Read THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 Online
Authors: Ramesh Menon
The Pandava soldiers run from Duryodhana, any way they can. But from behind their melting lines rides another king as bright and noble as his enemy is fell and heartless. With Bheema at his side, Yudhishtira rides to face his cousin. As soon as Duryodhana sees the eldest Pandava, he plunges at him and the two of them, for whom all this war is being fought, duel. Their arrows are pale clouds scudding low in a high wind. At times, they loose shaktis, or the rare astra at each other and these light up the field of death in brief splendor.
Frequently, real clouds pass over the stars and the darkness of the cold night is complete. At these times, no warrior could be certain at whom he shot his arrows, though roars and screams still ring out, in evil bedlam. Drona is anxious for Duryodhana; any chance arrow could kill him in the night. Just then, Duryodhana pierces Yudhishtira’s sarathy with a smoking shakti and as the man drops his reins, it seems the Kaurava has his cousin at his mercy. But Yudhishtira replies, quick as life, with two smoking shafts that flame into Duryodhana’s chest, knock him down on his chariot-floor and would have killed him except for Brahma’s golden armor.
Drona rides between Yudhishtira and Duryodhana, drawing a magic curtain of arrows between them. Yudhishtira’s sarathy recovers. Some other Pandava warriors ride up to their king’s side and the duel ends. The fighting spreads out again. But it seems Drona can see as clearly by starlight as by the sun. His aim is unerring, his every arrow deadly. Once the two armies flow into each other, it is hard for the kshatriyas to fight with any ease. They can never be sure if their shafts and swords find enemies, or their own men.
The war by night wears a sinister face. Somehow, the battle by daylight, brutal as it is, is not remotely as macabre a ritual as fighting under the stars. The very earth takes on an eerie aspect, as if demons are about, invisibly, partaking in the offerings of life and blood. The darkness of night seems to illumine the deeper significance of this war: that it is a timeless contention between dharma and adharma, good and evil. As if these revelations of the soul’s dark and light are intolerable to the common soldier, terror stalks Kurukshetra as never before: terror woven into the screams of the dying and the dismal howling of the jackal-packs.
But the darkness is no obstacle to one that prefers to fight close to his enemies, hand to hand, smashing them down with his mace. For the Pandavas, Bheema is as devastating as Drona is for the Kauravas. It seems that Bheema, too, has cat’s eyes, as he hunts Dhritarashtra’s sons in the dark. He picks them out unerringly and, riding at each one, kills them with his mace, or his bare hands, even; rending some limb from limb, covering himself with blood that glimmers under the stars, so he is a scarlet spirit ranging the field.
Yet another warrior is even more at home in the darkness and entirely in his element. Ghatotkacha patrols the night with a legion of rakshasas. For them darkness is their daylight and their strength at this hour is ten times what it is by day. Their eyes like torches on Kurukshetra, their weird cries chilling their enemies’ blood, they sweep at the Kaurava army in a wave of dread.
There is a king that fights for the Kauravas, who has lost two sons on Kurukshetra: Somadatta, the father of Sala and Bhoorisravas. He rounds on Satyaki in the night, “Kshatriya! How could you kill my son when he sat in dhyana?”
Satyaki roars back, “And now I will kill you!”
The Yadava matches his words with a brace of fiery arrows, lighting up the dark. Duryodhana flits to Somadatta’s side; but Dhrishtadyumna materializes at Satyaki’s and holds off the Kaurava prince. Somadatta is hardly a match for Satyaki and the Yadava cracks his bow and fells him with another humming shaft. The unconscious king is borne off the field. Aswatthama rides up to confront Saty-aki, who is still tired after his long day. Aswatthama seems to have the better of their encounter, when, with a heart-stopping cry, Ghatotkacha erupts on him from the night!
Aswatthama whirls round to meet Bheema’s son with a lucent volley, turning night into day. Ghatotkacha uses maya against Drona’s son; he vanishes and reappears on the other side of Aswatthama’s chariot. Ghatotkacha fights with sorcery: he creates bizarre hallucinations out of the black air and the Kaurava soldiers run screaming from them. But Aswatthama is unmoved. He vaporizes the demoniacal visions with an agneyastra, which lustrates the field like a small sun. Aswatthama strikes Ghatot-kacha with some light-swift archery.
Roaring in pain, the rakshasa casts a phosphorescent chakra at him, but the brahmana’s son smashes it in flight. Ghatotkacha has a son himself, who attacks Aswatthama from the air with a barrage of occult weapons. Aswatthama turns up at the young rakshasa and brings him down like a bird out of the sky. Ghatotkacha’s roar shakes Kurukshetra.
For the first time, the two armies hear him speak in a human tongue. He cries, “Brahmana, you won’t escape with your life tonight!”
Ghatotkacha creates a vast illusion. Aswatthama finds himself in the heart of a mythic forest that teems with all kinds of predators: lions, tigers and baleful incubi; every one of these stalks Drona’s son, as in the most terrifying nightmare. The hallucination is like a trial the soul passes through on its way to moksha. But Aswatthama, master of weapons, master of himself, is warrior enough and yogin enough not to be perturbed. Serenely, he invokes the proper astra and dispels the illusion.
Ghatotkacha flies up into the sky and now he fights like any other kshatriya, with bow and arrows. He covers Aswatthama’s chariot in a hail of firestones. An anxious Duryodhana rides to his son’s side. All round them Ghatotkacha’s rakshasas are at their horrible sacrifice: thousands of petrified Kaurava soldiers their offering. Their naked bodies glistening in blood, the jungle demons are on the soft rampage.
Duryodhana cries to Aswatthama, “Who can stand against the rakshasas by night?”
Aswatthama actually smiles at his king, while arrows stream from his glowing bow. He says, “Leave them to me, my lord and their master as well.”
With a shaft like Yama’s danda, Drona’s son fells Ghatotkacha himself. Panic among the other rakshasas; they rush to their fallen friend to revive him. Aswatthama kills three of them as they go. Some of his anxiety allayed, Duryodhana rides away to find Shakuni. He persuades that sorcerer to attack the Pandavas, at this hour that suits him well.
A roar goes up from the Pandava soldiers, “Aswatthama has killed Ghatotkacha!”
Some kings who fight for Yudhishtira are so dismayed they leave the field. But when Bheema hears that cry, he falls on the enemy with renewed ferocity, killing three thousand. Until ten of Duryodhana’s brothers ring him round, determined they will finish him, before they meet their brothers’ fate. But they could not have chosen a worse time for their bravado. Bheema butchers them as if they were children before him.
When the last of the ten has his skull smashed by the Pandava’s mace, another shout rings out on Kurukshetra, “Ghatotkacha isn’t dead, he only fainted!”
TWENTY-FIVE
KARNA, KRIPA AND ASWATTHAMA
Aswatthama blazes like Rudra in the night and no one can contain him. He consumes columns of the Pandava army with his astras; and when he shoots Ghatotkacha unconscious, Yudhishtira’s army runs from him in terror. As Aswatthama swirls forward, irresistibly, Drupada’s splendid sons appear out of the darkness in his way. But Drona’s son is master, tonight and he engages all the Panchala princes, at once and kills those that dare stand before him for too long. Seeing his sons die, Drupada comes roaring into the fray.
Meanwhile, Somadatta’s father Baahlika, the very oldest kshatriya to fight the great war, straddles Kurukshetra like a man half his age. Until he meets Bheema in the night. Many Pandava soldiers, who fought Baahlika as if he was too old to fight in earnest, have lost their lives tonight. Bheema makes no such mistake. He hurls his mace at the ancient and Baahlika falls, his head split open, his spirit escaped. Baahlika was even older than Bheeshma and a lament goes up at his fall. By the light of astras and the rushlights that some soldiers have lit, ten more of Dhritarashtra’s sons surround Bheema. The son of the wind fulfils another tenth part of his vow. Shakuni arrives with his legion and Bheema welcomes him by dispatching some Gandhara princes, Shakuni’s brothers.
There is another Pandava who fights as he has never done before: Yudhishtira burns the enemy like legions of dry grass. Drona rides at him. Kurukshetra is lit up, as the astras ruled by Varuna, Yama, Agni, Tvashtar and Savita flare at the Pandava. But Dharma’s son, the serene one, cuts them down even as his brother Arjuna might.
With Arjuna resting away from the field, Drona sees this as his best chance to take Yudhishtira. When the Acharya’s lesser astras prove ineffectual, Drona intones the mantra for the brahmastra. Yudhishtira hears the arcane chant across the darkness and at once, he summons the same weapon. When brahmastra and brahmastra spume at each other and lock on high, it seems the night has ended abruptly. The Pandava army roars its delight to see Yudhishtira match Drona so wonderfully. The Acharya has no answer to the Pandava king’s valor. He rides away from his sishya and the hapless army feels his wrath.
Thousands perish in the dark: their lives put out with arrows they never see from Drona’s bow. Then, from two sides, two Devaputras ride to take up their guru’s challenge. Bheema comes from the west of the battle, where he has been annihilating the enemy. Vayu’s son now rides with his bow in his hand, covering his master’s chariot in silver fire. From the south, in a ratha yoked to steeds white as milk, the moon, or the kunda flower, comes a greater archer than any other. A rested Arjuna rides into battle again, like Death himself. Drona shrinks before the combined assault and the Kaurava soldiers, sleepless and exhausted, their morale at its lowest ebb, run from the brothers like a herd of deer from two tigers.
But Bheema and Arjuna kill thousands in the dark and it seems the war will end this very night. Duryodhana rides to Karna at the edge of the field and cries, “The river of death breaks its banks! You must stop them, Karna, you are my only hope.”
Karna says, “I still have Indra’s Shakti. Arjuna will die by his father’s weapon; and when he dies, the rest will be easy to kill. I ride to bring you victory, Duryodhana. I will kill all the Pandavas for you. I will kill the Panchalas, too and lay the world at your feet!”
Kripa is beside them and the old warrior begins to laugh. Karna whirls round and Kripa says, “Such fine words, Karna! It is a pity that fine words don’t win wars, or Duryodhana would already be emperor of Bharatavarsha: for there is no one to match his friend Karna at bragging. You say that you will kill all the Pandavas and the Panchalas? Though they have Krishna with them! But we saw how you ran when you met just Arjuna by himself outside Virata. And today you could not stop him from killing Jayadratha. They say brahmanas make fine speeches and kshatriyas are men of deeds. But Karna is a master of building palaces in the air! I wish you fought as well as you boast.”
He laughs again. Red-eyed Karna cries, “I will show you tonight that Karna is not just a braggart. Duryodhana is the only one who loves me and I will lay the world at his feet!”
Kripa scoffs, “You are not master of your own mouth, Karna, then how will you master Arjuna? Wars are not won with boasts; in a few days Yudhishtira will sit upon the throne of the world. Krishna is with the Pandavas, they cannot be defeated.”
Karna growls, “I don’t doubt the Pandavas are great adversaries. Yudhishtira is the image of dharma and Arjuna is a brilliant archer. What is more, so far fate has been with them. But Arjuna is not immortal. Krishna avoided me today. He knows I have Indra’s Shakti and I can kill Arjuna with it!”
Kripa only laughs again. Karna draws his sword and snarls, “Another word and I will cut your tongue out, Brahmana!”
He actually rushes at Kripa; Aswatthama comes between them, his sword drawn too. “I will kill you for this, Karna!”
Then Duryodhana is among them, pulling Aswatthama away. Karna growls, “Let him go, Duryodhana. He always taunts me and I will kill him first and then the Pandavas.”
Duryodhana cries, “We have an enemy to face! Are we going to help them by killing each other?”
Kripa murmurs, “You are right. Let Arjuna quell this fool’s arrogance.”
Duryodhana says, “Aswatthama, this is no time to fall out among ourselves. Already, the enemy has the advantage. Countless men have died for us: we owe it to our dead to turn defeat into victory. I beg you, save your anger for the Pandavas. Karna is dear to me and he fights our cause.”
Aswatthama lowers his sword. Without another word, Karna mounts his chariot and rides into battle.
Karna burns like Agni Deva in the night. At first, when they see him ride at them alone, the exuberant Pandava soldiers rush at him. But he is dread incarnate on Kurukshetra and as swiftly as they came they run from him, when he burns up a legion in moments. No kshatriya dares stand against him and Arjuna rides at him.
A radiant duel breaks out. The armies stand transfixed by the spectacle; it seems two Gods duelled. They fight as if it is daylight and the sun risen on the world: their aim is so true, their archery so effortless. Then, Arjuna strains himself briefly, kills Karna’s sarathy and horses and breaks his bow. Karna leaps out and finds the nearest Kaurava chariot to escape in: Kripa’s!