosed three broadheads—one to the haft, two to the wrist—and struck away both his arms and the lifted spear. Then, with a single iron arrow, gold-feathered, clean as judgment and driven with care, he took Śakuni’s head. It leapt from the trunk like a red sun dropping, and the body sagged upon the car.
Thus fell Subala’s son—root of the Kurus’ crooked counsel—under the hand of the youngest Pāṇḍava. The die-caster cast once more, and the last throw came up Night.
Seeing the Gandhāra king headless and bathed in gore, thy warriors dropped their courage and their weapons both. The Gāṇḍīva twanged somewhere beyond, and the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra—pale as ashes—fled mindless from the field. Then the Pāṇḍavas, with Vāsudeva among them, raised the conch-note high. They honored Sahadeva in the hearing of all:
“By good fortune, O hero, the wicked soul who plotted our ruin lies low—and with him his son!”
So the dice were gathered, O King;
The board was cleared at last.
What dawn had sown in treachery,
The dusk of steel made fast.