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Thirteen days was all the Sairandhri had asked of the queen, and Sudeshna, who wanted her gone and was afraid of the Gandharvas who were said to come for her, let her stay. In those days the story of the night in the dancing hall went out of the city and along the roads of the Matsya country, and it changed as it traveled. People who had never seen Kichaka alive now spoke of him as a hero of his age, and they said in the same breath that the king’s cook, Ballava, was a strong man too, as if the two names belonged together. What everyone agreed on was the reason for his death. Kichaka had been a tormentor of men and a taker of other men’s wives, and the Gandharvas had killed him for it. That was the tale told from province to province about the commander who had never lost a battle. It traveled north as well, and it found its way, in the mouths of tired men, into the court of Hastinapura.
The spies come home empty-handed
The men who brought it were Duryodhana’s spies. He had sent them out when the twelfth year of the exile ended, with a list of countries to search and orders on how to search them, and they had done all of it. They had gone through villages, towns, and kingdoms, had examined each country on their list in the manner laid down for it, and had come back to the city of the elephant with one piece of news they thought worth the journey. They found the king in session. Drona was there, and Karna, and Kripa, and Bhishma, and Duryodhana’s brothers sat around him, and with them sat guests from the west, the chariot lords of the Trigarta country, whose king had his own reasons for being in Hastinapura that season.
The spies spoke to Duryodhana and left nothing out, because they had nothing to hide except their failure. “We took great care over this search,” they said. “We went through the whole of that forest, the lonely stretches full of deer and the thickets of every kind of tree and creeper, and we looked in the bowers of matted wood and in the undergrowth, and we never found the track by which the sons of Pritha went out of it. We looked for their footprints there and elsewhere. We looked on the tops of mountains and in places hard to reach, in kingdom after kingdom, in crowded provinces, in camps and in cities. No trace of the sons of Pandu has been found anywhere. It looks to us as if they have perished without leaving a mark behind. We followed those warriors’ track for a while and lost it, and we do not know where they are living now. For some time we followed the track of their charioteers instead, and that inquiry at least we carried to its end. The charioteers reached Dwaraka, and the sons of Pritha were not with them. Neither the sons of Pandu nor the chaste Krishnaa is in that city of the Yadavas. We could find neither their road nor their dwelling. We salute you. They are gone for good.”
Then came the thing they had carried home as a gift. “We know something of the disposition of the sons of Pandu and something of the feats they have done, and we ask you to tell us what we should do next in the search for them. But hear this too, because it is pleasant and it promises you good. The commander of King Matsya’s army, Kichaka, the wicked man who beat the Trigartas again and again with his whole strength and killed so many of them, lies dead on the ground with all his brothers. Invisible Gandharvas killed him in the hours of the night. We were very glad to hear of our enemies’ discomfiture, and we bring it to you. Now order what should be done.”
The Trigartas in the hall had heard the name before the spies finished the sentence. For them the report had only one fact in it, and it was not about the Pandavas at all.
The gist: The Kichaka story spreads through the Matsya country as a tale of Gandharva vengeance on a man who took other men’s wives. Duryodhana’s spies return to Hastinapura after searching forest, mountain, city, and camp, and report before Drona, Karna, Kripa, Bhishma, the brothers, and the visiting Trigartas: no trace of the Pandavas, their charioteers reached Dwaraka alone, and Kichaka, who used to crush the Trigartas, has been killed in the night with all his brothers.
The Kuru council: Karna, Duhshasana, Drona, Bhishma, and Kripa
Duryodhana sat with the report for a while before he answered it, and when he spoke it was to the whole court. “It is hard to know for certain how events will run,” he said. “So all of you consider where the sons of Pandu have gone. Of this thirteenth year, which they have to pass without our discovering them, the greater part has already gone by, and what is left is much the smaller. If they can pass the rest of it undiscovered, devoted to the vow of truth as they are, they will have kept their pledge. Then they will come back like great elephants with the juice of rut running down their temples, or like snakes of deadly poison. They will be full of wrath, and they will punish the Kurus terribly, there is no doubt of it. So make your effort now, before the time runs out, and make it such that the sons of Pandu, who know the proprieties of time and are living now in painful disguise, have to swallow their rage and go back into the woods. Find the means that will take every cause of quarrel and anxiety out of this kingdom, and leave it quiet, without enemies, and in no danger of losing a foot of ground.”
Karna answered first. “Send other spies,” he said, “abler and more cunning than these, men who can finish what they start. Let them go at once, well disguised, through the rich kingdoms and the populous provinces. Let them look into gatherings of the learned and the pleasant retreats of the countryside, into the inner rooms of palaces, into shrines and holy places, into mines and every other region. The sons of Pandu are living in disguise, so let them be hunted by skilled spies in large numbers, devoted to the work, disguised themselves, and well acquainted with the men they are looking for. Search the river banks and the holy sites, the villages and the towns, the hermitages of ascetics, the pleasant mountains and the mountain caves.”
Duhshasana, the brother born next after the king and the one who most readily thought as he did, spoke after Karna. “Send only the spies we trust, and pay them their reward in advance before they go out again. What Karna has said has our full approval. Let the spies search on the lines already given, from province to province, by the approved rules. But it is my belief that neither the road the Pandavas took nor the place where they are living nor the work they are doing will ever be discovered. Perhaps they are closely hidden. Perhaps they have crossed the ocean. Perhaps, proud of their strength and courage as they are, they have been eaten by wild beasts, or some uncommon danger has overtaken them and they are gone forever. So put the anxiety out of your heart, and do what you want to do, always acting according to your energy.”
Drona had listened to the two young men, and when he spoke it was with the discernment the whole hall knew him for. “Men like the sons of Pandu do not perish and do not meet defeat,” he said. “They are brave, they are skilled in every science, they are intelligent, they have their senses under control, they are virtuous and grateful, and they obey the virtuous Yudhishthira. They follow in the steps of an eldest brother who understands the conclusions of policy, virtue, and profit, who is attached to them as a father is, who holds to virtue and stands firm in truth, who never injures anyone, and who in his turn obeys his younger brothers. Men devoted to such a brother do not die in this way. Why should Yudhishthira, who knows policy, fail to restore the fortunes of brothers so obedient and so devoted and so great of soul? It is for this that they are waiting so carefully for their opportunity to arrive. Men such as these never perish. That is what my intellect shows me. So think well and quickly, and do what should now be done. And settle now where the sons of Pandu, who keep their souls under control in every purpose of life, are to live when they return. They are heroic and sinless, and their austerities have earned them merit, and in the period of concealment they are hard to find. Yudhishthira is intelligent, virtuous, devoted to truth, versed in policy, pure, holy, and of immeasurable energy, and he can burn his enemies with a glance of his eyes. Knowing all this, do what is proper. Let us search for them once more, and let us send Brahmins and Charanas, ascetics who have won their reward, and men of that kind who may know these heroes by sight.”
Then the grandfather of the Bharatas spoke, Bhishma the son of Shantanu, who knew the Vedas and the fitness of time and place and every duty of morality. He praised the teacher’s words first, and then he said things that only honest men say and only honest men approve, impartial words that the wise would have worshiped, and every one of them showed where his heart lay. “What Drona has said is approved by me,” he began. “I say it without hesitation. Those heroes bear every auspicious mark. They keep virtuous vows, they know the Vedas, they are devoted to their observances, they are versed in the sciences, they obey the counsels of the old, they hold to truth, they know the proprieties of time, they are keeping the pledge they gave, they are pure in conduct, they keep to the duties of the Kshatriya order, they obey Keshava, they are great of soul and of strength, and they carry the burdens that the wise lay on them. Men like that never wither under misfortune. The sons of Pandu are living hidden now in obedience to virtue, and by their own energy they will certainly survive it. That is what my mind concludes. So I am for honest counsel in everything we do about the sons of Pandu. It would be no wise man’s policy to have them found out now by spies. What we should do about them I will tell you after I have thought it through with my intellect, and know that nothing I say comes from ill will toward you.”
He set out the law of counsel before he gave his own. “People like me should never offer such counsel to a dishonest man, for advice of the kind I would give is for the honest, and evil advice should never be given in any circumstances. A man devoted to truth and obedient to the old, a wise man speaking in the midst of an assembly, should speak the truth in every circumstance if virtue is what he wants. So I will say that on the question of where Yudhishthira the just is living in this thirteenth year of his exile, I think differently from everyone here. The ruler of the city or the province where King Yudhishthira is living cannot come to any misfortune. The people of the country where King Yudhishthira is living must be charitable, liberal, humble, and modest. They must be agreeable in speech, in command of their passions, observant of truth, cheerful, healthy, pure in conduct, and skilled in their work. Where Yudhishthira is, the people cannot be envious or malicious or vain or proud. Every one of them keeps to his own duty. Where Yudhishthira lives, the Vedic hymns are chanted on every side, sacrifices are performed, the last full libations are always poured, and gifts to Brahmins are made in profusion. There the clouds pour abundant rain, the harvests are good, and the country has nothing to fear. There the paddy is never without grain, the fruit is never without juice, the garlands are never without fragrance, and men’s conversation is always full of pleasant words. The breezes are delicious where King Yudhishthira lives, men’s meetings are always friendly, and there is no cause for fear. The cattle are plentiful there, and none of them lean or weak, and the milk and the curds and the butter are savory and nourishing. Every kind of grain is full of nourishment, every food full of flavor, and taste and touch and smell and hearing are all endowed with excellent attributes. The sights and scenes gladden the eye, and the Brahmins of that place are virtuous and steady in their duties.”
He went on in the same vein, as if he could see the place. “In the country where the sons of Pandu have made their home for this thirteenth year, the people are contented and cheerful, pure in conduct, and without misery of any kind. They are devoted to the gods and to guests and worship them with their whole soul, they are fond of giving, and they are full of energy and keep to the eternal virtue. Where King Yudhishthira lives, the people put away everything evil and want only what is good. They keep their sacrifices and their pure vows, they hate falsehood in speech, their hearts incline toward virtue, their vows are agreeable to them, and they are always at work earning merit. That son of Pritha, in whom are intelligence and charity, the highest tranquility and undoubted forgiveness, modesty and prosperity, fame and great energy, and a love for all creatures, cannot be found out now that he has hidden himself, even by Brahmins, let alone by ordinary men. The wise Yudhishthira is living in close disguise in a region with the characteristics I have described. About his excellent way of life I dare not say more. Reflect on all this, and do without delay whatever you think is beneficial, if you have any faith in me.”
No one in the hall put a name to the country Bhishma had drawn. The Trigartas had come from a kingdom whose neighbor had just lost its commander to Gandharvas in the night, and nobody set that beside the picture of a land where no misfortune could come.
Kripa, the son of Sharadvat, spoke last of the elders. “What the aged Bhishma has said about the Pandavas is reasonable, suited to the occasion, consistent with virtue and profit, pleasant to hear, full of sound reason, and worthy of him. Hear what I would add. You should find out the road they took and the place where they live, by spies, and adopt the policy that will bring about your welfare. A man who cares about his welfare should never disregard even an ordinary enemy, and what shall I say of the Pandavas, who are thorough masters of every weapon in battle? When the time comes for the high-souled Pandavas, who went into the forest and are now passing their days in close disguise, to show themselves again, you should know your own strength both in your own kingdom and in the kingdoms of other kings. Without doubt the return of the Pandavas is at hand. When their promised term is over, the illustrious and mighty sons of Pritha will come here bursting with energy. So, in order to make an advantageous treaty with them, take to sound policy, and set yourself to increase your forces and improve your treasury. Reckon all this, and then reckon your strength against all your allies, the weak ones and the strong. Find out which of your forces are efficient and which are weak and which are indifferent, who among them is well affected and who is disaffected, and then we should either fight the enemy or make a treaty with him. Use conciliation and division and chastisement, bribes and presents and fair dealing. Attack your enemies, subdue the weak by might, and win over your allies and your troops with soft speeches. When you have strengthened your army and filled your treasury by these means, complete success will be yours. Then you will be able to fight any powerful enemy that presents himself, let alone the sons of Pandu, who have no troops and no animals of their own. Do all this according to the customs of your order, and in due time you will win lasting happiness.”
The gist: Duryodhana tells the court that most of the thirteenth year is gone and that the Pandavas must be found before it ends or they will return in wrath. Karna wants abler spies in disguise sent into every assembly, palace, shrine, river bank, and cave; Duhshasana agrees but guesses the brothers are hidden, overseas, eaten by beasts, or dead; Drona answers that such men never perish and are only waiting for their hour, and asks for Brahmins and ascetics who know them by sight. Bhishma says a wise man speaks only truth in an assembly, refuses to send spies, and describes the land where Yudhishthira must be living by its rain, its harvests, its savory milk, and its people’s virtue; no one names a kingdom. Kripa closes: no enemy is small, find their track, count your allies, army, and treasury, and then treat or fight from strength.
Susharma’s plan: two raids, a day apart
Among the guests in that hall sat Susharma, king of the Trigartas, a man who owned chariots without number and had lost battle after battle. Kichaka, the Suta who commanded Matsya’s army, had beaten him again and again with the Matsyas and the Shalvas behind him, had invaded his country at will, and had once overpowered him together with his kinsmen. Susharma had listened to the elders with the patience of a man who has been waiting for a different conversation, and he judged that his moment had come. He glanced sideways at Karna as he spoke, and he addressed Duryodhana. “My kingdom has been invaded by force many times by the king of the Matsyas,” he said. “The mighty Kichaka was that king’s commander. He was crooked and wrathful and wicked of soul, famous for his prowess over the whole world, sinful in his deeds, and very cruel, and now the Gandharvas have killed him. With Kichaka dead, King Virata has lost his pride and his refuge, and I imagine he will lose his courage too. I think we should invade his kingdom now, if it pleases you and the illustrious Karna and all the Kauravas. What has happened is a piece of luck for us. Let us go to Virata’s kingdom, which is rich in grain. We will take his gems and his wealth of every kind, and we will divide his villages and his kingdom between us. Or let us fall on his city by force and drive off his excellent cattle of every breed by the thousand. Let the Kauravas and the Trigartas join their forces and lift his herds in droves. Or let us unite and break his power until he sues for peace. Or let us destroy his whole army and bring Matsya under subjection. Once he is subdued by fair means, we will live happily in our own kingdom, and your power will grow, there is no doubt of it.”
Karna took it up at once. “Susharma has spoken well,” he told the king. “The opportunity is favorable, and it promises profit. So if it pleases you, let us draw up our forces in battle array, marshal them in divisions, and set out quickly. Or let the expedition be managed as Kripa and the teacher Drona and the wise old grandfather of the Kurus think best. Let us consult together and set out quickly for what we want. What business have we with the sons of Pandu, destitute as they are of wealth and might and prowess? Either they have disappeared for good or they have gone to the house of Yama. We will go to Virata’s city without a care and plunder his cattle and his other wealth.”
Duryodhana accepted the son of Surya’s advice and turned to Duhshasana, who was born next after him and had always done what he wished. “Consult the elders, and array our forces without delay. We will all go to the appointed place with all the Kauravas. Let King Susharma, that mighty warrior, set out for the Matsya dominions with the Trigartas and a sufficient force, with vehicles and animals. And let Susharma go first, and keep his purpose carefully hidden. We will follow in his wake and set out the day after, in close array, for the prosperous dominions of the Matsya king. Let the Trigartas fall on Virata’s city suddenly, come upon the cowherds, and seize that immense wealth of cattle. We will march in two divisions and seize thousands of excellent cattle with the auspicious marks on them.”
So it was arranged. The Trigarta warriors marched with their infantry of terrible prowess toward the southeast, meaning to make war on Virata for the sake of his cattle, and Susharma set out on the seventh day of the dark fortnight to take them. On the eighth day following, the Kauravas with all their troops began to seize cattle by the thousand.
The gist: Susharma of the Trigartas, long humiliated by Kichaka, proposes to Duryodhana that they invade Virata’s kingdom now that its commander is dead, and take its gems, villages, and herds. Karna agrees, saying the Pandavas are poor, vanished, or dead, and Duryodhana has Duhshasana arrange it: the Trigartas strike first and in secret, the Kurus follow a day later in two divisions. The Trigartas march southeast and begin seizing cattle on the seventh day of the dark fortnight, the Kauravas on the eighth.
Virata arms, and four servants get chariots
By then the sons of Pandu had done what they came to Virata’s city to do. They had entered the king’s service, lived in disguise in his excellent capital, and completed the promised term of concealment. Since Kichaka’s death the king had leaned on them more than he knew. It was at the end of the thirteenth year that Susharma took Virata’s cattle by the thousand, and when the herds were taken a herdsman came into the city at full speed and found his king seated on the throne among his wise councilors and his brave warriors, all of them wearing their earrings and bracelets, and among them the four sons of Pandu who served him. The herdsman bowed. “The Trigartas have beaten us in battle and shamed us,” he said. “They are driving off your cattle by the hundred and by the thousand, together with our friends. Go after them quickly and bring them back. See that they are not lost to you.”
Virata arrayed the Matsya army for battle, chariots, elephants, horses, foot soldiers, and standards, and the kings and princes of his house went to arm. Each put on the shining armor of a hero, piece by piece in its proper place. Shatanika, the king’s beloved brother, put on a coat of mail of adamantine steel adorned with burnished gold. Madiraksha, born next after Shatanika, put on a strong coat plated with gold that no weapon could pierce. The king’s own coat could not be penetrated, and it was worked with a hundred suns, a hundred circles, a hundred spots, and a hundred eyes. Suryadatta’s was bright as the sun, plated with gold, and as broad as a hundred lotuses of the fragrant kind. Shankha, the king’s eldest son, put on an impenetrable coat of burnished steel set with a hundred eyes of gold. So the godlike warriors of Matsya armed by the hundred, took up their weapons, and yoked white horses in mail to their excellent chariots. On the king’s chariot, decked with gold and shining like the sun or the moon, Matsya’s glorious standard went up, and the other Kshatriyas raised standards of gold on their own chariots, each with its own device.
Then the king turned to Shatanika, who was born next after him. “Kanka and Ballava and Tantripala and Granthika will fight, it seems to me, and there is no doubt of it. Give them chariots with banners on them, and let them put on beautiful coats of mail, hard to pierce and easy to wear, and let them have weapons. With such martial bodies and arms like the trunks of great elephants, I can never persuade myself that they cannot fight.” Shatanika gave the order at once, and chariots were made ready for Yudhishthira, for Bhima, for Nakula, and for Sahadeva. The charioteers who did it worked with glad hearts and with their loyalty in mind, and the four men put on the beautiful mail the king had ordered for them, and climbed onto chariots drawn by good horses, and rode out with cheerful hearts in Virata’s wake. Brihannala was left behind in the city with the women. The four brothers went out together on their gilded chariots, the same four who had once ridden out behind banners of their own, and to everyone in that army it looked like a king’s generosity to his courtier, his cook, his cowherd, and his groom.
Behind them came the elephants, furious beasts of terrible aspect, sixty years old, with shapely tusks and burst temples and the juice running down their cheeks, so that they looked like clouds pouring rain, ridden by trained men skilled in fighting, and they followed the king like moving hills. The principal warriors of Matsya who followed him had eight thousand chariots, a thousand elephants, and sixty thousand horses, and that army, as it marched out tracking the hoofprints of the cattle, was very fine to look at. Crowded with soldiers armed with strong weapons, thick with elephants and horses and chariots, Virata’s host went out splendid along the road the Trigartas had taken.
The gist: With the thirteenth year complete, a herdsman reports the Trigarta raid, and Virata arms: Shatanika, Madiraksha, the king himself in mail worked with a hundred suns, Suryadatta, and the eldest son Shankha. At the king’s word Shatanika gives chariots, armor, and weapons to the four servants he has judged to be fighters, Kanka, Ballava, Tantripala, and Granthika, and Yudhishthira, Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva ride out behind him, Brihannala staying in the city. Eight thousand chariots, a thousand elephants, and sixty thousand horses follow the hoofprints.
Virata taken captive
The Matsyas came up with the Trigartas when the sun had passed the meridian. Both armies were in battle order and both were in a fury, and each wanted the other’s king. They sent up their war cries, and the elephants went in first on both sides, driven forward with spiked clubs and hooks by skilled riders. The fighting that began as the sun went low, foot against foot, horse against horse, chariot against chariot, and elephant against elephant, was like the old war between the gods and the Asuras, fierce enough to make the hair stand up and well fitted to swell the population of Yama’s kingdom. The dust rose so thick as the lines closed, cutting and smiting, that nothing could be made out, and birds dropped out of the air onto the ground under the weight of it. The sun went behind the cloud of arrows, and the sky looked bright, as if it were full of fireflies. Men shifted their gold-backed bows from hand to hand and shot right and left and brought one another down. Swords and axes, bearded darts and javelins and iron clubs went to work, and though those strong-armed men assailed one another with everything they had, neither side could get the better of the other.
Heads rolled in the dust, some with fine noses, some with the upper lip gashed deep, some still wearing their earrings, some split through the well-trimmed hair. The field filled with the limbs of Kshatriyas, cut off by arrows and lying like the trunks of shala trees, and it was strewn with heads in earrings and arms smeared with sandal paste that lay like the bodies of snakes, and in its own terrible way it was beautiful. The dust was soaked with blood. Men fainted where they stood. The fighting went on without regard for humanity or friendship or kinship, and vultures, with their flight and their sight both cut off by the showers of arrows, came down and walked on the ground. Still neither side broke the other. Shatanika killed a full hundred and Vishalaksha a full four hundred, and the two of them drove into the heart of the Trigarta host, where the fighting became so close that men seized one another by the hair and tore with their nails. They saw where the Trigarta chariots were massed and turned their attack on them. Virata himself, with Suryadatta in front of him and Madiraksha behind, destroyed five hundred chariots, eight hundred horses, and five great chariot warriors in that fight, showing every skill a man could show from a chariot, and at last he came upon the king of the Trigartas on his golden chariot. The two of them rushed at each other roaring like bulls in a cow pen. Susharma challenged Matsya to single combat, chariot against chariot, and they went at it like clouds pouring rain, both skilled with every weapon, both furious, wheeling about the field with sword and dart and mace and whetted arrows. Virata pierced Susharma with ten shafts and each of his four horses with five. Susharma, who knew how to kill, pierced the king of Matsya with fifty. Then the dust rose between them so thick that neither king’s men could tell friend from enemy.
Darkness came down with the dust, and the two armies, without breaking their order, left off for a while. Then the moon rose, dispelled the dark, and gladdened the hearts of the Kshatriyas, and when everything could be seen again the battle began once more and raged until no man could tell one from another. Susharma and his younger brother, with all their chariots behind them, drove for the king of the Matsyas. The two royal brothers got down from their chariots with maces in their hands and ran at the enemy’s chariots, and the lines came together with maces and swords and scimitars, battle axes and bearded darts of good temper. By sheer energy Susharma crushed and broke the whole Matsya army, and then he went for Virata himself. The brothers between them killed the king’s two horses and his charioteer and cut down the soldiers who protected his rear, and when the king stood on the ground without a chariot they took him alive. Susharma handled him as a lustful man handles a defenseless girl, threw him onto his own chariot, and drove hard off the field. With their king gone and the Trigartas pressing them, the Matsyas broke and ran in every direction.
Yudhishthira watched them run, and he spoke to Bhima. “The king of the Matsyas has been taken by the Trigartas. Rescue him, so that he does not fall into the enemy’s power. We have lived happily in Virata’s city and had every wish of ours met there. It is for you to pay that debt by setting the king free.”
“I will free him, at your command,” Bhima said. “Watch what I do today against this enemy, relying on the strength of my arms alone. Stand aside with our brothers and see my prowess. I will pull up this great tree with its trunk like a mace, and I will rout them with it.”
His eyes were already on the tree, and he was looking at it like a mad elephant. Yudhishthira saw the look and stopped him. “Do not do anything so rash, Bhima. Let the tree stand. You must not do your feats in a superhuman way with that tree, because if you do, the people will recognize you and say, this is Bhima. Take a human weapon, a bow and arrows, or a dart, or a sword, or a battle axe. Take some weapon a man might use and free the king, and give nobody the means of knowing you for what you are. The twins are strong and they will guard your wheels. Fight together, child, and set the king of the Matsyas free.”
The gist: The Matsyas overtake the Trigartas after midday and fight from sunset into the dark, with neither side prevailing; Shatanika and Vishalaksha cut into the enemy’s heart, and Virata, after destroying five hundred chariots, duels Susharma until the dust hides them from their own men. At moonrise Susharma and his younger brother come on foot with maces, kill Virata’s horses and charioteer, and carry him off alive on Susharma’s chariot, and the Matsyas flee. Yudhishthira sends Bhima to repay the debt of their year in Virata’s city, and forbids him to tear up a tree for a club: a human weapon only, with the twins at his wheels, so that no one can say, this is Bhima.
Bhima drags Susharma down by the hair
Bhima took up a good bow and poured arrows out of it as thick as rain from a loaded cloud, and he went for Susharma. He called to Virata as he came, to let the king know he was there, and then he shouted at the king of the Trigartas, “Stay! Stay! See the feat that is coming, this fight that is at hand!” Susharma looked back and saw something like Yama himself behind him, roaring at him to stand, and he weighed the situation, took up his bow, and turned with his brothers to face it. In the time it takes to blink, Bhima destroyed the chariots that tried to stop him, and then, under Virata’s eyes, chariots and elephants and horses and horsemen and fierce bowmen went down by the hundred and the thousand, and the Trigarta infantry began to die under his mace. Susharma watched it and thought, my brother must already be dead somewhere in the middle of that great host. Is my army going to be wiped out? He drew his bowstring to his ear and shot without pause. The Matsya warriors saw the Pandavas turn to the charge on their chariots, urged on their horses, and came back shooting to grind the Trigartas down, and Virata’s son did prodigies of valor in his fury. Yudhishthira killed a thousand of the enemy. Bhima showed seven thousand the house of Yama. Nakula sent seven hundred to their account with his arrows, and Sahadeva, at Yudhishthira’s order, killed three hundred brave men.
Then Yudhishthira himself, with his weapons raised, rushed at Susharma and covered him with volleys. Susharma in his rage put nine arrows into him and four into each of his four horses. Bhima came up fast, crushed Susharma’s horses, killed the men who guarded his rear, and dragged his charioteer off the chariot onto the ground. Madiraksha, who guarded Virata’s wheels, saw the Trigarta king sitting on a chariot without a driver and came up fast to help, and Virata, who had been a captive on that chariot a moment before, jumped down from it with Susharma’s own mace in his hands and ran after its owner. He was an old man, and with the mace in his hands he moved across the field like a lusty youth. Bhima called after the fleeing Trigarta, “Stop, prince! This running is not proper! With prowess like this, how did you mean to carry off cattle by force? And how can you leave your follower behind and droop like this among your enemies?” Susharma, that lord of countless chariots, shouted “Stay! Stay!” back at him, and suddenly turned and rushed at him. Bhima jumped down from his chariot as only he could, went forward with great coolness, meaning to take Susharma’s life, and charged him as a lion charges a small deer. He caught Susharma by the hair, lifted him up in his wrath, and dashed him on the ground, and as the man lay crying out in pain Bhima kicked him in the head, knelt on his chest, and beat him until he was senseless. At the sight of their king taken without a chariot, the whole Trigarta army panicked, broke, and ran. The sons of Pandu, modest men who kept their vows and trusted the strength of their own arms, had beaten Susharma, recovered the cattle and the rest of the wealth, and lifted the anxiety from Virata, and they stood together before the king.
Bhima looked down at his prisoner. “This wretch of wicked deeds does not deserve to escape me with his life,” he said. “But what can I do? The king is so lenient!” He took Susharma by the neck as he lay senseless in the dust, bound him fast, threw him onto his chariot, and drove to where Yudhishthira stood in the middle of the field, and showed him to the king. Yudhishthira looked at the Trigarta in that state and said, smiling, to the ornament of battle, “Let this worst of men be set free.”
Bhima turned to Susharma first. “If you want to live, wretch, listen to me. You must say in every court and every assembly of men, I am a slave. On that condition alone I grant you your life. That is the law for the vanquished.”
“If you regard us as any authority,” his elder brother said to him with affection, “free this wicked man. He has already become King Virata’s slave.” And he turned to Susharma. “You are freed. Go as a free man, and never act this way again.”
The gist: Bhima, with a bow, calls Susharma back to the fight, breaks his chariots and his infantry, and the brothers’ tallies run to a thousand for Yudhishthira, seven thousand for Bhima, seven hundred for Nakula, and three hundred for Sahadeva. Bhima kills Susharma’s horses and drags down his driver, Virata leaps from his captor’s chariot with Susharma’s own mace, and Bhima seizes the fleeing Trigarta king by the hair, dashes him down, kicks his head, and kneels on his chest; the Trigartas flee and the cattle are recovered. Bhima binds him, makes him promise to call himself a slave in every assembly, and Yudhishthira, smiling, sets him free with a warning.
Virata offers Kanka the kingdom
Susharma hung his head in shame. Freed from the bondage Bhima had put on him, he went to Virata, saluted the king, and took his leave, and the Pandavas, who had killed their enemies and let the Trigarta king go, passed that night happily on the field, with the cattle around them and no one to tell them who they were. Virata honored the sons of Kunti with wealth and with every mark of respect, for what they had done went beyond human strength. “All these gems of mine are now as much yours as mine,” he said. “Live here happily and do whatever pleases you. I will give you girls decked in ornaments, wealth in plenty, and anything else you may want. Your prowess has brought me out of peril today, and I stand here a victor. Be lords of the Matsyas, all of you.”
The brothers joined their hands and answered him one after another, Yudhishthira first. “We are well pleased with everything you say. What gratifies us most is that you have been freed from your enemies today.” Virata turned again to Yudhishthira, the courtier who had come to his court a year before in a Brahmin’s dress. “Come. We will install you as sovereign of the Matsyas, and we will give you things that are rare on earth and that men desire, because you deserve everything we have. Foremost of Brahmins of the Vaiyaghra line, I will give you gems and cattle and gold and rubies and pearls. I bow to you. It is because of you that I see my sons and my kingdom again today. I was afflicted and threatened with disaster, and it is by your prowess that I have not gone under to the enemy.”
Yudhishthira answered the king of the Matsyas. “We are well pleased with the delightful things you have said. May you be happy always, and always practice humanity toward every creature. Now let messengers go quickly into the city at your command, to give our friends the glad news and proclaim your victory.” It was all he asked, and the king gave the order. “Go to the city and proclaim my victory in battle. Let the girls and the courtesans put on their ornaments and come out of the city with every kind of music.” The messengers took the command on their heads, set off glad, and rode through the night, and at sunrise they were proclaiming the king’s victory at the gates of his capital.
The gist: Susharma, shamed and freed, salutes Virata and departs, and the Pandavas sleep on the field. Virata offers his courtier Kanka gems, girls, and wealth, then the kingship of the Matsyas itself, calling him the foremost of the Brahmins of the Vaiyaghra line; Yudhishthira asks only that messengers carry the news of victory to the city, and they proclaim it at the gates by sunrise.
The northern herds taken, and Uttara’s boast
While the king of the Matsyas was away in the south chasing the Trigartas for his cattle, Duryodhana came into his dominions from the other side with his counselors, exactly as planned. Bhishma and Drona were with him, and Karna, and Kripa who knew the best of weapons, and Ashvatthama, and Shakuni the son of Subala, and Duhshasana, and Vivingsati, Vikarna, Chitrasena, Durmukha, and Duhsaha, and many other great warriors besides. They fell on the Matsya country, drove off Virata’s cowherds, and took the cattle by force, ringing the herds with a multitude of chariots on every side, and they seized sixty thousand head. The cowherds were beaten in that terrible scuffle, and the cry of woe they sent up was loud. Their chief, badly frightened, climbed onto a chariot and set off for the city, lamenting as he went. He came into the capital, went straight to the palace, got down in haste, and went inside to tell what had happened, and the person he found there was Virata’s proud son Bhuminjaya, the prince whom everyone called Uttara, who had been left to keep an empty city.
The cowherd told him everything about the taking of the royal cattle. “The Kauravas are driving off sixty thousand cows,” he said. “Rise, prince, and bring back your cattle, for you are the one who adds to this kingdom’s glory. If you want the kingdom’s good, set out yourself and do not lose a moment. The king of the Matsyas left you in the empty city. He boasts of you in his court. My son is my equal, he says, a hero, the support of my line, a warrior skilled with arrows and with every weapon, and never without courage. Let the words of that lord of men come true! Chief of herd owners, beat the Kurus and bring the cattle back, and burn up their troops with the terrible energy of your arrows. Go through their ranks like the leader of an elephant herd charging a herd, with straight golden-winged arrows from your bow. Your bow is like a vina. Its two ends are the ivory pillows, its string is the main chord, its staff is the fingerboard, and the arrows it shoots are the notes. Strike up that vina of sweet sound in the midst of the enemy. Let your silver-colored horses be yoked to your chariot and your standard with the golden lion go up over it. Let the keen arrows with the golden wings fly from your strong arms, block the road of those kings, and darken the sun. Beat all the Kurus in battle as the wielder of the thunderbolt beat the Asuras, and come back into this city with great renown. You are the one refuge of this kingdom, son of the Matsya king, as Arjuna, that foremost of virtuous warriors, is the refuge of the sons of Pandu. As Arjuna is to his brothers, so are you to everyone who lives in this land, without any doubt. We, the subjects of this realm, have our protector in you.”
He said all this in the presence of the women, in words meant to breathe courage, and the prince, sitting in the women’s apartments, took the courage for his own and began to praise himself. “I am firm with the bow,” Uttara said, “and I would set out this very day on the track of the cattle if only I had someone skilled with horses to drive for me. But I know of no man who could be my charioteer. Look for one at once, for I am ready to start. My own charioteer was killed in that great battle that went on day after day for a whole month, or at least for twenty-eight nights. As soon as I have another man who understands horses I will set out with my standard raised high. I will go into the middle of that army with its elephants and horses and chariots, and I will bring back the cattle, and I will beat the Kurus, who are feeble in strength and weak with their weapons. Like a second wielder of the thunderbolt scattering the Danavas, I will bring back the cattle this very moment, and Duryodhana and Bhishma and Karna and Kripa and Drona with his son and all the other great bowmen gathered for this fight will learn what fear is. Finding no one to oppose them, the Kurus are driving off the cattle. What can I do when I am not there? Today the assembled Kurus will see my prowess, and they will say to one another, is it Arjuna himself who is fighting us?”
Arjuna heard all of it, and he understood everything that was in it. After a little while he went cheerfully and in private to his dear wife, Krishnaa of the Panchalas, Drupada’s slender daughter born from the sacrificial fire, truthful and honest and always attentive to her husbands’ good. “Do this at my request,” he said. “Go to Uttara at once and say to him, this Brihannala was formerly the accomplished and resolute charioteer of Pandu’s son Arjuna. He has been tried in many a great battle, and he will drive for you.”
The prince was still at it among the women, bringing out Arjuna’s name again and again as the measure of himself, and Panchali could not sit quietly under those allusions to Vibhatsu. She stepped out from among the women, shyly, as a maid should, and spoke to the prince in a low voice. “That handsome young man who looks like a great elephant and goes by the name of Brihannala was formerly the charioteer of Arjuna. He was a pupil of that illustrious warrior, and he is second to no one with the bow. I knew him when I was living with the Pandavas. It was he who held the reins of Arjuna’s excellent horses when Agni consumed the forest of Khandava, and it was with him as his charioteer that Partha conquered every creature at Khandavaprastha. There is no charioteer his equal.”
Uttara looked at the maid, and then in the direction of the dancing hall. “You know this young man, Sairandhri. You know what this person of the neuter sex may or may not be. But I cannot ask Brihannala myself to hold the reins of my horses.”
“Brihannala will obey the words of your younger sister, hero,” Draupadi said, “that girl of the graceful hips. There is no doubt of it. And if he consents to drive for you, you will certainly come home with the Kurus beaten and your cattle rescued.” The Sairandhri had given the prince a way to ask without asking, and he took it. “Go yourself, faultless one,” he told his sister, “and bring Brihannala here.” Sent by her brother, the princess hurried off to the dancing hall where the strong-armed son of Pandu was living in disguise.
The gist: With Virata away in the south, Duryodhana and the whole Kuru command, Bhishma, Drona, Karna, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Shakuni, and the brothers, ring the northern herds and take sixty thousand head. The chief cowherd runs to Prince Bhuminjaya, whom everyone calls Uttara, and urges him out with a speech that makes his bow a vina and him the Arjuna of the Matsyas. Among the women Uttara boasts that he would scatter the Kurus today if only he had a charioteer, since his own died in a battle of twenty-eight nights, and that the Kurus would take him for Arjuna; Arjuna quietly asks Draupadi to name Brihannala as his old driver from Khandava, she does, and the prince, unwilling to ask a eunuch himself, sends his sister to fetch him.
The princess’s errand, the armor joke, and the dolls’ cloths
The king’s daughter went as her brother had told her to, because she had always done what he told her. She wore a golden necklace and peacock plumes, a girdle of pearls around her hips, and a waist as slender as a wasp’s, and she was lovely in every line, with the splendor of Lakshmi on her and lashes that curved a little, and she went to the dancing hall like a flash of lightning running toward a bank of dark clouds. She sought out the son of Pritha as a she-elephant seeks her mate, that faultless girl of fine teeth and slender waist, garlanded and bright as a jewel, and the celebrated and much-loved princess saluted Arjuna with her large eyes full of trouble. He asked her, as a teacher may ask a pupil he is fond of, what had brought her there. “What brings you here, girl in the golden necklace? Why are you in such a hurry, gazelle-eyed one? And why is your face so cheerless? Tell me all of it, quickly.” She was his friend, and he was glad to see her even in that state, and he asked it cheerfully.
She stood among her attendants, with the modesty proper to a princess, and told him. “The cattle of this kingdom are being driven off by the Kurus, Brihannala, and my brother is going out with his bow to beat them. Not long ago his charioteer was killed in battle, and there is no one his equal to drive for my brother now. He has been trying to find a driver, and the Sairandhri has told him of your skill with horses. You were Arjuna’s favorite charioteer before, and it was with you that that bull among the sons of Pandu subdued the whole earth alone. So drive for my brother. By now the Kurus have surely driven our cattle a long way off. I am asking this of you out of affection, and if you will not do what I ask, I will give up my life.”
At that the oppressor of enemies, whose prowess had no measure, went to the prince, and the large-eyed princess followed him as a she-elephant follows her calf, while he walked ahead with the quick stride of an elephant in rut. The prince saw him coming from a distance and spoke before he arrived. “With you as his charioteer, Dhananjaya the son of Kunti gratified Agni at the forest of Khandava and subdued the whole world! The Sairandhri has told me about you. She knows the Pandavas. So hold the reins of my horses, Brihannala, as you held his, for I want to fight the Kurus and get my cattle back. You were Arjuna’s beloved charioteer, and with you that bull among the sons of Pandu subdued the whole earth alone!”
Brihannala answered the prince in the dancing teacher’s voice. “What ability have I to drive a chariot on a field of battle? If it is song or dance or music or anything of that kind, I can entertain you with it, but where is my skill for a charioteer’s work?”
“Singer or dancer, whichever you are,” Uttara said, “get up on my chariot and hold the reins of my excellent horses now, and waste no more time.”
The son of Pandu knew everything there was to know about armor, and in front of Uttara he made one mistake after another for the fun of it. He tried to put the coat of mail on by lifting it upward over his body, and the large-eyed girls who were watching burst out laughing. Uttara, seeing that his driver had no idea how armor went on, fitted a costly coat of mail onto Brihannala himself. Then he cased his own body in an excellent coat that shone like the sun, raised his standard with the lion on it, and put Brihannala at the reins, and with many costly bows and a great store of handsome arrows aboard, and the dancing teacher driving, the hero set out. Before the chariot moved, the princess and her girls crowded around it. “Brihannala,” they said, “when you come back from beating the Kurus who have gathered for this battle, with Bhishma and Drona at their head, bring us fine cloths of all kinds for our dolls!” Partha answered that bevy of girls with a smile, in a voice as deep as the thunder of clouds. “If Uttara can beat those mighty warriors in battle, I will certainly bring you excellent and beautiful cloths.”
With that the hero turned the horses toward the Kuru army and its countless flags. As they were starting, the older women and the girls and the Brahmins of rigid vows saw Uttara on his excellent chariot with Brihannala driving and the great banner raised over him, and they walked around the chariot to bless him. The women gave him the blessing that came first to their minds. “The victory that Arjuna, treading like a bull, won long ago at the burning of Khandava, be yours today, Brihannala, when you meet the Kurus with Prince Uttara.”
The gist: The princess runs to the dancing hall like lightning into dark cloud and tells Brihannala she will die if the teacher refuses to drive for her brother. Brihannala pleads that song and dance are all the skill she has, the prince insists, Arjuna puts the mail on upside down for the fun of it and the girls laugh until Uttara arms him himself, and the girls ask for fine cloths for their dolls from the beaten Kurus, which Arjuna, smiling, promises if Uttara wins. The old women and the Brahmins circle the chariot and wish Brihannala the victory Arjuna won at Khandava.
Uttara runs, and Brihannala runs after him
Once they were out of the city the dauntless son of Virata gave his driver the order. “Go where the Kurus are. I will beat the Kurus who have come here looking for victory, get my cattle back from them quickly, and go home to the capital.” The son of Pandu urged on the horses, and those horses, swift as the wind and hung with necklaces of gold, driven by that lion among men, seemed to fly through the air. They had not gone far when Dhananjaya and the son of the Matsya king sighted the Kuru army. They had come toward the burning ground outside the city, and there they found the Kurus drawn up in battle order, a host that looked like the open sea, or like a forest of innumerable trees moving across the sky, and the dust it raised reached the sky and blotted out the sight of every creature. The son of Virata looked at that mass of elephants and horses and chariots, guarded by Karna and Duryodhana, by Kripa and the son of Shantanu, by Drona, that great bowman and wise man, and by Drona’s son, and the hair rose on his body, and his courage went out of him. “I dare not fight the Kurus,” he said to Partha. “Look, the hair is standing up on my body. I cannot fight this countless host of the Kurus. It is full of heroes, it is very fierce, and even the gods would find it hard to beat. I do not have it in me to go into the army of the Bharatas, with its terrible bowmen and all those horses and elephants and chariots and foot soldiers and banners. The very sight of the enemy on that field has unsettled me. Drona is standing there, and Bhishma, and Kripa, and Karna, and Vivingsati, and Ashvatthama, and Vikarna, and Somadatta’s son, and Bahlika, and the heroic King Duryodhana, that foremost of chariot warriors, and many other splendid bowmen, every one of them skilled in battle. My hair is on end, and I am fainting with fear at the sight of these smiters, the Kurus in their battle array.”
He was a foolish boy, and he went on lamenting his fate in front of the man who was driving him, who kept his own spirit hidden under the dancing teacher’s braid. “My father has gone out to meet the Trigartas with his whole army and left me in the empty city. I have no troops to help me. I am alone, I am only a boy, and I have had very little practice in arms, and I cannot face these innumerable warriors who are all skilled with weapons. Brihannala, stop going forward!”
“Why do you look so pale with fear,” Brihannala asked him, “and make your enemies glad? You have done nothing yet on this field. It was you who ordered me, saying, take me toward the Kauravas, and so I will take you there, where all those flags are. I will certainly take you into the middle of the Kurus, strong-armed one, ready as they are to fight for cattle like hawks for meat, and I would do it even if I thought they had come to fight for a far greater stake, the sovereignty of the whole earth. When you set out you talked of your manliness before men and women alike, so why should you turn from the fight now? If you go home without the cattle, brave men, and women too, will laugh at you when they meet. As for me, the Sairandhri praised my driving so highly that I cannot go back to the city without rescuing the cattle. It was for her praises, and for your words, that I came. So why should I not fight the Kurus? Be still.”
“Let the Kurus rob the Matsyas of all their wealth,” Uttara said. “Let men and women laugh at me, Brihannala. Let my cattle be lost and the city be a desert. Let me stand exposed before my father. Still, there is no need of battle.” And with that the terrified prince, earrings and all, jumped down from the chariot, threw down his bow and arrows, and ran, with his honor and his pride left behind him on the floor of the chariot.
“This is not the practice of the brave,” Brihannala called after him, “this running of a Kshatriya from the field of battle. Even death in battle is better than flight from fear.” Then Dhananjaya the son of Kunti came down from the excellent chariot and ran after the running prince, with his long braid and his pure red garments streaming out behind him. Some of the Kuru soldiers, who had no idea it was Arjuna running with a braid flying in the wind, burst out laughing at the sight. But the Kurus who watched him run began to argue. “Who is this person, disguised like fire hidden in ashes? He is partly a man and partly a woman. He has a eunuch’s form, and yet he looks like Arjuna. That is the same head and neck, those are the same arms like a pair of maces, and that is his gait too. He must be Dhananjaya. As Indra is among the gods, so is Dhananjaya among men. Who else in the world would come against us alone? Virata left one son in the empty city, and that son has come out from childishness, with no real heroism in it. It must be Uttara who has come out of the city, and without doubt he has made Arjuna, the son of Pritha who is living in disguise, his charioteer. It looks as if he is running away in panic at the sight of our army. And without doubt Dhananjaya is running after him to bring him back.” So the Kauravas conjectured over the disguised son of Pandu, and they could not settle it among themselves.
Dhananjaya caught up with the retreating Uttara inside a hundred steps and seized him by the hair. The son of Virata, in Arjuna’s grip, began to lament most woefully, like a man in the worst of trouble. “Listen, good Brihannala, you of the handsome waist. Turn the chariot around, quickly. A man who lives meets with good fortune. I will give you a hundred coins of pure gold and eight lapis lazuli of great brightness set in gold, and a chariot with a golden flagstaff drawn by excellent horses, and ten elephants in rut. Let me go, Brihannala.”
The tiger among men laughed and dragged the prince, who was half out of his senses and still bargaining, back toward the chariot, and he spoke to him there. “If you cannot bring yourself to fight the enemy, chastiser of foes, then come and hold the reins of the horses while I fight them. Under the protection of my arms, drive into that formidable array of chariots that no one has broken, guarded as it is by mighty heroes. Do not be afraid, you are a Kshatriya and the foremost of princes. Why should a tiger among men give way in the middle of the enemy? I will fight the Kurus and recover the cattle, and I will go into that formidable and impenetrable array of chariots to do it. Be my charioteer, best of men. I will fight the Kurus.” With words like these Vibhatsu, who had never lost a battle, comforted the son of Virata for a while, and then that foremost of smiters lifted the fainting, reluctant, frightened prince up onto the chariot.
The gist: Near the burning ground the Kuru host appears like a sea, and Uttara, naming every great warrior in it, begs Brihannala to stop, then jumps down, drops his bow, and runs. Brihannala calls after him that death in battle is better than flight, runs him down with braid and red cloth flying while the Kurus argue whether the figure is a eunuch or Arjuna, and seizes him by the hair inside a hundred steps. Uttara offers gold, eight lapis lazuli, a chariot, and ten elephants to be let go; Arjuna laughs, hauls him back, and sets the terms: the prince will hold the reins, and the dancing teacher will fight.
Portents on the Kuru side, and Karna’s sixteenth part
The great chariot warriors of the Kurus, Bhishma and Drona at their head, watched the figure in the dress of the third sex take the runaway up onto the chariot and turn it toward the shami tree, and a fear settled on their hearts that the comer was Dhananjaya. Drona saw their spirits sink, and he saw other things as well, and he spoke. “The winds are violent and hot, and they are throwing gravel in our faces. The sky is covered with a gloom the color of ash. The clouds have the strange look of being dry, with no water in them. Our weapons of every kind are coming out of their cases by themselves. The jackals are yelling horribly, frightened by fires on every side. The horses are shedding tears, and our banners are trembling when nothing moves them. With signs like these, a great danger is at hand. Stay on your guard, protect yourselves, and put the troops in battle order. Expect a terrible slaughter, and guard the cattle well. This mighty bowman, this foremost of all wielders of weapons, this hero who has come in the dress of the third sex, is the son of Pritha. There is no doubt of it.” He turned to Bhishma. “Son of Ganga, this is Kiriti, who is called after a tree, the son of the enemy of the mountains, with the ravager of Lanka’s gardens on his banner, and he has come dressed as a woman. He will beat us and take the cattle today. This chastiser of foes is the valiant son of Pritha whom men call Savyasachin, and he does not turn from a fight even with the gods and the demons together. He was put to great hardship in the forest, and he comes in wrath. Indra himself taught him, and he is like Indra in battle. I see no hero among you Kauravas who can withstand him. It is said that the lord Mahadeva himself, disguised as a hunter, was gratified by this son of Pritha in a fight on the Himalaya.”
Karna had heard enough of this. “You always find fault with us by praising Phalguna’s virtues,” he said. “Arjuna, however, is not equal to a full sixteenth part of me, or of Duryodhana!”
Duryodhana took the prospect another way. “If this is Partha, Radheya, then my purpose has already been fulfilled, for if they are traced out, the Pandavas will have to wander for twelve years more. And if this is anyone else in a eunuch’s dress, I will soon lay him flat on the earth with keen-edged arrows.” Bhishma and Drona and Kripa and Drona’s son all applauded the manliness of what he said.
The gist: As the chariot turns toward the shami tree, Drona reads the first portents, hot winds throwing gravel, dry clouds, weapons sliding out of their cases, weeping horses and trembling banners, and names the comer Partha, the pupil of Indra who once satisfied Mahadeva in a fight on the Himalaya. Karna scoffs that Arjuna is not worth a sixteenth part of himself or Duryodhana, and Duryodhana says that if it is Partha the Pandavas owe twelve more years in the forest, and if it is anyone else he will shoot him down; the elders applaud.
At the shami tree
They reached the shami tree, the same tree in which, a year before, five brothers had hidden what they could not carry into a king’s service, and Partha, who had taken the measure of Virata’s son and found him very delicate and quite inexperienced in battle, gave him his orders. “Do as I tell you, Uttara, and quickly take down some bows that are up in this tree. These bows of yours cannot bear my strength, or my heavy weight when I grind down horses and elephants, or the stretch of my arms when I set out to beat an enemy. So climb this tree with its thick leaves, Bhuminjaya. Tied up in it are the bows and arrows and banners and excellent coats of mail of the heroic sons of Pandu, of Yudhishthira and Bhima and Vibhatsu and the twins. And up there is that bow of great energy, Arjuna’s Gandiva, which by itself is equal to many thousands of other bows and can push out the boundaries of a kingdom. It is as big as a palmyra tree, it bears the greatest stress, it is the largest of all weapons, and it holds back an enemy. It is handsome and smooth and broad, without a knot, adorned with gold, stiff and beautiful in its make, and it bears the heaviest weight. The other bows up there, Yudhishthira’s and Bhima’s and Vibhatsu’s and the twins’, are just as mighty and as tough.”
Uttara looked up into the tree with the whole city’s dread of it on his face. “We have heard that a corpse is tied in this tree. How can I, a prince by birth, touch it with my hands? I was born in the Kshatriya order, I am the son of a great king, and I keep my mantras and my vows. It does not become me to touch such a thing. Why would you make me a polluted and unclean carrier of corpses, Brihannala, by forcing me into contact with a dead body?”
“You will stay clean and unpolluted, king of kings,” Brihannala said. “Do not be afraid. There are only bows in this tree, and no corpses. You are the heir of the king of the Matsyas, and you were born in a noble house. Why would I make you do anything so shameful, prince?”
So the son of Virata, with his earrings swinging, got down from the chariot and climbed the shami tree against his will, and Dhananjaya, that slayer of enemies, stayed on the chariot and called up to him to bring those bows down quickly from the top of the tree. The prince cut away the wrappings first, and then the ropes that held the bundle, and he saw the Gandiva lying there together with four other bows. As they came free of their coverings the splendor of those bows, which were radiant as the sun, began to shine out with the brilliance of the planets at their rising, and when he saw their shapes, so like snakes drawing breath, fear took him and the hair stood up all over his body in an instant. With his hands on those great and splendid bows, the son of Virata spoke to Arjuna.
The gist: At the shami tree Arjuna tells Uttara that the prince’s own bows cannot bear his strength and sends him up for the weapons of the five brothers, describing the Gandiva, equal to thousands of bows and as big as a palmyra. Uttara objects that a corpse is tied there and that a prince must not touch it; Brihannala assures him there are only bows. He climbs unwillingly, cuts the wrappings and the ropes, and finds the Gandiva with four other bows, shining like planets at their rising and shaped like breathing snakes, and with his hair on end and his hands on the bows he calls down to Arjuna.
Source: the Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Virata Parva, the close of the Kichaka-vadha sub-parva and the opening of the Go-harana, Sections 25 to 41 in K. M. Ganguli’s translation; the Gita Press Hindi edition numbers these chapters differently. Names, order, and events were checked against Ganguli’s complete translation, from which the dialogue is adapted.
Based on: the Mahabharata, Vedavyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)