On this page
The shami is a thorny tree, and in its bark the Pandavas had wrapped and hidden their divine weapons through the long year they lived unrecognized. When those enormous bows came down from its branches, the heart of Uttara, the prince of Virata’s city, shook with fear. The sheen along the bows was like the sheen of hissing serpents, and the moment his fingers touched them the skin of his arms rose. It was then that Uttara, the son of Virata, looked toward Arjuna in his disguise as Brihannala and asked whose these divine arms could be. Here begins the story in which one man stood alone before the entire host of the Kurus and won back the cattle they had driven off, and the moment drew near, at the close of the thirteenth year, when the Pandavas would step into the open.
Uttara’s question: whose are these divine arms
Uttara spoke, filled with wonder. “Whose is this fine bow, the bow of some famed warrior, set with a hundred golden knobs and radiant at its ends? Whose bow is this, so easy to grasp, its staff marked with bright golden elephants? Whose is this bow, adorned at even intervals with sixty Indragopakas of pure gold, the small red velvet insects whose shapes are worked into ornament? Whose is this bow, set with three golden suns of great splendor, burning with such light? Whose is this beautiful bow, painted with gold and gems, with golden insects set into fine stones?”
The prince went on. “Whose are these arrows, feathered all around, in their thousands, their heads of gold, resting in golden quivers? Whose are these great shafts, so thick, winged with vulture feathers, honed on stone, yellow in hue, pointed, well tempered, and made wholly of iron? Whose is this dark quiver, marked with five tiger figures, holding among its ten arrows the boar-eared kind, shaped like the ear of a hog? Whose are these seven hundred arrows, long and thick, able to drink an enemy’s blood, curved like the half-moon?”
Uttara pointed toward the swords. “Whose is this fine sword, unconquerable and terrible to foes, marked with a toad and pointed like a toad’s head? Whose is this large sword in a tiger-skin scabbard of many colors, keen-edged, painted with gold, hung with jingling bells? Whose is this handsome blade, bright-edged and golden-hilted? Whose is this sword forged in the Nishada country, unconquerable and unbreakable, its scabbard of cowhide? Whose is this long sword, dark as the sky, plated with gold, well tempered, sheathed in goatskin? Whose is this heavy, broad sword, a little longer than thirty fingers’ breadth, polished by the constant striking of other blades and kept in a golden case bright as fire? Brihannala, tell us truly when we ask. Seeing all these fine things, we are filled with wonder.”
A key to reading this (the idea): the thirteenth year of concealment was nearly done. The Pandavas had hidden their recognizable weapons, above all Arjuna’s Gandiva and the name-marked arms of each brother, wrapped in the bark of this very shami tree. The identity of those weapons is the key to the secret now about to open.
Brihannala’s answer: the weapons of the five brothers
Brihannala answered. “The one you asked about first is the world-famed bow of Arjuna, whose name is Gandiva, and which can destroy the armies of the enemy. Decked with gold, this Gandiva is the highest and largest of all weapons, and it is Arjuna’s. Alone it is worth a hundred thousand weapons, and it can always widen the borders of kingdoms. With it Partha conquers both men and gods in battle. Honored always by gods, danavas, and gandharvas, painted in fine colors, this great smooth bow is free anywhere of knot or blemish.”
Brihannala told the history of that bow. “First Shiva held it for a thousand years. After him Prajapati held it for five hundred and three years. Then Shakra, that is Indra, for eighty-five years. Then Soma for five hundred years. After that Varuna for a hundred years. And last of all Partha, who is called Shvetavahana, has held it for sixty-five years. Charged with great energy and of high celestial origin, it is the highest of all bows. Partha received this beautiful bow from Varuna.”
“This second bow, with its fine arms and golden hilt, is Bhima’s, with which he conquered all the eastern lands. This third fine bow, handsome in shape and adorned with figures of the Indragopaka insect, son of Virata, belongs to King Yudhishthira. This one, with its bright golden suns, is Nakula’s. And this bow, adorned with golden figures of insects and set with gems, belongs to Sahadeva, the son of Madri.”
“These thousand arrows, keen as razors and deadly as the venom of serpents, son of Virata, are Arjuna’s. Loosed at foes in battle, these arrows grow the more brilliant and never run dry. These long, thick, half-moon arrows, which thin out the enemy’s ranks, are Bhima’s. This quiver marked with five tigers, packed with yellow arrows honed on stone, is Nakula’s, with which he conquered all the western lands in war. These arrows, bright as the sun and dyed in many colors, able to destroy thousands of foes, are Sahadeva’s. And these short, thick, well-tempered arrows, long-feathered and gold-headed, with three knots, belong to King Yudhishthira.”
“This long-edged sword, marked with a toad and shaped at the mouth like a toad, is Arjuna’s. This sword in the tiger-skin scabbard, long-edged and terrible to foes, is Bhimasena’s. This sword with the fine edge, the handsomely painted scabbard, and the golden hilt belongs to Yudhishthira, the righteous son of Kuru. This sword with the goatskin scabbard and the firm edge is Nakula’s. And this large, unconquerable sword with the cowhide scabbard is Sahadeva’s.”
A key to reading this (lineage): the Pandavas are the five sons of Kunti and Madri. Yudhishthira, Bhima, and Arjuna are Kunti’s sons, and so are called Kaunteya and Partha. Nakula and Sahadeva are Madri’s sons, and so are called Madreya. By tying each weapon to its owner, Brihannala had in fact laid the whole secret bare, though Uttara still wanted to ask where those Pandavas were now.
A telling: the ten names of Arjuna
Uttara said, “Truly these gold-decked weapons of the light-handed, high-souled Partha are very beautiful to see. But where are they, that Arjuna, son of Pritha, and Yudhishthira of the Kuru line, and Nakula, and Sahadeva, and Bhimasena? Having lost their kingdom at dice, those high-souled Pandavas, able to destroy all their foes, are heard of no more. And where is Draupadi, the princess of Panchala, famed as a jewel among women, who followed the Pandavas to the forest after the defeat at dice?”
Arjuna said, “I myself am Arjuna, whom men also call Partha. Your father’s courtier is Yudhishthira, and your father’s cook, Vallava, is Bhimasena. The keeper of the horses is Nakula, and Sahadeva is in the cow-pens. And know that the Sairandhri is Draupadi, for whose sake the Kichakas were killed.”
Uttara said, “We will believe all this only if you can count off the ten names of Partha that we have heard before.”
Arjuna said, “Son of Virata, I will tell you my ten names. Listen closely and set them against what you have heard before. They are Arjuna, Phalguna, Jishnu, Kiritin, Shvetavahana, Vibhatsu, Vijaya, Krishna, Savyasachin, and Dhananjaya.”
Uttara said, “Tell us truly why you are called Vijaya, and why Shvetavahana. Why are you called Krishna, and Arjuna, and Phalguna, and Jishnu, and Kiritin, and Vibhatsu, and for what reason Dhananjaya and Savyasachin? We have heard before of the origin of these names, and if you can give us the whole account of them, we will trust your word.”
Arjuna said, “They call me Dhananjaya because I lived in the midst of wealth, having conquered all the countries and carried off their treasures. They call me Vijaya because when I go out to fight invincible kings I never return without vanquishing them. I am called Shvetavahana because white horses in golden armor are always yoked to my car when I fight the foe. They call me Phalguna because I was born on the breast of Himavat on a day when the constellation Uttara Phalguni was on the ascendant. I am called Kiritin from the diadem, bright as the sun, that Indra set on my head long ago during my battle with the mighty danavas. Among gods and men I am known as Vibhatsu because I have never done a loathsome deed on the field of battle.”
“And because both my hands can draw the Gandiva, I am known among gods and men as Savyasachin. They call me Arjuna because my complexion is very rare within the four bounds of the earth, and because my acts are always without stain. I am known among men and gods by the name Jishnu, because I cannot be approached or held down, and because I am a tamer of foes and the son of the slayer of Paka, who is Indra. And Krishna, my tenth name, my father gave me out of love for his dark-skinned boy of great purity.”
Then the son of Virata came close, saluted Partha, and said, “Our name is Bhuminjaya, and we are also called Uttara. Partha, it is our good fortune to see you. Welcome, Dhananjaya. You of the red eyes and the arms strong as an elephant’s trunk, forgive what we said to you from ignorance. Since your past deeds have been so wonderful and so hard, our fear is gone, and our love for you has grown very great.”
A key to reading this (the idea): Vyasa’s story keeps a fine moral point here. Arjuna explains his name Vibhatsu by saying that he has never done a loathsome deed on the field. The tale to come will test that very principle, when he holds back from killing stupefied enemies. This is valor bound by restraint.
The chariot as a fortress, and Uttara at the reins
Uttara said, “Brave one, with us for your charioteer on this great car, into which part of the enemy host do you wish to enter? At your command we will take you there.”
Arjuna said, “Best of men, we are pleased with you. You have no cause to fear. In battle we will beat down all your enemies. Great-armed one, set your mind at ease. Now bind all these quivers quickly to our car, and take from among them one bright-edged sword decked with gold.”
Hearing this, Uttara threw off his sloth. He came down quickly from the tree and brought Arjuna’s weapons. Then Arjuna said to him, “Yes, we will fight the Kurus and win back your cattle. Guarded by us, the body of this car will be a fortress for you. Its paths and lanes will be the streets and mansions of that fort. These arms of ours will be its ramparts and gates. This triple shaft and our quiver will be its defenses, which no enemy can pass. This single splendid banner of ours, will it not by itself equal all the banners of your city? This our bowstring will be the engine that rains weapons on the foe. Our kindled anger will make that fort terrible, and the rumble of our wheels, will it not equal the war-drums of your capital? Son of Virata, driven by us who bear the Gandiva, this car will stay unconquered by the enemy host. Let your fear depart.”
Uttara said, “Now we no longer fear them. In battle your steadiness seems to us like that of Keshava, or of Indra himself. Yet on one thing we stay confused, turning it over and over. Being dull of mind, we can reach no certainty. From what calamity could a man of such handsome limbs and auspicious marks be robbed of his manhood? Truly you seem to us Mahadeva, or Indra, or the foremost of the gandharvas, living only in the guise of a eunuch.”
Arjuna said, “We tell you truly that at the command of our elder brother we are keeping this vow for a full year. Great-armed one, we are no eunuch, but we took up this vow under the will of another and out of a wish for the merit of dharma. Prince, take our vow now to be complete.”
Uttara said, “You have done us a great kindness today, for now we know that our doubt was not baseless. Truly, best of men, one like you can be no eunuch. Now we have an ally in battle. Now we could fight the gods themselves. Our fear is gone. What shall we do? Command us. Trained in the driving of cars by a learned teacher, we will hold the reins of your horses, which can break the ranks of enemy cars. Best of men, know us for a charioteer as skilled as Daruka of Vasudeva or Matali of Shakra.”
Uttara named the horses. “The horse yoked at the right pole, whose hooves seem not to touch the ground as he runs, is like Krishna’s Sugriva. This second fine horse, yoked at the left pole, is swift as Meghapushpa. This third fine horse, in golden armor, yoked at the left rear pole, is to our mind as fleet as Shaibya and greater in strength. And this fourth horse, yoked at the right rear pole, is held to surpass Balahaka in both speed and strength. This car is fit to bear a bowman like you into battle, and you are fit to fight upon it.”
A sub-tale: Uttara measured himself by naming the four horses of Krishna. Sugriva, Meghapushpa, Shaibya, and Balahaka are held to be the four horses of Lord Krishna’s car, which Daruka drove. In the same way, Matali was Indra’s charioteer. By these comparisons Uttara was showing his own skill at the reins, proving that though he had been afraid at first, the pride of a warrior was still in him.
Arjuna summons his weapons, and the Gandiva sounds
Then Arjuna, that man of great energy, drew the bangles from his arms and put on fine gloves worked with gold. He bound his dark, curling hair with a white cloth. And seated on that fine car with his face to the east, having purified his body and gathered his soul into stillness, the great-armed hero called to mind all his weapons. And they came, and stood, and said to the royal son of Partha, “We are here, illustrious one. We are your servants, son of Indra.” Saluting them, Partha took them into his hands and answered, “Dwell all of you in my memory.” Having received every weapon, the hero looked glad.
Quickly stringing his bow Gandiva, he twanged its cord. The twang of that bow was as fierce as the crash of two strong bulls meeting. Terrible was the sound that filled the earth, and a violent wind rose on every side. A thick shower of falling meteors came down and all the quarters sank into darkness. Birds staggered in the sky and great trees trembled. From that sound, fierce as thunder, the Kurus knew that this was Arjuna himself, drawing the cord of his great bow with his own hands from his car.
Uttara said, “Best of the Pandavas, you are alone. These great car-warriors are many. How will you conquer in battle all these men skilled in every kind of weapon? Son of Kunti, you are without a single follower, while the Kauravas have many. And so, great-armed one, gripped by fear, we stand near you.”
Laughing aloud, Partha said to him, “Brave one, do not be afraid. When we fought the mighty gandharvas at the Ghoshayatra, who then was our friend and follower? In that terrible struggle at Khandava against so many gods and danavas, who then was our ally? When we fought the mighty Nivatakavachas and the Paulomas on behalf of the king of the gods, who then was our ally? And, child, at the self-choice of the princess of Panchala, when we clashed with countless kings, who then was our ally? Trained in weapons by the teacher Drona, by Shakra, Vaishravana, Yama, Varuna, Agni, Kripa, Krishna of the Madhu line, and Shiva the wielder of the Pinaka, why should we not fight these men? Drive our car quickly, and let the fever of your heart depart.”
A key to reading this (lineage and place): Khandava is the forest that Arjuna and Krishna once burned to satisfy Agni. The Nivatakavachas and the Paulomas were asuras who lived beyond the sea, and Arjuna conquered them at Indra’s command. The Ghoshayatra is the episode in which Arjuna freed the captured Kauravas from Chitrasena, king of the gandharvas. Partha counts off these old feats to drive the fear out of Uttara.
The winning of the ape-banner, and the blast of the conch
Taking Uttara for his charioteer and circling the shami tree with reverence, the son of Pandu set out with all his weapons. That great car-warrior lowered his lion-figured banner and laid it at the root of the shami tree, and raised on his car his own golden banner, which bore the figure of an ape with a lion’s tail, a divine illusion fashioned by Vishwakarma himself. The moment Arjuna called to mind that gift of Agni, Agni, knowing his wish, ordered those unearthly beings to take their place in the banner. And soon that banner of celestial beauty, hung with a lovely pennant of fine make, decked with quivers and adorned with gold, came down from the sky onto his car. Seeing the banner settle on the car, the hero circled it in reverence.
Then the ape-bannered Vibhatsu, son of Kunti, also called Shvetavahana, drawing over his fingers a guard of iguana skin and taking up his bow and arrows, turned toward the north. And that destroyer of foes, endowed with great strength, blew his huge conch with force, its roar enough to make the enemy’s skin crawl. At the sound of that conch, the swift horses fell to their knees on the ground. And Uttara, greatly afraid, sat down in the car. Then the son of Kunti himself took the reins, lifted the horses, and set them again in their place. Folding Uttara in his arms, he encouraged him too. “Best of princes, do not be afraid. Tamer of foes, you are a Kshatriya by birth. Best of men, why do you sink like this among the enemy? Before now you must have heard, among ranks drawn up for battle, the blast of many conches and the peal of many trumpets and the trumpeting of many elephants. Then why does this one conch-blast leave you so sunk and shaken, like a common man?”
Uttara said, “We have heard the blast of many conches and the peal of many trumpets and the trumpeting of many elephants set in the array of war, but never before have we heard the blast of such a conch. Never before have we seen such a banner. Never before have we heard the twang of such a bow. Truly, the blast of this conch, the twang of this bow, the unearthly cries of the creatures on this banner, and the rumble of this car have thrown our mind into deep confusion. Our sense of the directions is muddled, and our heart is greatly pained. The whole sky seems covered by this banner, and everything seems hidden from our sight. The twang of the Gandiva has deafened our ears as well.”
Arjuna said, “Plant your feet on the car and stand firm, and grip the reins hard, for we will blow the conch again.” Then Arjuna blew the conch once more, the conch that filled foes with grief and swelled the joy of friends. And the sound was so fierce that it seemed to split the mountains and pierce the mountain-caves and the quarters of the sky. Once more Uttara clung to the car in fear. Between the conch-blast, the rumble of the wheels, and the twang of the Gandiva, the earth itself seemed to shake.
A key to reading this (the idea): Kapidhvaja, meaning the ape-bannered one, is a famous epithet of Arjuna. This lion-tailed ape is held to be the sign of Hanuman, given to Arjuna by Agni at the burning of Khandava. The banner became the mark of Arjuna’s car, and the Kuru warriors could recognize him by it from far off.
Drona reads the omens, and Duryodhana’s dilemma
Meanwhile Drona said, “By the rumble of that car, and by the way the clouds have covered the sky and the earth itself is trembling, this warrior can be none other than Savyasachin. Our weapons will not shine, our horses are dispirited, and our fires, though fed with fuel, will not blaze up. All this is ill omen. All our animals stare toward the sun and cry a terrible cry. Crows settle on our banners. All this is ill omen. Those vultures and kites on our right foretell great danger. And that jackal running through our ranks howls in misery. See, it has passed through unharmed. All this foretells heavy calamity. The hair on all your bodies stands erect. Surely this foretells a great slaughter of Kshatriyas in battle.”
Drona went on. “By these blazing meteors your ranks seem shaken, and your animals seem to weep in their dejection. Vultures and kites wheel above your army on every side. When you see your host tormented by Partha’s arrows, you will have cause for regret. Sending the cattle ahead, let us stand here with all our warriors drawn up in array, ready to strike.”
Then King Duryodhana said to Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa on the field, “Karna and I put this matter to the teachers before. I raise it again, for once having said it did not satisfy me. This was the vow of the Pandavas: that if beaten at dice they would live twelve years in country and forest within our knowledge, and one year more unknown to us. That thirteenth year is not yet over. It is still running. And so Vibhatsu, who still had to live unknown, has appeared before us. If Vibhatsu has come before the term of concealment is complete, then the Pandavas must spend twelve more years in the forest. Whether this is their own forgetting or our error, let Bhishma reckon it.”
Duryodhana made his purpose plain. “We came to fight the Matsyas and to seize their cattle in the north. If Arjuna has come among them in the meanwhile, what fault is that of ours? We have come on behalf of the Trigartas to fight the Matsyas. It was settled that they would seize the great cattle-wealth of the Matsyas first, on the afternoon of the seventh day, and that we would seize it at sunrise on the eighth, when the king of Matsya was in pursuit of the herds first taken. Whether it is the king of Matsya who comes, or Vibhatsu, we must all fight him. That has been our vow. Why do Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vikarna, and Drona’s son, these foremost car-warriors, sit on their cars in fear? At this hour there is nothing greater than battle. Make up your minds.”
A key to reading this (the count): the reckoning of the year of concealment is the moral center of this parva. Duryodhana argues that Arjuna appeared before the thirteenth year was complete, and so the Pandavas should go back to the forest for twelve more years. Bhishma will soon prove, by the reckoning of the lunar and solar calendar, that the term is in fact complete. Twelve years in the forest and one year unknown: that was the vow.
Karna’s boast, and the answers of Kripa and Ashvatthama
Hearing these words of Duryodhana, Karna said, “Set the teacher aside and make all your arrangements. He knows the mind of the Pandavas well and is filling our hearts with fear. I see that his love for Arjuna is very great. At the mere sight of him coming, he begins to sing his praises. Arrange things so that our army does not break. By the mere neighing of Arjuna’s horses, Drona has thrown everything into disorder.”
Karna repeated his vow. “Whether it is the king of Matsya who comes, or Vibhatsu, I alone will face him, as the shore holds back the swelling sea. The straight-flying arrows loosed from my bow, gliding like serpents, are all unerring. Loosed from my light hands, these keen, gold-feathered arrows will cover Partha as locusts cover a tree. Having spent five years and eight in penance, Vibhatsu can strike me only feebly in this struggle, and the son of Kunti, who has become a Brahmana, is fit to receive in silence the thousand arrows I loose. The old debt I owe the son of Dhritarashtra, hard to repay, I will repay today by killing Arjuna.”
Kripa said, “Son of Radha, your crooked heart always leans toward war. You do not know the true nature of things, nor do you weigh their outcomes. The scriptures set out many kinds of means. Among them, those who knew the past held war to be the worst and most sinful. Only when time and place are favorable do deeds of arms bring success. This is a hostile hour, and no good fruit will come of it. It is not fitting for us to close with Partha. Alone he saved the Kurus from the gandharvas. Alone he satisfied Agni. Alone he lived five years on Himavat in the vow of a student.”
Kripa counted them off. “Setting Subhadra on his car, alone he challenged Krishna to single combat. Alone he fought Rudra, who stood before him in the guise of a hunter. In this very forest Partha rescued Krishna, that is Draupadi, when Jayadratha was carrying her off. Alone he defeated Chitrasena, king of the gandharvas, and his unconquerable army in a single moment. Alone he cut down in battle the terrible Nivatakavachas and Kalakeyas, whom even the gods could not kill. Karna, what such deed have you done alone? So, Karna, do not be reckless enough to fight him alone. If we six great car-warriors fight together, then we may match that son of Pritha.”
Then Ashvatthama said, “Karna, the cattle are not yet won, nor have they crossed the border, nor have they reached Hastinapura. Why then do you sing your own praises? True heroes, having won many battles, gathered vast wealth, and beaten the armies of the foe, say not one word of their own prowess. Fire burns in silence. The sun shines in silence. The earth too, in silence, bears all its creatures moving and unmoving.”
Ashvatthama opened the heart of the game at dice. “What Kshatriya won a kingdom at dice as this wicked, shameless son of Dhritarashtra did, and then showed such joy over it? In what single combat did you beat Dhananjaya, or Nakula, or Sahadeva, though you plundered their wealth? In what battle did you defeat Yudhishthira, or Bhima, the best of the strong? In what battle did you win Indraprastha? Evildoer, you did no more than drag into the assembly a princess who was ill and clad in a single garment. You cut through the sandal-soft root of the Pandava tree. When you made the Pandavas slaves out of greed for wealth, do you remember what Vidura said? Whatever means you used in the game at dice, use them now. The Gandiva does not throw dice like the Krita or the Dwapara. It rains burning, keen arrows on the foe by the hundred thousand. Let your uncle, that cunning gamester, the son of Subala, Shakuni, prince of Gandhara, now fight. I will not fight Dhananjaya. We are to fight the king of Matsya, if he comes after the cattle.”
A key to reading this (the idea): this exchange lays out the moral tangle of Vyasa’s story without softening it. Drona and Kripa, though on the Kaurava side, praise Arjuna’s virtues openly and point to the wrong of the game at dice. Ashvatthama calls Duryodhana’s cheating at dice and the humiliation of Draupadi sinful to his face. Even among the enemy there is conscience and shame. This is the fine grain of the Mahabharata.
Bhishma’s reckoning, and the drawing of the array
Bhishma said, “Drona’s son sees rightly, and Kripa sees rightly too. Karna wishes for battle only out of respect for the Kshatriya’s dharma. No wise man can find fault with the teacher. As for me, I hold that, considering the time and place, we must fight. What Karna said was only to lift our sinking courage. Son of Drona, forgive it all. This is a very grave matter. Now that the sons of Kunti have come, this is no time for quarreling. Division among leaders is the deadliest of all a host’s misfortunes. Let us all fight the son of Indra together.”
At Duryodhana’s word, with the help of Karna, Kripa, and Bhishma, Drona was calmed. Drona said, “I have already been appeased by the words Bhishma spoke first. Let such arrangements be made that Partha cannot reach Duryodhana in battle, and that King Duryodhana is not captured by the foe through his own haste or want of judgment. Arjuna has not revealed himself before the term was over. Nor will he pardon this deed of ours today.”
Then Bhishma set out the reckoning of the wheel of time. “The wheel of time turns by its divisions, that is, by kalas, kashthas, muhurtas, days, fortnights, months, constellations, planets, seasons, and years. In consequence of their fractional excesses and the wandering of the heavenly bodies, there is an increase of two months in every five years. Reckoning this way, it seems to me that over thirteen years there would be an excess of five months and twelve nights. Therefore all that the Pandavas vowed, they have exactly fulfilled. Knowing this for certain, Vibhatsu has appeared. How would they stray from virtue, who have Yudhishthira for their guide? The sons of Kunti do not yield to temptation. The sons of Pritha would rather choose death than falsehood.”
Duryodhana said, “Grandsire, I will not give the Pandavas back their kingdom. So let every preparation for battle be made without delay.” Bhishma said, “Then hear what seems fit to me. Take a fourth part of the army and set out for the capital without delay. Let another fourth go, driving the cattle. With the remaining half we will fight the Pandava. I, Drona, Karna, Ashvatthama, and Kripa will stand firm and face Vibhatsu, or the king of Matsya, or Indra himself, if he should come.”
These words were acceptable to all, and the lord of the Kurus did accordingly. Having sent off the king and the cattle, Bhishma began to draw the army up for battle. He said to the teacher Drona, “Stand you in the center, teacher. Let Ashvatthama guard the left, wise Kripa the right flank, and Karna of the Suta line, in his armor, stand in front. I will keep behind the whole army and guard it from that side.”
A key to reading this (the count, a modern parallel): Bhishma’s reckoning rests on the principle of the intercalary month, the adhika masa or malamasa. The lunar year is about eleven days shorter than the solar year, so every few years an extra month is added. The Indian calendar still runs on this rule today. By it Bhishma shows that the Pandavas completed the full thirteen years, and that a few days more had passed besides.
Arjuna drives toward Duryodhana, and the cattle are freed
Once the Kauravas had drawn themselves up in this order, Arjuna came on fast, the rumble of his car filling the sky. The Kurus saw the crest of his banner and heard the rumble of his car and the twang of the Gandiva, drawn again and again. Seeing all this, Drona said, “There, shining far off, is the crest of Partha’s banner. That is the sound of his car, and that ape roars its terrible roar.”
Seeing the Kurus drawn up for battle, Arjuna spoke to the son of Matsya words suited to the moment. “Charioteer, rein the horses where my arrows can reach the foe. Meanwhile let me look for that low one of the Kuru line among these troops. Passing over all the rest, I will single out that arrogant prince and fall upon him, for once that mean one is beaten the rest will count themselves beaten. There stands Drona, and behind him his son. There are the great bowmen Bhishma, Kripa, and Karna. But I do not see the king among them. I suspect that, anxious to save his life, he is carrying off the cattle by the southern road. Leave this array of cars and drive to where Suyodhana is. There I will fight.”
Hearing this, Uttara held the horses with effort, drew the reins, and turned them toward where Duryodhana was. And as Arjuna left that thick knot of cars and pressed ahead, Kripa read his purpose and said to his companions, “This Vibhatsu does not wish to stand far from the king. Let us fall quickly on the flanks of this hero as he advances. When his anger is up, no one alone but the thousand-eyed god or Krishna, son of Devaki, can stop him.”
Meanwhile Vibhatsu drove at that division of the army, quickly announced his name, and buried the troops under arrows thick as a swarm of locusts. Covered by Partha’s countless shafts, the enemy warriors could see nothing, for both earth and sky were hidden from them. The soldiers drawn up for battle were so bewildered that not one could even flee the field. Then Arjuna blew his conch, which always made the enemy’s skin crawl. And twanging his great bow, he set the creatures on his banner to a still more terrible roar. Between the conch-blast, the rumble of the wheels, the twang of the Gandiva, and the roar of the unearthly creatures on the banner, the earth began to tremble. And the cattle, their tails lifted and lowing all together, turned and went back down the southern road.
The gist: Arjuna undid the whole aim of the cattle-raid at the very outset. Driving straight into the enemy host and stunning it with a storm of arrows and the blast of his conch, he turned the stolen herds back toward Virata’s city. The first stage of Duryodhana’s plan had already failed, and what remained was to close with the Kaurava heroes one by one.
First combat: Vikarna, Shatruntapa, and the flight of Karna
Having broken the enemy host and freed the cattle, that best of bowmen turned again toward Duryodhana, hungry for battle. Seeing the cattle running toward the city of Matsya, the Kuru heroes counted it a triumph for the diademed one, and all at once they fell upon Arjuna as he advanced on Duryodhana. Then Chitrasena, Sangramajit, Shatrusaha, and Jaya, great car-warriors eager to help Karna, rushed at the hero of Bharata’s line with arrows and long spears. And that best of men, blazing with anger, began to burn up the mass of their cars with fire-arrows from his bow, as a raging forest-fire burns the woods.
Then, when the fight had grown fierce, the Kuru hero Vikarna came at Partha on his car, showering him with thick, long arrows. Partha cut Vikarna’s gold-horned, strong-corded bow, and cut his banner too. Seeing his banner cut down, Vikarna fled at once. When Vikarna had fled, Shatruntapa could not hold his anger and began to torment Partha with a rain of arrows. Partha pierced him with five arrows, killed his charioteer with ten, and with a single arrow that could split the toughest armor struck Shatruntapa down, as a storm tears a tree from a mountain-crest and throws it to the ground.
Killing the red horses of Sangramajit, the diademed hero struck off his head with a half-moon arrow. Seeing his brother slain, Karna, the Suta’s son, child of Vikartana, gathered all his prowess and fell upon Arjuna, as a great tusked elephant, or a tiger upon a strong bull. Karna pierced the son of Pandu with twelve arrows, struck all his horses, and pierced the hand of Virata’s son. Then the diademed one rushed on the advancing Karna as a bright-winged Garuda swoops upon a serpent.
Both were the best of bowmen, both mighty, both able to destroy foes. Seeing the duel about to break between them, the Kauravas stood apart as onlookers. Kindled with anger at the sight of the offender Karna, the son of Pandu made him, his horses, his car, and his charioteer vanish beneath a terrible rain of arrows. The warriors of Bharata’s line, led by Bhishma, pierced along with their horses, elephants, and cars by the shafts of the diademed one and lost from view, began to wail within their broken ranks. Then at last, tormented by Partha’s arrows, his limbs torn open, Karna, son of Vikartana, fled the field, as one elephant beaten by another.
A key to reading this (the idea): Arjuna calls Karna the offender because Karna took a leading part among those who insulted Draupadi in the full court. This old bitterness runs from the fight at Virata all the way to Kurukshetra. The story sets down both Karna’s prowess and his flight, hiding neither.
Arjuna’s cataclysmic rain of arrows, and the coming of the gods
When the son of Radha had fled, the other warriors, led by Duryodhana, fell upon the son of Pandu one after another with their divisions. And as a shore holds back the swelling sea, so the hero held back the fury of that countless army. Vibhatsu of the white horses attacked the enemy, loosing celestial weapons. With the countless arrows that leapt from the Gandiva, Partha covered every point of the horizon, as the sun covers the whole earth with its rays. Among the warriors mounted on cars, horses, and elephants, and the armored men on foot, not two fingers’ width of any body was left untouched by his keen arrows.
People began to think of Arjuna as that fire at the end of an age which blazes up to burn all creation. Because of his skill with celestial weapons, the training of the horses and the craft of Uttara, the speed of his arrows, his prowess and his light hand, no enemy could look at him with a steady gaze. Keeping clear of the sinful, reckless act of killing men already helpless, Arjuna suddenly drew back and rained arrows on the army from behind, as hawks loosed by fowlers dart toward their mark.
Then Shakra, mounted on his splendid car, came there with the gods, with the Vishwadevas and the Maruts. The sky, crowded with gods, yakshas, gandharvas, and nagas, shone as the vault of a cloudless night shines with its fields of stars. The gods came each on his own car, to see the power of their weapons in a battle of men, and to watch the terrible struggle that would come at the meeting of Bhishma and Arjuna. The thirty-three gods appeared with Vasava, and many gandharvas, rakshasas, nagas, and departed ancestors, together with the great rishis. On Indra’s car stood kings in shining form: Vasumana, Valaksha, Supratardana, Ashtaka, Shivi, Yayati, Nahusha, Gaya, Manu, Puru, Raghu, Bhanu, Krishashva, Sagara, and Nala.
The cars of Agni, Isa, Soma, Varuna, Prajapati, Dhatri, Vidhatri, Kubera, Yama, Alambusha, Ugrasena, and the gandharva Tumburu stood each in its own place. The sacred fragrance of celestial garlands filled the air like a wood in the flower of spring. The red and crimson parasols, robes, garlands, and yak-tail fans of the gods were very beautiful. The dust of the earth vanished, and a divine light lit everything. Ringed by the gods, wearing a garland of lotuses and water-lilies, Indra the thunder-bearer was very beautiful on his car. And Indra, the slayer of Bala, gazed upon his son on the field and gazed again, and still was not filled.
A key to reading this (lineage): Indra is Arjuna’s divine father, and so Arjuna is called the son of Indra and of Vasava. That Indra cannot look his fill at his son is a sign of a father’s love. The names counted off from Vasumana to Nala are royal sages of old, held to dwell in heaven, who came to watch this unearthly battle.
The duel with Kripa
Seeing the Kuru army in its array, Partha said to the son of Virata, “Drive toward the car whose banner bears the golden altar, where Kripa, the son of Sharadwat, is going.” At once Uttara, without a moment’s delay, urged on those moon-colored horses. Skilled in the horseman’s art, Uttara now wheeled, now circled, now turned to the left, bewildering the Kurus, and at last came round and stood, fearless, before the car of Kripa.
Then, announcing his name, Arjuna blew that best of conches, the Devadatta, with a mighty blast. Its sound was like the splitting of a mountain. And seeing that the conch did not break into a hundred pieces even when Arjuna blew it, the Kurus and all their warriors praised him greatly. Then Kripa, son of Sharadwat, kindled with anger and unable to bear that blast, took up his own sea-born conch and blew it hard. And taking up a great bow, he twanged its cord with a mighty sound.
Then the son of Sharadwat pierced Partha with ten keen arrows that reached the vitals. Partha too drew the Gandiva and loosed countless iron arrows that entered the tender places of the body. Kripa, with his own sharp arrows, cut those blood-drinking shafts of Partha into hundreds and thousands of pieces before they reached him. Then Partha, showing many turns of skill, covered Kripa on every side with hundreds of arrows. Stung by those arrows like tongues of fire, Kripa in his anger pierced Partha with ten thousand arrows and roared aloud on the field.
Then Arjuna, with four deadly, keen, straight, gold-feathered arrows from the Gandiva, pierced the four horses of Kripa. Struck by those arrows, the horses reared suddenly, and Kripa was thrown off his footing. Seeing Kripa unsettled from his place, Partha of the Kuru line held his arrows back, honoring the dignity of his opponent. Then, regaining his proper place, Gautama pierced Savyasachin with ten arrows winged with the feathers of the kanka bird.
Then, with a keen-edged half-moon arrow, Partha cut Kripa’s bow and his leather finger-guards. And with arrows that reach the vitals he cut through Kripa’s armor, yet did not wound his body. Stripped of his armor, Kripa’s body looked like a serpent that has shed its skin in season. The instant his bow was cut, Gautama took up another and strung it in a moment. But the son of Kunti cut that one too with straight arrows. So the son of Pandu cut, one after another, every bow that Kripa raised.
When all his bows were cut, that great hero hurled from his car a dart like a blazing thunderbolt at the son of Pandu. But as the gold-plated dart came hissing with the brightness of a meteor, Arjuna cut it down with ten arrows. Then Partha loosed thirteen keen arrows, honed on stone, like tongues of flame. With one he cut the yoke of Kripa’s car, with four he pierced Kripa’s four horses, with the sixth he struck off the charioteer’s head, with three he pierced the triple bamboo shaft of the car and with two its wheels, with the twelfth he cut the banner, and with the thirteenth, smiling as if in play like Indra himself, Phalguni pierced Kripa through the chest.
Then, his bows cut, his car broken, his horses killed and his charioteer slain, Kripa leapt down, took up a mace, and quickly hurled it at Arjuna. But Arjuna’s arrows sent that heavy, gleaming mace back the way it had come. Then Kripa’s warriors, to save him, fell on Partha from every side with a rain of arrows. Uttara turned the horses to the left in the circling movement called yamaka and held all those warriors off. And those foremost men took the carless Kripa with them and led him far from Dhananjaya’s reach.
A key to reading this (the idea): Arjuna’s holding back his arrows when he saw Kripa unsettled, and his cutting the armor yet sparing the body, is part of the moral fabric of this tale. It is the keeping of that vow of Vibhatsu which he had explained to Uttara, that he does no loathsome deed on the field. Kripa is among his elders, and so he treats him with full respect.
The struggle with the teacher Drona
When Kripa had been drawn away, the unconquerable Drona of the red horses, an arrow set on his bow, rushed at Arjuna of the white horses. Seeing the teacher advance on his golden car, Arjuna said to Uttara, “Friend, take me before that warrior whose tall banner bears a golden altar like a tongue of flame and many pennants all around, and whose car is drawn by red horses, large, very handsome and well trained, calm-faced, of coral color and copper-hued mouths. That is Drona, with whom I wish to fight. In understanding he is the equal of Ushana, in knowledge of dharma the equal of Brihaspati, master of the four Vedas and steadfast in the vow of the student. The use of celestial weapons and the secret of their withdrawal, and the whole science of arms, dwell always in him. Forgiveness, self-control, truth, harmlessness, and uprightness of conduct, these and countless other virtues dwell always in that twice-born one. I wish to fight that most blessed man in battle. So, Uttara, take me before the teacher.”
Uttara drove the horses toward Drona’s car. And Drona rushed at Partha as one intoxicated elephant rushes at another. Drona blew his conch, whose blast was like the peal of a hundred trumpets. At that blast the whole army was stirred like the sea in a storm. Coming near Drona on his car, the great-armed son of Kunti, filled with joy, saluted the teacher and said in a gentle, sweet voice, “Having finished our years in the forest, we now wish to take revenge for our wrongs. Unconquerable one in battle, it does not befit you to be angry with us. Sinless one, we will not strike you until you have struck first. This is our intent. Do as you think fit.”
Hearing this, Drona loosed more than twenty arrows. But the light-handed Partha cut them down before they reached him. Then Drona covered Partha’s car with a thousand arrows. Partha covered his own white horses with arrows honed on stone, winged with the feathers of the kanka bird. Both masters of celestial weapons, both swift as the wind, both of great energy, they began to pour down clouds of arrows. All the warriors gathered there were filled with wonder to see it. And all praised Drona. “Well done! Well done! Who but Phalguna is fit to fight Drona? Truly the dharma of the Kshatriya is hard, for Arjuna fights his own teacher.”
Filled with anger, Drona drew his great gold-plated bow and pierced Phalguna with arrows. Loosing countless keen arrows bright as the sun onto Arjuna’s car, he covered the light of the sun. Then the son of Pandu, taking up the Gandiva, gladly loosed many gold-decked arrows and in a moment made Drona’s rain of arrows come to nothing. From Arjuna’s arrows the whole sky became one wide shadow, and Drona was lost from view like the sun hidden in fog. Covered on every side by arrows, Drona looked like a burning mountain.
Seeing his car wholly covered by Partha’s arrows, Drona, that ornament of battle, bent his terrible bow and loosed a cloud of keen arrows. Then there rose on the field a fierce sound like the bursting of burning bamboo. The arrows of both looked in the sky like a shower of meteors. This fierce struggle between Drona and Arjuna was like the ancient battle of Virata and Vasava. Again and again the son of Pandu made void with his own weapons the Aindra, Vayavya, and Agneya weapons that Drona loosed.
A voice was heard in the sky, praising Drona. “Drona has done a hard thing, for he fights Arjuna, that destroyer of foes, of great energy, of firm grip and unconquerable in battle, who has conquered both gods and daityas.” Seeing Partha’s unerring aim, his training, the quickness of his hand and the reach of his arrows, Drona was amazed. Then Ashvatthama, with his own body of cars, held the Pandava back and rained heavy arrows on Arjuna. Partha turned his horses toward Drona’s son and so gave Drona the chance to leave the field. Then, wounded in that fierce struggle and having lost his armor and his banner, Drona went away with the help of his swift horses.
A key to reading this (the idea): Arjuna’s saying to Drona that he will not strike until Drona strikes first is a deep example of the bond of teacher and student. Even the warriors watching remark on how hard the dharma of the Kshatriya is, that it sets a student to fight his teacher. Arjuna turns toward Drona’s son and so lets Drona withdraw with honor.
A fresh clash with Ashvatthama and Karna
Then Drona’s son Ashvatthama rushed to close with Arjuna. Raining arrows like a storm, his attack was met by the son of Pritha with a cloud of arrows. A fierce struggle rose between them, like a battle of gods and danavas. The sky was covered on every side with arrows, the sun was wholly hidden, and even the wind seemed to still. As the son of Pritha ranged the field, Drona’s son found his chance and, with an arrow tipped like a horseshoe, cut the cord of the Gandiva. Seeing this wonderful skill, the gods praised him greatly. Drona, Bhishma, Karna, and the great hero Kripa all cried “Well done! Well done!” and praised the feat. Then Drona’s son pierced Partha’s chest with arrows winged with the feathers of the kanka bird.
Then, laughing aloud, the great-armed son of Pritha put a fresh, strong cord on the Gandiva. Wetting the cord with the sweat that stood like a half-moon on his brow, the son of Pritha advanced on his opponent as one intoxicated elephant advances on another. This struggle between the two matchless heroes was terrible, and it made the hair of those watching rise on their skin. The Pandava’s pair of quivers was inexhaustible, and so he stood on the field unmoved as a mountain. But because he loosed his arrows without pause, the arrows of Ashvatthama soon began to run out, and so Arjuna grew the stronger against him.
Then Karna drew his great bow with mighty force and twanged its cord. From it rose a fierce cry of “Alas!” and “Alas!” And looking toward the place from which the bow had been twanged, the son of Pritha saw the son of Radha before him. At that sight his anger flared. Kindled with rage and eager to kill Karna, that bull of the Kuru line glared at him with rolling eyes. Seeing Partha turn from Ashvatthama, the Kuru warriors rained thousands of arrows on Arjuna. Then the great-armed Dhananjaya left Drona’s son and rushed suddenly at Karna.
Rushing at Karna, his eyes red with anger, the son of Kunti spoke these words, eager for single combat. “Karna, now has come the hour to make good, in a fierce struggle with me, the loud boast you made in the assembly, that in battle there is no man your equal. Today, Karna, closing with me in a fierce fight, you will learn your own strength and will not despise others. Casting off all courtesy, you spoke many bitter words. You looked on while the princess of Panchala was insulted by the wicked in the midst of the assembly. Now taste the fruit of that deed. Before, being bound by the bonds of restraint, we held back from revenge. Now, son of Radha, see the fruit of that anger in this coming struggle. Come, Karna, close with us in battle.”
Hearing this, Karna answered, “Partha, do in deed what you speak in words. The world knows that your words outrun your deeds. Even if Shakra himself were to fight on your side, I would have no care about showing my prowess. Son of Kunti, your wish is about to be fulfilled. Now fight with me and see my strength.”
Hearing this, Arjuna said, “Son of Radha, a moment ago you fled from battle with me, and so you are alive, though your younger brother was killed. Who but you would flee, seeing his younger brother slain in battle, and then boast as you do among good men?”
Saying this, the unconquerable Vibhatsu fell upon Karna and loosed a body of arrows able to pierce armor. But the great car-warrior Karna met that rain with his own fierce rain of arrows, dense as clouds. Arjuna, with one straight, keen arrow, cut the cords of Karna’s quiver. Then Karna drew out a second arrow and pierced the Pandava’s hand, so that his grip on the bow loosened. Then the great-armed Partha cut Karna’s bow into pieces. Karna hurled a dart, but Arjuna cut it down with arrows. Karna’s followers rushed at Arjuna in a crowd, but Partha sent them all to the abode of Yama with the arrows of the Gandiva.
Then Vibhatsu, with keen arrows, killed Karna’s horses, which fell lifeless to the ground. Then the mighty son of Kunti took a keen, burning arrow of great energy and pierced Karna through the chest. The arrow split his armor and entered his body. Then Karna’s sight grew dim and his senses slackened. When his consciousness returned, he felt great pain, and, leaving the struggle, fled toward the north. Then the great car-warrior Arjuna and Uttara both spoke words of scorn after him.
The gist: Arjuna beat the Kuru heroes one by one: Vikarna and Shatruntapa, then Kripa, Drona, Ashvatthama, and Karna. With each he acts according to that man’s due, letting his elders leave with honor, but naming openly to Karna the old bitterness of Draupadi’s insult. Swings like the cutting of Drona’s bowstring and the piercing of Karna’s chest keep the story from ever settling into an even line.
The river of blood, and the battle with Bhishma
Having beaten the son of Vikartana, Arjuna said to the son of Virata, “Take me there, where the sign of the golden palm tree is seen. There our grandsire, the son of Shantanu, godlike, waits, eager to fight me.” Then, seeing that vast army crowded with cars, horses, and elephants, Uttara, pierced with arrows, said, “Hero, I can no longer drive your fine horses. My courage is breaking and my mind is deeply confused. From the blaze of your celestial weapons and those of the Kurus, all the directions seem to spin before my eyes. From the stench of fat, blood, and flesh I am losing my senses.”
Arjuna steadied him. “Do not be afraid. Take heart. You too, best of men, have done wonderful things on the field. You are blessed, you are a prince, born in the famed line of the Matsyas. It does not befit you to sink at the punishing of foes. So, prince, stand firm on my car, gather all your courage, and hold the reins of my horses while I set to battle again.”
Then Arjuna, declaring his prowess, said that he would cut Bhishma’s bowstring in battle and set flowing a terrible river of blood, in which blood would be the water, the cars the whirlpools, and the elephants the crocodiles. At Indra’s command he had killed hundreds and thousands of the Paulomas and the Kalakeyas. From Indra he had learned a firm grip, from Brahma the quickness of his hand, and from Prajapati the many ways of war. He had conquered the sixty thousand car-warriors who dwelt in Hiranyapura beyond the great sea. From Rudra he had received the Raudra weapon, from Varuna the Varuna, from Agni the Agneya, from Vayu the Vayavya, and from Shakra the thunderbolt and other weapons.
Steadied in this way, the son of Virata entered that fierce array of cars guarded by Bhishma. The son of Ganga met that great-armed hero gladly. Reaching Bhishma, Jishnu cut his banner at the root with a single gold-plated arrow. Then Dushasana, Vikarna, Dussaha, and Vivingsati, four strong warriors, rushed at that terrible bowman. Dushasana struck an arrow into Arjuna’s chest. Jishnu cut his gold-wound bow and pierced his chest with five arrows, so that Dushasana left the struggle and fled. Vikarna pierced Partha, but the son of Kunti struck him on the forehead with straight arrows, and he fell from his car. Dussaha and Vivingsati poured down arrows, but Dhananjaya pierced both at once and killed their horses, and the warriors behind drew them away.
Then all the great Kuru car-warriors gathered and fell upon Arjuna from every side. But that hero of immeasurable soul covered them all with a cloud of arrows, as fog covers the mountains. A fierce uproar rose from the mingled roar of elephants and conches. Partha’s arrows, piercing elephants, horses, and steel armor, fell by the thousand. Car-warriors leapt from their cars and horsemen from their horses, and the foot-soldiers fled in every direction. The field was covered with heads cut off by arrows, decked with turbans, earrings, and golden necklaces, and with arms still gripping bows and hands adorned with ornaments. It was as though a rain of stones had come down from the sky.
Then the son of Pandu made a terrible river of blood on the field, like the river of death made by Time at the end of an age. In it the scattered hair of the dead was the moss and weeds, bows and arrows were the boats, flesh and the fluids of animals were the mud, armor and turbans floated on its surface, elephants were the alligators and cars the rafts, marrow, fat, and blood were the currents. Strings of pearls were the ripples and ornaments the bubbles, swarms of arrows were the whirlpools and horses the tortoises. That river of blood was impossible to cross.
Then, amid this great slaughter of the Kurus, Bhishma, son of Shantanu, rushed at Arjuna with a fine gold-decked bow and arrows that reach the vitals. With the white umbrella over his head, that best of men looked as beautiful as a mountain at sunrise. Blowing his conch and wheeling to the right, he came into the path of Vibhatsu. The son of Kunti welcomed him with a glad heart, as a mountain welcomes a cloud. Bhishma pierced Partha’s banner with eight arrows, so that they reached the ape and the creatures on the banner. Then the son of Pandu cut Bhishma’s umbrella with a keen dart, and it fell at once to the ground. Then he pierced Bhishma’s banner, his horses, and both his flank-guarding charioteers with arrows.
Unable to bear this, Bhishma loosed a fierce celestial weapon at Arjuna, and the son of Pandu, loosing a celestial weapon in answer, received Bhishma’s weapon as a mountain receives a mass of clouds. Seeing this fierce fight between Partha and Bhishma, the Kaurava warriors stood watching with their army. Arrows striking arrows shone in the sky like the fireflies of the rainy season. Because he loosed arrows with both his right and left hands, the bent Gandiva looked like a continuous ring of fire. The son of Kunti covered Bhishma with hundreds of keen arrows, and Bhishma, holding back that rain of arrows like a shore, covered the son of Pandu in answer.
The Kauravas cried “Well done! Well done!” and praised Bhishma for doing the hard thing of fighting Arjuna. In the sky, Indra and the gods watched Arjuna’s wonderful celestial weapon with amazement. The gandharva Chitrasena, delighted, said to Indra, “See how these arrows loosed by Partha travel in the sky in one unbroken line. This skill of Jishnu is wonderful. Men cannot loose such a weapon. Both of them, Partha and Bhishma the son of Ganga, are famed for their deeds, both of fierce prowess, both hard to conquer in battle.” Indra honored them both with a rain of celestial flowers.
Meanwhile Bhishma attacked Arjuna from the left as he drew his bow with both hands. Then Vibhatsu, laughing aloud, cut Bhishma’s bow with a keen, vulture-feathered arrow. Then he pierced his chest with ten arrows, though Bhishma fought on with all his prowess. Racked with pain, the great-armed son of Ganga stood a long while leaning on the flagstaff of his car. Seeing him senseless, his charioteer, remembering the rule for guarding a fainting warrior, drew him away to safety.
A key to reading this (the idea): Bhishma’s fainting and leaning on the flagstaff of his car, and his charioteer’s drawing him away, is the keeping of a settled rule of war, that a fainting warrior is to be protected. This long description of the river of blood is part of Vyasa’s own story, which sets down the fearful face of war without softening it.
The battle with Duryodhana, and the weapon of stupefaction
When Bhishma had left the field, Duryodhana, son of Dhritarashtra, came at Arjuna with his banner flying high, bow in hand, roaring fiercely. With a spear-headed arrow drawn to the ear, he pierced the forehead of that terrible bowman Dhananjaya. Pierced on the forehead by that keen, gold-headed arrow, the famed hero shone like a beautiful single-peaked mountain. Hot blood flowed from the wound over his body, and it looked like a garland of golden flowers upon him.
Pierced by Duryodhana’s arrow, the light-handed Arjuna of unfailing strength swelled with anger and pierced the king in answer with arrows charged like venomous serpents. Both, born in the line of Ajamidha, struck at each other alike. Then Vikarna, mounted on an intoxicated elephant huge as a mountain and backed by four cars, rushed at Jishnu. Seeing that huge elephant advance swiftly, Dhananjaya, with a great iron arrow from a bow drawn to the ear, struck it on the head between the temples. Like a mountain split by Indra’s thunderbolt, the arrow sank to the feathers in the elephant’s body. Trembling with pain, the great elephant fell to the ground. Vikarna, in his fear, leapt down and fled eight hundred paces and climbed onto Vivingsati’s car.
Having killed that elephant, the son of Pritha, with another arrow of the same kind, pierced Duryodhana through the chest. With the elephant and the king both wounded, Vikarna fled, the king’s guards broken, and the other warriors, pierced by the arrows of the Gandiva, also fled in fear. Seeing the elephant killed and all his warriors fleeing, Duryodhana, foremost of the Kurus, quickly turned his car and fled in the direction where Partha was not.
As Duryodhana fled in fear, pierced by that arrow and vomiting blood, Kiritin, still eager for battle, rebuked him in anger. “Why do you flee, turning your back, sacrificing your great fame and glory? Why do those trumpets not sound now, which sounded when you set out from your kingdom? See, I am Yudhishthira’s obedient servant, the third son of Pritha, standing here for battle. Turn back, show us your face, son of Dhritarashtra, and remember the conduct of kings. The name Duryodhana given you before is now made empty. Where is your persistence in war, now that you flee, leaving the field? Neither before you nor behind you do I see a single guard. Best of men, flee then, and save your life from the hands of Pandu’s son.”
Pierced by these rebukes, Duryodhana turned back, like an intoxicated elephant pricked by a hook. Seeing him return wounded, Karna stopped the king on the way, soothed him, and himself moved along the north of Duryodhana’s car to face Partha. And the great-armed Bhishma too, turning back his gold-decked horses, huge in size, rushed bow in hand to protect Duryodhana from Partha. And Drona, Kripa, Vivingsati, Dushasana, and others quickly turned back and rushed to protect Duryodhana with drawn bows and arrows fixed on the strings.
Seeing those divisions advance toward him like the swelling surges of the ocean, the son of Pritha, Dhananjaya, rushed at them as a crane rushes at a descending cloud. Surrounding him on every side, they rained arrows on Partha. Then the wielder of the Gandiva, able to endure all foes, loosed the irresistible weapon called Sanmohana, obtained from Indra. Covering the directions with keen, beautifully feathered arrows, that great hero stupefied their senses with the twang of the Gandiva. Then, taking up that huge conch with both hands, Partha blew it with force and filled the directions, the earth, and the sky with the noise.
At that conch-blast the Kuru heroes were emptied of their senses. The bows, from which they were never parted, dropped from their hands. When the Kuru army had gone senseless, Partha, calling to mind the words of Uttara, said to the son of the king of Matsya, “Best of men, while these are senseless, go among the Kurus and bring away the white garments of Drona and Kripa, the yellow and handsome ones of Karna, and the blue ones of the king and of Drona’s son. It seems to me that Bhishma is not stupefied, for he knows how to make this weapon of mine void. So pass by him, keeping his horses to your left, for those who are sensible should be avoided in this way.”
Hearing this, the son of the king of Matsya gave up the reins, jumped from the car, took off the garments of the warriors, and came back to his place. Then Uttara urged on the four fine horses with golden armor on their flanks, and those white horses carried Arjuna out from the midst of the field, beyond the array of foot-soldiers bearing standards. Bhishma, seeing him going, struck him with arrows, and Partha, killing Bhishma’s horses, pierced him with ten arrows. Then, killing Bhishma’s charioteer, Arjuna came out of that mass of cars like the sun emerging from the clouds.
When his senses returned, the son of Dhritarashtra saw Partha standing alone on the field like the lord of the gods. In his haste he said to Bhishma, “How has this one escaped you? Afflict him so that he cannot escape.” Then the son of Shantanu said with a smile, “Where was this sense of yours, and where was your prowess, when you were senseless and had cast away your arrows and your fine bow? Vibhatsu does not commit atrocious deeds, nor does his soul lean toward sin. He would not give up his principles even for the three worlds. It is for this alone that we were not all killed in this battle. Best of the Kurus, go back to the city of the Kurus, and let Partha also go away, having won the kine. Do not throw away your own good through folly.”
A key to reading this (the idea): the Sanmohana weapon could stupefy all the enemy, and Arjuna could have killed them. But Bhishma himself admits that Arjuna, out of the restraint of dharma, did not kill the senseless men, and so the Kauravas were spared. The taking of the garments was for Uttara’s dress of victory, so that he could show the princesses that he had won the battle. Here valor and restraint move together.
The Kauravas turn home, and the sign of the reveal to come
Hearing the helpful words of his grandsire, the angry Duryodhana gave up the wish to fight, drew a deep breath, and fell silent. Holding Bhishma’s counsel to be for their good and seeing the Pandavas growing in strength, the other warriors too, wishing to protect Duryodhana, made ready to return. Seeing those foremost of the Kurus set off for the city, the son of Pritha, Dhananjaya, with a glad heart followed them a little way, wishing to address and honor them.
Having saluted the aged grandsire, the son of Shantanu, and the teacher Drona, and Drona’s son and Kripa and the other venerable Kurus, with beautiful arrows, the son of Pritha broke the jewel-set crown of Duryodhana into fragments with another arrow. Having honored in this way all the venerable and brave warriors, he filled the three worlds with the twang of the Gandiva. And suddenly blowing his conch Devadatta, the hero pierced the hearts of all his foes. Having humbled the hostile, he shone on his car with its handsome banner. Seeing the Kurus depart, Kiritin cheerfully said to the son of Matsya, “Turn back your horses, your cattle are recovered, the foe is going away, and you too may return home with a glad heart.” And the gods, having witnessed that most wonderful struggle between Phalguna and the Kurus, were greatly delighted, and went to their own abodes, reflecting on Partha’s feats.
Having beaten the Kurus in battle, that hero with eyes like a bull’s brought back the profuse cattle-wealth of Virata. As the routed Kurus were going away, many Kuru soldiers came out of the deep forest and came before Partha with slow steps, their hearts afflicted with fear. With dishevelled hair and joined palms, fatigued with hunger and thirst, arrived in a foreign land, senseless with terror, they all bowed to the son of Pritha and said, “We are your slaves.” Arjuna said, “Welcome, and blessing on you. Go your way. You have no cause of fear. I do not take the lives of the afflicted. You have my word of safety.”
Then Partha addressed the prince of Matsya. “Child, you alone know that the sons of Pritha live with your father. When you enter the city, do not sing their praises, or the king of Matsya will hide in fear. Rather, entering the city, declare before your father that this deed is your own, saying, I defeated the Kuru army and I recovered the cattle.” Uttara said, “The deed you have done is beyond my power. I have no such strength. Still, Savyasachin, until you say so, I will not reveal your secret to my father.”
Having beaten the enemy host and taken all the cattle-wealth from the Kurus, Jishnu returned to that shami tree in the cremation ground, his limbs pierced by the enemy’s arrows. Then the ape, blazing like fire, rose into the sky with the other creatures, and the illusion fashioned by Vishwakarma dissolved. Uttara’s own lion-marked banner was set again on the car. Having put back the arrows, quivers, and the Gandiva of the Kuru princes in their place, the prince of Matsya set off for the city with a glad heart, taking Kiritin for his charioteer. And Partha, having done a very great deed and slain the enemy, bound his hair in a braid as before, took the reins from Uttara’s hands, and, restored once more to the form of Uttara’s charioteer Brihannala, entered the city of Virata.
On the way back, Phalguna said to Uttara, “Prince, great-armed hero, the cattle are being driven ahead of us by the cowherds. We will water and bathe the horses and enter Virata’s capital in the afternoon. Let the cowherds you send hurry to the city with the good news and proclaim your victory.” Uttara at once ordered his messengers, “Go and proclaim the king’s victory. The foe is beaten and the cattle are recovered.” The princes of Matsya and Bharata came again to that shami tree, and, glad with victory, put on the ornaments and garments left there and set them on the car. Having beaten the whole enemy host and taken all the wealth from the Kurus, the brave son of Virata, with Brihannala for his charioteer, turned back toward the city.
The gist: Arjuna stupefied the Kuru army with the Sanmohana weapon, yet under Bhishma’s honorable witness he did not kill the senseless men. The cattle were won back, the Kauravas turned toward Hastinapura, and by breaking Duryodhana’s crown Arjuna sent his message. Now Arjuna becomes Brihannala again and asks Uttara to take the credit for the victory. The moment of the Pandavas’ full emergence is one step away, for the term of concealment is now complete and the secret rests safe in Uttara’s heart, to be opened before his father only when Arjuna gives the word.
Source: the Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Virata Parva; in the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.
Source text: the Mahabharata of Vedavyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)