Read THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 Online
Authors: Ramesh Menon
Vyasa vanishes before the kneeling Aswatthama. Slowly, Drona’s son rises; he wipes his eyes. Soft peace has fallen on his heart to hear that his father is in heaven. Aswatthama turns back to Kurukshetra. It is twilight, when he arrives in the Kaurava camp. The day’s battle has ended; the armies have withdrawn. Only the dead lie on the black field, while jackals and hyenas begin to tear away their flesh in burning mouthfuls.
In Duryodhana’s camp and Yudhishtira’s, common soldiers fall gratefully into sleep. So ends the fifteenth day of the war: a fateful day, when Drona, who had stood like a fortress, fell. In the early part of the night, Duryodhana is sunk in despair; he will neither eat nor say a word. Red-eyed and grim, he sits in his tent with Aswatthama, Karna, Dusasana, Shalya, Shakuni and some others. He drinks often and deeply from the flagon of wine at his side. Not all the wine in the world can change the truth that Bheeshma has fallen and Drona is slain. Defeat stares Duryodhana in the face; and death.
AUM, I bow down to Narayana, the most exalted Nara and to the Devi Saraswathi and say
Jaya
!
Late that night in Duryodhana’s tent, the Kaurava asks heavily, “What do we do now? Tell me what you think.”
A moment’s uncertain silence, then, Aswatthama says, “We must not lose heart, my lord. What you need is a new Senapati to lead us into battle tomorrow: a warrior that loves you, to whom we can all look up. To my mind, the choice is obvious. Though all of us are ready to die for you, there is no archer among us like Karna. Let him be your general and we can still win this war.”
The others agree. A wan smile lights Duryodhana’s strained face. He embraces Karna and says, “My friend, there is no archer on earth like you. This is my moment of crisis and only you can help me. Pitama and the Acharya led our legions splendidly; both were killed when they had laid down their weapons. Yet, my grandfather and my master did not fight as they might have, or these Pandavas would never have stood against our numbers. The war should have ended ten days ago. But Bheeshma and Drona loved the sons of Pandu, they would never fight them as just another enemy.”
He pauses: this argument is more for himself than anyone else. “Now, for the first time, we will have a Senapati who detests the simpering Pandavas as much as I do. Karna, I leave everything in your hands. I won’t have to goad you each day to do your best and you will lead us to victory. At dawn tomorrow, you will be like Karttikeya leading the army of Devaloka! It is your destiny, take command of the Kuru army.”
This is typical of Duryodhana: that, in a moment, his mood swings from despair to elation, for which there is hardly cause. Karna stands before his friend, for whom he will give his life. Softly he says, “Nothing will please me more, my lord. I will kill Arjuna and the world will be yours. Have no doubt, tomorrow Arjuna will die.”
Priests are summoned and holy water is fetched in urns of gold and earthen ones, in the tuks and horns of the elephant, the rhinoceros and the bull—water sanctified with mantras. Duryodhana seats Karna on a throne made of udumbara wood, covered in silk. He ties the auspicious thread around Karna’s wrist, drenches him with the water, himself, in midnight consecration and the sutaputra, Suryaputra, is Senapati of the Kuru army. This is the nearest Kunti’s eldest son will come to becoming the king he might have been. Duryodhana convinces himself that the war, so far, has been a trial of his endurance. After all, they were fighting for the throne of the earth: such a prize will not come easily, but only after a man was purified by an ordeal. Duryodhana does not think of Yudhishtira’s ordeal; and, of course, he has no inkling that his new general is the Pandavas’ brother. The Kaurava is content to believe that, now, his own destiny would be fulfilled.
Dawn of the sixteenth day of war; Karna arrays his legions in the makara vyuha. He sets himself at the head of the phalanx of the crocodile, at its snout. The eyes of the beast of war are Shakuni and Uluka, with their troops around them. The crown of the makara’s head is Aswatthama, renewed, eager for battle. Duryodhana’s brothers are immediately behind Aswatthama, in a fierce cohort. At the very heart of the phalanx, protected by thronging legions all around, is Duryodhana himself, his chariot fluttering the black and gold serpent banner. The forelegs of the massive reptile are Kritavarman, with the Narayana warriors and his own Bhoja legion
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and Kripa and his company. The hind-legs are Karna’s son Sushena and the redoubtable Shalya, with their soldiers.
Across the field, Yudhishtira gazes at the Kaurava phalanx being formed. He turns to Arjuna in the dawn breeze and says, “They have a new Senapati. Karna shines at their head like a moon in a sky full of stars. And now, seeing them again in the same makara vyuha our Pitama used, I realize how they have dwindled these sixteen days. And we with them.
Can we restore these millions of lives by winning the war? A generation of noble kshatriyas has perished on this field of our fathers; the world will never be the same again. Bheeshma and Drona have fallen. To my mind, Karna is the last great soldier they have and he is the most dangerous one. More than Pitama or the Acharya, I fear Karna. Arjuna, if you can kill this man and only you can, victory will be ours.”
Arjuna and Dhrishtadyumna form their legions in the chandrakala vyuha. Bheema is the left point of the crescent moon and Dhrishtadyumna the right. At the heart of the vyuha is Arjuna himself, with Yudhishtira, Nakula and Sahadeva around him. At Arjuna’s chariot-wheels are Yuddhamanyu and Uttamaujas and, flaring out in a curve on either side of the four Pandavas, the rest of their soldiers. It is a leaner crescent, by far, than the one they formed two weeks ago: fifteen lifetimes ago, to those that fought the war.
When both armies are ready, their conch-blowers and drummers sound a storm to begin the day’s bloodletting. The armies charge each other, weapons glinting in the early light of morning. Karna leads the Kaurava army with dignity; he returns the war to Bheeshma’s dharma yuddha. This is a relief to all, after Drona’s vicious command. Though Karna fights with dharma, the Kauravas recover spirit under his lead; for he straddles Kurukshetra like a Deva.
Bheema opens the day’s slaughter by striking off the arrogant lord of Kshemadhurti’s head. Then, Karna is at the Pandava army. Nakula dashes up to confront him, killing a hundred Kaurava soldiers as he goes. Away to the left, Bheema and Aswatthama meet in a glittering duel. Satyaki faces two of the surviving Kekaya brothers. As the armies flow into each other, on wavelets of blood, Duryodhana and Yudhishtira come face to face. The remnants of the Samsaptakas ride at Arjuna, only at him, for revenge. Kripa and Dhrishtadyumna face each other, Shikhandi and Kritavarman, Srutakirti and Shalya. Sahadeva and Dusasana duel.
Blood flies everywhere, spraying freely. Limbs and heads, struck off, lie severed from their trunks. Dismembered bodies fall, spasming in death’s throes and the air is a hoarseness of screams and roars. After an exhilarating encounter, Satyaki kills the Kekayas. Part of the morning’s glory belongs to Draupadi’s sons, who range the field in a small patrol of their own, fleet and ruthless. Fighting well above himself, Bheema strikes Aswatthama unconscious and the brahmana is borne off the field by his sarathy. Shalya puts Srutakirti to flight and Sahadeva shames Dusasana.
Nakula fights his way through a hundred men to face Karna, who rides to meet his charge, with a familiar, mocking, smile on his lips. Nakula cries, “Evil one, you are the cause of this war. You are the outsider who stoked hatred between cousins. I will kill you now, Karna and pluck a thorn from my heart.”
The smile never leaves Karna’s face. He says smoothly, “You are a fine kshatriya indeed, Nakula. But let me shear your pride a little.”
Nakula replies with a buzz of arrows. But Karna is quicker than the mind; he splits the Pandava’s bow; in a blur, Nakula seizes up another and divides Karna’s weapon. Karna also picks up another bow and fights back; and now he is truly awesome. After Bheema and Sahadeva, today it is Nakula’s turn to be humbled by the lord of Anga. Karna shatters his brother’s bow again; he kills his horses and his sarathy. Another scorching volley smashes Nakula’s chariot.
Sword in hand, Nakula leaps down to the ground. Hardly have his feet touched the earth, when his blade is struck from his grasp, superbly. Next moment, his shield is smashed in shards. When the Pandava lifts his mace from the ruins of his ratha, that, too, is pulverized. Nakula wrenches a chariot-wheel from its axle. Smiling, Karna cuts the wheel in slivers with a wizardry of silver shafts.
His enemy laughs in the defenseless Pandava’s face. Nakula loses his nerve; he turns and runs. He does not go five paces, when Karna rides up beside him and brings him up roughly by snaring his head in his bowstring! Like a fisherman his catch, he hauls the Pandava back to him. Nakula stands shaking.
Karna says cruelly, “What happened, little one? Lost your tongue, O Kshatriya?”
Nakula squirms. Karna holds him firm, the bowstring around his throat. He has not finished. “Don’t be ashamed, Nakula. I promise you, one day you will remember this duel and feel proud that you once fought Karna and escaped with your life! Here, I gift you your life, child. Run away now. Go.”
He lifts the bow away from Nakula’s neck. Nakula runs from his tormentor. Hissing like a serpent, in shame, he runs to Yudhishtira’s chariot. Only Krishna notices, from a way off, the wistfulness in Karna’s eyes.
Karna bestrides Kurukshetra, a white flame, an incarnation of the living sun. Like Surya Deva over the earth at high noon, the sutaputra shines on Kurukshetra. Emboldened by him, the other Kaurava warriors begin to fight as never before.
Shakuni’s son, Uluka, routs Yuyutsu. Shakuni himself battles Sutasoma; and in rage at how Drona died, Kripa confronts Dhrishtadyumna. The Acharya fights as well as his slain brother-in-law and Dhrishtadyumna cannot face him at all. Kripa strikes him unconscious in his chariot. Dhrish-tadyumna’s sarathy bears his prince out of the battle. But crimson-eyed Kripa rides after him, determined to avenge death with death. This brahmana is fearsome today, as he hasn’t been so far.
Some way off, Shikhandi and Kritavarman duel and the inspired Yadava lacerates the Panchala. Shikhandi is almost struck out of his chariot by Kritavarman, but saves himself by clinging to his flag-post at the last moment, before he faints. His sarathy rushes him out of battle. Not far from one another, like three fires from Siva’s trident they rage: Kritavarman, Kripa and Karna. They kill thousands.
The Samsaptakas foolishly challenge Arjuna again. Seeing them reminds him of the day Abhi-manyu died and he lets them feel his wrath. The few he leaves alive, flee. Duryodhana and Yudhish-tira come face to face: the lords of the two armies. Seeing how Karna rules Kurukshetra gives heart to the Kaurava and he fights like ten men. The war would be won if he can kill Yudhishtira.
But his cousin, the Pandava, is here for dharma. After a brief, refulgent duel, Yudhishtira looses four arrows like one in the heart of a moment. Duryodhana’s horses fall, shot through their hearts. Yudhishtira’s fifth shaft takes his sarathy’s head from his neck, spraying Duryodhana with the man’s blood. The sixth cuts his serpent-banner down; the seventh strikes the bow from his hand. Yudhish-tira’s archery is elegant, effortless and the armies gaze at him.
Roaring, Duryodhana draws his sword, but the Pandava’s eighth arrow breaks it in two. Then, five arrows in a stream fling the Kaurava back against his flagstaff. Only the armor Drona gave him saves Duryodhana’s life. Yudhishtira raises his bow to end the war; like three wishes Karna, Aswatthama and Kripa appear to hold him off. The Pandava’s own kshatriyas arrive to join the fray and the battle spreads out again. But the moral victory belongs to Yudhishtira; he has the pleasure of seeing rage and shame on his cousin’s face.
The sun has begun to fall from his zenith and afternoon finds the Kaurava army melting before Bheema. He kills thousands and his roars resound above every other noise on Kurukshetra: above the whinnying of horses, the yells of kshatriyas, the whistling of a million arrows and, most of all, the piteous screams of those cut down.
Duryodhana mounts a fresh chariot and rides at Yudhishtira again. But the tide of dharma flows against the Kaurava and, once more, he finds swift humiliation. Yudhishtira casts a javelin at him and strikes him down. His new sarathy rides away with his king dazed on the floor of his ratha.
When Arjuna has inflicted sharp defeat on Aswatthama and Kritavarman, who challenged him, he turns on Karna. But Karna is invincible. He wounds both Arjuna and Krishna with some astounding archery, arrows like flights of bees and the other Pandavas rally round the white chariot. The sixteenth day of the dharma yuddha wears on and surely by now there is more death than life on yawning Kurukshetra. The sun slips to the horizon. Fearful that they may be asked to fight in the night, again, the soldiers on both sides begin to leave the field even before the signal is given to end the day’s battle.
Karna and Dhrishtadyumna order the twilight conches to sound and the armies are formally withdrawn. It has been a day when tens of thousands perished on both sides, but no kshatriya among them. The names of those thousands remain unknown, unrecorded; though, surely, they gave their most precious possession on the field of battle. This has always been the way of war, why, of life itself: that fame is an ornament worn by the few.