Mahabharata · Abhimanyu and the Wheel-Array

About 88 min read · 14,936 words

On the thirteenth day at Kurukshetra, with the first ray of dawn, Drona raised a formation whose very name set the Pandava hearts trembling. The chakravyuha, a wheel-shaped array that seemed to turn on itself, its lanes coiling ever inward, so that finding the way out of it was harder than finding the way in. Inside it the preceptor stationed kings each the equal of Indra himself. At the entrance stood princes bright as the sun, all of them sworn to stand by one another, their standards plated with gold, all of them in red robes and red ornaments, smeared with sandal-paste and sweet unguents, garlanded with flowers. At their head was your handsome grandson Lakshmana, the son of Duryodhana, and behind them ten thousand steady bowmen. In the middle, beneath a white umbrella, fanned with yak-tails and shining like the lord of the gods, stood Duryodhana, ringed by Karna, Dussasana, and Kripa. And at the face of the army, like the rising sun, stood the preceptor Drona.

The Day Arjuna Was Far Away

That day Arjuna was at the far end of the field. The Samsaptakas (warriors who had sworn to kill Arjuna or die trying, and who kept challenging him and drawing him off to the other corner of the war) had called him out and carried him a long way off. This was exactly what the preceptor wanted. Where Arjuna was not, there he could try to seize Yudhishthira. The wheel-array had been raised for that single purpose.

Seeing Drona come on in wrath, Yudhishthira turned over in his mind every way of checking him. But the preceptor’s bow rained shafts so thickly that the Panchalas and the Srinjayas could not stand before him. The strength of Drona’s arms that we saw that day was a wonder. In the end Yudhishthira resolved to lay this unbearable weight on the son of Subhadra. Turning to Abhimanyu, who was in no way less than Vasudeva himself and whose energy ran higher even than Arjuna’s, the king said, “Son, act so that Arjuna, coming back from the Samsaptakas, may not reproach us. We do not know how to break the wheel-array. Only you, or Arjuna, or Krishna, or Pradyumna can pierce it. There is no fifth man, mighty-armed one, who can do this. Abhimanyu, your fathers, your uncles, and all these soldiers ask this boon of you. Take up your arms at once and tear apart this array of Drona, or Arjuna will come back and shame us all.”

Abhimanyu answered, “Wishing victory to my fathers, I will go at once into this firm, fierce, and impassable array that Drona has built. My father taught me how to break into an array of this kind and cut it apart from within. But if some danger falls on me, I do not know how to come out.”

Here is the thorn in this story, the one that presses on the heart later. The boy knew how to go in. He did not know how to come out. And even so, he did not refuse.

Yudhishthira said, “Break this array just once, best of warriors, and open a road for us. The path you take, all of us will take behind you. In battle you are Dhananjaya’s own equal. Seeing you go in, we too will go in, and guard you on every side.”

Bhima said, “I myself will come at your back, and Dhrishtadyumna, and Satyaki, and the Panchalas, and the Prabhadrakas. Break the array once, and then I will enter it again and again and cut down the chief warriors inside.”

Abhimanyu said, “I will go into this unconquerable array of Drona the way a moth, mad with rage, goes into a blazing fire. Today I will do what serves both my lines, my father’s and my mother’s. Today I will do what pleases my uncle and my mother. Today every creature will see how the enemy host is mowed down without pause by the hand of one lone boy. If anyone who meets me today comes out of it alive, I will not count myself the son of Partha and the child of Subhadra. If I cannot, from a single chariot, cut the whole Kshatriya race into eight pieces, I will not count myself the son of Arjuna.”

Yudhishthira said, “Guarded by these tigers among men, these great bowmen of fierce might who are the equals of the Sadhyas, the Rudras, and the Maruts, who match the Vasus, or Agni, or Aditya in power, since you dare to pierce this unconquerable array of Drona and speak as you speak, then, son of Subhadra, may your strength grow.”

A key to reading this (the concept): The secret of the wheel-array lay in its “half-knowledge.” Arjuna had learned from Drona how to break into such an array, but the moment for learning how to come out arrived only after the lesson broke off, and Abhimanyu, still in the womb, had heard only the first half of the teaching. That half-knowledge became the fate of this sixteen-year-old hero.

The gist: The Samsaptakas drew Arjuna far off, Drona raised the wheel-array, and three of the four men able to break it were absent. Only Abhimanyu was left, who knew the way in but not the way out. His fathers and his uncles promised to follow at his back and guard him, and the boy took up that unbearable weight gladly.

The Charioteer’s Warning, and the Breaking of the Array

Hearing these words of Yudhishthira, Abhimanyu ordered his charioteer Sumitra, “Drive the horses quickly toward Drona’s army.” But the charioteer’s heart did not lift at the command. He said, “You who are blessed with long life, the Pandavas have laid a very heavy burden on you. First judge with your own mind whether you can carry it, and only then go into battle. The preceptor Drona is a master of the finest weapons and a veteran of war. You have been raised in every comfort and are not seasoned in war.”

At this Abhimanyu laughed. “Charioteer, who is this Drona? And what is this great gathering of Kshatriyas? Let Indra himself come mounted on his Airavata, backed by all the gods, and I would still close with him. I do not spare a thought for all these Kshatriyas. This enemy host is not the equal of even a sixteenth part of me. Suta’s son, if my uncle Vishnu himself, the conqueror of the worlds, or my father Arjuna were my adversary, fear would still not enter my heart. Go, drive hard toward the army of Drona.”

So commanded, the charioteer, though his heart was heavy, urged Abhimanyu’s three-year-old steeds in their golden trappings. Those horses ran with great speed and force straight at Drona. Seeing him come on like this, all the Kauravas under Drona pushed forward to meet him, and the Pandavas followed on the same road behind. That boy, greater even than Arjuna, sheathed in golden mail, flying the fine banner marked with the Karnikara tree, closed fearlessly with the warriors under Drona, the way a lion cub falls upon a herd of elephants.

For a moment there was an eddy there, like the whirl the sea makes where the Ganga runs into it. Then the terrible battle began. And in the middle of that dreadful fight, with Drona watching, Arjuna’s son broke the array and passed inside.

The instant he was in, large bodies of elephants, horses, chariots, and foot soldiers closed on him in delight and struck at him. The ground rang with the noise of many instruments, with lion-roars, with cries of “Stop, stop,” “Do not let him pass,” “This way, here he is, this is the enemy,” with the trumpeting of elephants, the jangle of bells, bursts of laughter, and the thunder of chariot wheels and hooves. But that hero, with wondrous quickness of hand and a knowledge of the body’s vital points, sent shafts that went straight into the life. Whoever came before him was cut down and fell. Warriors rushing forward dropped onto Abhimanyu like moths onto a flame and died. He carpeted the earth with their bodies and their severed limbs the way priests spread the sacrificial altar with kusa grass.

Arms fell by the thousand, some still gripping bow and shaft, some a sword, some a shield, some a hook, some a lance or an axe. Bloodied, they lay on the ground like five-headed snakes. Countless heads, faces of fine noses and unblemished features, set with earrings, scattered over the field like lotuses cut from their stalks. Splendid chariots that had looked like cloud-fortresses in the sky came apart, wheels and axles and standards shattered. Abhimanyu, seeming to be everywhere at once, went on cutting them all down.

A key to reading this (lineage): Abhimanyu was the son of Arjuna and Subhadra (Krishna’s sister), so on one side he was a grandson of the Pandava line and on the other of the Vrishni line. That is why he keeps invoking “both lines,” and why the story calls him “the son of Indra’s son (Arjuna)” and “the sister’s son of Vishnu (Krishna).”

The gist: The charioteer Sumitra warned that the burden was too heavy, but the boy laughed it off and said that Indra himself in front of him would not frighten him. Then, with Drona watching, he pierced the wheel-array, and the moment they ringed him in he made such slaughter that the ground was buried under severed limbs and broken chariots.

Jayadratha Seals the Gate

Seeing Abhimanyu go in like this, his fathers and his uncles, those destroyers of foes, formed up in order of battle and ran along the very road he had opened, meaning to rescue him. Seeing those heroes come, your army began to turn its face from the fight. Then your son-in-law of great fire ran forward to challenge them. Jayadratha, the king of the Sindhus, lord of the Sindhu land, with all his followers, stopped those sons of Pritha who were desperate to save their boy. The son of Vriddhakshatra called up his celestial weapons and held the Pandavas back the way an elephant, playing in shallow water, becomes a dam.

Here Dhritarashtra asked, “Sanjaya, a very heavy burden fell on the king of the Sindhus, that alone he had to hold back the enraged Pandavas. What was that hero’s prowess, and how did he achieve so wonderful a feat? What gifts did he give, what offerings did he pour, what sacrifices did he perform, what austerities did he practice, that on their strength he could hold off the wrathful sons of Pritha single-handed?”

Sanjaya answered, “At the time of Draupadi’s humiliation, Jayadratha had been beaten by Bhimasena. From the sharp pain of that disgrace he practiced the harshest austerities, wanting a boon. Holding his senses back from every pleasure, bearing hunger, thirst, and heat, he dried his body until the swollen veins stood out on it. Chanting the eternal words of the Veda, he worshipped Mahadeva. That god, ever full of pity for his devotees, was at last pleased with him. Hara came to the king of the Sindhus in a dream and said, ‘Ask the boon you wish. I am pleased with you, Jayadratha.’ Then Jayadratha, with folded hands and a steady mind, said, ‘Let me, alone, from a single chariot, hold back in battle all the sons of Pandu, however great their fire and prowess.’ Mahadeva said, ‘Gentle one, I grant you this. Except Dhananjaya, the son of Pritha, you shall be able to hold the other four Pandavas in battle.’

By the strength of that boon, and by the strength of his celestial weapons, Jayadratha alone held the whole Pandava army in check. The twang of his bowstring and the crack of his palms filled the hearts of the enemy Kshatriyas with dread. Whichever hero of the Pandava side tried to break through the array Drona had built, the king of the Sindhus, by that boon, turned him back.”

A key to reading this (numbers and the boon): Mahadeva’s boon was limited. Jayadratha could hold back only four of the Pandavas (Yudhishthira, Bhima, Nakula, Sahadeva), not Arjuna. But that day Arjuna was far off with the Samsaptakas, so even this half-boon proved enough. Jayadratha stood at the very gate through which Abhimanyu had gone in, and closed it again, and the boy was left alone inside.

The gist: The road Abhimanyu had opened was sealed behind him by Jayadratha, who carried Mahadeva’s boon. The limit of the boon was that he could hold back only the four Pandavas other than Arjuna, and that day Arjuna was away. So the men who had given their word were left outside, and the boy was surrounded within.

The Clash with Dussasana, and Karna Driven Back

Inside the array, Duryodhana saw the praise on the preceptor’s face for Abhimanyu, and it burned him. He said to Karna, Bahlika, Dussasana, the king of the Madras, and many other great warriors, “Drona, the teacher of all Kshatriyas, first among the knowers of sacred lore, will not kill this son of Arjuna, out of fondness. No one comes out of a fight with the preceptor alive, not even Death himself, if he stands before the preceptor as a foe. What then of a mortal? This is Arjuna’s son, and Arjuna is the preceptor’s pupil. That is why the preceptor is shielding this boy. A pupil, a son, and their sons are always dear to good men. Crush him quickly.”

Dussasana answered, “King, I will kill him myself, before the Pandavas and before the eyes of the Panchalas. Today I will swallow the son of Subhadra the way Rahu swallows the sun.” So saying, roaring in rage, he fell on Abhimanyu with a rain of arrows.

Abhimanyu welcomed him with twenty-six sharp shafts. Both were masters of chariot-fighting, and they fought wheeling in fine circles, one to the left and the other to the right. Then Abhimanyu, smiling, said to Dussasana, “It is my good luck that the proud one has come before me, cruel, stripped of all dharma, forever singing his own praise in a loud voice. In the assembly, with Dhritarashtra listening, you angered King Yudhishthira with your harsh words. Drunk on the cheat of the dice and Shakuni’s skill, you flung mad words even at Bhima. Today, before the whole army, I will punish you with my arrows. Today I will clear the debt of the anger I carry against you. You will not escape me alive unless you quit the fight.”

So saying, the hero loosed a shaft bright as Yama, Agni, or Vayu. It struck the joint of Dussasana’s shoulder and sank into his body up to the feathers, like a snake into an anthill. Then he pierced him with twenty-five more shafts whose touch was fire. Wracked with deep pain, Dussasana sank down on the rear of his chariot and fainted, and his charioteer bore him quickly out of the fight. At that a shout of joy went up on the Pandava side.

Then Duryodhana said to Karna, “See, even Dussasana, who blazes like the sun, could not hold his ground before Abhimanyu.” Hearing this, Karna in his rage began to pour sharp arrows on Abhimanyu and to pierce his followers too. But Abhimanyu, wanting to press on toward Drona, pierced Karna with seventy-three shafts. No car-warrior of your army could check Abhimanyu as he pressed on toward Drona.

Then Karna shot hundreds of arrows to blunt Abhimanyu’s fine weapons. That pupil of Rama (Parashurama) began to afflict the invincible boy with his own missiles. But though troubled by Radha’s son’s rain of shafts, the son of Subhadra felt no pain. Cutting the bows of many warriors with sharp, stone-whetted arrows, the son of Arjuna began to pierce Karna in return. Smiling, he cut off Karna’s umbrella, his banner, his charioteer, and his horses. Karna sent five straight shafts, and Abhimanyu took them without flinching, then with a single arrow cut Karna’s bow and banner to the ground.

Seeing Karna in this danger, his younger brother came between them, drawing his bow with great force. With ten shafts he pierced Abhimanyu, his umbrella, his banner, his charioteer, and his horses. Then Abhimanyu, bending his bow hard and smiling, with a single winged arrow cut off the brother’s head. It fell from the trunk to the earth. Seeing his brother fall like a Karnikara tree blown from a mountain peak by the wind, Karna filled with pain. Abhimanyu’s arrows forced Karna to fall back from the field.

A key to reading this (lineage): The “son of Radha” who recurs in the story is Karna, raised by the charioteer couple Adhiratha and Radha, which is why he is called “Suta’s son” and “Radheya.” He learned archery from Parashurama (Rama, the son of Jamadagni), which is why he is called “the pupil of Rama.”

The gist: Goaded by Duryodhana, Dussasana closed first and was carried fainting from the field. Then Karna came, and Abhimanyu cut away his umbrella, banner, charioteer, and horses, took the head of Karna’s younger brother who stepped in, and drove Karna himself back. Drona seemed at that hour to be shielding the boy, which burned Duryodhana all the more.

The Slaughter of a Hundred Princes, and the Gandharva Illusion

When the sky was so darkened by Abhimanyu’s arrows that nothing could be seen, as if by swarms of locusts or a downpour, the Kaurava army broke and ran, trampling its own men as it fled. Arms in golden armlets, hands in leather guards, bows and arrows, heads set with earrings and flower wreaths, fell in their thousands to the ground.

Once inside the array, Abhimanyu struck the warrior named Vasatiya in the chest and felled him, though he wore iron mail. Then the enraged Kshatriyas ringed him in. Rukmaratha, the son of Shalya the king of the Madras, steadied the frightened men and said, “Heroes, do not fear. While I am here, what is Abhimanyu? I will take him alive.” So saying, he rushed at Abhimanyu on his fine chariot. He struck three sharp shafts into Abhimanyu’s chest, three into the right arm, and three into the left, and roared. But the son of Arjuna cut off his bow, both his arms, and his head with its lovely eyes and brows, and dropped them to the earth.

Seeing Shalya’s son killed, his many princely friends drew their six-cubit bows, ringed the son of Arjuna, and rained arrows on him. Seeing the lone boy hemmed in by so many warriors, Duryodhana rejoiced and counted him a guest of Yama already. In the blink of an eye those princes made the son of Arjuna vanish under golden-winged shafts. Pierced through, he swelled with rage like an elephant struck by the hook.

Then he used the Gandharva weapon and the illusion it brings, the weapon Arjuna had won by austerities from the Gandharva Tumburu and others. By that illusion Abhimanyu wheeled like a ring of fire, seen now as one, now as a hundred, now as a thousand. Confounding his foes by the skill of his driving and the illusion of the weapon, he cut the bodies of those kings into a hundred pieces each. Their lives went out and their bodies dropped to the ground. Those hundred princes were felled by the son of Subhadra like a grove of five-year-old mango trees, just about to bear fruit, thrown down by a storm. When those princes, raised in every luxury, fierce as angry snakes, were all killed by Abhimanyu single-handed, Duryodhana grew afraid.

Seeing his car-warriors, elephants, horses, and foot soldiers crushed, the Kuru king himself came on at Abhimanyu in wrath. Their fight ran only a little while, unfinished, before your son, cut about by Abhimanyu’s shafts, was forced to fall back from it.

A key to reading this (a modern equivalent for the numbers): The slaughter of “a hundred princes” in one stroke, and the “ten thousand,” “eight thousand chariots,” and “nine hundred elephants” to come, are the Mahabharata’s language of scale. Read them not as literal counts but as this: one lone warrior held off and cut down a whole division (the equal of a modern brigade or division). That is the sense of the description.

The gist: Vasatiya and Shalya’s son Rukmaratha were killed, and then Abhimanyu broke the ring of a hundred princes with the Gandharva illusion, appearing as one, then a hundred, then a thousand. Duryodhana came himself and was driven back, wounded. The lone boy was holding a whole army at bay.

The Death of Lakshmana, and the Ring of Six Great Warriors

When Duryodhana fell back and the hundred princes lay dead, the warriors of your army withered. Their mouths went dry, their eyes went restless, their bodies ran with sweat, and their hair stood on end. Despairing of beating their foe, they made ready to leave the field. Abandoning their wounded brothers, fathers, sons, and kinsmen, they drove their horses and elephants away at a gallop.

Seeing them flee, Drona, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, Kripa, Duryodhana, Karna, Kritavarma, and Shakuni the son of Subala fell on the invincible son of Subhadra in great wrath. But these too were beaten back by your grandson. Then one warrior alone, Lakshmana the son of Duryodhana, raised in luxury, skilled with the bow, of great fire, and fearless from inexperience and pride, came forward against the son of Arjuna. Anxious for his son, Duryodhana turned back after him, and behind Duryodhana the other great warriors.

Like one rutting elephant closing with another, the son of Arjuna closed with your grandson Lakshmana, that Lakshmana who was very handsome, a great hero, standing near his father with drawn bow, raised in every luxury, and looking like a second son of the lord of the Yakshas. Lakshmana struck sharp arrows into both of Abhimanyu’s arms and his chest. Then, wrathful as a snake beaten with a stick, Abhimanyu said to your other grandson, “Look well upon this world, for now you must go to the next. Before the eyes of all your kinsmen I will send you to the house of Yama.”

So saying, the hero drew out a broad-headed arrow that looked like a snake fresh from its slough. Loosed from Abhimanyu’s arms, it carried off Lakshmana’s beautiful head, set with earrings, with its fine nose, its brows, and its lovely curling hair. Seeing Lakshmana killed, your army cried out, “Oh, oh.” Enraged at the death of his beloved son, Duryodhana called out to the Kshatriyas under him in a loud voice, “Kill him.”

Then Drona, Kripa, Karna, Drona’s son Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, and Kritavarma the son of Hridika, these six great warriors, ringed Abhimanyu. Piercing them with sharp shafts and beating them off, the son of Arjuna fell with great speed and fury on the vast army of Jayadratha. Then the brave sons of the Kalingas, the Nishadas, and Kratha closed his path with their elephant-division and hemmed him in. Abhimanyu shattered that elephant-division the way the wind scatters a mass of clouds. The bow, arrows, armlets, arms, crowned head, umbrella, banner, charioteer, and horses of Kratha’s son, all of these Abhimanyu cut down.

When Dhritarashtra asked which heroes had ringed him then, Sanjaya named again the same six: Drona, Kripa, Karna, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, and Kritavarma. The other warriors, seeing that Jayadratha had taken on the heavy task of holding back the Pandavas, ran toward Yudhishthira.

A sub-tale: Two men named Lakshmana face each other in this chapter, and they are not the same. One is Lakshmana the son of Duryodhana (called here “Lakshmanakumara” as well), whom Abhimanyu kills. The other, the Lakshmana of the Ramayana, is far older than this story and quite separate. Wherever the name “Lakshmana” appears in the Mahabharata, it usually means this Kuru prince, not the brother of Rama.

The gist: Duryodhana’s son Lakshmana, who came forward to stem the fleeing Kaurava army, was also killed by Abhimanyu, his earringed head cut off with a single arrow. Enraged at his son’s death, Duryodhana cried “Kill him,” and then Drona, Kripa, Karna, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, and Kritavarma, these six great warriors, ringed the boy together.

The Blow Against Brihadbala of Kosala and Against Shalya

The six great warriors of the ring drew their six-cubit bows and poured a downpour of arrows on the son of Subhadra. But that destroyer of foes struck those mighty bowmen still with his own shafts. He pierced Drona with fifty, Brihadbala with twenty, Kritavarma with eighty, and Kripa with sixty. He pierced Ashvatthama with ten swift golden-winged shafts, and Karna with a single bright, well-whetted, bearded arrow. Felling Kripa’s horses and both his Parshni charioteers (the wing-drivers who guarded the flanks of the chariot’s wheels), he drove ten arrows into the center of Kripa’s chest.

While Abhimanyu was cutting down his best foes one after another without fear, Drona’s son Ashvatthama pierced him with twenty-five small arrows. Before all the sons of Dhritarashtra, the son of Arjuna pierced Ashvatthama in return with many sharp shafts. Ashvatthama sent sixty fierce arrows, but Abhimanyu stood unmoved as Mount Mainaka. Then he pierced Ashvatthama with seventy-three straight, golden-winged shafts. Drona, to save his son, pierced Abhimanyu with a hundred arrows, and Ashvatthama, to save his father, with sixty. Karna struck with twenty-two broad-headed shafts, Kritavarma with fourteen, Brihadbala with fifty, and Kripa with ten. Abhimanyu pierced each of them in return with ten arrows apiece.

Then Brihadbala, the king of Kosala, drove a barbed arrow into Abhimanyu’s chest. Abhimanyu at once felled his horses, his banner, his bow, and his charioteer to the earth. His chariot gone, Brihadbala took up a sword and moved to cut the earringed, beautiful head of Abhimanyu from its trunk. But Abhimanyu drove a strong arrow into the king of Kosala’s chest, and with his heart torn open he fell to the ground. Seeing this, ten thousand bright kings fled in fear.

Abhimanyu pierced Karna again with a barbed shaft and fifty others, and Karna sent back as many. Bathed in blood, the two of them shone like Kinshuka trees in flower. Then Abhimanyu killed six of Karna’s brave counsellors, with their horses, charioteers, and chariots. He struck down the son of the king of Magadha with six arrows, and the Bhoja prince of Martikavata with a razor-headed shaft.

Then the son of Dussasana pierced Abhimanyu’s four horses with four shafts, his charioteer with one, and Abhimanyu himself with ten. Abhimanyu pierced him with ten swift arrows, and, eyes red with wrath, said, “Your father quit the fight and ran like a coward. It is well that you know how to fight. But today you will not live.” Then he struck at Shalya as well, cut off his bow, killed both his Parshni charioteers, and pierced him with six iron shafts, so that Shalya, his chariot gone, climbed onto another. Abhimanyu killed five more heroes as well: Shatrunjaya, Chandraketu, Mahamegha, Suvarcha, and Suryabhasa.

A key to reading this (places and lineage): “Kosala” is the old country of eastern Uttar Pradesh whose capitals were Ayodhya and Shravasti, and its king Brihadbala is killed here. “Magadha” is the country of southern Bihar. “Madra” is the land toward modern Punjab, whose king Shalya was the maternal uncle of Nakula and Sahadeva, and yet fought here on the Kaurava side. That is the moral knot of the Mahabharata, blood kin standing face to face.

The gist: Abhimanyu pierced each of the six who ringed him, one by one, and took sixty of Ashvatthama’s arrows while standing unmoved as Mainaka. He killed Brihadbala, the king of Kosala, which sent ten thousand kings fleeing, and wounded Shalya, the son of Dussasana, and Karna as well. The enemy could no longer find a single gap in him.

Drona’s Counsel, and the Start of the Trick

Shakuni, pierced by three of Abhimanyu’s arrows, said to Duryodhana, “Let us all grind him down together, or fighting us one by one he will kill us all. King, take counsel with Drona, Kripa, and the others, and find a way to kill him.” Then Karna said to Drona, “Abhimanyu is grinding us all down. Tell us the way to kill him.”

Hearing this, the mighty bowman Drona addressed them all, “Has any one of you, watching closely, found a flaw in this youth? He is careering in every direction. Has any one of you today caught even the smallest weakness in him? See the quickness of hand, the speed, of this lion among men, this son of Arjuna. In the track of his chariot only his bow drawn to a circle can be seen, so fast does he nock and loose. In truth this son of Subhadra, though he wounds my very breath and dazes me with his shafts, is a delight to me. In battle I see no difference between the wielder of the Gandiva and this boy of the lightning hand.”

Karna said again, “Wounded to the quick by Abhimanyu’s arrows, I stand here only because a warrior should stand. His arrows have the fire of Agni, they are terrible, and they are draining my heart.”

Then the preceptor said quietly, with a smile, the words that became the deepest and heaviest turn of this story, “Abhimanyu is young, his prowess is great, and his armor cannot be pierced. I myself taught his father how to wear defensive armor, and this boy knows the whole of that science. But with well-aimed arrows you can cut his bow, his bowstring, the reins of his horses, the horses themselves, and both his Parshni charioteers. Son of Radha, do this if you can. Turn him from the fight, and only then strike him. With his bow in hand, the gods and the asuras together cannot conquer him. If you wish, first strip him of his chariot and his bow.”

Hearing the preceptor’s words, Karna, while Abhimanyu was shooting with great speed, cut his bow from behind. Kritavarma of the Bhoja line killed his horses, and Kripa both his Parshni charioteers. The moment he was without his bow, the rest of the great warriors poured arrows on him. Those six great warriors, when speed was everything, ruthlessly buried that chariotless boy, fighting them alone, under their shafts.

A key to reading this (the concept): Here the moral difficulty of the Mahabharata comes fully into the open. The preceptor Drona, who had just been praising Abhimanyu’s valor and calling him “the equal of the wielder of the Gandiva,” is the one who gives the plan to cut the boy’s bow from behind and then fall on the unarmed youth all together. This was a plain breach of the Kshatriya rules of single combat, six against one, and against an unarmed man. The story does not hide it, the very beings of the sky call it “adharma.”

The gist: At the helplessness of Shakuni and Karna, Drona first praised the boy’s unpierceable armor and wonderful hand, then gave the very plan to cut his bow, horses, and charioteer from behind. Karna cut the bow from behind, Kritavarma the horses, Kripa the charioteers, and all six fell on the unarmed boy at once. Here the open game of guile begins.

Sword, Chariot Wheel, and Mace: the Final Blow

Stripped of his bow and chariot, yet keeping his warrior’s duty in view, the beautiful Abhimanyu took up a sword and a shield and leaped into the sky. Showing great strength and quickness, describing the Kaushika and other passes of swordplay, he ranged through the air like Garuda. “Let him not fall on us sword in hand,” so thinking, those great bowmen kept their eyes turned up, watching for a gap, and shooting. Then Drona, with a sharp shaft, cut off the jeweled hilt of Abhimanyu’s sword, and Karna, with sharp shafts, cut away his fine shield.

Deprived of sword and shield, he came down from the sky to the earth with his limbs sound. Then he took up a chariot wheel and, in wrath, rushed at Drona. His body gray with the dust of chariot wheels, the wheel raised in his lifted arms, Abhimanyu was beautiful to see, like an image of Vasudeva with his discus. His robes dyed with the blood running from his wounds, his brows drawn into a frown, roaring like a lion, he stood among those kings blazing with fire. That joy of Vishnu’s sister, that Atiratha (a warrior able to fight many at once, single-handed), armed like a second Janardana with the weapons of Vasudeva, the very gods could not look upon.

Seeing the wheel in his hands, the kings grew anxious and cut it into a hundred pieces. Then the hero took up a heavy mace. Stripped of bow, chariot, sword, and wheel, Abhimanyu fell mace in hand on Ashvatthama. Seeing the mace rise like a flaming thunderbolt, Ashvatthama sprang quickly from his chariot and got clear in three long leaps. With that mace Abhimanyu killed Ashvatthama’s horses and both his Parshni charioteers. Pierced all over with arrows, he looked like a porcupine himself. Then he pressed Kalikeya, the son of Subala, down into the earth, and killed his seventy-seven Gandhara followers, ten car-warriors, and ten huge elephants.

Moving on, he pressed the chariot and horses of Dussasana’s son into the earth. Then that son of Dussasana raised his own mace and rushed at Abhimanyu, crying, “Stop, stop.” Then the two cousins, maces raised, each set on killing the other, struck at each other like the three-eyed Mahadeva and the asura Andhaka of old. Struck by the ends of each other’s maces, both fell to the ground, like two banners raised in Indra’s honor uprooted and thrown down.

Then the son of Dussasana, who was to enlarge the fame of the Kurus, rose first, and just as Abhimanyu was about to rise, struck the boy on the crown of his head, on his diadem, with the mace. From the force of that blow, and from all the labor before it, that destroyer of enemy hosts, the son of Subhadra, fainted and fell to the ground. So it was that many together killed the one who had ground the whole army as an elephant grinds lotus stalks in a lake.

Abhimanyu lay dead on the ground like a wild elephant killed by hunters. Like a fire that has burned a whole forest in summer and then gone out, like a storm that has crushed the mountain crests and then fallen still, like the sun that has scorched the Bharata army with its heat and reached the western hills, like the moon seized by Rahu, like a sea drained of water. In the sky the beings said, “Alas, fighting alone, this hero has been killed by six great warriors led by Drona and Karna. We hold that this deed was adharma.”

A key to reading this (the count): The great warriors of the ring are counted as “six” (Drona, Karna, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, Kritavarma), but the final, killing blow was not from any of them. It came from a seventh, the son of Dussasana (not the Lakshmana killed earlier, but Dussasana’s son), who struck the unarmed, rising boy on the diadem with a mace. That is why this killing is called “seven great warriors closing in together”: six disarmed him, the seventh struck the last blow.

The gist: Even unarmed, Abhimanyu fought on, first with sword and shield, then with a chariot wheel, then with a mace, killing Kalikeya, the Gandhara followers, and the elephant-division. At last, in a mace duel with the son of Dussasana, both fell, but the other rose first and struck the unarmed, rising boy on the diadem, killing him. The very beings of the sky called this joint attack adharma.

Twilight, and Yudhishthira’s Lament

With the hero dead, the earth looked like a night sky full of stars and a moon. Strewn with golden-winged shafts, covered with waves of blood, spread with the beautiful heads of heroes set with earrings and bright turbans, it took on a terrible form. Your warriors, having killed one great hero and taken their own wounds, turned at twilight toward their blood-soaked camp. That strange hour between day and night arrived. The ill-omened howls of jackals were heard. The sun, wearing the pale-red of lotus filaments, sank toward the western hills.

At the killing of that hero, that son of the commander, the Pandava warriors left their chariots, put off their armor, threw down their bows, and sat around Yudhishthira, their hearts fixed on Abhimanyu alone. Overwhelmed with grief, Yudhishthira lamented, “Alas, Abhimanyu, wishing my good, pierced the array Drona had built. Meeting him, great bowmen fell back. He drove even our unshakable enemy Dussasana from the field, senseless with arrows. Alas, having crossed the vast sea of Drona’s army, he met the son of Dussasana at last and became a guest of Yama’s house.

“With Abhimanyu killed, how shall I lift my eyes to Arjuna, and to Subhadra, robbed of her beloved son? What empty, ill-fitting, and unworthy words shall we say today to Hrishikesa and Dhananjaya? Wishing them good, hoping for victory, it is I who have done this great harm to Subhadra, Keshava, and Arjuna. The greedy man does not see his own faults, and greed is born of folly. The gatherers of honey do not see the pit before them, and I am one of them. He who was still a child, who deserved good food, good vehicles, a fine bed and fine ornaments, him we set at the very front of the war.

“Dhananjaya is generous, wise, humble, forgiving, handsome, strong, and devoted to truth, and even the gods praise his valor. The son of that same Arjuna we could not save today. Enraged at his son’s death, Partha will destroy the Kauravas root and branch. And it is certain too that the mean-minded Duryodhana, seeing the ruin of his own line, will give up his life in grief. Seeing this peerless, mighty son of Indra’s son lying on the field, I take no joy in victory, in kingship, in immortality, or in dwelling with the gods.”

Then the great sage Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa came there. After worshipping him duly, Yudhishthira, sunk in grief for his nephew, said that the boy had been killed amid many great bowmen, ringed by warriors of unrighteous ways, and that the fight had been utterly unequal, and this was what gnawed at him. Vyasa comforted him, “Yudhishthira, wise one, men like you are not stupefied by calamity. This brave boy, having killed many foes, has climbed to heaven. This law cannot be crossed, Bharata: Death takes all, gods and danavas and gandharvas alike.”

A key to reading this (lineage and place): “Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa” is the sage who composed this whole Mahabharata, “Dvaipayana” because he was born on an island, “Krishna” for his dark color. He is the father of Pandu and Dhritarashtra and the grandsire of this line, so in the hour of grief he comes himself to guide them. This same ground is called “Samantapanchaka,” the old name of Kurukshetra.

The gist: At twilight the blood-soaked Kauravas returned to their camp, and in the Pandava camp Yudhishthira filled with guilt that he had pushed the boy into the mouth of an unequal war. He admitted he could not now meet the eyes of Arjuna and Subhadra, and foretold that the enraged Arjuna would destroy the Kauravas. Vyasa came and taught that Time is inexorable and the brave boy had climbed to heaven.

The Burden No Other Shoulder Could Carry

The afternoon of that day was wearing down, and the Samsaptakas (those warriors who had vowed to conquer or die) had drawn Arjuna to one edge of the field. On the other side, the preceptor Drona had bound his army into a formation called the chakravyuha (a circular, wheel-shaped array whose rim seemed to turn, and whose lanes inside became a maze). This array was hard to enter, and harder still to come out of once entered. Every great warrior of the Pandava side stalled before that circular wall.

King Yudhishthira, with Bhimasena at the front, attacked that unconquerable array, which the son of Bharadwaja, Drona, guarded himself. Satyaki, Chekitana, Dhrishtadyumna the son of Prishata, the mighty Kuntibhoja, the great warrior Drupada, Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu, Kshatradharma, the brave Brihatkshatra, Dhrishtaketu the king of the Chedis, the twin sons of Madri Nakula and Sahadeva, Ghatotkacha, the strong Yudhamanyu, the unconquered Shikhandin, the unyielding Uttamaujas, the great warrior Virata, the five sons of Draupadi, the brave son of Shishupala, the Kaikeya brothers of great fire, and thousands of Srinjayas, all of them together rushed in wrath at the son of Bharadwaja.

But the rain of Drona’s arrows held them all back. As a great wave breaks against an unyielding cliff and rolls back, or a swelling sea strikes its own shore and falls away, so these warriors were stopped before Drona. The Panchalas and the Srinjayas could not come near him. All marveled at the strength of his arms.

Yudhishthira watched Drona coming on in wrath and turned over in his mind many ways of checking him. At last, deciding that no one else could stop Drona, he laid this unbearable weight on the son of Subhadra. He spoke to that hero, who was in no way less than Vasudeva himself and whose fire ran higher even than Arjuna’s:

“Son, act so that when Arjuna returns he cannot reproach us. We do not know how to break this wheel-array. Only you, or Arjuna, or Krishna, or Pradyumna can pierce it. Mighty-armed one, there is no fifth man who can do this. Abhimanyu, your fathers, your uncles, and all these soldiers ask this boon of you. Take up your arms at once and destroy this work of Drona, or Arjuna, returning from the fight, will curse us all.”

A key to reading this (the moral knot): Keep in mind that Yudhishthira is laying on a sixteen-year-old boy the burden that he himself and his four brothers could not carry. Abhimanyu says plainly, before he goes, that he knows the way in but not the way out. The story does not hide this truth. Here the dharma-king’s helplessness and his decision are set down together. That is the way of the Mahabharata.

Abhimanyu answered, “Wishing victory to my fathers, I will go this moment into this firm, fierce, and impassable work of Drona. My father taught me how to break into an array of this kind and cut it apart within. But if some danger falls on me, I do not know how to come out.”

Yudhishthira said, “Great hero, break this work once and make a road for us. The path you take, all of us will follow. In battle you are Dhananjaya’s own equal. Seeing you go in, we too will follow, and guard you on every side.”

Bhimasena said, “I myself will go at your back, and Dhrishtadyumna, Satyaki, the Panchalas, and the Prabhadrakas. Break the array once, and then we will enter it again and again and cut down the chief warriors inside.”

Abhimanyu said, “I will go into this unconquerable work of Drona the way a moth, mad with rage, goes into a blazing fire. Today I will do what serves both my father’s line and my mother’s. Today I will do the deed that pleases my uncle and my mother. Today all creatures will see one lone boy cutting down the vast bodies of the enemy without pause. If anyone who meets me today comes out alive, I will not count myself the son of Partha and the child of Subhadra. If I cannot, from a single chariot, cut the whole Kshatriya race into eight pieces, I will not count myself the son of Arjuna.”

Yudhishthira gave his blessing, “Since, guarded by these best of men, these great bowmen who match the Sadhyas, the Rudras, the Maruts, the Vasus, Agni, and Aditya in power, you dare to pierce the unconquerable work of Drona and speak so, then, joy of Subhadra, may your strength grow.”

Hearing this, Abhimanyu ordered his charioteer Sumitra, “Drive the horses quickly toward the army of Drona.”

The gist: Yudhishthira handed to Abhimanyu the task the five Pandavas and their allies could not do, the breaking of the wheel-array. The boy gave his word, but he also stated his limit plainly: I know the way in, not the way out. That very word is the seed of the tragedy that follows.

The Charioteer’s Warning, and the Gate Gives Way

Hearing the wise Yudhishthira’s words, the son of Subhadra told his charioteer to drive toward Drona’s work. At the command, “Forward, forward,” the charioteer said to Abhimanyu:

“You who are blessed with long life, the Pandavas have laid a very heavy burden on you. First judge with your own mind whether you can carry it, and only then go into battle. The preceptor Drona is a master of the finest weapons and skilled in war. You have been raised in great comfort and are not seasoned in battle.”

Hearing this, Abhimanyu said with a laugh, “Charioteer, who is this Drona? And what is this great mass of Kshatriyas? Even Indra, seated on Airavata and aided by all the gods, I could meet in battle. Today I do not spare the least thought for all these Kshatriyas. This enemy host is not the equal of a sixteenth part of me. Suta’s son, even if I found my uncle Vishnu, the conqueror of all, or my father Arjuna, against me, fear would not enter my heart. Drive quickly toward the army of Drona.”

The charioteer’s heart held no gladness, and still he urged Abhimanyu’s three-year-old horses in their golden trappings. Those horses ran with great speed and force straight at Drona. Seeing Abhimanyu come like this, all the Kauravas under Drona pushed forward against him, and the Pandavas came on behind. Sheathed in golden mail, flying the fine banner marked with the Karnikara tree, the son of Arjuna closed fearlessly with Drona and the other heroes, the way a lion cub falls upon a herd of elephants.

Those warriors, filled with joy, struck at Abhimanyu while he worked to break their array. For a moment there was an eddy there, like the whirl in the Ganga where it meets the sea. In that terrible fight, before Drona’s eyes, the son of Arjuna broke the array and passed inside.

A sub-tale: Notice that the charioteer Sumitra is the silent witness of this story. He knows the boy has been handed an impossible task, and so he gives the warning. But Abhimanyu’s answer reveals a boy’s over-confidence and a hero’s unshakable courage at once. Vyasa keeps this exchange precisely so that the shadow of what is coming falls in advance.

The instant he was in, large bodies of elephants, horses, chariots, and foot soldiers closed on that great hero in joy and struck at him. The earth rang with the din of many instruments, with shouts and slaps of arms, with lion-roars, with cries of “Stop, stop,” “Do not go,” “Come to me,” “Here he is, it is I, this is the enemy,” with the trumpeting of elephants and the thunder of hooves and chariot wheels, and the Kaurava warriors fell on the son of Arjuna.

But that great hero, quick of hand and knowing the body’s vital points, loosed shafts that split the vitals and cut down the oncoming warriors. Sliced by his sharp arrows, they fell helpless upon him like moths onto a flame. He carpeted the earth with their bodies and limbs the way the priests spread the sacrificial altar with kusa grass. He cut off the arms of thousands of warriors, arms that had held bows and shafts, swords and shields, hooks and reins, lances, axes, maces, iron balls, spears, daggers, saws, and every kind of weapon. Heads upon heads fell scattered, faces of fine noses and hair, set with earrings, lying on the ground like lotuses cut from their stalks.

Many elephants, horses, and chariots came apart. Splendid chariots that had looked like the cloud-palaces of the sky fell down, stripped of their wheels, yokes, banners, umbrellas, and gear. Swift, well-trained horses of the Vanayu, hill, Kamboja, and Bahlika breeds lay lifeless with their riders, tongues lolling, eyes rolled back. So Abhimanyu, achieving alone that hardest of feats, went on grinding all three arms of the army (chariots, elephants, and horses) the way the three-eyed Mahadeva ground the asura host.

Seeing the son of Subhadra grind down their army alone, the Kaurava warriors and the sons of Dhritarashtra went dry in the mouth, restless in the eye, drenched in sweat, their hair on end. Giving up hope of beating their foe, they began to think of flight, and, abandoning their wounded sons, fathers, brothers, and kinsmen on the field, they ran.

A key to reading this (the three-year-old horses): The story keeps mentioning “three-year-old horses.” These were young, very swift steeds, a mirror of Abhimanyu’s own youth. In a modern equivalent, it is as if a teenager rode into battle in an extremely fast but newly built machine, all speed and little seasoning.

The gist: Ignoring the charioteer’s warning, Abhimanyu broke the gate of the array before Drona’s eyes and inside made such slaughter that the Kaurava army went dry in the mouth and thought of flight. This first feat of the boy alone shook the whole army.

Duryodhana in Peril, and One Boy’s Play of Fire

Seeing his army torn apart by the son of Subhadra, Duryodhana in his rage came on at him. Seeing the king turn toward Abhimanyu, Drona addressed all the Kaurava warriors, “Save the king. Before us, in our very sight, this valiant Abhimanyu kills whatever he aims at. Fall on him at once without fear, and protect the Kuru king.”

Then many grateful and mighty warriors, who wished Duryodhana well, though afraid, ringed the king and stood their ground. Drona, Ashvatthama, Kripa, Karna, Kritavarma, Shakuni the son of Subala, Brihadbala, Shalya the king of the Madras, Bhuri, Bhurishravas, Shala, Paurava, and Vrishasena, all of them with sharp showers of arrows checked Abhimanyu and saved Duryodhana.

But the son of Arjuna would not stand for a morsel snatched from his mouth. Covering those great warriors, their charioteers, and their horses with arrows and turning them back, he gave a lion-roar. Drona and the other wrathful warriors could not bear that roar, and ringing him on every side, they poured every kind of arrow on him. But he cut them all down in the air and pierced them all in return, and it was a wonder to see.

In that terrible fight Duhsaha pierced Abhimanyu with nine shafts, Dussasana with twelve, Kripa the son of Sharadwat with three, Drona with seventeen, Vivinshati with seventy, Kritavarma with seven, Brihadbala with eight, Ashvatthama with seven, Bhurishravas with three, the king of the Madras with six, Shakuni with two, and Duryodhana with three. But the valiant Abhimanyu, as if dancing on his chariot, answered each of them with three shafts.

Then, striking at the crown prince of the Asmakas, he cut off his horses, charioteer, banner, both arms, bow, and head with ten arrows, and dropped them to the earth, smiling. When the king of the Asmakas was killed, all his army wavered and fled. Then Karna, Kripa, Drona, Ashvatthama, the king of Gandhara, Shala, Shalya, Bhurishravas, Kratha, Somadatta, Vivinshati, Vrishasena, Sushena, Kundavedhin, Pratardana, Vrindaraka, Lalitya, Pravahu, Dirghalochana, and the wrathful Duryodhana all rained arrows on him.

Pierced hard by these great bowmen, Abhimanyu loosed at Karna a shaft that would pierce any armor and any body. It went through Karna’s mail and then his body and sank into the earth like a snake into an anthill. In deep pain Karna grew helpless and shook like a mountain in an earthquake. Then with three sharp shafts Abhimanyu killed the three warriors Sushena, Dirghalochana, and Kundavedhin.

Meanwhile Karna, recovering from the shock, pierced Abhimanyu with twenty-five shafts, Ashvatthama with twenty, and Kritavarma with seven. Covered with arrows, that grandson of Sakra careered over the field in wrath and seemed to the whole army like Yama himself, noose in hand. He poured thick arrows on Shalya, who was near him, and terrified the army with his lion-roar. Pierced in his vitals by the arrows of the skilled Abhimanyu, Shalya sank fainting on the rear of his chariot. Seeing Shalya pierced by the famous son of Subhadra, the whole army fled before the eyes of the son of Bharadwaja, like a herd of deer set upon by a lion.

At that hour the Pitris, the gods, the Charanas, the Siddhas, and the many creatures of the earth praised Abhimanyu’s valor and his skill in battle, and he shone like a sacrificial fire fed with clarified butter.

A key to reading this (Karna wounded): The Mahabharata does not hesitate here to show Karna helpless and trembling. That same Karna who is held to be Arjuna’s rival shakes like a mountain in an earthquake under the arrow of a sixteen-year-old boy. The story does not keep anyone’s glory safe on the cheap. Valor is proven only in the moment that actually happens.

When Shalya was wounded, his younger brother came on at Abhimanyu in wrath, pouring arrows. Quick of hand, the son of Arjuna cut off his head, charioteer, triveni (the chariot’s forward frame of three bamboo poles), seat, wheels, yoke, arrows, quiver, chariot-bottom, and banner, all with his shafts, so fast that no one saw even his form. Lifeless, that hero decked in ornaments fell to the ground like a great mountain uprooted by a fierce wind. All creatures cried “Well done, well done” and cheered him.

Then the many followers of Shalya’s brother, calling out their families, homes, and names, took up all kinds of weapons and fell on Abhimanyu, some on chariots, some on horses, some on elephants, some on foot. “You shall not live today,” they cried as they came on. But smiling, the son of Subhadra pierced first those who had pierced him first. He loosed the weapons he had learned from Vasudeva and Dhananjaya the way Vasudeva and Dhananjaya themselves would. His bow could be seen only drawn to a full circle, like the blazing disc of the autumn sun. Between his nocking and his loosing there was no interval to be seen. Modest, wrathful, respectful to his elders, and very beautiful, the boy fought gently at first out of regard for the enemy heroes, and then grew fierce by degrees, like the autumn sun coming out after the rains.

The gist: To save Duryodhana, the whole Kaurava camp, Drona, Karna, Kripa, and the rest, fell on Abhimanyu at once, and still the boy answered each with three shafts, killed the king of the Asmakas and Shalya’s brother, and wounded even Karna. Alone, Abhimanyu blazed like Yama himself.

Drona’s Praise, Dussasana’s Defeat, and the Killing of Karna’s Brother

Seeing the son of Arjuna grind down the chief bowmen of the Kauravas with his sharp shafts, Dhritarashtra asked Sanjaya which warriors had come forward to check him. Sanjaya described how Abhimanyu, wheeling like a ring of fire, pierced Drona, Karna, Kripa, Shalya, Ashvatthama, Kritavarma of the Bhoja race, Brihadbala, Duryodhana, Somadatta, Shakuni, and many kings and bodies of troops. Cutting down his foes with fine weapons, he seemed to be present everywhere at once.

Seeing this play of his, the eyes of the wise son of Bharadwaja opened wide with joy. He came quickly to Kripa and said, as if piercing Duryodhana’s very vitals with the words, “See, this young son of Subhadra comes forward before the Parthas, gladdening all his friends. I see no bowman in battle to equal him. If he wished it, he could destroy this whole army. For some reason he does not wish it.”

Seeing this satisfaction on Drona’s face, Duryodhana filled with rage and looked at the preceptor with a thin smile. Then he said to Karna, Bahlika, Dussasana, the king of the Madras, and many other great warriors, “Drona, the teacher of all the Kshatriya line, the knower of sacred lore, will not kill this son of Arjuna, out of fondness. Before the preceptor in battle even Death cannot live, what then of a mortal? I tell the truth: this is Arjuna’s son, and Arjuna is the preceptor’s pupil. That is why the preceptor shields this boy. Crush him without delay.”

Then Dussasana spoke up, “King, I say I will kill him myself, before the Pandavas and the eyes of the Panchalas. Today I will swallow the son of Subhadra the way Rahu swallows the sun.” So saying, roaring in rage, he fell on Abhimanyu with a rain of arrows. Abhimanyu took him with twenty-six sharp shafts. Both masters of chariot-fighting, they fought wheeling in fine circles, one to the left, the other to the right.

Then Abhimanyu, his limbs pierced with arrows, said to Dussasana with a smile, “It is my great good fortune that the proud one, cruel, stripped of dharma, forever singing his own praise, has come before me. In the assembly of the Kurus, with King Dhritarashtra listening, you angered the dharma-king Yudhishthira with your harsh words. On the strength of the dice-cheat and the son of Subala’s skill, drunk with success, you flung mad words at Bhima. Today, before the whole army, I will punish you with my arrows. Today I will clear the debt of the anger I carry against you, and the debt I carry for the wrathful Krishna (Draupadi) and for my father. If you do not quit the fight, you will not live.”

So saying, the mighty-armed one aimed a shaft with the fire of Yama, Agni, and Vayu. It fell on the joint of Dussasana’s shoulder and sank into his body up to the feathers, like a snake into an anthill. Then he pierced Dussasana with twenty-five more, whose touch was fire. In deep pain Dussasana sank fainting on the rear of his chariot, and his charioteer bore him away from the fight.

Seeing this, the Pandavas, the five sons of Draupadi, Virata, the Panchalas, and the Kaikeyas gave a lion-roar, and the Pandava army beat its drums in joy.

A sub-tale: When Abhimanyu reminds Dussasana of his crime in the dice-hall, it is not merely a boy’s anger, it is the memory of the whole house. The humiliation of Draupadi, the mockery of Yudhishthira, the vows of Bhima, all of these are speaking through Abhimanyu’s arrows. But notice: Abhimanyu does not kill Dussasana, he only stuns him. That killing is left unspoken for Bhima, whose vow was for the blood of Dussasana.

Duryodhana said to Karna the son of Radha, “See, the Dussasana who was killing our foes until now has lost to Abhimanyu. The Pandavas are surging like lions in their wrath.” Then Karna in his rage began to pour sharp arrows on Abhimanyu and to pierce his followers too. But Abhimanyu, eager to press on toward Drona, pierced Karna with seventy-three shafts. With stone-whetted arrows he cut the bows of many warriors and ringed Karna in. With snake-like shafts from his circle-drawn bow he cut off Karna’s umbrella, banner, charioteer, and horses, smiling. Karna loosed five arrows, which Abhimanyu took without fear, and then with a single arrow he dropped Karna’s bow and banner to the ground.

Seeing Karna in this danger, his younger brother came on at Abhimanyu, drawing his bow with great force. With ten shafts he pierced Abhimanyu, his umbrella, banner, charioteer, and horses. Then Abhimanyu, bending his bow hard, with a single winged arrow cut off the brother’s head. It fell from the trunk to the earth. Seeing his brother fall like a Karnikara tree blown from a mountain peak by the wind, Karna filled with pain. Meanwhile Abhimanyu drove Karna far from the field with his arrows and fell on the other great bowmen.

When the sky was so covered by Abhimanyu’s arrows, as if by swarms of locusts or a heavy downpour, that nothing could be seen, then among the Kaurava warriors cut down by his sharp shafts, none could hold his ground on the field except the king of the Sindhus, Jayadratha.

The gist: The preceptor Drona himself praised Abhimanyu’s valor freely, which burned Duryodhana. Dussasana came with a vow and returned fainting; Karna was wounded and his brother killed. Before one lone boy, only Jayadratha could hold his ground, and behind him lay the secret of a boon.

Jayadratha’s Boon: the Gate That Closed Behind Him

Abhimanyu, like a burning spark loosed in the Kaurava army, went on consuming his foes. Behind him the Pandavas, Yudhishthira, Bhimasena, Shikhandin, Satyaki, Nakula and Sahadeva, Dhrishtadyumna, Virata, Drupada, the Kaikeyas, Dhrishtaketu, and the Matsya warriors, ran along the very road Abhimanyu had opened, hoping to save him. Seeing these heroes come, the Kaurava army turned its face and fled.

Then the great Jayadratha, king of the Sindhus, Dhritarashtra’s son-in-law, came forward to steady the army. As the son of Vriddhakshatra, he woke his celestial weapons and single-handed held back the Pandavas who were desperate to save their boy, the way an elephant playing in shallow water becomes a dam.

Dhritarashtra asked in wonder how Jayadratha, taking on so heavy a burden alone, could hold back the enraged Pandavas, and what gifts, offerings, sacrifices, or austerities he had performed. Then Sanjaya told the secret of the boon:

“At the time of Draupadi’s humiliation, Jayadratha had been beaten by Bhimasena. From the sharp pain of that disgrace he practiced the harshest austerities and asked for a boon. Holding his senses from every object, bearing hunger, thirst, and heat, he dried his body until the veins stood out. Chanting the eternal words of the Veda, he worshipped Mahadeva. Hara, ever full of pity for his devotees, was pleased at last and, appearing in a dream, said, ‘Ask the boon you wish. Jayadratha, I am pleased with you.’

Jayadratha, with folded hands and a steady mind, bowed and said, ‘Let me, alone, from a single chariot, hold back in battle all the sons of Pandu, who are of terrible fire and prowess.’ Mahadeva answered, ‘Gentle one, I grant you the boon. Except Dhananjaya, the son of Pritha, you shall be able to hold the other four Pandavas in battle.’ ‘So be it,’ said Jayadratha, and woke from his sleep.

By the strength of that boon and of his celestial weapons, Jayadratha alone held the whole Pandava army. The twang of his bowstring and the crack of his palms frightened the Kshatriyas of the Pandava side and gladdened the Kaurava army.”

A key to reading this (the limit of the boon): Mahadeva’s boon was exact: Jayadratha could hold back only the four Pandavas other than Arjuna. That very limit gave birth to the whole tragedy. Arjuna was tangled with the Samsaptakas far off that day, and the other four brothers could not reach the gate Abhimanyu had opened, because of Jayadratha’s boon. The boy was left alone inside, and the gate closed behind him.

Meanwhile Abhimanyu, sure of his aim and of fierce fire, having entered the array, churned it the way a crocodile churns the sea. He killed Vrishasena’s charioteer and cut his bow, then pierced his horses, which bore Vrishasena away from the field with the speed of the wind. Just then the warrior named Vasatiya fell on him with force, pierced him with sixty arrows, and said, “While I live, you shall not live.” Though he wore iron mail, the son of Subhadra pierced his chest with a far-reaching arrow, and he fell lifeless to the ground.

When Vasatiya was killed, many Kshatriyas ringed Abhimanyu in wrath to kill him. But the son of Phalguni cut off their bows, arrows, limbs, and their heads decked with earrings and flower wreaths. Arms in golden ornaments, gripping sword and mace, fingers cased in leather guards, fell scattered. The earth was buried under flower wreaths, ornaments, robes, fallen banners, armor, shields, umbrellas, yak-tail fans, and the broken wheels and yokes of chariots. When Abhimanyu ran in wrath in every direction, his very form vanished, and only his gold-decked mail, his ornaments, and his bow could be seen.

The gist: The Pandavas ran along the road Abhimanyu had opened, but Jayadratha, bearing Mahadeva’s boon, held back all four brothers except Arjuna at the gate itself. The gate Abhimanyu had broken to go in was shut behind him. The boy was now alone in the array, and his march of victory was about to become his encirclement.

The Hundred Princes, the Death of Lakshmana, and the Ring of Six Great Warriors

Taking the lives of his foes, the son of Arjuna came to look like Yama at the end of an age. Having entered the array, he seized Satyashrava the way an angry tiger seizes a deer. Seeing this, many great warriors fell on him crying “I will go first, I first.” But Abhimanyu took that whole body of Kshatriyas the way the timi fish in the sea takes a shoal of small fish.

Then Rukmaratha, the son of Shalya the king of the Madras, steadied the frightened army and said without fear, “Heroes, do not fear. While I am here, what is Abhimanyu? I will take him alive.” So saying, he came on at Abhimanyu on his well-equipped chariot. He drove three arrows into his chest, three into the right arm, and three into the left, and roared. But the son of Phalguni cut off his bow, both arms, and his head with its lovely eyes and brows, and dropped them quickly to the earth.

Seeing the honored Rukmaratha, Shalya’s son, killed so, his many princely friends, skilled in striking and hard to beat in battle, bearing gold banners, came to fight. Drawing their six-cubit bows, those great warriors ringed the son of Arjuna and rained arrows on him. Seeing Abhimanyu ringed alone by so many wrathful, valiant, practiced princes and buried under arrows, Duryodhana rejoiced greatly and counted him a guest of Yama already.

In the blink of an eye those princes made the son of Arjuna vanish under golden-winged shafts, so that he, his banner, and his chariot looked like trees hidden by swarms of locusts. Pierced to the depth, he swelled with rage like an elephant struck by the hook. Then he used the Gandharva weapon and the illusion it brings, which Arjuna had won by austerities from the Gandharva Tumburu and others. With that weapon Abhimanyu confounded his foes. Bringing out his weapons swiftly, he wheeled in the battle like a ring of fire, seen now as one, now as a hundred, now as a thousand. He cut the bodies of those kings into a hundred pieces each. Those hundred princes were felled by Abhimanyu like a grove of five-year-old mango trees, ready to bear fruit, thrown down by a fierce wind. Seeing this, Duryodhana filled with fear.

A key to reading this (numbers and a modern equivalent): “A hundred princes” means Abhimanyu was cutting down not one man after another but whole groups that ringed him at once. In a modern equivalent it is one lone soldier defeating entire special units together. The Gandharva illusion was the battle-skill by which the enemy was made to see not one warrior but many.

Seeing his car-warriors, elephants, horses, and foot soldiers crushed, the Kuru king came on at Abhimanyu in wrath, but in a short fight, cut about by Abhimanyu’s arrows, he was forced to turn back. When Duryodhana was beaten and the hundred princes killed, the Kaurava warriors again went dry in the mouth, restless in the eye, running with sweat, and ready to flee. Drona, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, Kripa, Duryodhana, Karna, Kritavarma, and Shakuni fell on Abhimanyu in wrath, and nearly all of them turned back beaten.

Then one warrior alone, Lakshmana, raised in luxury, skilled with the bow, but fearless from inexperience and pride, came before the son of Arjuna. He was Duryodhana’s son. Anxious for his son, Duryodhana turned back after him, and the other great warriors after Duryodhana. All rained arrows on Abhimanyu, like clouds pouring on a mountain crest. But Abhimanyu alone scattered them the way the dry wind scatters a mass of clouds.

Like one rutting elephant closing with another, the son of Arjuna closed with Duryodhana’s son Lakshmana. Lakshmana struck sharp arrows into both his arms and his chest. Then the mighty-armed Abhimanyu, wrathful as a snake beaten with a rod, said, “Look well upon this world, for now you must go to the next. Before the eyes of all your kinsmen I will send you to the house of Yama.” So saying, he drew a broad-headed arrow like a snake fresh from its slough, and that arrow carried off Lakshmana’s beautiful head, its fine nose, its brows, its curling hair, its earrings.

Seeing Lakshmana killed, the Kaurava army cried out, “Oh, oh.” Enraged at the death of his beloved son, Duryodhana called out to the Kshatriyas, “Kill him.” Then Drona, Kripa, Karna, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, and Kritavarma the son of Hridika, these six great warriors, ringed Abhimanyu.

A sub-tale: Notice that the very words Abhimanyu speaks as he kills Lakshmana, “before the eyes of your kinsmen I will send you to the house of Yama,” return upon him the very next moment. Duryodhana’s son dies at Abhimanyu’s hand, and soon Duryodhana’s brother’s son will kill Abhimanyu. In the Mahabharata death often returns like an echo.

Piercing those six and beating them off, Abhimanyu fell with great speed on the vast army of Jayadratha. Then the brave sons of the Kalingas, the Nishadas, and Kratha came with their elephant-division to block his path. But Abhimanyu destroyed that elephant-division the way the wind blowing in every direction scatters a mass of clouds. Kratha’s son, who was rich in noble birth, good conduct, knowledge of scripture, strength, fame, and might of arm, had his bow, arrows, arms, crowned head, umbrella, banner, charioteer, and horses all cut down by Abhimanyu. When he was killed, nearly all the rest of the warriors turned from the fight.

The gist: Abhimanyu killed the hundred princes, Rukmaratha the son of the Madra king, the son of Kratha, and even Duryodhana’s son Lakshmana. Mad with grief for his son, Duryodhana gave the order, and now six great warriors, Drona, Kripa, Karna, Ashvatthama, Brihadbala, and Kritavarma, stood ringed around the boy together. Six against one, and here the code of righteous war begins to break.

The End of Brihadbala of Kosala, and Drona’s Device

Even in the ring of six great warriors, Abhimanyu pierced each with arrows: Drona with fifty, Brihadbala with twenty, Kritavarma with eighty, Kripa with sixty, and Ashvatthama with ten golden-winged shafts. He pierced Karna with a single swift arrow. Felling Kripa’s horses and both his Parshni charioteers (the wing-drivers who guarded the rear of the chariot), he drove ten arrows into Kripa’s chest. Then he killed Vrindaraka, who enlarged the fame of the Kurus.

Ashvatthama pierced Abhimanyu with twenty-five small arrows, and Abhimanyu answered him with many sharp shafts. Ashvatthama’s sixty fierce arrows could not shake Abhimanyu, who stood unmoved as Mount Mainaka. Then Abhimanyu pierced Ashvatthama with seventy-three straight golden-winged shafts. To save his son, Drona pierced Abhimanyu with a hundred arrows, and to save his father Ashvatthama pierced him with sixty. Karna struck with twenty-two, Kritavarma with fourteen, Brihadbala with fifty, and Kripa with ten. Abhimanyu answered each with ten arrows.

Then Brihadbala, the king of Kosala, drove a barbed arrow into Abhimanyu’s chest. But Abhimanyu at once felled his horses, banner, bow, and charioteer to the earth. His chariot gone, Brihadbala took up a sword and moved to cut off Abhimanyu’s earringed, beautiful head. But Abhimanyu drove a strong arrow into the king of Kosala’s chest, and he fell with his heart torn open. Seeing this, ten thousand kings fled in fear.

Then the son of Phalguni pierced Karna again with a barbed shaft, and, to anger him further, with fifty more. The son of Radha answered with as many. Covered with arrows, Abhimanyu, and bathed in blood, Karna, shone like Kinshuka (palasha) trees in flower. Abhimanyu killed six of Karna’s brave counsellors with their horses, charioteers, and chariots, killed the son of the king of Magadha, and with six arrows killed the youthful Ashvaketu with his four horses and charioteer. Then, killing the Bhoja prince of Martikavata, whose banner bore an elephant, with a razor-headed arrow, he gave a lion-roar.

Then the son of Dussasana pierced Abhimanyu’s four horses, his charioteer, and Abhimanyu himself with arrows. The son of Arjuna pierced him with ten swift shafts and, eyes red with wrath, said, “Your father quit the fight and ran like a coward. It is well you know how to fight. But today you will not live.” So saying, he loosed a long arrow, which Ashvatthama cut with three shafts of his own.

Leaving Ashvatthama aside, Abhimanyu drove nine vulture-feathered arrows into Shalya’s chest, cut off his bow, killed both his Parshni charioteers, and pierced Shalya with six iron shafts, so that Shalya left his chariot and climbed onto another. Then Abhimanyu killed five warriors, Shatrunjaya, Chandraketu, Mahamegha, Suvarcha, and Suryabhasa. Then he pierced Shakuni the son of Subala. Shakuni, piercing him with three arrows, said to Duryodhana, “Come, let us all grind him down together, or fighting us one by one he will kill us all. King, take counsel with Drona, Kripa, and the others, and find a way to kill him.”

Then Karna said to Drona, “Abhimanyu is grinding us all down. Tell us the way to kill him.” Hearing this, the great bowman Drona said to them all:

“Has any one of you, watching closely, caught a fault in this youth? He is careering in every direction. Has any one of you today seen even the smallest gap in him? See the quickness of hand and the speed of this lion among men, this son of Arjuna. In the track of his chariot only his circle-drawn bow can be seen, so fast does he nock and loose. He wounds my very breath and dazes me with his shafts, and still he delights me. Even the most wrathful great warriors can catch no fault in him. Between this boy of the swift hand, filling all directions with his arrows, and the wielder of the Gandiva, I see no difference in battle.”

Karna said again, wounded by Abhimanyu’s arrows, “Wounded to the quick by his arrows, I stay in the fight only because a warrior should stay. The arrows of this boy of great fire are terrible, with the fire of Agni, and they are draining my heart.”

Then the preceptor said quietly, with a smile, to Karna, “Abhimanyu is young, his prowess is great, and his armor cannot be pierced. I myself taught his father how to wear defensive armor, and surely this boy knows the whole of that science. But with well-aimed arrows you can cut his bow, his bowstring, the reins of his horses, the horses themselves, and both his Parshni charioteers. Son of Radha, do this, and turn him from the fight, and only then strike him. With his bow in hand, the gods and the asuras together cannot conquer him. If you wish, first strip him of his chariot and his bow.”

A key to reading this (the preceptor’s counsel): Here the moral difficulty of the Mahabharata reaches its peak. The same Drona who was just enchanted by Abhimanyu’s valor is the one who now gives the way to disarm him, cutting his bow, charioteer, and horses from behind. This is a killing by guile. The story neither hides it nor softens it. This counsel of the preceptor is the root of the “killing by guile,” and Arjuna’s famous rage will later blaze up over exactly this.

Hearing the preceptor’s words, Karna quickly cut off Abhimanyu’s bow with arrows while the boy was shooting with great speed. Kritavarma of the Bhoja line killed his horses, and Kripa both his Parshni charioteers. The moment he was without his bow, the rest poured arrows on him. Those six great warriors, when speed was everything, ruthlessly buried that chariotless boy, fighting them alone, under their shafts.

The gist: Abhimanyu killed Brihadbala, the king of Kosala, and many other heroes, and bathed even Karna in blood. When no one could find a fault in him in open battle, the preceptor Drona himself showed the path of guile: to disarm him by cutting his bow, horses, and charioteer from behind. Karna did just that, and the boy was left without his bow.

Sword, Chariot Wheel, and Mace: the Last Valor of a Disarmed Hero

Stripped of bow and chariot, and still keeping the duty of a warrior in mind, the beautiful Abhimanyu took up a sword and a shield and leaped into the sky. Showing great strength and quickness, describing the Kaushika and other passes (the special footwork of swordplay), the son of Arjuna ranged through the air like Garuda, the king of birds. “Let him not fall on us sword in hand,” so fearing, those great bowmen kept their eyes up, watching for his carelessness, and kept shooting.

Then the mighty Drona, with a sharp arrow, cut off the jeweled hilt of Abhimanyu’s sword. Karna the son of Radha, with sharp shafts, cut away his fine shield. Deprived of sword and shield, keeping his limbs sound, Abhimanyu came down from the sky to the earth.

Then he took up a chariot wheel and rushed at Drona in wrath. His body gray with the dust of chariot wheels, the wheel raised in his lifted arms, he was very beautiful, like an image of Vasudeva with his discus. His robes dyed with the blood running from his wounds, his brows drawn into a fierce frown, roaring like a lion, Abhimanyu of measureless might stood among those kings blazing.

That joy of Vishnu’s sister (Subhadra), that Atiratha, holding the chariot wheel like the discus of Vishnu, shone like a second Janardana. His locks flying in the wind, the fine weapon raised, his body became a thing the very gods could not look upon. Seeing the wheel in his hands, the kings grew anxious and cut it into a hundred pieces.

Then the son of Arjuna took up a great mace. Stripped of bow, chariot, sword, and wheel, the mighty-armed Abhimanyu fell mace in hand on Ashvatthama. Seeing the mace rise like a flaming thunderbolt, Ashvatthama sprang quickly from his chariot and got clear in three long leaps. With that mace Abhimanyu killed Ashvatthama’s horses and both his Parshni charioteers. Pierced all over with arrows, he looked like a porcupine.

Then he pressed Kalikeya, the son of Subala, into the earth, and killed his seventy-seven Gandhara followers. Then he killed ten car-warriors of the Brahma-Vasatiya race and ten huge elephants. Then, moving toward the chariot of Dussasana’s son, he pressed his chariot and horses into the earth.

Then the son of Dussasana rushed at Abhimanyu, mace in hand, crying “Stop, stop.” The two cousins, maces raised, each set on the other’s death, struck at each other like the three-eyed Mahadeva and the asura Andhaka of old. Struck by the ends of each other’s maces, both fell to the ground, like banners raised in Indra’s honor uprooted and thrown down.

A key to reading this (the weapons stripped one by one): Notice the order: first the bow, then the sword, then the shield, then the chariot wheel. One by one every weapon was taken from the boy, and each time he picked up the next. This order is the heart of the story: it shows that he could not be beaten head-on, he had to be disarmed piece by piece. And when he finally falls in the mace duel, as an equal, he does not fall alone, he falls with his foe.

The gist: Disarmed, Abhimanyu still did not give in. He took up sword and shield and flew into the sky, then raised a chariot wheel and looked like Vasudeva, and last fought with a mace. As each weapon was taken, he lifted the next. At last, in a mace duel with the son of Dussasana, both fell to the ground together.

The Killing by Guile, and the Grim Twilight of the Field

Then the son of Dussasana, the enlarger of Kuru fame, rose first, and just as Abhimanyu was about to rise, struck him on the crown of his head, on his diadem, with the mace. From the force of that blow and the labor of all that had gone before, that destroyer of enemy hosts, the son of Subhadra, fainted and fell to the ground.

So it was that in battle the one was killed by many, the one who had ground the whole army the way an elephant grinds the lotus stalks of a lake. Dead on the ground, the hero Abhimanyu looked like a wild elephant killed by hunters. The Kaurava army ringed the fallen hero. He looked like a fire that has burned a whole forest in summer and gone out, like a storm that has crushed the mountain crests and fallen still, like the sun that has scorched the Bharata army and reached the western hills, like the moon seized by Rahu, like a sea drained of water.

The great warriors of the Kaurava army, seeing Abhimanyu, whose face had the splendor of the full moon and whose eyes were beautiful with lashes black as a raven’s feathers, lying on the bare earth, filled with joy and roared like lions again and again. The Kaurava army was lost in delight, while tears ran from the eyes of the Pandava heroes.

In the sky the many creatures said aloud, “Alas, this hero, fighting alone, has been killed on the field by six great warriors of the Dhritarashtra side led by Drona and Karna. We hold that this deed was adharma.”

A key to reading this (the verdict from the sky): The story itself calls this killing “adharma,” and the verdict is not the storyteller’s, it is spoken by the creatures in the sky. Six against one, a strike on an unarmed man, a mace on a rising head, all of these broke the limits of the law of war. The Mahabharata sets down both the fault of its own heroes and the guile of its own villains without flattening either.

With that hero killed, the earth shone like a night sky full of stars and a moon, strewn with golden-winged shafts, covered with waves of blood, spread with the beautiful earringed heads of heroes and their bright turbans, with banners, yak-tail fans, jeweled weapons, and the ornaments of chariots and horses, and with swords that gleamed like snakes fresh from their sloughs.

Having killed one hero and taken their own wounds, the Kauravas turned at twilight toward their blood-soaked camp. Under the steady gaze of the enemy, having taken heavy loss and nearly lost their senses, they left the field slowly. Then came that strange hour between day and night. The ill-omened howls of jackals were heard. The sun, wearing the pale-red of lotus filaments, reached the western hills and began to sink.

The field was spread with the still bodies of countless dead elephants, like cloud-capped peaks split by the thunderbolt. Dogs, jackals, crows, cranes, vultures, wolves, hyenas, and the rakshasas and pishachas tore the skins of the dead, drank the fat and blood, and ate the flesh. There a terrible river of blood ran, hard to cross as the Vaitarani. Chariots were its rafts, elephants its rocks, the heads of men its pebbles, and fine weapons the garlands floating on it. That dreadful river, running through the middle of the field, seemed to carry the living toward the land of death.

Seeing that dreadful field, which was swelling the population of Yama’s kingdom, the warriors left it slowly, where Abhimanyu, a great warrior like Sakra, lay with his costly ornaments displaced and fallen, looking like a fire on the altar no longer fed with clarified butter.

The gist: The son of Dussasana struck the rising, fainting Abhimanyu on the head with a mace, and the killing of one by many was complete. The creatures of the sky called it adharma. With the sunset the field turned into a river of blood like the Vaitarani, and Abhimanyu lay like a sacrificial fire gone out.

Yudhishthira’s Lament, and the Coming of Vyasa

After the killing of that hero, that leader of chariot-divisions, the son of Subhadra, the Pandava warriors left their chariots, put off their armor, threw down their bows, and sat around King Yudhishthira. Their hearts were fixed on the dead Abhimanyu, and they were sunk in grief. At the fall of his brave nephew, the great warrior Abhimanyu, Yudhishthira, overwhelmed with grief, lamented:

“Alas, Abhimanyu, wishing my good, pierced the array of Drona that was full of his soldiers. Meeting him in battle, great and valiant bowmen, skilled in weapons and hard to beat, were routed and forced to fall back. He drove our bitter enemy Dussasana from the fight, senseless with arrows. Alas, having crossed the great sea of Drona’s army, the brave son of Arjuna met the son of Dussasana at last and became a guest of Yama’s house.

With Abhimanyu killed, how shall I lift my eyes to Arjuna and to Subhadra, robbed of her beloved son? What empty, ill-fitting, and unworthy words shall we say today to Hrishikesa and Dhananjaya? Wishing them good, hoping for victory, it is I who have done this great harm to Subhadra, Keshava, and Arjuna. The greedy man does not see his own faults, and greed is born of folly. The gatherers of honey do not see the pit ahead, and I am one of them.

He who was still a child, who deserved fine food, fine vehicles, a fine bed, and fine ornaments, alas, him we set at the mouth of the war. How could good come to a child of tender years, unseasoned in battle, in such deep danger? Like a horse of noble breed that will not refuse its master’s bidding, he gave himself up.

Alas, today we too shall lie on the bare earth, scorched by the grief-filled gaze of the enraged Arjuna. Dhananjaya is generous, wise, humble, forgiving, handsome, strong, of well-formed limbs, respectful to elders, brave, beloved, and devoted to truth, and the gods themselves praise his glorious deeds. That same hero destroyed the Nivatakavachas and the Kalakeyas, those enemies of Indra who dwelt in Hiranyapura. In the blink of an eye he killed the Paulomas with all their followers. Even the son of so mighty a man we could not save today from danger.

A great fear has fallen on the sons of Dhritarashtra. Enraged at his son’s death, Partha will destroy the Kauravas root and branch. And it is plain too that the mean-minded Duryodhana, with his mean counsellors, the ruin of his own line and party, seeing the destruction of the Kaurava army, will give up his life in grief. Seeing this peerless, mighty son of Indra’s son lying on the field, neither victory, nor kingship, nor immortality, nor a dwelling with the gods gives me the least joy.”

A key to reading this (Yudhishthira’s self-blame): Notice that the dharma-king lays the blame for this tragedy on no one but himself, “this great harm it is I who have done.” He lays bare his own inner greed (the wish for victory) with the image of the honey-gatherer, who does not see the pit ahead. The Mahabharata does not show even its most righteous character as blameless. Here Yudhishthira’s dharma lies in his self-reckoning, not in any innocence.

While Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, was lamenting so, the great sage Krishna Dvaipayana (Vyasa) came to him. After worshipping him duly and seating him, Yudhishthira, wracked with grief for his nephew’s death, said:

“Alas, fighting many great bowmen, ringed by several great warriors of unrighteous ways, the son of Subhadra was killed on the field. That destroyer of heroes, the son of Subhadra, was a child in years and childlike in understanding. He fought against terrible odds. It was I who told him to open a road for us in battle. He entered the enemy army, but, held back by the king of the Sindhus, we could not follow him.

Alas, those who take battle for their calling always fight foes matched to themselves. But the fight the enemy gave Abhimanyu was utterly unequal. That is what grieves me deeply and draws the tears from my eyes. Remembering it, I cannot find peace of mind.”

The gist: After Abhimanyu’s death the Pandavas sat in grief around Yudhishthira. The dharma-king took the blame for the tragedy on himself, admitting that it was he who had sent the boy into an unequal war. Then the great sage Vyasa came, and Yudhishthira laid before him the pain of that unjust, unequal fight that had taken away his peace of mind.

Source: the Mahabharata (Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa), Drona Parva; the Gita Press Gorakhpur tradition.