Read THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 Online
Authors: Ramesh Menon
He charges the enemy and what remains of his army, twenty-one thousand men, follows him into battle again. Duryodhana fights like a dark Deva on Kurukshetra. For a while it seems he will win the war single-handedly. By himself, he holds up Satyaki, Dhrishtadyumna, Bheema, Arjuna, Yudhishtira, Nakula and Sahadeva.
His uncle Shakuni appears beside him and he fights like ten men today! On Shakuni’s other side, his son Uluka is as formidable as his father is. Between them, these three drive the five Pandavas back. Seeing them, Duryodhana’s brothers, the handful Bheema has left alive, rally round, their bows singing. But when Bheema sees these sons of Dhritarashtra, he throws back his head and gives a familiar roar of delight. A smile spreading on his face, Bheema comes like a comet from the Pandava ranks, flying to keep his oath!
Some of Duryodhana’s brothers try to run. Bheema catches them. He kills them all, their blood splashing in the sun, staining the brown field. Soon, of Dhritarashtra’s hundred sons, only Duryodhana and his brother Sudarshana are left alive.
The eighteenth day hurtles on, with men dying like rain-flies. With some incandescent archery, Arjuna decimates the scant remains of the tenacious Trigartas and just Susharma is left alive. A sharp duel ensues, but Susharma’s spirit is broken with all the defeat inflicted on him. Arjuna puts an end to that king with an arrow that tears his chest open and blows his heart to shreds.
Bheema dances among what remains of Duryodhana’s elephant army. He crashes the beasts down with huge strokes of his mace, then, dispatches their riders like insects. When almost all the elephant legion is razed, Bheema, covered in blood, turns his burning gaze to Duryodhana and Sudarshana. He climbs into his chariot again and, with Arjuna and some others around him, rides at the last two Kauravas left for him to kill. As he draws near, he roars at Sudarshana to attract his attention. Even as that prince swirls around to face him, Bheema sloughs off his head with a crescent-tipped arrow, once favored by their master Drona.
Of his hundred brothers only Duryodhana remains and a gory, triumphant Bheema rides at his cousin to end it all. Just in time, Shakuni blunders between them with his son Uluka and the last elephants of the Kaurava army. Nakula and Sahadeva appear at Bheema’s side and they engage Shakuni and Uluka. Fine power upon him, Nakula caparisons Uluka’s elephant in a sheen of arrows. Uluka strikes Nakula with thirty shafts and covers the raging Bheema with seventy more, drawing blood in a hundred fonts. Nakula seizes a slender spear and casts it at Uluka like sorcery. With his father looking on, the golden lance decapitates Uluka and his corpse tumbles off his grey beast’s back.
Shakuni’s scream echoes around Kurukshetra. His eyes welling blind, he turns on Nakula’s twin: Sahadeva who had sworn to kill him on the day of the game of dice. With every weapon he has, Shakuni attacks Sahadeva. The Pandava smashes all his missiles and fells his elephant. Shakuni climbs into a chariot and, his nerve gone, tries to escape. But Sahadeva is determined to keep his vow. He pursues the Gandhara, crying, “Stop and fight, coward! You are the cause of this war, of all this misery. If you had never come to Hastinapura, Duryodhana would not have become the monster he did.
You laughed at the oaths we swore when you banished us. Who is laughable now, Gandhara? Dusasana is dead, Karna is gone. Look where your son lies without his head. Come, Shakuni, pay for your sins. Let me pluck your head from your neck like a fruit from a tree. I am happy that I can kill the most evil of all our enemies.”
Knowing there is nowhere to run, Shakuni turns. They fight a short, scathing duel. Then, Sahadeva picks up a javelin, with golden wings and casts it at Shakuni. It cuts Gandhara king’s head from his throat and Shakuni dies, his hooded eyes staring, still full of malice.
Celebration breaks out among the Pandava legions and absolute panic among the Kaurava soldiers that remain alive. Duryodhana’s men flee in that frenzy and once more the Kaurava looms threateningly behind them and brings them back to fight. But with Shakuni, the last ember of hope dies in Duryodhana. Surely, now, only one thing remains: to die himself.
Of his eleven teeming aksauhinis, of millions, just two hundred chariots, five hundred horses, a hundred elephants and three thousand footsoldiers remain. For his sake, they come back into battle. Duryodhana watches the Pandavas make short work of his final legion, scattering its corpses on Kurukshetra as the wind does blades of grass.
Of eleven immense legions just Duryodhana, Kripa, Aswatthama and Kritavarman are still alive. Of the seven Pandava aksauhinis, two hundred chariots, seven hundred elephants, five thousand horses and some ten thousand footsoldiers remain. The blood of more than ten million kshatriyas soaks Kurukshetra, field of dharma. Most of the noblest bloodlines of the earth have been extinguished. The race of kings has been destroyed forever; an age has ended.
Duryodhana surveys the field of Kurukshetra, the ruin of kshatriya kind. He realizes what Vidura had meant when he said to him, “You will destroy the race of kings.”
Duryodhana’s head reels. He wonders if Vidura had seen, in his mind’s eye, the spectacle he now confronted himself. The Kaurava sits astride a horse, an animal wounded by many arrows. Then, even that beast folds under him and falls dead. Now he is truly alone. Sobbing like an orphaned child, when this final companion also left him, Duryodhana staggers away from Kurukshetra.
His mind ranges over the past eighteen days, but no grief touches his heart for the millions who had died for him. Only one face rises before his eyes: how Karna must have suffered when he knew the Pandavas were his brothers! Yet, he had not abandoned Duryodhana. Where would he find another Karna in this world? Nowhere, even if he lived a hundred lives. As he walks dimly on, hardly knowing where he goes, Duryodhana’s body begins to burn as if a rain of fire fell on him.
He sees a blue lake ahead. Then all he wants to do is cool the fire in his body in the water, to immerse himself forever. Eighteen days ago, he had six million men to fight his cause. Now Duryo-dhana has his mace in his hand and it is his only guardian. For a moment, he stands gazing at the lake, somehow unable to move into it yet.
Just then, Sanjaya comes running through that place. He stops still to see Duryodhana standing there, lost, his eyes full of tears. Before him is the man who was sovereign of the earth a few days ago.
Now he stands bereft, alone. His father’s sarathy approaches Duryodhana and says, “My lord, it is I, Sanjaya.”
Duryodhana turns slowly, like a dreamer. A smile lights his face and he embraces Sanjaya fervently. “Thank God you have escaped with your life!”
Duryodhana holds Sanjaya’s hand, as if it were his own sanity. Sanjaya says, “When they had finished killing all our soldiers, the Pandavas arrived in our camp to look for you. They found only me and Satyaki took me prisoner. When Dhrishtadyumna saw me, he began to laugh. He said, ‘What are you going to do with this poor fellow? What does it matter any more if he lives or dies?’ Satyaki growled, ‘I will kill him then.’
The Yadava raised his sword when, suddenly, Vyasa muni appeared there and said, ‘This man must not be killed; let him go back to Dhritarashtra.’ Reluctantly Satyaki released me and I ran away before he changed his mind.”
Sanjaya sees the blank look in Duryodhana’s eyes and cries, “But, my lord, I cannot bear to see you like this. I fear your mind is unhinged after what has happened.”
Duryodhana smiles, “Ah, Sanjaya, if only I could lose my mind! I would be spared this agony. Look at me now: I have no one left, no one to even cry for me. Why, I can hardly cry myself.”
Duryodhana falls silent for a moment, then, says, “Go to my father, good Sanjaya, tell him his son Duryodhana sent him a message. Tell him I have entered the Dwaipayana lake, because my body burns and I mean to submerge myself to cool my limbs. Anyway, of what use is my life when all my brothers and my friends are dead? And the Pandavas have won the war.
Sanjaya, tell my father I will never see him again in this world and say his son begs his forgiveness for all the grief I have caused him. He has always loved me and I am sure he will forgive me. Then go to my mother Gandhari and tell her that her Duryodhana says he is not fit to be the son of a great soul like her. Tell her that I, who have never bent before anyone in my life, now set my head at her feet and beg her forgiveness. And tell her I have just one prayer left: that in every life to come, I am born her son. Go now, my friend. I must cool my limbs for a while, ah, they are on fire! Let me enter the water before anyone else finds me. I must cool myself, Sanjaya, I must cool my burning body.”
Mace in hand, he walks slowly into the lake until it covers his head. He makes the blue water still above him; he knows the secret art of not breathing for as long as he wants. Sanjaya stands a moment, gazing sadly after him, then the sarathy turns and makes for Hastinapura again.
On his way, he meets Kripa, Kritavarman and Aswatthama. They say to him, “You are lucky to be alive, Sanjaya. Have you seen Duryodhana anywhere? Is he alive?”
Sanjaya tells them how Duryodhana had submerged himself in the Dwaipayana lake. “He said his body was burning and he needed to cool it.”
Aswatthama cries, “He thinks we are also dead. The four of us could still kill the Pandavas!”
Suddenly, they hear the voices of men coming toward them through the trees. It is some Pandava soldiers searching for Duryodhana and the four vanish into the forest.
Celebrations rule the Pandava camp. The war is won and Yudhishtira is lord of the earth. The cost has been stupendous, but victory belongs to them. Meanwhile, the Kuru princesses are sent home to Hastinaoura in palanquins and carts, the widows wailing, pulling their hair and raking their breasts with their nails. It takes the Pandavas a while to realize that Duryodhana is nowhere to be found; when they do, they send their men out in every direction to look for him.
Duryodhana’s horse is discovered, dead, but there is no sign anywhere of its master. They never dreamt he was a coward; yet, now, there is no trace of him and it seems he has run away. The Pandava soldiers comb the woods around Kurukshetra, but they do not find the Kaurava. Evening sets in and they return to Yudhishtira’s camp, having failed their mission.
When the enemy soldiers have gone, Kripa, Aswatthama and Kritavarman come quietly to the lake. They call, “Come out, Duryodhana, we three are alive.”
There is no reply. Aswatthama says, “The four of us can still win this war. The Pandavas have hardly any army left. If we win, you will be king; if we lose, we will find Devaloka for ourselves. Come out from the water and lead us to victory!”
For a moment, there is no answer. Then Duryodhana’s voice speaks to them softly from the lake. “I am so happy you are alive. Yes, my loyal friends, we will fight the Pandavas and kill them yet. But not tonight. Darkness has fallen and my body is on fire with the wounds I have received. I am exhausted and so are you and my mind is full of sorrow. The lake waters will revive me in the night; tomorrow we will fight the Pandavas again and destroy them. We shall win this war yet.
More than anything, I am moved that you are still loyal to me. I cannot think what I have done to deserve such love. That will suffice for me tonight; tomorrow, we will face the enemy.”
Aswatthama is impatient. “Why wait until tomorrow, my lord? Let us fight them now. I swear we will kill them all!”
The three do not notice the knot of vetalas, carrying loads of fresh meat from their hunt, who have come to Dwaipayana lake to drink its sweet water. The hunters move as silently as wild animals. They stand hidden in the trees, listening to every word Kripa, Kritavarman and Aswatthama say. At first, they wonder whom the warriors address. Then they hear Duryodhana’s ghostly voice float out of the silken water. Those hunters had heard the Pandavas are looking for Duryodhana, when they came across some of Yudhishtira’s men scouring the forest for the Kaurava.
They melt back into the jungle and run through evening’s shadows toward the Pandava camp. The hunters arrive at Bheema’s tent. The guards outside try to stop them, but they barge in. When Bheema hears their news, he brings the foresters to Yudhishtira.
Yudhishtira rewards the vetalas and sends them on their way. The Pandavas set out at once, with Krishna leading them. Dhrishtadyumna, Satyaki, Draupadi’s sons, Yuddhamanyu and Uttamaujas and Shikhandi go with them to the lake. The sun is low in the western sky; dusk is upon the world. Aswatthama hears the Pandavas coming. He says to Duryodhana, “The Pandavas are coming! We must hide.”
Duryodhana’s voice answers, “Go, my friends.”
Kripa, Kritavarman and Aswatthama run from the lake. They find a large banyan tree in the depths of the jungle and sink down under it, exhausted. They speak in whispers among themselves, “What will happen now, will they find Duryodhana?”
“Will he fight them, if they do, or will he remain under water?” “It all depends on what the sons of Pandu decide.”
The Pandavas arrive on the banks of the Dwaipayana lake. No ripple stirs its surface; the water lies smooth as a mirror.
Yudhishtira says, “Drona taught us how to do this: Duryodhana has used a siddhi to still the lake. He is under the water, hiding like a coward; but he will not escape today. Even if Indra comes to save him, I mean to send our cousin to the next world.”