Mahabharata · The Armies Drawn Up, and the Eve of War

About 98 min read · 16,515 words

Om. Before the word “Jaya” is spoken, we bow to Narayana, and to Nara, the most exalted of men, and to the goddess Saraswati. Janamejaya asked, “Those heroes, the Kurus and the Pandavas and the Somakas, and the high-souled kings gathered from many lands, how did they fight?” Vaisampayana answered, “Hear, O lord of the earth, how those heroes fought on the sacred plain of Kurukshetra, the holy ground of the Kurus. Entering that field, the mighty sons of Pandu, with the Somakas beside them, moved forward against the Kauravas, hungry for victory. Skilled in the Vedas, they took a deep delight in war. Looking for success on the field, they turned their faces to the fight with their armies drawn up. Coming close to the host of Dhritarashtra’s son, those warriors, invincible in battle, pitched their divisions on the western part of the plain, their faces turned to the east.”

The Whole Earth Gathered at Kurukshetra

Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, had thousands of tents raised, by rule, beyond the tract called Samantapanchaka, the ground of Kurukshetra that Parashurama had marked with five lakes of blood. The whole earth seemed to empty then, stripped of its horses and its men, drained of chariots and elephants, with only children and the old left behind in the houses. From the entire spread of Jambudvipa, over which the sun casts his rays, that army had been gathered, O best of kings. Men of every race, massed together, covered districts and rivers and hills and forests for many yojanas, each yojana a stretch of some eight or nine miles.

King Yudhishthira, that bull among men, arranged fine food and every other comfort for all of them and for their animals as well. He set diverse watchwords among them, so that a man speaking a given word would be known for a Pandava, and that son of Kuru’s line also settled names and badges for every soldier, so that friend could be told from foe in the press of battle.

When the son of Dhritarashtra saw the standard-top of Pritha’s son rise across the field, that high-souled Duryodhana, a white umbrella held over his head, standing in the midst of a thousand elephants and ringed by his hundred brothers, began with all his allied kings to array his troops against the son of Pandu. Seeing Duryodhana, the Panchalas, who loved a fight, filled with joy and blew their loud conches and cymbals of sweet sound. The sight of those glad troops lifted the heart of Pandu’s son and of Vasudeva of great energy. And those two tigers among men, Vasudeva and Dhananjaya, seated together on one car, blew their celestial conches in delight.

A key to reading this (place): Kurukshetra lies in present-day Haryana, roughly 150 kilometers north of Delhi. Jambudvipa, in the geography the Puranas imagine, is the central island in which Bharata falls, and it is from this that one name of this parva comes, the Jambukhanda-nirmana Parva, the book of the making of Jambukhanda.

Hearing the terrible blast of those two conches, Arjuna’s Devadatta and Krishna’s Panchajanya, the fighting men voided their bowels. As other beasts are seized by fear at the roar of a lion, so was that army shaken by those blasts. A fearful dust rose until nothing could be seen, for the sun itself, suddenly wrapped in it, seemed to have set. A black cloud rained flesh and blood over the troops on every side. All of it looked unnatural. A wind rose bearing myriads of stony pebbles along the ground, striking down warriors by the hundreds and the thousands. And still, O king, both armies, full of joy and set for battle, stood on Kurukshetra like two heaving oceans.

The gist: the manpower of all Jambudvipa had gathered at Kurukshetra, and the houses were left to children and the old. Conches sounded on both sides, ill omens rained down, and two armies stood face to face like two surging seas.

The Compact on the Rules of War

Then the Kurus, the Pandavas, and the Somakas made certain covenants and settled the rules for the different kinds of combat, O best of the Bharatas. Men equally placed were to meet each other and fight fairly. If a warrior fought fairly and then withdrew, without fear of being cut down, that too would content them. Those who took to a contest of words were to be answered with words. Those who left the ranks were never to be slain.

A car-warrior was to face a car-warrior; a man on the neck of an elephant, a like foe; horse was to meet horse, and foot-soldier, O Bharata, was to meet foot-soldier. Judging fitness and willingness and daring and strength, a man was to strike another only after giving him notice. No one was to strike an enemy caught unready or overcome by panic. One locked with another, one begging quarter, one in retreat, one whose weapon had failed, one stripped of his armor, none of these was ever to be struck. Charioteers, the animals yoked to cars or carrying weapons, the men who bore the arms, the beaters of drums, and the blowers of conches were never to be struck. Having made these covenants, the Kurus and the Pandavas and the Somakas gazed at one another and marveled.

The gist: before the fighting began, both sides bound themselves to the rules of righteous war: equal against equal, no blow against the unarmed or the terrified or one who begs quarter, and servants and musicians spared. These very rules will be broken as the war goes on, and it is here that the moral knot of the Mahabharata is first tied.

Vyasa’s Boon and Sanjaya’s Divine Sight

Seeing the two armies stand to the east and the west for the fierce battle that was now near, the holy rishi Vyasa, son of Satyavati, that foremost of all who knew the Vedas, grandsire of the Bharatas, who saw past and present and future as though it lay open before his eyes, spoke in private to the royal son of Vichitravirya, to Dhritarashtra, who sat sunk in sorrow, brooding on the evil policy of his sons.

Vyasa said, “O king, the hour of your sons and of the other monarchs has come. Mustered for battle, they will kill one another. Their time has arrived, O Bharata, and they will all perish. Keep in mind the turnings of Time, and do not give your heart to grief. If you wish to see them fight, O king, I will grant you the sight. Behold the battle.” Dhritarashtra said, “O best of the twice-born seers, I have no wish to look on the slaughter of my kinsmen. Yet through your power I would hear of this battle in full.”

So Vyasa, that lord of boons, gave the gift to Sanjaya instead. “This Sanjaya, O king, will describe the battle to you. Nothing in the whole of it will lie beyond his eyes. Endowed with celestial sight, he will narrate the war to you, and he will know everything. Open or hidden, by day or by night, even a thing merely turned over in the mind, Sanjaya will know it all. Weapons will not cut him, and toil will not tire him. This son of Gavalgana will come out of the battle alive. And know this, O best of the Bharatas: victory is there where righteousness is.”

A key to reading this (idea): “yato dharmas tato jayah,” where there is dharma, there is victory. This line returns again and again through this parva and is the moral thread of the story. It is through this divine sight that Sanjaya, the son of the suta Gavalgana, becomes the eyewitness and narrator of the whole Mahabharata war.

That most holy grandsire of the Kurus, having spoken so, addressed Dhritarashtra once more. “Great will the slaughter be, O monarch, in this war. Here too I read many omens of terror. Hawks and vultures, crows and herons, and cranes with them, are settling on the treetops and gathering in flocks. Delighted at the prospect of battle, these birds look down on the field before them. Beasts that eat flesh will feed on the flesh of elephants and horses. In both twilights, morning and evening, O Bharata, I see the sun day after day covered by headless trunks at his rising and his setting. Three-colored clouds, their edges white and red, their necks black, charged with lightning and shaped like maces, ring the sun in both twilights.”

“On the very night of the full moon in the bright fortnight of Kartika, the moon lost its splendor and turned invisible, or took the color of fire, while the sky went the hue of a lotus. The images of gods and goddesses sometimes laugh, sometimes tremble, sometimes vomit blood through their mouths, sometimes sweat, sometimes fall. O king, drums sound though no one beats them, and the great chariots of the kshatriyas roll forward though no animals are yoked to them. The animals are all weeping, and their tears fall fast.”

The Omens of the Great Slaughter

Vyasa said, “Asses are born of cows. Trees in the forests are putting out flowers and fruit out of season. Women with child, and even those without, are giving birth to monsters. Ill-omened creatures are being born, some with three horns, some with four eyes, some with five legs, some with two mouths, and with their mouths wide open they utter unholy cries. In your city, O king, the wives of many reciters of Brahma are bringing forth Garudas and peacocks. The mare brings forth the calf of a cow, and the bitch, O king, jackals and cocks. Certain women bring forth four or five daughters at a birth, and these, the moment they are born, dance and sing and laugh.”

“The earth trembles again and again, and Rahu draws near the sun. The white planet, Ketu, has passed beyond the constellation Chitra and halted there. All of this points above all to the ruin of the Kurus. A fierce comet has risen and torments the constellation Pushya. Mars wheels toward Magha and Jupiter toward Shravana. Saturn, drawing near the constellation Bhaga, afflicts it. Both the moon and the sun afflict Rohini, and the fierce planet Rahu has taken its place between Chitra and Swati.”

“That constellation Arundhati, famed through the three worlds and praised by the good, now keeps her lord Vasishtha upon her back. Saturn too afflicts Rohini. The mark of the deer in the moon has slipped from its usual place. A great terror is foretold. The earth, which yields a particular crop in a particular season, is now heavy with the crops of every season. Every barley-stalk is crowned with five ears, and every rice-stalk with a hundred. Cows, milked after the calves have had their suck, give only blood. Radiant rays stream from the bows, and swords blaze. Plainly the weapons see the war before them, as though it had already come.”

“In this war, O Bharata, the earth will become a river of blood, and the standards of the warriors will be its rafts. A dreadful bird with one wing, one eye, and one leg wheels across the night sky and screams in wrath, as if to make those who hear it vomit blood. Jupiter and Saturn, those two blazing planets, have drawn near the constellation Vishakha and have stood still there for a whole year. Two new moons have fallen together within a single lunar fortnight, so that the fortnight is shortened by two days. On the thirteenth day from the first lunation, whether it be the day of the full moon or the new moon, the moon and the sun are seized by Rahu. Such strange eclipses of both moon and sun foretell a great slaughter.”

“The great rivers run backward. The waters of the rivers have turned to blood. The wells belch foam and bellow like bulls. Meteors, bright as Indra’s thunderbolt, fall with a loud hiss. From the mountains Kailasa, Mandara, and Himavat come thousands of explosions, and thousands of their peaks are crashing down. The earth shudders until the four oceans seem ready to swell over their shores. Sharp winds, thick with jagged stones, blow crushing the great trees. When the Brahmanas pour their offerings into the sacred fire, it turns blue or red or yellow, its flames bend to the left, and it gives off a foul smell. Touch, smell, and taste, O king, are no longer what they were. Hear all this, and do what is fitting, so that, O Bharata, this world may not be laid waste.”

The gist: Vyasa laid before Dhritarashtra the dread omens of ruin: images that vomited blood, deformed births, rivers running with blood, eclipses out of season, mountains falling. All of it was the shadow the coming slaughter cast before it.

Dhritarashtra’s Reply and the Decree of Time

When he had heard his father’s words, Dhritarashtra said, “To my mind, all of this was fixed long ago. There will be a great slaughter of men. If these kings die in battle keeping the dharma of the kshatriya, then, winning the worlds set apart for heroes, they will find only happiness. These bulls among men, laying down their lives in the great war, will gain fame in this world and lasting joy in the next.”

At his son’s words the sage Vyasa fixed his mind in deep meditation. After brooding a while, he spoke again. “Beyond doubt, O king of kings, it is Time that destroys the universe, and Time again that makes the worlds. Nothing here is eternal. Show your Kurus, your kinsmen, and your friends the road of dharma. You have the power to hold them back. The slaughter of one’s kin is called a sin. O king, it is Death himself who has been born as your son, Duryodhana. Killing is nowhere praised in the Vedas. Show your sons what dharma is. What is that kingdom worth to you, O unconquered one, that would hand you sin? Guard your good name, your dharma, and your fame, and you will win heaven. Let the Pandavas have their kingdom, and the Kauravas peace.”

Dhritarashtra said, “O holy one, my knowledge of life and death is the equal of your own. In these things the truth is known to me. But a man loses his judgment in the very matter of his own good. Take me, O noble one, for an ordinary man. Your power has no measure. Turn your grace toward us. My sons do not heed me, O great seer. You are the honored grandsire of both, the Kurus and the Pandavas.”

Vyasa said, “O royal son of Vichitravirya, speak freely what is in your mind, and I will clear your doubts.” Dhritarashtra said, “O holy one, I would hear from you all the signs that come to those who will win in war.”

The Signs of Victory and the Ways of War

Vyasa said, “The sacred fire takes on a glad radiance. Its light climbs upward. Its flame bends to the right. It burns without smoke, and the offerings cast on it give off a sweet scent. These, men say, are the signs of coming success. Conches and cymbals give a deep, ringing sound. The sun and the moon give pure rays. These too are signs of success. Where vultures, swans, parrots, cranes, and woodpeckers cry sweetly and wheel to the right, there the Brahmanas say that victory in war is certain.”

“Those whose divisions shine so with ornaments and armor and banners, or with the sweet neighing of horses, that the eye cannot hold on them, are always the ones who conquer their foes. Those who raise glad shouts, whose ardor does not slacken and whose garlands do not wither, always cross the sea of war. Those who warn a foe before they strike him win the day. Wherever there is joy among the fighting men at every hour, that is the mark of the winning army.”

“Whether the army is small or great, it is joy among its warriors that is called the sure sign of victory. A single soldier, seized by fear and losing his head, can put a whole great army to flight, and once that army breaks and runs it fills even brave men with dread. A large host, once shattered and scattered, is hard to gather again. A wise man, always at his effort, should seek success by every means. They say the success won by talk and treaty is the highest; the success won by sowing division among the enemy is middling; and the success won by war, O king, is the lowest of all. War holds many evils, and the first of them is slaughter itself. Fifty heroes who know one another and are firm of purpose can crush a great army. Victory is uncertain. It hangs on chance. And even those who win must bear their losses.”

The gist: Vyasa named the good signs of victory, the smokeless fire that bends to the right, the gladdened warriors, the favorable birds and wind, and warned that war is the meanest of all means and talk the best. With that he took his leave, and Dhritarashtra began to ask Sanjaya about the nature of the earth.

The Description of Jambudvipa and Bharatavarsha

Dhritarashtra asked why crores of heroes had gathered in Kurujangala, and for what earth they were killing one another. Sanjaya said, “O deeply wise king, I will tell you the greatness of the earth. All creatures live off one another. The earth is the refuge and the shelter of all beings, and the earth is eternal. He who holds the earth holds the whole universe. It is for this, in longing for the earth, that kings kill one another.”

Sanjaya described the island called Sudarshana, round as a wheel, thick with rivers and mountains and cities and lovely regions, ringed on every side by the salt sea. As a man sees his own face in a mirror, so this island of Sudarshana is seen in the disc of the moon. Then he counted six mountains, alike in size, that run from the eastern sea to the western: Himavat, Hemakuta, Nishadha, Nila set with lapis, Sveta bright as the moon, and Sringavan formed of every metal. The lands that lie between them are called varshas, and the varsha in which we stand is called Bharata.

A key to reading this (lineage and place): here “varsha” means a region of land, not a measure of time. In the geography of the Puranas, the golden Mount Meru stands at the very center of Jambudvipa, and around it are set four segments, Bhadrashva, Ketumala, Uttara-Kuru, and Bharata, this last being Jambudvipa itself. These measures and distances are a symbolic Puranic vision, not a map of modern geography.

Sanjaya described Mount Meru, eighty-four thousand yojanas high and made of gold, blazing like a smokeless fire. Around it circle the sun, the moon, and the wind. There the gods, the gandharvas, the asuras, and the rakshasas take their pleasure with the apsaras. From the summit of Meru the holy Ganga, also called Bhagirathi, falls like a stream of milk with a fearful roar onto the lake named Chandramas. So great was that river that the mountains could not bear it, and Shiva held the Ganga on his head for a hundred thousand years.

Sanjaya went on to describe the Uttara-Kurus, where the trees bear fruit at will, some yielding milk, where men live ten thousand years and are born in couples. He named then a long train of rivers and mountains and countries with their measures and their distances, and he told how Bharatavarsha is the land dear to Indra, where great kshatriyas arose such as Manu, Prithu, Ikshvaku, Yayati, Mandhata, and Nahusha. Mahendra, Malaya, Sahya, Suktimat, Rikshavat, Vindhya, and Paripatra are the seven ancestral mountains of Bharatavarsha. The Ganga, the Sindhu, the Saraswati, the Godavari, the Narmada, the Yamuna, and countless other rivers water this land, and in it lie many countries, Kuru-Panchala, Matsya, Chedi, Kashi-Kosala, Magadha, Anga, Vanga, and Kalinga among them.

Sanjaya described the four ages of Bharatavarsha, the Krita, the Treta, the Dvapara, and the Kali, and the span of human life shrinking through them. He described the other islands as well, Shaka, Kusha, Shalmali, and Krauncha, and, in this Book of the Land, the measures of Rahu, of the moon, and of the sun. At the end he said to Dhritarashtra, “And so, O son of Kuru, calm your son Duryodhana.”

A sub-tale: on Meru the feathers of all the birds were of gold. Sumukha, the son of Suparna, thought that since here there was no longer any telling apart the good bird from the middling and the bad, he would leave the mountain. When equality reached its farthest point and every distinction dissolved, that very sameness became the cause of his turning away from the world.

The News of Bhishma’s Fall

Sanjaya, the learned son of Gavalgana, who knew the past, the present, and the future, came in haste from the field of battle, entered the hall stricken with grief, and told the brooding Dhritarashtra that Bhishma, grandsire of the Bharatas, had been slain. Sanjaya said, “I am Sanjaya, O great king. I bow to you. Bhishma, the son of Shantanu and the grandsire of the Bharatas, has been slain. That first of all warriors, the very strength of the bowmen made flesh, lies today on a bed of arrows. That Bhishma, on whose might your son leaned when he played that game of dice, now lies slain on the field by the hand of Shikhandi.”

“That mighty car-warrior who alone, from a single chariot, overcame all the kings gathered in the city of Kashi, who fought without fear against Rama, the son of Jamadagni, whom even Parashurama could not slay, alas, he has today been struck down by Shikhandi. Guarding your army for ten nights, working the hardest of deeds, he has set like the sun. He who for ten days poured out arrows by the thousand like Indra and slew ten thousand warriors each day, he, O king, though he deserved no such end, through your evil policy now lies on the naked earth like a great tree torn down by the wind.”

A key to reading this (idea): this part of the Mahabharata is told by looking back. Sanjaya first delivers the news of the grandsire’s fall, and then, at the grief-struck Dhritarashtra’s asking, narrates the whole war from its beginning. Shikhandi had been a woman, Amba, in a former birth, and for this reason Bhishma refused to raise a weapon against him, and this became the thread by which he fell.

Dhritarashtra’s Lament

Dhritarashtra asked, “How was Bhishma, that bull of the Kurus, slain by Shikhandi? How did my father, who was the very likeness of Vasava, fall from his chariot? Who went behind him as he pressed forward, and who before? Who stood at his side? That lion among men, whose arrows were his teeth, whose bow was his mouth, and whose sword was his tongue, how was he slain today by the prince of Panchala? He at the mere sight of whom, ready for war, the vast Pandava host would tremble like a herd of cattle before a lion, alas, he guarded the army for ten nights and then set like the sun.”

“Bhishma was counted an atiratha, a warrior whom even the gods could not hold back. How could Shikhandi bring him down? While Drona still lived, how did Bhishma fail to win? With Kripa near him and Ashvatthama, the son of Drona, at hand, how was that first of strikers slain? He whose strength matched Parashurama’s, whom even Parashurama could not conquer, how was he slain by the hand of Shikhandi? I can find no rest until I have heard it all.”

“Surely my heart is made of stone, that it does not break though I hear that a lion among men like Bhishma is dead. Not by weapons, not by courage, not by austerity, not by wisdom, not by firmness, not by charity can a man free himself from death. No one in this world can cross beyond Time, now that you tell me the son of Shantanu is slain. My sons must be weeping now to see Bhishma dead. Tell me everything, Sanjaya, all that happened in the war, born of the folly of my wicked son.”

Duryodhana’s Order to Protect Bhishma

Sanjaya said, “This question, O great king, is worthy of you. Yet it is not right for you to lay this fault on Duryodhana alone. A man who reaps ruin from his own misdeeds should not fasten the blame on others. The Pandavas were strangers to the paths of wickedness. For a long time, dwelling in the forest with their friends and their counselors, watching your face, they bore insults and forgave them.”

“When the warriors had been drawn up by rule and stood ready for battle, Duryodhana spoke these words to Duhshasana. ‘Send chariots at once, Duhshasana, to guard Bhishma, and order all our divisions forward. What I have awaited for years, this meeting of the Pandavas and the Kauravas with their armies, has come at last. I see no task in this war greater than the guarding of Bhishma. If he is kept safe, he will slay the Pandavas, the Somakas, and the Srinjayas.’”

“‘That pure-souled one has said, “I will not slay Shikhandi. I have heard he was a woman before, and for this I must turn from him in war.” So Bhishma above all must be guarded. Let all my warriors take their stand resolved to kill Shikhandi. See to it, Duhshasana, that Shikhandi, whom Phalguna guards and whom Bhishma will let pass, does not slay the son of Ganga.’”

The gist: Sanjaya turned Dhritarashtra away from laying all the blame on one man and told how, from the very start, Duryodhana held the protection of Bhishma to be the highest task, since Bhishma had vowed never to lift a weapon against Shikhandi, and this was his deepest weakness.

Sunrise and the Sight of the Armies

Sanjaya said, “When the night had passed, the kings raised the loud cry of ‘Array the ranks! Array the ranks!’ With the blare of conches and the roar of lion-throated drums, with the neighing of horses and the grind of chariot wheels, with the trumpeting of elephants and the shouts of the men, a great tumult rose on every side. As the sun came up, both armies made ready all their gear, and when he had risen the keen weapons and the armor and the vast, glittering hosts of both sides stood fully revealed. There the elephants and chariots, dressed in gold, looked like clouds shot through with lightning. The rows of chariots seemed like cities. And there stood your father Bhishma, shining like the full moon.”

“Shakuni the son of Subala, and Shalya, Jayadratha, the two princes of Avanti, Vinda and Anuvinda, the Kaikeya brothers, Sudakshina lord of the Kambojas, Shrutayudha lord of the Kalingas, king Jayatsena, Brihadbala lord of the Kosalas, and Kritavarma of the Satvata line, these ten bulls among men, their arms like maces, each stood at the head of a full akshauhini. These and many other kings, obeying Duryodhana, stood cased in mail among their divisions, lords of ten akshauhinis.”

A key to reading this (numbers): by tradition an akshauhini holds 21,870 chariots, as many elephants, 65,610 horses, and 109,350 foot-soldiers. Against the eleven akshauhinis of the Kaurava side the Pandavas had only seven, so the Kaurava host was larger by about half. In modern terms this comes to armies of millions of fighting men on both sides together.

“The eleventh great division of the Kauravas, the host of the sons of Dhritarashtra, stood before the whole army, and at its head stood the son of Shantanu. In white helm, white umbrella, and white mail, O king, we saw Bhishma of unfailing valor like the rising moon. His banner bore the sign of a golden palmyra, and mounted on a car of silver he looked like the moon ringed by white clouds. The great bowmen of the Srinjayas, led by Dhrishtadyumna, were before him like small beasts before a yawning lion. Such were the eleven shining divisions of your army, and the seven of the Pandavas.”

Bhishma’s Command and the Kaurava Array

Sanjaya said, “Just as Vyasa had foretold, so the kings of the earth met in war. On the day the fighting began, Soma reached the region of the Pitris. In the sky the seven great planets blazed like fire. At its rising the sun seemed split into two. Flesh-eating jackals and crows, in hope of the corpses to come, howled dreadfully from every quarter.”

“Every morning the aged grandsire of the Kurus and the son of Bharadvaja would say, with a fixed mind, ‘Victory to the sons of Pandu,’ and then fight for you all the same, true to their word. Your father Devavrata called all the kings together and said, ‘O kshatriyas, the wide gate of heaven stands open before you. Go through it to the region of Shakra and of Brahma. The ancient seers have shown you this everlasting road. To die at home of a sickness is a sin for a kshatriya. The death that comes in battle is his eternal dharma.’”

“At Bhishma’s words the kings went to the fronts of their divisions. Only Karna, the son of Vikartana, together with his friends and kinsmen, laid down his weapons on account of Bhishma. And with his great palmyra banner marked with five stars, Bhishma, commander of the Kaurava host, shone like the blazing sun.”

A key to reading this (idea): Karna had vowed to hold apart from the war while Bhishma lived, for Bhishma had shamed him by calling him an ardharatha, half a car-warrior. So for the first ten days, while Bhishma led the host, Karna stayed off the field. This is one of the great inner cracks on the Kaurava side, and the story does not hide it.

“The Kaurava array, shaped by Drona, the son of Shantanu, the son of Drona, Bahlika, and Kripa, was such that elephants were its body, kings its head, and horses its wings. Facing every side, that terrible array seemed to smile and to gather itself to spring on the foe. Ashvatthama, of a lotus hue, stood at the very front of all the divisions with a banner marked by a lion’s tail, ready for whatever might come. Shrutayudha, Chitrasena, Purumitra, Vivimshati, Shalya, Bhurishravas, and the mighty car-warrior Vikarna, these seven great bowmen, marched behind the son of Drona but before Bhishma.”

“Duryodhana’s banner bore the sign of an elephant set with jewels. The lord of Magadha, his banner marked with a bull, marched at Duryodhana’s front. A hundred thousand chariots, eight thousand elephants, and sixty thousand horsemen stood under Jayadratha. With sixty thousand chariots and ten thousand elephants the king of the Kalingas set out, and Ketumat with him. Bhagadatta, blazing with energy, rode out on his elephant like Indra with the thunderbolt in hand.”

“Behind Bhishma your sons Duhshasana, Durvishaha, Durmukha, Duhsaha, Vivimshati, Chitrasena, and the mighty Vikarna guarded him. With them stood Satyavrata, Purumitra, Jaya, Bhurishravas, and Shala, and twenty thousand chariots. The Abhishahas, the Shurasenas, the Shivis, the Vasatis, the Shalvas, the Matsyas, the Ambashthas, the Trigartas, the Kaikeyas, the Sauviras, and the peoples of the east and the west and the north, these twelve brave nations, careless of their lives, stood ready to guard Bhishma. The king of Magadha came with a division of ten thousand nimble elephants. So the eleven akshauhinis of your son stood drawn up like the Ganga parted from the Yamuna.”

The gist: Bhishma, the son of Shantanu, became commander of the Kaurava host and drew it up in a new array day after day. Because of the insult Bhishma had dealt him, Karna held apart from the war. The Kaurava array was described as a vast living thing, elephants for its body, kings for its head, horses for its wings.

Yudhishthira’s Counter-Array: the Vajra

Dhritarashtra asked, “Seeing our eleven akshauhinis drawn up in array, how did Yudhishthira set his smaller army against them? Against Bhishma, who knew every array, human and celestial, gandharva and asura, how did the son of Kunti shape his counter?” Sanjaya said, “Seeing the host of the sons of Dhritarashtra drawn up, the righteous Yudhishthira said to Dhananjaya, ‘By the teaching of the sage Brihaspati we know that the few should be massed close for the fight and the many spread out at will. When the few must meet the many, the array should be needle-mouthed. Our army is small beside the enemy’s. Keep this counsel in mind, O son of Pandu, and draw up our host.’”

“Hearing this, Arjuna answered, ‘The unshakable array called the Vajra, which the thunder-wielding Indra himself devised, that invincible array I will make for you, O best of kings. Bhima, who is like a raging storm and whom no enemy can bear in war, first among strikers, will fight at our front. Making that bull among men our leader, we will all put away our fear and take shelter with him, as the gods take shelter with Indra.’”

“So the mighty-armed Dhananjaya did. Bhimasena, Dhrishtadyumna, Nakula, Sahadeva, and king Dhrishtaketu became the leaders of that host. King Virata, with an akshauhini, with his brothers and his sons, marched behind to guard the rear. The two sons of Madri became the guards of Bhima’s chariot wheels; the five sons of Draupadi and Subhadra’s son, Abhimanyu, guarded the rear. The great car-warrior Dhrishtadyumna, with the Prabhadrakas, watched over those princes. Behind them came Shikhandi, whom Arjuna guarded, and who pressed forward with a fixed mind toward the ruin of Bhishma. Behind Arjuna came the mighty Yuyudhana, that is, Satyaki; and the two Panchala princes Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas, with the Kaikeya brothers, Dhrishtaketu, and the great hero Chekitana, became the guards of Arjuna’s chariot wheels.”

“King Yudhishthira took his stand at the center of his army, ringed by elephants huge as moving mountains and mad with rage. The Panchala king Yajnasena, that is, Drupada, stood behind Virata with an akshauhini. On Arjuna’s chariot, rising above the tall banners of all the other cars, was a great ape, the sign of Hanuman. Hundreds of thousands of foot-soldiers, armed with swords and spears, marched before Bhimasena. And ten thousand elephants running with rut, in golden mail, followed the king like moving hills.”

“And in the dawn, while both armies waited for the sun, a wind blew with drops of water, and thunder was heard though there were no clouds. Dry winds swept jagged stones along. A thick dust rose, and the world was wrapped in darkness. Great meteors fell in the east and, striking the rising sun, broke into pieces with a loud crash. The sun came up without light, and the earth shook with a great sound and split in many places. So the sons of Pandu, those bulls among men who loved a fight, stood arrayed, their eyes fixed on the mace-bearing Bhimasena at their front.”

A key to reading this (idea): the Vajra array is an unbreakable formation shaped like Indra’s thunderbolt, which a small army binds for its own defense and for a concentrated strike. Arjuna chose it because the Pandava host was the smaller. Bhima in the van, Shikhandi and Arjuna behind, and Yudhishthira at the center: the whole design was aimed at the killing of Bhishma.

The Facing of the Two Armies

Dhritarashtra asked, “When the sun rose, of my army led by Bhishma and the Pandava army led by Bhima, which moved first and gladly against the other? Against whom stood the sun, the moon, and the wind, and against whom did the beasts of prey cry their evil cries?” Sanjaya said, “Both armies, once drawn up, were filled with an equal joy, O king. Both were equally fair to look on, like woods in flower, thick with elephants and chariots and horses. Both were vast and terrible, and neither could endure the other.”

“The Kauravas of the Dhartarashtra host stood facing the west, and the sons of Pritha faced the east. The Kaurava army looked like the host of the lord of the danavas, and the Pandava army like the host of the gods. The wind began to blow from behind the Pandavas into the faces of the Dhartarashtras, and the beasts of prey cried out against the Dhartarashtras. Your sons’ elephants could not bear the sharp scent of the rut of the great elephants of the Pandavas.”

“Duryodhana rode a lotus-hued elephant, its housing of gold and its mail of woven steel, in the very midst of the Kurus, hailed by the bards. Over his head was raised a white umbrella bright as the moon, hung with a golden chain. Shakuni, king of Gandhara, with the hillmen of Gandhara, marched behind him. And the honored Bhishma stood at the front of the whole army, a white umbrella over his head, bow and sword in hand, white helm, white banner, and white horses, like a white mountain.”

“In Bhishma’s division stood all the sons of Dhritarashtra, and Shala, the Ambashthas, the men of Sindhu and Sauvira, and the brave dwellers of the land of the five rivers. On a golden car yoked with red horses, the great Drona, bow in hand, teacher of all the kings, held the rear and guarded it like Indra. Kripa, the son of Sharadvat, with the Shakas, the Kiratas, the Yavanas, and the Pahlavas, took his stand at the northern edge of the army. Under Kritavarma a great division of the Vrishni and Bhoja heroes and of the warriors of Surashtra moved to the south. The ten thousand chariots of the Samshaptakas, who were made only for Arjuna’s death or their own fame, set out to run him down, and the brave Trigartas with them.”

“Your army held a thousand elephants of the finest fighting strength, O Bharata. To each elephant were given a hundred chariots; to each chariot a hundred horsemen; to each horseman ten archers; and to each archer ten men armed with sword and shield. In this way Bhishma drew up your host. Day by day, as each sun rose, your commander Bhishma set the army now in a human array, now in a celestial, now in a gandharva, now in an asura array. And though your host was beyond measure and terrible to see, the Pandava army, smaller though it was, seemed to me vast and unconquerable, for Keshava and Arjuna were its leaders.”

The gist: the Kauravas stood facing west and the Pandavas east, and the wind and the beasts of prey gave their signs against the Dhartarashtras. Bhishma shaped a new celestial array each day, and yet the Pandava host seemed to Sanjaya unconquerable, for behind it stood Keshava and Arjuna.

Yudhishthira’s Dejection and Arjuna’s Reassurance

Sanjaya said, “Seeing the vast host of the sons of Dhritarashtra set for war, Kunti’s son Yudhishthira sank into sorrow. Taking that array shaped by Bhishma for the truly unbreakable thing it was, the king went pale and said to Arjuna, ‘How, mighty-armed Dhananjaya, shall we fight these Dhartarashtras whose foremost warrior is the grandsire? Unshakable and unbreakable is this array that the foe-crushing Bhishma has shaped by the rules of the science. With our army we have fallen into doubt of our success. How shall the victory be ours against this vast array?’”

“Arjuna answered, ‘Hear, O king, how the few may conquer the many who are furnished with every quality. You are without malice, and so I will tell you the means. The sage Narada knows it, and Bhishma and Drona too. Pointing to this very truth, the grandsire Brahma himself, in the old days, at the time of the war between the gods and the asuras, said to Indra and the other gods that those who seek victory win it through truth, through compassion, through dharma, and through their own energy, and that these count for more than strength and fierceness. Tell dharma from adharma, and fight without pride, for victory is there where dharma is. Know then, O king, that our victory in this war is certain. As Narada said, victory is there where Krishna is. Victory is Krishna’s very nature. I see no cause at all for grief in you, for on your side is the very lord of the universe and master of the gods.’”

A sub-tale: in the old war of the gods and the asuras, Brahma himself told Indra that the root of victory lies in dharma, deeper than in any strength of arms, “yato dharmas tato jayah.” Then Hari asked the gods and the asuras, “Which of you wishes to be victorious?” Those who answered, “Setting Krishna before us, we shall win,” were the ones who won. It is this memory that Arjuna recalls to steady Yudhishthira.

Sanjaya said, “Then Yudhishthira drew up his army in counter-array against Bhishma’s divisions and roused them, saying, ‘The Pandavas have now set their host by the rules of the science. Fight righteously, O sinless heroes, in longing for the highest heaven.’ In the center of the Pandava host were Shikhandi and his troops, whom Arjuna guarded. Dhrishtadyumna marched at the front, guarded by Bhima. The southern flank was held by Yuyudhana, first of the Satvatas.”

“Yudhishthira stood among the elephants on a chariot fit for Mahendra himself, with a noble banner, set with gold and gems and hung with cords of gold. Over his head was raised a white umbrella on an ivory staff, and many great sages walked around him uttering words of praise. Priests and Siddhas, with prayer, with mantras, and with rites of blessing, sought the ruin of his enemies. Then that best of the Kurus, giving cows, fruit, flowers, gold coins, and cloth to the Brahmanas, set out like Shakra.”

“Arjuna’s chariot, hung with a hundred bells, worked in the finest Jambunada gold, with wheels of the noblest make and a light like fire, drawn by white horses, blazed like a thousand suns. On that ape-bannered car, its reins in Keshava’s hand, stood Arjuna with Gandiva and his arrows, an archer whose equal is not on earth and never will be. With the twins beside him, the mighty-armed Bhimasena became the guard of the brave car-warriors of the Pandava host. Seeing the unconquerable Vrikodara set at the front, the warriors on your side went weak with fear and trembled like elephants sunk in mire.”

“To that unconquerable Arjuna, Gudakesha, standing in the midst of his troops, Janardana said, ‘He who stands in the midst of his own army scorching us with his wrath, he who will spring on our host like a lion, he who performed three hundred horse-sacrifices, that banner of Kuru’s race, that Bhishma, stands there. Around him on every side stand great warriors, like clouds shrouding the bright sun. Slay that host, O first of men, and give battle to yonder bull of Bharata’s line.’”

The gist: seeing the unbreakable Kaurava array, Yudhishthira sank into sorrow, but Arjuna steadied him with the old maxim, where dharma is, and where Krishna is, there is victory. Then the Pandava array was set, and Krishna pointed Arjuna toward Bhishma.

Arjuna’s Hymn to Durga

Sanjaya said, “Seeing the Dhartarashtra host come on for battle, Krishna spoke for Arjuna’s good. That holy one said, ‘Cleanse yourself, mighty-armed one, and on the eve of the battle sing your hymn to Durga for the defeat of the foe.’ So, at Vasudeva’s word, Arjuna stepped down from the chariot and, with joined hands, began this hymn.”

“Arjuna said, ‘O leader of the yogis, O you who are one with Brahman, O dweller in the forest of Mandara, O you who are free of age and decay, O Kali, O wife of Kapala, O you of a dark and tawny hue, I bow to you. O giver of good to your devotees, I bow to you, O Mahakali, wife of the destroyer of the universe. O proud one, O rescuer from every danger, O you rich in every fair quality, O giver of victory, O victory herself, O you who bear a banner of peacock plumes, O you who bear a terrible spear and hold sword and shield, O younger sister of the chief of the cowherds, O you born in the race of the cowherd Nanda.’”

“‘O Uma, O Shakambhari, O you white of hue, O you black of hue, O slayer of the asura Kaitabha, O yellow-eyed one, O you of many-colored eyes, I bow to you. O you who are the Vedas, the Shrutis, and the highest dharma, O you gracious to the Brahmanas engaged in sacrifice, you dwell forever in the holy places raised to you in the cities of Jambudvipa, and I bow to you. Among the sciences you are the science of Brahman, and you are that sleep of creatures from which there is no waking. O mother of Skanda, O you of the six high attributes, O Durga, you are Swaha and Swadha, Kala and Kashtha and Saraswati, Savitri the mother of the Vedas, and the wisdom of the Vedanta. O great goddess, by your grace may victory always be mine on the field of battle.’”

Sanjaya said, “Reading the depth of Arjuna’s devotion, Durga, who is ever gracious to men, appeared in the sky in the presence of Govinda and spoke. The goddess said, ‘In a little while you will conquer your foes, O Pandava. O unconquerable one, you have Narayana again to aid you, and you cannot be beaten even by the thunder-wielding Indra.’ So saying, the boon-giving goddess vanished at once. The son of Kunti, having won that boon, held himself as one whose end was already gained, and mounted his noble car. And then Krishna and Arjuna, seated on the one chariot, blew their celestial conches.”

A key to reading this (idea): this hymn to Durga comes just before the Gita. The goddess is praised here under many forms, as Kali, as Uma, as Savitri, as the science of Brahman, and as the sister of Krishna as well, a meeting of the Shakta and Vaishnava streams. It is to this passage that the promise is joined that whoever recites the hymn at dawn has no fear of yakshas, rakshasas, or pisachas, is freed of his bonds, and lives a hundred years.

The Beginning of the First Battle

Dhritarashtra asked, “There, Sanjaya, which side’s warriors advanced first and gladly to the fight? Whose hearts were full of confidence, and who were listless with despair? In that battle that shakes the hearts of men with fear, who struck the first blow, mine or the Pandavas? Whose garlands and unguents gave off a fragrant scent, and whose army, roaring, uttered words of pity?”

Sanjaya said, “At that hour the warriors of both armies were glad, and from the garlands and perfumes of both a like fragrance spread. O best of the Bharatas, when the dense ranks drawn up for war came together, the collision was terrible. With the sound of instruments, the blare of conches, and the beat of drums, and with the shouts of the heroes roaring dreadfully at one another, a great uproar rose on every side. From the clash of the glad and glaring warriors of the two armies, and from the trumpeting elephants, O best of the Bharatas, a fearful struggle broke out.”

Dhritarashtra asked again, “On the sacred plain of Kurukshetra, gathered there in longing for war, what did my sons and the Pandavas do, Sanjaya?” Sanjaya said, “Seeing the Pandava army drawn up in array, king Duryodhana went to his teacher Drona and said, ‘Behold, O teacher, this vast army of the sons of Pandu, arrayed by your wise pupil, the son of Drupada, Dhrishtadyumna. In it are many heroes and great bowmen, the equals of Bhima and Arjuna: Yuyudhana, Virata, the great car-warrior Drupada, Dhrishtaketu, Chekitana, the king of Kashi, Purujit, Kuntibhoja, Shaibya, Yudhamanyu, Uttamaujas, the son of Subhadra, and the sons of Draupadi, all great car-warriors.’”

“‘O best of the twice-born, hear now the chief men of our own side, the leaders of the host. I will name them to you: yourself, Bhishma, Karna, the ever-victorious Kripa, Ashvatthama, Vikarna, the son of Somadatta, and Jayadratha. Besides these there are many heroes, ready to give their lives for me, skilled in every weapon and practiced in war. Our army, guarded by Bhishma, is not enough, while their army, guarded by Bhima, is enough. So take your stand each at the gate of his own division, and guard Bhishma, and Bhishma alone.’”

“Then the aged and honored grandsire of the Kurus, to gladden Duryodhana, roared aloud like a lion and blew his conch. At once conches, drums, cymbals, and trumpets sounded together, and the noise swelled into a fearful din.”

The gist: both armies were filled with an equal joy and an equal fragrance; the ranks clashed and a fearful din arose. Duryodhana went to Drona, counted the heroes on both sides, and begged them all to guard Bhishma alone, and then the grandsire roared like a lion and blew his conch, and the war-cry of the first day began.

Toward Kurukshetra: Janamejaya’s Question and the Meeting of Two Oceans

Having bowed to Narayana and to Nara, and to the goddess Saraswati, now the word “Jaya” is spoken. King Janamejaya asked his teacher Vaisampayana, “O lord of the earth, those heroes, the Kurus, the Pandavas, the Somakas, and the high-souled kings gathered from many lands, how did they fight?”

Vaisampayana said, “Hear, O lord of the earth, how those heroes fought on the sacred plain of Kurukshetra, the holy ground of the Kurus, where dharma and adharma were to be decided by weapons. Entering that field, the mighty sons of Pandu, with the Somakas beside them, moved forward against the Kauravas, hungry for victory. All of them were skilled in the study of the Vedas and took a deep delight in war. Looking for success on the field, they turned to face the fight with their armies. Coming close to the host of Dhritarashtra’s son, those warriors, unconquerable in battle, took their stand with their divisions on the western part of the plain, their faces turned to the east.

King Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, had thousands of tents raised, by rule, beyond the tract called Samantapanchaka. The whole earth seemed then to empty, stripped of its horses and its men, drained of chariots and elephants, with only children and the old left behind in the houses. From the entire spread of Jambudvipa, that vast tract over which the sun scatters his rays, the ancient world centered on Bharata, that army had been gathered, as far as the sun’s rays reached. Men of every race, massed together, sat covering districts and rivers and hills and forests for many yojanas.

For all of them, and for their animals too, king Yudhishthira gathered fine food and every comfort. He set diverse watchwords among them, so that a man who spoke a certain word would be taken for a Pandava. And that son of Kuru’s line settled names and badges for all, so that in the hour of battle friend could be told from foe.

A key to reading this (lineage and place): the Kurus and the Pandavas are both branches of the one house of Bharata: the sons of Dhritarashtra came to be called the Kauravas, and the sons of Pandu the Pandavas. The Somakas, a well-known branch of the Panchalas, are joined to Drupada’s line and stand on the Pandava side. Samantapanchaka is the holy inner tract of Kurukshetra itself, called in the tales of Parashurama a place of five pools of water.

Meanwhile, seeing the standard-top of Pritha’s son, and standing among a thousand elephants under a white umbrella, ringed by his hundred brothers, Duryodhana, the son of Dhritarashtra, began with all his allied kings to array his host against the son of Pandu. Seeing Duryodhana, the Panchalas, who loved a fight, filled with joy and blew their loud conches and cymbals of sweet sound. The sight of those glad troops lifted the heart of Pandu’s son and of Vasudeva of great energy as well. And those two bulls among men, Vasudeva and Dhananjaya, seated together on one car, blew their celestial conches in the fullness of their joy.

Hearing the terrible roar of those two conches, the bodies of the warriors shook. As beasts are filled with fear at the voice of a roaring lion, so did that whole army shudder at those conch-blasts. A fearful dust rose until nothing could be seen, for the sun itself seemed to have set, wrapped in it. A black cloud rained flesh and blood over the host on every side. A fierce wind rose that bore countless stony pebbles along the ground and struck down warriors by the hundreds and the thousands. And still, O king, both armies, full of joy, stood set for battle on Kurukshetra like two heaving oceans. Truly that meeting of the two armies was a wonder, as though two great seas were crashing together at the end of an age.

The gist: on the ground of Kurukshetra the armies of all Jambudvipa had gathered. The Pandavas stood to the west with their faces turned east, and across from them Duryodhana, ringed by his hundred brothers, began to draw up the Kaurava host. The terrible roar of conches, the rain of flesh and blood, and the raging storm seemed to give the whole world a sign of doom, and yet on both sides the glad warriors stood firm like two oceans.

The Bounds of Righteous War: Like Against Like

Then the Kurus, the Pandavas, and the Somakas made certain covenants among themselves and settled the rules for the different kinds of combat, O best of the Bharatas. Only warriors equally placed were to meet one another, and they were to fight by the straight way. If a man fought by the straight way and then withdrew, without any fear, that too was to be allowed. Those who quarreled with words were to be answered with words. One who left the ranks and fled was never to be slain.

A car-warrior was to be met by a car-warrior; a man on the neck of an elephant by a like warrior; a horseman by a horseman, and a foot-soldier, O Bharata, by a foot-soldier. Weighing fitness and willingness and daring and strength, a man was to strike another only after warning him. No blow was to be struck at one caught unready or one distracted by fear. One tangled with another, one begging quarter, one in retreat, one whose weapon had failed, one stripped of his armor, none of these was ever to be struck. Charioteers, the animals yoked or bearing weapons in the war, the men who carried the arms, the beaters of drums, and the blowers of conches were never to be struck.

Having made these covenants, the Kurus and the Pandavas and the Somakas looked at one another and marveled. And having drawn up their armies so, those high-souled bulls among men were glad at heart with their divisions, and that gladness showed on their faces.

A key to reading this (idea): this is the code of righteous war on which blow after blow will later fall. Keep it in mind: the very moments in which these rules are broken are the marrow of the Mahabharata’s moral pain. The killing of Abhimanyu, the half-truth by which Drona is felled, the shield of Shikhandi in Bhishma’s fall, all of these are tatters torn from these very bounds, set down here with such honor.

The gist: even before the fighting began, both sides accepted the rules of righteous war: like against like, no blow against the unarmed or the fleeing or one who begs quarter, and the drivers, the musicians, and the conch-blowers spared. These are the very vows that will be put to the test again and again in the story to come.

Vyasa’s Boon: Divine Sight for Sanjaya

Seeing the two armies standing to the east and the west, roused for that terrible war, the holy rishi Vyasa, son of Satyavati, the deepest knower of the Vedas, grandsire of the Bharatas, seer of past and present and future, to whom all things seemed to happen before his eyes, came in private to the royal son of Vichitravirya, to Dhritarashtra, who at that hour sat sunk in sorrow, brooding on his sons’ evil course.

Vyasa said, “O king, the hour of your sons and of the other monarchs has come. Mustered for war, they will kill one another. Take it, O Bharata, for the turning of Time, and do not let your heart fall under the power of grief. If you would see them fight, O king, I will grant you the sight. Behold the war.”

Dhritarashtra said, “O best of the twice-born, I have no wish to see the slaughter of my own kin. Yet by your power I would hear the whole account of this war.”

Then Vyasa, seeing his wish, gave the boon to Sanjaya. He said to Dhritarashtra, “This Sanjaya, O king, will describe the war to you. In the whole of it nothing will lie beyond his sight. Endowed with celestial vision, Sanjaya will narrate the war to you. Open or hidden, by day or by night, even a thing merely thought in the mind, Sanjaya will know it all. Weapons will not cut him, and toil will not tire him. This son of Gavalgana will come out of the war alive. As for me, O best of the Bharatas, I will spread the fame of these Kurus and of all the Pandavas. Do not grieve. This is the ordinance of fate, O first of men. It cannot be turned aside. And as for victory, victory is there where dharma is.”

A sub-tale: mark this well. Vyasa himself offered Dhritarashtra the celestial sight to watch the war, and yet the blind father would not bear to see his own sons destroyed with his own eyes, and chose only to hear. So the boon passed to Sanjaya. The whole Bhishma Parva, and much of the war that follows, is told from Sanjaya’s mouth to Dhritarashtra, and this is the root of the words “Sanjaya said.” There is a moral sign in it too: the man who dares not look at the truth receives it only at second hand, through the ear.

That most honored grandsire of the Kurus spoke to Dhritarashtra once more. “Great will the slaughter be in this war, O king. Here I see many omens of terror. Hawks and vultures, crows and herons, and cranes with them, are settling on the treetops and gathering in flocks. Glad at the prospect of battle, these birds gaze down on the field. Flesh-eating beasts will feed on the flesh of elephants and horses. In both twilights, at his rising and his setting, I see the sun day after day covered by headless trunks. Three-colored clouds, their edges white and red, their necks black, charged with lightning and shaped like maces, ring the sun in both twilights. I have seen the sun, the moon, and the stars all ablaze at once. On the very night of the full moon in the bright fortnight of Kartika, the moon lost its light and turned invisible, or took the color of fire, and the sky went the hue of a lotus. The images of gods and goddesses sometimes laugh, sometimes tremble, sometimes vomit blood from their mouths, sometimes sweat, sometimes fall. Drums sound though no one beats them, and the great chariots of the kshatriyas roll forward though no animals are yoked to them. All of this is a sign of terror.”

Vyasa went on, “Asses are born of cows. The trees of the forest are flowering and fruiting out of season. Women with child are giving birth to monsters. Ill-omened creatures with three horns, four eyes, five legs, and two mouths are being born, and with their mouths wide open they utter unholy cries. In your city, O king, the wives of the Brahmanas are seen to bring forth Garudas and peacocks. The mare brings forth the calf of a cow, and the bitch jackals and cocks. In the night sky Rahu draws near the sun. The white planet, Ketu, has passed beyond the constellation Chitra. All of this points above all to the ruin of the Kurus.

The rivers run backward, and their waters have turned the color of blood. The wells belch foam and bellow like bulls. Meteors bright as Indra’s thunderbolt fall with a dreadful hiss. In this war of the Kurus and the Pandavas, O Bharata, the earth will become a river of blood, and the standards of the warriors will be its rafts. All of this foretells a terrible end.”

Hearing this, Dhritarashtra said, “I hold that all of this was fixed beforehand. There will be a great slaughter of men. If these kings die in battle keeping the dharma of the kshatriya, then, winning the worlds set apart for heroes, they will find only happiness. These bulls among men, laying down their lives in the great war, will win fame in this world and endless joy in the next.”

Then Vyasa, fixing his mind a while in meditation, spoke again. “Beyond doubt, O king of kings, it is Time that destroys creation, and Time again that makes the worlds. Nothing here is eternal. Show your Kurus, your kinsmen, and your friends the road of dharma. You have the power to hold them back. The slaughter of one’s kin is called a sin. O king, it is Death himself who has been born as your son. Let the Pandavas have their kingdom, and the Kauravas peace.”

Dhritarashtra answered, “O holy sage, my knowledge of life and death too is the equal of your own. The truth is known to me. But a man loses his judgment in the very matter of his own good. Take me for an ordinary man. My sons are not in my power, O great seer.” Then he asked Vyasa about the signs that mark those who will be victorious.

Vyasa said, “The side whose sacred fire shines with a glad radiance, whose flame climbs and bends to the right, that burns without smoke, and on which the offering gives off a sweet scent, that is the mark of victory. Where the conches and the cymbals ring deep, where vultures, swans, parrots, and cranes cry sweetly and wheel to the right, there the Brahmanas call the victory certain. Where there is joy among the warriors at all hours, there is victory; and for those who are to be destroyed, all of this turns to its opposite. Whether the army be small or great, it is the gladness of its warriors that is the sure sign of victory. A single soldier, overcome by fear, can put a whole great army to flight; and an army once broken, like flowing water or a scattered herd of deer, is not easily gathered again. The wise man should win his success by every means. It is said that the success won by treaty is the highest, the success won by sowing division the middling, and the success won by war the lowest, for war holds many evils, and the first of them is slaughter itself.”

The gist: Vyasa would have given Dhritarashtra the sight to watch the war, but the blind father chose only to hear, and so the divine vision passed to Sanjaya, who would see all and return alive. Vyasa named the ruinous omens and begged Dhritarashtra again and again to show his sons dharma and give the Pandavas their kingdom. Dhritarashtra granted the truth but pleaded his helplessness, “My sons are not in my power.” Here too is given the root maxim: victory is there where dharma is.

The Description of Jambukhanda: the Earth and the Island of Sudarshana

When Vyasa had gone, Dhritarashtra sat brooding in silence, and then, sighing again and again, he asked Sanjaya, “These kings, these lords of the earth, so brave and so fond of war, ready to give their very lives for the earth, are bent on killing one another with weapons. Surely the earth must hold many virtues. Tell me all of it, Sanjaya. Crores of heroes have gathered in Kurujangala. I would hear truly the place and the reach of the countries and the cities they have come from.”

Sanjaya said, “O deeply wise king, I will tell you the virtues of the earth as I know them. In this world creatures are of two kinds, the moving and the unmoving. The moving are of three kinds: those born of the egg, those born of the womb, and those born of heat and moisture. Of these the womb-born are the highest, and among them men and animals are chief. The animals are of fourteen kinds, seven that live in the forest and seven in the village. The lion, the tiger, the boar, the buffalo, the elephant, the bear, and the ape are the seven of the forest; the cow, the goat, the sheep, man, the horse, the mule, and the ass are the seven of the village. All creatures live leaning one upon another.

“Everything springs from the earth, and, perishing, sinks back into the earth. The earth is the refuge and the shelter of all creatures, and the earth is eternal. He who holds the earth holds the whole universe, with all that moves and all that stands still. It is for this, in longing for the earth, that kings destroy one another.”

Then Dhritarashtra asked for a full account of the rivers, the mountains, the regions, and all that rests upon the earth. Sanjaya said, “O great king, the wise hold that by reason of the five elements all the things of this universe are alike. These elements are space, air, fire, water, and earth, and their qualities are sound, touch, form, taste, and smell in turn. Each element holds, besides its own quality, the qualities of the elements that come before it. And so the earth is highest of all, for in it all five qualities are present.

“O son of Kuru, I will now tell you of the island called Sudarshana. This island, O king, is round and shaped like a wheel. It is covered with rivers and lakes, with mountains like banks of cloud, with cities and lovely regions. Trees heavy with flower and fruit stand on it, and crops of every kind, and many riches. It is ringed on every side by the salt sea. As a man sees his own face in a mirror, so this island of Sudarshana is seen in the disc of the moon. Two of its parts look like a Pipal tree, and two like a great hare.”

A key to reading this (idea and a modern comparison): in the geography of the Puranas the island of Sudarshana stands for the whole of the known earth, and it is said to be seen in the disc of the moon. The ancients read the shapes of a Pipal tree and a hare in the dark markings of the moon, what we would now call the deep plains of the lunar surface. This is the Jambukhanda-nirmana Parva, the opening book of the Bhishma Parva. Before the account of the war, the nature of the earth is set out, because he who holds the earth holds everything, and it is for this very earth that the great war has broken out.

The gist: before the account of the war, Sanjaya set out for Dhritarashtra the nature of the earth: creatures moving and unmoving, the fourteen kinds of animals, the five elements and their qualities, and the wheel-shaped island of Sudarshana that glimmers in the disc of the moon like a Pipal tree and a hare. The heart of it is that the whole war is fought in longing for this earth, for he who holds the earth holds the whole universe.

The Making of the Kaurava Array and Bhishma’s Command

When the warriors had been drawn up by rule and stood ready for war, Duryodhana said to Duhshasana, “Appoint chariots at once, Duhshasana, to guard Bhishma, and urge all our divisions forward. What I have turned over in my mind for years, this meeting of the Pandavas and the Kauravas at the fronts of their armies, has come at last. I see no task in this war greater than the guarding of Bhishma. If he is kept safe, he will slay the Pandavas, the Somakas, and the Srinjayas. That pure-souled one has said, ‘I will not kill Shikhandi, for I have heard he was a woman before.’ For this reason Bhishma must be guarded above all. Let all the warriors take their stand resolved to kill Shikhandi. Let the armies of every quarter, east and west, south and north, skilled in every weapon, guard the grandsire. Even a mighty lion, if left unguarded, may be killed by a wolf. Let it never be that Bhishma, a lion, is killed by Shikhandi, a jackal. See to it, Duhshasana, that Shikhandi, who stands under Arjuna’s guard and whom Bhishma will let pass, does not slay the son of Ganga.”

A sub-tale: why did Bhishma vow never to raise a weapon against Shikhandi? Behind it lies the story of Amba, the daughter of the king of Kashi. Bhishma had once carried off the three princesses of Kashi for his brother. Amba pleaded that she had already given her heart to another and begged to be let go, but she could be neither Bhishma’s, nor returned, nor accepted by any other man. In the fire of that humiliation and her longing for revenge, she won a boon that she would be the cause of Bhishma’s death, and she was born again in Drupada’s line as Shikhandi. Bhishma, knowing the woman that had been, held it against dharma to lift a weapon against him, and this was the deep crack in his defense that the Pandava side knew well.

When the night had passed, the cry of the kings rang out, “Array the ranks! Array the ranks!” With the blare of conches, the lion-roar of drums, the neighing of horses, the grind of chariot wheels, the trumpeting of elephants, and the shouts of the men, the uproar on every side was beyond measure. As the sun rose, the weapons, the armor, and the vast hosts of both sides stood fully revealed. Elephants and chariots dressed in gold shone like clouds shot through with lightning. The chariots ranged in their rows seemed like cities. And there stood the grandsire Bhishma, shining like the full moon.

In the Kaurava host stood Shakuni the son of Subala, Shalya, Jayadratha, the two princes of Avanti, Vinda and Anuvinda, the Kaikeya brothers, Sudakshina king of the Kambojas, Shrutayudha king of the Kalingas, king Jayatsena, Brihadbala king of the Kosalas, and Kritavarma of the Satvata line, these ten tigers among men, their arms like maces, each standing at the head of a full akshauhini. With these and many other kings, all cased in mail and obedient to Duryodhana, the divisions were arrayed. The eleventh great division of the Kauravas, the host of the sons of Dhritarashtra, stood before the whole army, and at its front stood the son of Shantanu. In white helm, white umbrella, and white mail, O king, Bhishma of unfailing valor looked like the rising moon. His banner bore the sign of a golden palmyra, and mounted on a car of silver he looked like the moon ringed by white clouds.

A key to reading this (numbers and a modern comparison): an akshauhini is a full army-unit, by tradition 21,870 chariots, as many elephants, 65,610 horsemen, and 109,350 foot-soldiers, some two hundred fifty thousand fighting men to each. The Kauravas had eleven akshauhinis, the Pandavas seven, eighteen in all. In today’s terms this comes to more than four million fighting men on the two sides together, a force equal to the whole population of a great modern city, gathered on a single field.

Bhishma, the son of Shantanu, commander of your whole host, shone like the blazing sun with his great palmyra banner marked by five stars. All your royal-born great bowmen, O king, went to their appointed places at Bhishma’s word. Only Karna, the son of Vikartana, with his friends and kinsmen, laid down his weapons in the war on account of Bhishma. Without Karna, your sons and all the kings advanced, filling the ten quarters with their lion-roars.

A sub-tale: why did Karna not lift his weapons in the early days of the war? It was the fruit of the bitterness between Bhishma and Karna. Bhishma, holding Karna to be a suta’s son, would call him again and again an ardharatha, half a car-warrior, and rebuke his pride, and he had vowed that so long as he himself was commander, Karna would not come onto the field. Karna in turn vowed that so long as Bhishma lived and led the host, he would not fight, and that he would take the field only when Bhishma lay on his bed of arrows. So the most disputed and the most sorrowful warrior of the Mahabharata stood idle through the first ten days.

The Kaurava array, shaped by Drona, by Bhishma the son of Shantanu, by Ashvatthama the son of Drona, by Bahlika, and by Kripa, was built of many bands of chariots, with elephants for its body, kings for its head, and horses for its wings. Facing every quarter, that terrible array seemed to smile and to gather itself to spring on the foe. So, O king, at sunrise Bhishma drew up your eleven akshauhinis, which stood facing the west, roaring like the great sea, ready for war.

The gist: Duryodhana made the guarding of Bhishma the highest duty of all, above all against Shikhandi, whom Bhishma had vowed never to strike. At dawn the cry “Array the ranks” rang out. Bhishma, in white umbrella and white mail and under his golden palmyra banner, became commander of the Kauravas and shaped a vast array with elephants for its body, kings for its head, and horses for its wings. Out of his bitterness toward Bhishma, Karna laid down his weapons in the early days.

The Pandava Counter-Array: the Making of the Vajra and Bhima’s Van

Seeing your eleven akshauhinis drawn up in array, O king, how did king Yudhishthira, the son of Pandu, with his smaller army, shape his counter? Against Bhishma, who knew every kind of array, how did the son of Kunti build his own? Sanjaya answered, “Seeing the Dhartarashtra bands in array, the righteous king Yudhishthira said to Dhananjaya, ‘By the teaching of the sage Brihaspati it is known that the few should be massed close for battle, while the many may be spread out at will. When the few must meet the many, the array should be needle-mouthed, narrow and sharp. Our army is fewer than the enemy’s. Keep this counsel in mind, O son of Pandu, and draw up our host.’

“Hearing this, Arjuna, the son of Pandu, said, ‘The unshakable array called the Vajra, which the thunder-wielding Indra devised, that invincible array I will make for you, O best of kings. Bhima, first among strikers, who is like a storm of doom and whom no enemy can bear in war, will fight at our front. That man, who knows every trick of war, will lead the van and fight before us all, crushing the fire of the foe. Seeing Vrikodara Bhima, Duryodhana and all the enemy warriors will flee like small beasts before a lion, and it is in him, without fear, that we will take shelter as behind a wall, as the gods take shelter with Indra. In all this world there is no one who dares to rest his eyes on Vrikodara in his wrath.’

“So the mighty-armed Dhananjaya quickly drew up his army in the Vajra array and moved forward. Seeing the Kaurava host advance, the Pandava army looked like the full, unbroken, swift-running stream of the Ganga. Bhimasena, the mighty Dhrishtadyumna, Nakula, Sahadeva, and king Dhrishtaketu became the leaders of that host. King Virata, ringed by an akshauhini, with his brothers and his sons, marched behind to guard the rear. The two sons of Madri became the guards of Bhima’s chariot wheels; and the five sons of Draupadi and Subhadra’s son, Abhimanyu, guarded Bhima from behind. The great car-warrior Dhrishtadyumna, prince of Panchala, with his fine Prabhadraka warriors, watched over those princes from the rear. Behind them came Shikhandi, whom Arjuna guarded, pressing forward with a fixed mind toward the ruin of Bhishma. Behind Arjuna came the mighty Yuyudhana, that is, Satyaki; and the Panchala princes Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas became the guards of Arjuna’s chariot wheels.

“King Yudhishthira took his stand at the center of his army, ringed by elephants huge as mountains and mad with rut. The Panchala king Yajnasena, that is, Drupada, a warrior of great might, stood behind Virata with an akshauhini for the Pandavas. On the chariots of both sides, and of the foe, tall banners of every mark, worked in gold and bright as the sun and the moon, rose high. But surpassing all the great banners of all those cars was the huge ape, the sign of Hanuman, on Arjuna’s chariot.

“Thousands upon thousands of foot-soldiers, armed with swords and spears, marched before Bhimasena. And ten thousand elephants, rut running from their cheeks and mouths, looking like clouds that pour rain, glittering in golden mail, followed the king like moving mountains. And the great and unconquerable Bhimasena, whirling his terrible mace, seemed to grind the vast army of the foe to dust. Unbearable as the sun, blazing like fire, no one could look at him from close by. This Vajra array, facing every quarter, most terrible, was guarded by Arjuna the wielder of Gandiva. Having drawn up their host in this counter-array, the Pandavas waited for the war, and that array, guarded by the Pandavas, became unconquerable among men.”

A key to reading this (idea): a vyuha is a planned arrangement of an army on the field, with its own shape, its own front, and its own vital point, some built for defense, some for attack. For his smaller army Yudhishthira proposed the narrow needle-mouth, but Arjuna chose the Vajra devised by Indra, and set the mace-bearing Bhima himself at its front. Mark that Shikhandi was placed forward under Arjuna’s guard: this is the same far-reaching plan for the killing of Bhishma whose approach even Duryodhana had sensed.

The gist: for all his smaller army, Yudhishthira raised the unshakable Vajra array of Indra against Bhishma, with the mace-bearing Bhima standing like a wall at its front. Nakula and Sahadeva guarded Bhima’s chariot wheels, Draupadi’s sons and Abhimanyu the rear, and Shikhandi came forward under Arjuna’s guard for the killing of Bhishma. Above all the banners of all the cars, the great ape on Arjuna’s chariot shone.

The Omens of Dawn and Yudhishthira’s Dejection

As the two armies stood waiting for the sun, a wind blew with drops of water though there were no clouds, and thunder was heard. Dry storms swept jagged stones about on every side. A thick dust rose, and the world was wrapped in darkness. Great meteors fell in the east and, striking the rising sun, broke to pieces with a dreadful crash. When the host was drawn up, the sun came up without light, and the earth shook with a great sound and split in many places. The tall banners, hung with strings of bells, with gold, with garlands, stirred suddenly in the wind and rang out like a grove of palms.

O king, both armies, drawn up in array, were filled with an equal joy and were equally fair to look on, like woods in flower. Both were thick with elephants and chariots and horses; both were vast and terrible; and neither could endure the other. The Kaurava army looked like the host of the lord of the danavas, and the Pandava army like the host of the gods. The wind began to blow from behind the Pandavas toward the faces of the Dhartarashtras, and the beasts of prey cried out against the Dhartarashtras. Your sons’ elephants could not bear the sharp scent of the rut of the great elephants of the Pandavas.

Duryodhana rode a lotus-hued elephant with rut streaming from its broken temples, dressed in a girth of gold and a mail of woven steel, in the very midst of the Kurus, hailed by the bards and the heralds. Over his head was a white umbrella bright as the moon and hung with a chain of gold. Shakuni, king of Gandhara, with the hillmen of Gandhara, marched behind him. And the honored Bhishma stood at the front of the whole army, with his white umbrella, his bow and sword, his white helm, his white banner, and his white horses, like a single white mountain.

Drona, on a golden car drawn by red horses, bow in hand, steady of heart, teacher of all the kings, held the rear of all the divisions and guarded it like Indra. Kripa, the son of Sharadvat, who knew every way of war, stood at the northern edge of the army with the Shakas, the Kiratas, the Yavanas, and the Pahlavas. Guarded by the great car-warriors of the Vrishni and Bhoja line and by the warriors of Surashtra, a vast division under Kritavarma moved to the south. The ten thousand chariots of the Samshaptakas, who were made only for Arjuna’s death or their own fame and were resolved to run him down, set out with the brave Trigartas.

Bhishma, the son of Shantanu, your commander, drew up your host each day at sunrise in a new array, now human, now celestial, now gandharva, now asura. The Dhartarashtra host, thick with great car-warriors and roaring like the sea, stood facing the west, ready for war. And though your army was beyond measure and terrible to see, the Pandava army, smaller though it was, seemed to me vast and unconquerable, for Keshava and Arjuna were its leaders.

Seeing the vast host of the sons of Dhritarashtra set for war, king Yudhishthira sank into sorrow. Taking that array shaped by Bhishma for the truly unbreakable thing it was, the king went pale and said to Arjuna, “How, mighty-armed Dhananjaya, shall we fight these Dhartarashtras whose foremost warrior is the grandsire? Unshakable and unbreakable is this array that the foe-crushing Bhishma of highest fame has built by the rules of the science. With our army we have fallen into doubt. How shall the victory be ours against this great array?”

To this the foe-crushing Arjuna answered Yudhishthira, “Hear, O king, how the few may conquer the many who are furnished with every quality. You are without malice, and so I will tell you the means. This means the sage Narada knows, and Bhishma and Drona too. In the old days, at the time of the war between the gods and the asuras, the grandsire Brahma himself said this to Indra and the other gods: ‘Those who seek victory win it through truth, through compassion, through dharma, and through their own energy, and these count for more than power and strength. Tell dharma from adharma, understand what greed is, put away pride, and fight, for victory is there where dharma is.’ Know then, O king, that our victory in this war is certain. As Narada said, ‘Victory is there where Krishna is.’ Victory is Krishna’s very nature, and it follows at Madhava’s heels. I see no cause for grief in you, for on your side, longing for your victory, stands the very lord of the universe and master of the gods.”

The gist: before sunrise the omens of doom broke out: an untimely storm, thunder, splitting earth, a lightless sun. Both armies were equally fair and equally terrible, but the wind and the beasts of prey gave their signs against the Dhartarashtras. Bhishma, like a white mountain, shaped a new array each day. Seeing the unbreakable Kaurava array, Yudhishthira sank into sorrow, but Arjuna recalled to him Brahma’s ancient word, that victory comes through truth and dharma and compassion, which count for more than strength, and that where Krishna is, there is victory.

The Conch-Blast and the First Day’s Duels: the Fierce War Begins

Then, O best of the Bharatas, king Yudhishthira drew up his army before Bhishma’s divisions and roused them, saying, “The Pandavas have now shaped their counter-array by the rules of the science. Fight righteously, O sinless heroes, in longing for the highest heaven.” In the center of the Pandava host were Shikhandi and his troops, whom Arjuna guarded. Dhrishtadyumna marched at the front, guarded by Bhima. The southern band was held by the great bowman Yuyudhana, that is, Satyaki. Yudhishthira, on a chariot with a noble banner set with gold and gems, stood in the midst of his elephant bands. Over his head was raised a white umbrella on an ivory staff, and many great sages, priests, and Siddhas circled him with prayer and mantra and rites of blessing, seeking the ruin of his enemies.

Arjuna’s chariot, hung with a hundred bells, worked in the finest Jambunada gold and drawn by white horses, blazed like a thousand suns. On that ape-bannered car, its reins in Keshava’s hand, stood Arjuna with Gandiva and his arrows, an archer whose equal is not on earth and never will be. And Bhimasena, Vrikodara, the mighty-armed one who in his wrath could grind men and horses and elephants to dust with his bare hands alone, became with the sons of Madri the guard of the Pandava heroes.

Just before that terrible war, as the Kaurava host drew near, Krishna spoke for Arjuna’s good, saying, “O mighty-armed one, cleanse yourself and, on the eve of the battle, sing your hymn to the goddess Durga for the defeat of the foe.” Then, at Vasudeva’s word, Arjuna stepped down from the car, joined his hands, and hymned the goddess, and so, with an auspicious resolve, made himself ready for the fight.

A sub-tale: at this very turn, with the chariot halted between the two armies, Arjuna refused to kill his own kin and let Gandiva fall from his hands in grief. Then Krishna gave him the teaching that the world calls the Bhagavad Gita, the essence of action, of knowledge, of devotion, and of one’s own dharma. This is the very heart of the Bhishma Parva, and in the order of the story it happens at just this moment, between the blowing of the conches and the hymn. Here we bow to that great teaching and pass on, for its full telling deserves a chapter of its own.

And a wondrous thing happened as well. Just before the war began, Yudhishthira suddenly took off his mail, laid down his weapons, stepped down from his chariot, and set out on foot toward the enemy array. All were amazed. Arjuna and Krishna ran after him, but Yudhishthira went straight to Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and Shalya, touched their feet, and asked their leave and their blessing to fight. Those elders, well pleased, gave him their blessing of victory and said that they were bound to the Kaurava side by its wealth and so could not do otherwise, and yet in their hearts they wished the Pandavas the victory. Seeing this, all the kings, and the Aryas and the Mlechchhas alike, were moved to pity. Then those heroes returned each to his own chariot, the army was drawn up again in array, and hundreds of drums and conches white as cow’s milk rang out.

A key to reading this (idea): Yudhishthira’s going to touch the feet of his elders was no mere courtesy. It is the rule of kshatriya dharma that before a war one takes leave and blessing from those worthy of honor, or the killing is held to be against dharma. Mark, too, that word of Bhishma and Drona, “We are bound by wealth, yet in our hearts we wish you the victory.” Here is the moral knot of the Mahabharata, where duty, loyalty to one’s lord, and the conscience pull against one another, and no clean line can be drawn between the good side and the bad.

Dhritarashtra asked, “When the armies of both sides were drawn up in array, who struck first, the Kurus or the Pandavas?” Sanjaya said, “Hearing the words of his elder brother Duryodhana, your son Duhshasana advanced with his troops, with Bhishma at their head, and the Pandavas too, glad at heart, advanced with Bhimasena at their head, in longing to fight Bhishma. From both armies rose lion-roars, the noise of krakachas, the blare of cow-horns, and the beat of drums and cymbals. The foe fell upon us and we upon them, and the uproar was deafening.

“As that fearful din rose, the mighty-armed Bhimasena began to roar like a bull. His roar rose above the sound of the conches and the drums, the trumpeting of the elephants, and the lion-shouts of the warriors. Hearing that roar of Bhima, loud as the crash of Indra’s thunderbolt, your warriors were filled with fear, and the horses and elephants voided their bowels like beasts that hear the roar of a lion. Taking on a terrible form, that hero fell upon your sons. Then Duryodhana, Durmukha, Duhsaha, Duhshasana, Durmarshana, Vivimshati, Chitrasena, the great car-warrior Vikarna, Purumitra, Jaya, Bhoja, and the son of Somadatta, shaking their bows like masses of cloud that show the lightning’s flash and drawing out long arrows like snakes new-cast from their skins, ringed Bhima about and covered him with a rain of shafts, as clouds shroud the sun.

“And the five sons of Draupadi, the great car-warrior Abhimanyu, Nakula, Sahadeva, and Dhrishtadyumna of Prishata’s line fell upon those Dhartarashtras and tore them with keen shafts like mountain peaks struck by the bolts of heaven. In that first battle, amid the twang of bowstrings and the flapping of the leathern fences, no warrior on either side turned his back. Wonderful was the lightness of hand of the disciples of Drona, who, loosing arrows without number, never failed to hit the mark. The twang of the bowstrings ceased not for a moment, and the blazing arrows flew through the air like meteors falling from the sky.

“The other kings stood like silent watchers of that terrible battle of kinsmen. Then those great car-warriors, burning with wrath and remembering the old wrongs between them, challenged one another and clashed. The Kuru and Pandava armies, thick with elephants and horses and chariots, looked as fair as figures painted on a canvas. The dust raised by the warriors shrouded the sun. That war rose like an ocean, with arrows for its crocodiles, bows for its snakes, swords for its tortoises, and the leaping of the warriors for its storm. And in that terrible and wondrous battle, O king, your father Bhishma shone, surpassing that countless host.”

The gist: between the conch and the hymn, Krishna had Arjuna sing to Durga, and at this very moment the teaching of the Gita was given. Yudhishthira crossed on foot to Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and Shalya for their leave and their blessing, and their words, “bound by wealth, yet in our hearts wishing you the victory,” laid bare the moral knot of the Mahabharata. Then Bhima’s bull-roar shook the Kaurava host, the Dhartarashtra brothers ringed Bhima with arrows, the sons of Pandu struck back, and the fierce war of the first day broke out, with Bhishma shining above them all.

Hero Against Hero: the Chief Combats of the First Day

In the forenoon of that terrible day, O king, the fierce war began that would mangle the bodies of kings beyond counting. The lion-roars of the Kurus and the Srinjayas made the sky and the earth ring. The clatter of the leathern fences, the blare of conches, the twang of bowstrings, the heavy tread of the foot-soldiers, the neighing of horses, the fall of goad and hook on the heads of the elephants, the clash of weapons, the jingle of elephant-bells, and the thunder-like roll of the chariots, all together wove an uproar to make the hair stand on end.

Then Bhishma, the son of Shantanu, taking up a terrible bow like the rod of Death, fell upon Arjuna. And Arjuna too, taking up Gandiva, famed through all the world, fell upon the son of Ganga. Both those tigers among the Kurus longed to kill each other. But the mighty Bhishma, though he pierced Arjuna with arrows in the war, could not make him waver, and neither could the son of Pandu shake Bhishma.

The great bowman Satyaki closed with Kritavarma, and the battle between them was a thing to make the hair stand on end; pierced all over with arrows, the two shone like Palasha trees in the flower of spring. The great car-warrior Abhimanyu fought Brihadbala, king of the Kosalas; Brihadbala cut down Abhimanyu’s banner and struck his charioteer to the ground, and then the wrathful Abhimanyu pierced Brihadbala with nine arrows, cut his banner with two keen shafts, and brought down his charioteer and the guard of his chariot wheel. Each wore the other down with sharp arrows.

Bhimasena fought your son Duryodhana, who had wronged the Pandavas, and the two bulls among men, both great car-warriors, covered each other with showers of arrows. Duhshasana poured sharp shafts on the great car-warrior Nakula; the son of Madri, laughing, cut Duhshasana’s banner and bow and struck him with twenty-five arrows, yet the hard-to-conquer Duhshasana killed Nakula’s horses and cut down his banner. Durmukha closed with the mighty Sahadeva; Sahadeva with one keen arrow struck down Durmukha’s charioteer, and the two went on filling each other with dread by their terrible shafts.

King Yudhishthira himself closed with Shalya, king of Madra. Shalya cut Yudhishthira’s bow in two, and the son of Kunti, throwing the broken bow aside, took up another stronger and swifter, covered Shalya with straight arrows, and cried out in great wrath, “Wait, wait.” Dhrishtadyumna fell upon Drona; the wrathful Drona cut the hard bow of the prince of Panchala and loosed a terrible arrow like a second rod of Death that sank into the prince’s body, whereupon the son of Drupada took up another bow and fourteen arrows and pierced Drona, and the two, enraged with each other, fought a fierce battle.

The hero Shankha closed with the son of Somadatta, Bhurishravas, and with the cry “Wait, wait” pierced his right arm; in answer the son of Somadatta struck Shankha on the shoulders, and the battle of those two proud heroes grew as terrible as the war of the gods and the danavas. Dhrishtaketu, king of the Chedis, fought Bahlika, and like one mad elephant against another they roared again and again at each other, shining like the planets Angaraka and Shukra. The cruel-deeded Ghatotkacha met the cruel-deeded rakshasa Alambusha as Indra of old met the asura Vala, and each pierced the other with ninety arrows.

The mighty Shikhandi fell upon Ashvatthama, the son of Drona; Ashvatthama shook Shikhandi with one keen arrow, and Shikhandi answered with a keen arrow of his own, and the two went on striking each other with arrows of every kind. Against the brave Bhagadatta, Virata, the leader of a great division, rushed with fierce speed and poured on him a shower of arrows like rain on a mountain; but Bhagadatta covered Virata with arrows as the clouds cover the rising sun.

Kripa, the son of Sharadvat, closed with Brihatkshatra of the Kaikeyas and covered him with a rain of arrows; Brihatkshatra rained arrows on Kripa in turn, and the two, killing each other’s horses and cutting each other’s bows, came down to the ground and fought on with swords, and the battle they fought was terrible beyond compare. The wrathful king Drupada fell upon Jayadratha, king of Sindhu; Jayadratha pierced Drupada with three arrows, Drupada struck back, and the battle of the two was as thrilling as that of Shukra and Angaraka.

Your son Vikarna, with his swift horses, fell upon the mighty Sutasoma; though he pierced him with many arrows he could not make him waver, nor could Sutasoma shake Vikarna, and this seemed a wonder to all. Chekitana, in great wrath for the Pandavas, fell upon Susharma; Susharma held off the great car-warrior with a shower of arrows, and Chekitana rained arrows on him like clouds on a mountain. The mighty Shakuni fell upon Prativindhya like a lion upon a mad elephant; then Prativindhya, the son of Yudhishthira, in great wrath, tore the son of Subala with keen shafts as Indra a danava, and Shakuni too pierced that wise hero.

A key to reading this (lineage and names): these duels of the first day are a careful frame of the story’s craft, mostly a facing of like against like: Bhishma against Arjuna, grandsire against grandson and pupil; Yudhishthira against Shalya, the king of Madra who is in truth the maternal uncle of Nakula and Sahadeva; Bhima against Duryodhana; and the teacher Drona against his pupil Dhrishtadyumna, who will one day be the means of Drona’s death. Mark that on the first day there is no decisive killing; the warriors wear one another down, cut down banners and charioteers, and yet do not fall. This is the early restraint of the rules of righteous war, a restraint that will break as the war goes on.

The gist: the first day’s war fell mostly into duels of like against like: Bhishma and Arjuna, Satyaki and Kritavarma, Abhimanyu and Brihadbala, Bhima and Duryodhana, Nakula and Duhshasana, Sahadeva and Durmukha, Yudhishthira and Shalya, Dhrishtadyumna and Drona, Ghatotkacha and Alambusha, Shikhandi and Ashvatthama, Virata and Bhagadatta, Kripa and Brihatkshatra, Drupada and Jayadratha, Vikarna and Sutasoma, Chekitana and Susharma, and Shakuni and Prativindhya. No one was decisively slain; all cut down banners, charioteers, and bows and wore one another down, and above them all Bhishma shone.

Source: the Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Bhishma Parva; in the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.