Mahabharata · Karna and Arjuna, and the Death of Karna

About 98 min read · 16,563 words

The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky, and the red of blood had bled into the dust of Kurukshetra, when Karna, the son of Adhiratha, lifted his bow Vijaya (the same old bow, fortified with mantras) and rubbed the string again and again. It was the third quarter of the seventeenth day. The lines of the Pandava army were breaking under his arrows like a forest of reeds in a gale. Panchalas, Somakas, Chedis, Kaikeyas, all of them allies of the Pandavas, came before him and fell like moths into a lamp’s flame. And through that unmaking, the chariot with the white horses, the one with the monkey seated on its banner and Vasudeva himself holding the reins, was cutting through the dust toward Karna. This is the story of the chapter in which two lifelong enemies stood face to face for the last time, in which the earth swallowed the wheel of a chariot, in which two old curses ripened in a single afternoon, and in which, at Krishna’s sign, a single arrow from Arjuna’s bow struck off a head the gods themselves had thought beyond killing.

When the two brothers came face to face

The story rises from this: Arjuna had come back to the camp after seeing his brother Yudhishthira, the king of righteousness, safe. Battered by Karna’s arrows, the king had withdrawn from the fighting, and for a moment he had understood that Karna was dead. When he learned that the son of the charioteer was still alive on the field and still swallowing the Panchalas, he spoke hard words to Arjuna. He went so far as to say that if Arjuna could not fight Karna, he should hand his Gandiva to someone else.

Those words went into Arjuna’s heart like poison. He had a private vow: whoever told him to give the Gandiva to another, he would kill. Hearing that very sentence from his elder brother’s mouth, Arjuna drew his sword in a rage. Then Krishna, who knew the movements of the human heart, stopped him. “Partha,” he said, “you have no battle with anyone here. Against whom do you raise your sword?”

Arjuna answered that his vow bound him to cut off the head of anyone who said such a thing, and that to keep the vow true he would kill Yudhishthira. Here Krishna opened the subtle secret of dharma that the Mahabharata never lets you have easily. He said that nothing stands above truth, and that the shape of truth is very deep. When life is in danger, at the time of marriage, when everything is being taken away, and for the protection of a brahmin, even an untruth becomes blameless. A man who clings only to the truth of the words, without knowing the difference between truth and untruth, is a fool. Then Krishna told two stories, of Balaka the hunter and Kaushika the ascetic, in which one man reached heaven through killing and the other reached hell through speaking the truth.

A sub-tale: Balaka the hunter killed beasts to feed his sons and his wives, not out of malice. One day he saw a blind predator drinking at the water and killed it. That beast had won a boon through austerity that would have made it the destroyer of all living creatures, and for that reason it had been made blind. The instant Balaka killed it, flowers rained on him from the sky and he was carried to heaven. Elsewhere, the ascetic Kaushika, who had vowed always to speak the truth, was asked by robbers which way the frightened travelers had fled, and he told them the truth. The robbers hunted the travelers down and killed them, and for that fault of speech Kaushika fell into hell. Krishna meant, through these stories, one thing: that which protects is dharma.

Krishna showed Arjuna a way by which the vow could stay true and the brother could stay alive. A man worthy of honor, who has always received honor, is as good as killed while still living if you disgrace him. So Krishna told Arjuna to address Yudhishthira, whom he had always spoken to with respect, this once with contempt, laying that respect aside. Doing so would fulfill the vow, and the sin of killing a brother would not touch him.

Arjuna did exactly that. He spoke to Yudhishthira in hard words he had never used before. He said that a man who sat two miles from the fighting had no right to reproach him. That right belonged to Bhima, who was wrestling with the strongest heroes of the world. He reminded the king that it was he who had lost at dice, that because of him they had all gone to the forest, that from his weakness the whole house had moved toward ruin. Having said this much, Arjuna’s heart filled with self-loathing, and he drew his sword again, this time to kill himself. Krishna stopped him once more and said that killing oneself throws a man into a hell fouler than fratricide. Speak your own praise from your own mouth, he said, and that will be your own killing. Arjuna did so, described his own prowess, and in this way came clear of both dangers.

At last Yudhishthira’s anger cooled. He rose and embraced Arjuna, and the two brothers wept together a long while, then let their grief go and became glad as before. The king gave his blessing: “Go, mighty-armed one, and kill Karna, as Indra killed Vritra for his sovereignty.” Arjuna swore by truth, by Yudhishthira’s grace, by Bhima and by the two twins, that today he would either kill Karna or be killed himself and fall to the earth.

The gist: The prelude to Karna’s killing is tied to a brother’s anger and a private vow. Krishna saves Yudhishthira from dying at Arjuna’s hands, but the remedy is not a clean one; it works only by having Arjuna set honor aside and insult him. The Mahabharata refuses to keep dharma flat here. Truth itself bends to circumstance, and to protect is the deepest meaning dharma holds.

Krishna’s warning and Arjuna’s vows

The chariot was made ready, the white horses yoked, brahmins spoke words of blessing, and Arjuna climbed onto that fine car. When he set out toward Karna’s chariot, the quarters of the sky went clear. On the way Krishna warned him not to take Karna for an ordinary warrior. “Partha,” he said, “I hold this great car-warrior Karna to be your equal, and perhaps something more. In splendor he is like fire, in speed like the wind, in wrath like Death himself. His height is eight ratnis (a ratni is the measure from the elbow to the fingertips, roughly half a hand). Kill him with great care and firm resolve.”

Krishna reminded him further that this was the seventeenth day. Bhishma lay on his bed of arrows; Drona had already been killed. Of that vast army of Dhritarashtra’s son only five great car-warriors were now left: Ashvatthama, Kritavarma, Karna, Shalya, and Kripa. Krishna counted over all the wrongs whose root was Karna: the crookedness at the dice, the harsh words spoken to Draupadi, his part in the killing of Abhimanyu, and the plot to burn the sleeping Pandavas in the house of lac. He said that Karna held the Bhargava weapon he had gotten from Parashurama, whose terrible form was scorching the whole army even now. Let Partha send that same Karna to the realm of Yama today with his keen arrows.

A key to reading this (the characters): The story calls Karna by many names. Because he was the fostered son of Adhiratha (a suta, a charioteer), he is called “Sutaputra” and “Adhirathi.” Radha was his foster mother, and from her he is “Radheya.” Vaikartana is a name of the sun, and because Karna is the secret son of the sun he is called “Vaikartana.” “Vrisha” is another of his names. All of these are different names for one man.

Hearing Krishna’s words, Arjuna let his worry fall away and, rubbing the string of the Gandiva, made many vows. He said that today he would kill the Karna who had told Draupadi, in the full assembly, that she had no husband left and should choose another man. He said that today his arrows would make that sentence a lie. Today he would come free of the grief he had carried for thirteen years. He said too that he would falsify Karna’s vow, in which Karna had sworn not to wash his feet as long as Arjuna lived. Having said this much, his eyes red with blood, Arjuna went swiftly toward the fighting, to save Bhima and to part Karna’s head from his body.

The gist: Krishna does not measure Karna small. He warns Arjuna that Karna is his equal or something more, and at the same time he unties the knot of all the wrongs that lie at the root of this enmity. Arjuna’s vows are more than a boast of prowess; they carry the weight of thirteen years of insult and grief.

Bhima’s devastation, and the meeting on the field

On his side, Bhima alone was grinding down the Kuru army. He asked his charioteer Vishoka how many arrows were left on his chariot. Vishoka counted them out: sixty thousand ordinary shafts, ten thousand razor-headed arrows and ten thousand broad-headed ones, two thousand narachas, three thousand pradaras, and so many maces, swords, spears, and lances that six pairs of oxen could not haul them. Bhima swore that today he would either overthrow all the Kurus single-handed or fall himself on the field.

Just then Vishoka cried out in delight that Bhima should hear the terrible twang of the Gandiva, that he should look at the monkey-banner waving among the enemy’s elephants. He described the shine of Arjuna’s diadem, the blast of the Devadatta conch, and the sun-bright gleam of the Sudarshana discus in Janardana’s hand. Hearing this, Bhima was filled with joy. In his gladness he promised Vishoka fourteen villages, a hundred serving women, and twenty chariots.

Bhima worked such slaughter that a river of blood ran there. Its water was blood, its whirlpools were chariots, its crocodiles were elephants, its fish were men and its sharks were horses. Severed arms floated in it like snakes, jewels and gems rolled in its current, thighs were its gravel and marrow its mud. Those who were brave crossed it with ease; for those who were afraid it was as hard to cross as the Vaitarani (the river of the puranas that flows toward the realm of Yama). Shakuni tried to stop Bhima, but Bhima killed his horses and his driver, cut down his banner, and left him without a chariot, and Shakuni fled and climbed onto Uluka’s car.

At last Arjuna’s white-horsed chariot reached Bhima. Racing with the speed of Garuda, the horses churned that army as a storm churns the sea. The two brothers came together. Now the moment had arrived toward which the whole seventeen days of war had been moving.

The gist: Bhima’s lone valor is holding the whole war up. The image of the river of blood belongs to the Mahabharata’s way of making even a victory terrible to look at. Arjuna’s joining with Bhima fuses the two fronts into one, and the center of the story now turns toward Karna.

The great duel of Karna and Arjuna begins

The Somakas cried out, “Go quickly, Arjuna, pierce Karna, cut off his head.” On the other side the Kauravas were urging Karna to kill Arjuna and send the Pandavas back to the forest. First Karna pierced Arjuna with ten strong arrows; Arjuna answered with ten keen shafts into the middle of Karna’s chest. Each riddled the other with beautifully feathered arrows, and with glad hearts, watching for each other’s lapses, they fell upon one another.

Arjuna loosed a fire-weapon that filled the earth, the sky, and all ten quarters with its heat, and the warriors’ clothes began to burn. Karna quenched that fire with the Varuna weapon, raised clouds, and covered the quarters with darkness. Arjuna scattered those clouds with the Vayavya weapon. In this way weapon cut weapon. The gods of the sky, the siddhas and the charanas, came down to watch the contest. Apsaras fanned the two heroes with fans, and Shakra and Surya themselves gently brushed the faces of their own sons, for Arjuna was Indra’s son and Karna was the sun’s.

A sub-tale: At this very moment an old enmity woke deep below. A serpent named Ashvasena lived in the nether region. During the burning of Khandava, Arjuna had killed his mother, and from that day the serpent had held a grudge against Arjuna. Seeing this battle, he rose into the sky, took the form of an arrow, and slipped quietly into Karna’s quiver. Karna knew nothing of it. When Karna set on his bowstring that one unfailing, serpent-mouthed arrow, which he had kept for years in sandal dust and cared for, the quarters of the sky caught fire and meteors fell. Shalya warned him: “Karna, this arrow will not cut off Arjuna’s head; fix another.” But Karna answered in anger: “Karna never aims one arrow twice. Men like us are not crooked warriors.” Saying this, he loosed the arrow.

The arrow, blazing in the sky like fire, went as if it were drawing the parting in a woman’s hair. Then Madhusudana, the slayer of Kamsa, pressed the chariot down with his feet with such force that it sank a cubit into the earth. The white horses knelt and settled on the ground. Because of this the serpent-arrow could not cut off Arjuna’s head; it carried off only the divine diadem from his brow, the one the Self-born Brahma had made for Purandara and Indra had given to Arjuna. The diadem fell to the earth like the sun’s disc dropping behind the western hills. Diademless, the dark-skinned Arjuna bound his loosened hair with a white cloth and stood unmoving.

The serpent, having burned Arjuna’s diadem, came back and told Karna that he had loosed it without seeing him, and that this was why the aim had failed, and that Karna should fix him again. Karna asked who he was. The serpent told him of his enmity. Karna answered firmly: “Karna does not want a victory won on another’s strength today. Even if I had to kill a hundred Arjunas, I will not loose one arrow twice. Be happy, go elsewhere.” Then the serpent took the form of an arrow himself and went toward Arjuna. Krishna warned Arjuna, and with six keen shafts Arjuna cut the serpent down in the sky.

The gist: The Ashvasena episode shows that Karna’s defeat is woven from many threads, not from Arjuna’s strength alone: an old grudge from Khandava, Krishna’s quickness, and Karna’s own straightness. Karna’s stubborn “one arrow, never twice” is both his virtue and, in that instant, his loss. Krishna’s saving of Arjuna by sinking the chariot is not a plain keeping of the rules, and the story does not hide it.

The endless duel of weapons

The moment the serpent was cut, Krishna lifted the sunken chariot from the earth with his arms. Karna, glancing sidelong at Krishna, pierced him with ten arrows. Arjuna answered by piercing Karna with twelve, then loosed one arrow that split his armor, drank his blood, and passed into the earth with its very feathers soaked in gore. Karna too, enraged like a snake struck with a stick, pierced Janardana with twelve arrows and Arjuna with ninety-nine.

Then Arjuna loosed ninety arrows, each like the rod of Death. Karna trembled like a mountain. Arjuna cut off his jeweled headpiece and his earrings and dropped them to the earth, and in a moment cut into many fragments the fine armor that many craftsmen had forged over years of labor. He pierced the armorless Karna with four keen arrows, and Karna felt such pain as a sick man feels, afflicted at once by wind and bile and phlegm and fever.

For a moment Karna let his bow and quiver fall and stood still, half-swooning, his grip loosened. The righteous Arjuna did not think it fitting to strike an enemy fallen into such a state. Then Krishna said with urgency, “Son of Pandu, why this forgetfulness? Wise men do not spare even a weak enemy for a moment. By killing an enemy fallen into distress a man earns both merit and fame. Do not delay.” Arjuna said, “So be it, Krishna,” and again began to pierce Karna with many arrows.

Karna steadied himself and invoked the brahmastra. Arjuna answered with the Aindra weapon. With keen arrows Karna cut Arjuna’s bowstring, then a second, a third, a fourth, cutting eleven strings in order. But Karna, for all his skill, did not know that Arjuna had a hundred strings. Arjuna replaced each broken string so quickly that Karna could never see when it broke and when it was changed. The skill of it struck him as a wonder.

The gist: This duel gives no clear mastery to either man. Now Karna is ahead, now Arjuna. Arjuna’s patience with his hundred strings and Karna’s repeated recoveries show two equal powers. Arjuna’s refusal to strike a helpless enemy, and Krishna’s checking of him, keeps that tension alive in the story too.

Two curses come due in a single afternoon

Now the hour arrived that had been waiting for Karna. Death came near, unseen, and pointing to the curse of that brahmin, as if telling Karna that his end was close, it said, “The earth is devouring your wheel.” And at that very moment the high brahmastra that Bhargava Parashurama had taught him escaped his memory, and the earth began to swallow the left wheel of his chariot.

A sub-tale: Karna had earned these two curses himself, in his own life. One was his teacher Parashurama’s. Karna had learned the brahmastra from him by claiming to be a brahmin, because Parashurama did not give the knowledge to kshatriyas. One day the teacher slept with his head on Karna’s thigh, and a worm began to eat into the thigh, but for fear of breaking his teacher’s sleep Karna endured the pain. The stream of blood woke Parashurama, and he understood that no brahmin could bear such pain; this was a kshatriya. Then Parashurama cursed him: the knowledge won by deceit would leave his memory at the very hour he needed it most. The second curse was a brahmin’s, whose cow Karna’s arrow had killed by accident. That brahmin had cursed him that, just as his blameless cow had been killed helpless, so at the deciding moment of battle Karna’s chariot wheel would sink into the earth and he would be made helpless. Today both curses met in a single afternoon.

From the brahmin’s curse Karna’s chariot began to reel, and having sunk deep it stood as fixed as a sacred tree heavy with flowers on a high platform. The weapon he had gotten from Parashurama no longer rose in him from its inner light, and Arjuna had already cut off his serpent-mouthed arrow. Karna filled with sorrow. Unable to bear all these calamities, he waved his arms and began to rail at righteousness: “Those who know dharma always say that dharma protects the righteous. We have practiced dharma to the best of our power, and yet that same dharma, instead of protecting us today, is destroying us. From this I judge that dharma does not always protect those who worship it.”

Then Karna aimed a terrible arrow. As it was set on the string, the earth with its mountains and waters and forests shook, a fierce wind rained pebbles, the quarters filled with dust, and the gods lamented in the sky. Loosed from the arms of the sun’s son, that arrow, bright as Shakra’s thunderbolt, fell upon Arjuna’s chest like a snake entering an anthill. Struck deep, Arjuna reeled, his grip slackened, the Gandiva slipped from his hand, and he trembled like the king of mountains in an earthquake.

Seizing that chance, the great car-warrior Vrisha jumped down from his chariot to free the sunken wheel, gripped it with both arms, and began to drag it up. Under his strength the earth that had swallowed the wheel rose four fingers’ breadth with its seven islands, its mountains, its waters, and its forests, but the wheel did not come loose, for fate had willed otherwise. Seeing the wheel sunk, Karna shed tears of rage, and looking at Arjuna he spoke.

A key to reading this (the idea): Bhargava means Parashurama, of the line of Bhrigu. The brahmastra had to be perfected with mantras, and the memory of the mantra was the very key to it. The heart of Parashurama’s curse was this: at the last hour Karna would not remember the mantra. The two curses are no outside misfortune; they are the fruit of Karna’s own acts, and the Mahabharata shows them ripening at the exact moment when they cut deepest.

The gist: Karna’s death comes from many threads pulling at once: the forgetting of the brahmastra, the sinking of the wheel, the cutting of the serpent-arrow. His railing at dharma is the deepest human note of his pain. Note that at the same time his own arrow brings Arjuna to the edge of a swoon; this is not a one-sided victory.

The appeal to dharma, and Krishna’s answer

Karna said, “Partha, Partha, wait a moment, until I lift this sunken wheel. The left wheel of my chariot has been swallowed by the earth through mischance; in such a case set aside this thought that fits only a coward. The best of the brave do not shoot at a man with dishevelled hair, at one who has turned his face from battle, at a brahmin, at one who joins his palms or begs for quarter, at one who has set down his weapon, at one whose arrows are spent or whose armor has slipped. You are the bravest of men in the world, a man of righteous conduct, one who knows the rules of battle. So while I free my wheel, forgive me. You stand on your chariot and I stand weak on the earth; it does not become you to kill me now.”

Then Vasudeva, standing on the chariot, answered Karna, and here the Mahabharata opens its sharpest voice. “Radheya,” Krishna said, “how fortunate that dharma has come back to your memory. It is often seen that low men, when they fall into distress, curse fate and not their own misdeeds. When you and Suyodhana and Dushasana and Shakuni dragged Draupadi, wrapped in a single cloth, into the full assembly, where was this dharma of yours then? When Shakuni won Yudhishthira at the crooked dice, where was this dharma? When, by your counsel, they tried to kill Bhima with poison and with snakes, where was it then? When they tried to burn the sleeping Pandavas in the house of lac at Varanavata, where was this dharma? When Draupadi stood in the assembly in her season and in scant cloth, and you told her that the Pandavas were destroyed and she should choose another husband, where was this dharma? When many great car-warriors ringed the boy Abhimanyu and killed him, where had this dharma gone? The dharma that was nowhere on those days, what good is it to call on it now with a parched throat? Today you speak of dharma, but you will not live.”

Hearing these words, Karna bowed his head in shame and gave no answer. But his lips trembled with anger, and he raised his bow and went on fighting Partha. Then Krishna said to Arjuna, “Mighty-armed one, pierce Karna with some celestial weapon and throw him down.” Remembering all the deeds Krishna had counted over, Arjuna blazed up with wrath, and flames seemed to leap from every pore of his body.

The gist: This is where the Mahabharata’s moral difficulty stands at its height. Karna’s appeal to dharma is not baseless; the rules of battle are truly what he says. But Krishna answers that a man who trampled those same rules again and again cannot take shelter under them at the last moment. The story neither makes Karna innocent nor denies his pain.

Krishna’s sign and the death of Karna

Karna once more invoked the brahmastra and poured down arrows while still trying to free his chariot. Arjuna answered with the brahmastra. Then the son of Kunti loosed a fire-weapon; Karna quenched it with the Varuna weapon and raised clouds to darken the quarters. Arjuna cleared those clouds with the Vayavya weapon. Then Karna took up a terrible, fire-like arrow to kill the son of Pandu. As it rose to the string the earth trembled, a fierce wind blew, the quarters filled with dust, and the gods lamented in the sky. That arrow, bright as Shakra’s thunderbolt, fell on Arjuna’s chest. Arjuna reeled, and the Gandiva slipped from his hand.

Seizing that chance, Vrisha jumped from his chariot to free his sunken wheel. He gripped it with both arms and strained with all his might, but for all his great strength, because of fate, he failed. Meanwhile the diademed Arjuna recovered his senses and took up an arrow deadly as the rod of Death, whose name was Anjalika. Then Vasudeva said to Arjuna, “Cut off the head of this enemy of yours, Vrisha, before he can climb back onto his chariot.”

This was Krishna’s sign. While the enemy’s wheel was still sunk, Arjuna first cut down with a keen razor-headed arrow the standard of Karna that bore the mark of the elephant’s rope, the standard set with gold and pearls and gems, forged by skilled craftsmen, blazing like the sun, which had always raised the courage of the Kaurava army and the fear of its foes. As that standard fell, the fame, the pride, the hope of victory, and the very hearts of the Kurus seemed to fall with it, and cries of “Alas, alas” went up.

Then Arjuna drew from his quiver that fine Anjalika weapon, like the thunderbolt of Indra or the rod of fire, with the splendor of the thousand-rayed sun. Piercing the vitals, smeared with blood and flesh, a destroyer of men, horses, and elephants, straight in its course, three cubits and six feet long, that arrow was a terror to all living things. As he took it in his hand the whole universe with all that moves and stands still trembled, and the sages cried out in a high voice, “Peace be to the universe.”

Arjuna set that matchless arrow on the Gandiva and said, “If I have ever practiced austerity, if I have pleased my elders, and if I have listened to the counsel of well-wishers, let this arrow quickly destroy the body and heart of my enemy. By that truth, let it kill my enemy Karna.” Saying this, Arjuna loosed the arrow, one that Death itself could not bear in battle.

That sun-bright arrow lit all the quarters, and as Indra had cut off the head of Vritra with his thunderbolt, so the son of Indra parted the head of Vaikartana from his body in that afternoon. Karna’s trunk fell to the earth. His head, bright as the rising sun and as the autumn sun at noon, fell to the ground like the crimson disc of the sun setting behind the western hills. That head left its beautiful body, nursed always in luxury, as unwillingly as an owner leaves a great mansion full of wealth. Bleeding from every wound, Karna’s tall trunk fell like the summit of a red-chalk mountain pouring down streams of red after a shower. Then from the fallen body a light rose, tore through the sky, and entered the sun; all saw that wonder after Karna fell.

The Pandavas, and Krishna and Arjuna, blew their conchs in joy. The Somakas leaped up in gladness, blew their trumpets, waved their arms and their garments, embraced one another, danced, and cried, “By great good fortune Karna lies pierced on the earth.” Karna’s severed head looked as beautiful as a mountain peak toppled by a storm, as a fire gone out after the sacrifice, as the disc of the setting sun. That Karna-sun, who had made his arrows into rays to scorch the enemy army, was at last brought to his setting by the Arjuna-time. The hour of Karna’s death was the afternoon of that day. Seeing that chariot bereft of its standard, the Kaurava army fled the field in fear, looking back again and again at Arjuna’s high banner that blazed with his fame.

The gist: Karna is killed while pleading the very rules he had ignored in the assembly, and killed in the very helpless state he had been cursed with. Krishna’s sign and Arjuna’s Anjalika together end an enmity carried for seventeen days. The Mahabharata paints this victory in neither full joy nor full grief; the setting of the Karna-sun stirs both gladness and pity at once.

A river of blood, and the fierce onrush of the two brothers

The afternoon of that day had begun to slope, and the hour had come on the field toward which the whole eighteen days of war had been flowing. Sanjaya is speaking to Dhritarashtra, and in his voice there is the trembling gravity that belongs only to the tone of an eyewitness.

O king, the great car-warriors of your side, brave as tigers, casting off the fear of death, fell upon Arjuna all at once. But Arjuna scattered that troop of Kaurava commanders as a gale scatters a mass of thick clouds. Those great archers, all skilled in the strike, came at Arjuna with many chariots and began to pierce him with keen arrows. Then Arjuna sent thousands of chariots, elephants, and horses to the realm of Yama with his own arrows. He struck down four hundred heroic car-warriors who were fighting with all their strength. The rest fled every way, and the din of their flight was like the sea’s waves crashing and roaring against a rock.

Having put that army to fear, Arjuna moved toward the division of the son of the charioteer (Karna; a suta is the crossbred caste of drivers, and Karna was such a driver’s son). His roar was like the roar of Garuda of old swooping on the snakes. Hearing it, Bhimasena, who had long waited to see Partha (the son of Pritha, that is, of Kunti; Arjuna), was filled with joy. Swift as the wind, the son of the Wind-god now ranged the battle like the wind itself. Afflicted by him, your army rocked like a boat broken on the breast of the sea.

Seeing this, Duryodhana ordered all his kings and archers to kill Bhima, for he counted the Pandava army as destroyed the moment Bhima fell. At their prince’s order all the kings covered Bhima on every side with a rain of arrows. Countless elephants, men hungry for victory, chariots, and horsemen ringed Vrikodara (the one with a wolf’s belly, a name of Bhima) and stood there. Surrounded by those heroes, Bhima looked splendid as the moon ringed by stars. Those kings, their eyes red with wrath, poured arrows on Vrikodara.

Bhima came out of that vast army as a fish slips through a net. He struck down ten thousand elephants that never returned, two hundred thousand two hundred men, five thousand horses, and a hundred car-warriors. Having killed all these, Bhima made a river of blood flow there. Blood was its water, and chariots its whirlpools. Elephants were its alligators, men its fish and horses its crocodiles. The hair of beasts became its weeds and moss. Arms cut from trunks floated in it like dreadful snakes. Countless jewels and gems drifted in its current. Thighs were its gravel and marrow (the smooth matter inside the bone) its mud. Severed heads were its rocks. Umbrellas and standards were its swans, and helmets its foam. Necklaces were its lotuses. Those who were brave crossed it easily, but for the timid and the frightened the crossing was hard. That river flowed toward the realm of Yama, as if the Vaitarani itself (the river of the puranas that divides the worlds of the living and the dead) had appeared.

A key to reading this (the numbers): In Vyasa’s story numbers are the language of grandeur, not of counting. “Two hundred thousand two hundred men,” “ten thousand elephants,” these are no army-clerk’s ledger; they are an attempt to measure an experience in which the slaughter was so vast it could not be counted at all. A modern reader should read them as “countless,” “beyond number.” We keep the numbers as they stand so the density of the original survives.

Seeing this, Duryodhana said to Shakuni that his uncle should conquer this Bhima, for the moment he lost, the Pandava army would be counted lost. Shakuni, the son of Subala, moved toward Bhima with his brothers and held him as the shore holds the sea. Checked by keen arrows, Bhima still pressed on toward Subala’s sons. Shakuni struck the left of Bhima’s chest with gold-winged arrows sharpened on stone, which pierced his armor and sank in. Then Bhima loosed a gold-set arrow at him, but Shakuni, quick of hand, cut it into seven pieces.

Filled with anger, Bhima cut Shakuni’s bow. Shakuni took up another bow and sixteen broad-headed arrows; with two he pierced Bhima, with one his standard and with two his umbrella, and with the last four he pierced Bhima’s four horses. Then Bhima flung an iron spear with a gold-wound shaft, which fell on Shakuni’s chariot flickering like a serpent’s tongue. Shakuni took up that same spear and hurled it back; it pierced Bhima’s left arm and fell to the earth like lightning. Then Bhima took a new bow, killed Shakuni’s horses and driver, and cut down his standard. Chariotless, Shakuni stood on the ground and fought, but Bhima pierced him with deep arrows and nearly stunned him. Then your son Duryodhana, in Bhima’s very sight, lifted Shakuni onto his own chariot and carried him far from the fighting, and the Kaurava army fled in fear.

That fleeing army, cut down by Bhima, reached the place where Karna was, and rallied around him and stood again for battle. The mighty, splendid Karna became their refuge. Getting Karna, your soldiers found their courage again, as boatmen sunk in danger when their ship goes down reach some island at last.

The gist: This last chapter of the Karna Parva opens with two rivers of blood, one Bhima makes and one Arjuna. Both brothers are tearing through the army from this side, and the army breaks again and again and returns to a single refuge: Karna. This is Karna’s last day, and the whole story is now gathering toward that one point.

Karna’s slaughter, and Arjuna’s second river of blood

Dhritarashtra asked what Duryodhana and Shakuni said when Bhimasena broke the army. What did Karna, Kripa, Kritavarma, Ashvatthama, and Dushasana do? The prowess of the son of Pandu seemed a great wonder to him, that alone he fought the whole army. Karna, he said, is the Kurus’ wealth, their armor, their fame, their hope of life. Seeing that army break, what did Radha’s son (Radha the charioteer’s wife who reared Karna; her son) Karna do?

Sanjaya said: that afternoon, O king, Karna began to slaughter the Somakas (a clan of the Pandava side, kin to the Yadavas) in Bhima’s very sight. Then he told his charioteer Shalya to take him toward the Panchalas. Shalya, king of the Madras, drove those white horses swift as the mind toward the Chedis, the Panchalas, and the Karushas. Seeing that chariot faced with tiger-skin and looking like a cloud, the Pandavas and Panchalas were afraid. The rumble of that chariot sounded like the crack of thunder or the breaking of a mountain.

With his bowstring drawn to the ear, Karna loosed hundreds and thousands of arrows and killed thousands of Pandava warriors. Then Shikhandi, Bhima, Dhrishtadyumna, Nakula, Sahadeva, the five sons of Draupadi, and Satyaki ringed Karna and poured arrows on him. Satyaki struck twenty keen arrows into the joint of Karna’s shoulder, Shikhandi twenty-five, Dhrishtadyumna seven, Draupadi’s sons sixty-four, Sahadeva seven, Nakula a hundred, and Bhima, filled with anger, ninety straight arrows into the joint of his shoulder.

Then the son of Adhiratha (Adhiratha the suta who reared Karna; his son) Karna, laughing in scorn, drew his fine bow and began to loose arrows. He pierced them all with returning shafts. He cut Satyaki’s bow and standard and pierced him with nine arrows in the middle of the chest. He pierced Bhima with thirty. With one broad arrow he cut Sahadeva’s standard and with three afflicted his driver. In the blink of an eye he left Draupadi’s five sons without chariots. Seeing this, all were amazed. Alone, Karna held back all those archers who were fighting with all their strength. At the lightness of his hand even the gods, siddhas, and charanas were pleased, and the Kaurava archers praised him.

Then Karna burned the enemy army as a fierce fire in summer burns a heap of dry grass. The Pandava army fled in fear on every side. A wailing rose among the Panchalas. The Pandava army took Karna to be the only warrior in that battle, for even all together they could not so much as look at him. As a swelling mass of water breaks when it strikes a mountain, so the Pandava army broke against Karna. Karna cut off the arms, the heads, and the earringed ears of his brave enemies. Ivory-hilted swords, standards, spears, horses, elephants, chariots, axles, yokes, and wheels, all Karna cut apart in many ways. With the corpses of elephants and horses, with flesh and blood, the earth grew so miry that walking was hard. In the darkness of arrows raised by Karna’s celestial weapon, friend and enemy could not be told apart.

Then Duryodhana was filled with joy and had the drums sounded through the whole army. The Panchalas, though broken, came back with death for their only aim, but Karna broke them again. Twenty Panchala car-warriors and more than a hundred Chedi warriors were killed by Karna’s arrows. Like the noon sun, like the destroyer at the end of an age, Karna could not even be looked at. In that hour Duryodhana, Dushasana, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Kritavarma, and Shakuni were also killing Pandava warriors by hundreds and thousands. Karna’s two sons were slaughtering the Pandava army as well. On the other side Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandi, and Draupadi’s sons were slaughtering your army, and Bhima was doing it heavy harm.

Meanwhile, O king, Arjuna, having slaughtered a fourfold army (the four arms of elephants, chariots, horses, and foot), and seeing the enraged son of the charioteer before him, made a river of blood flow there too, yellow with flesh, marrow, and bone. The heads of men were its rocks, elephants and horses its banks. It rang with the cries of crows and vultures. Umbrellas were its swans, necklaces its lotuses. Bows and arrows were its fish. Shields and armor were its whirlpools, chariots its boats. Those who longed for victory crossed it easily, and for cowards it was without a shore.

Having made that river flow, Arjuna said to Vasudeva (the son of Vasudeva, Krishna): Krishna, there, look, the standard of the son of the charioteer. There Bhimasena and the others are fighting with that great car-warrior. The Panchalas are fleeing in fear of Karna. There Duryodhana, a white umbrella over his head, moves with Karna, driving off the Panchalas. Kripa, Kritavarma, and Ashvatthama guard Duryodhana and guard the son of the charioteer himself. There, skilled in driving, Shalya sits splendid on Karna’s chariot. Take me to that great car-warrior; this is my wish. I will never return from this battle without killing Karna.

The gist: Two rivers of blood, two brothers, and both currents run one way. Karna alone is breaking the Pandava army again and again, and Arjuna now tells Krishna to take him straight to him. This is the turn where a war split among many duels narrows down to the waiting for one.

Shalya’s goading, and Karna’s tribute to Arjuna

Krishna drove the chariot toward Karna, so that Karna and Savyasachi (the one who can shoot with the left hand too, Arjuna) might meet in single combat. Seeing Arjuna’s chariot, Shalya, king of the Madras, said to Karna: There, look, the one with the white horses and Krishna for a driver, holding the Gandiva, the very man you were asking about is coming. If today you can kill him, great good will come to us. Killing our chief warriors, he is coming to close with you. You are the equal of Bhishma, Drona, Ashvatthama, and Kripa. Check this Savyasachi. All the other kings are fleeing in fear of Arjuna without a thought for one another. There is no one but you who can take away the fear of these fleeing warriors.

Karna said: Now you have come back to your nature, and you are pleasing to me. Do not hold the fear of Dhananjaya in your mind. Watch today the strength and skill of my arms. Alone I will destroy the Pandava army today, and both those Krishnas (Krishna and Arjuna, whom the Mahabharata calls “the two Krishnas”), this I say truly. Today, without killing both heroes, I will not return from battle, or I will be killed by them and lie on the field. Victory in battle is uncertain. Killing or killed, today I will accomplish my purpose.

Shalya said: All the great car-warriors say that Arjuna alone is unconquerable. Then, when he is guarded by Krishna, who will dare to conquer him? Karna said: As far as I have heard, such a fine car-warrior was never born on earth. Yet look at my prowess; I will fight that very Partha. It may be that he sends me to Yama’s realm today, but know this: with Karna’s death all these will be destroyed. His two arms never grow wet with sweat, never tremble. He looses a mass of arrows as if it were a single arrow, and hurls them two miles. There is no warrior on earth like him.

Karna went on: He gratified the Fire at Khandava, and there Krishna got his discus and Partha got his bow Gandiva, his celestial chariot with the white horses, his two inexhaustible quivers, and many celestial weapons, from the god of Fire. In the region of Indra he got the Devadatta conch and killed countless daityas and Kalakeyas. He pleased Mahadeva and got the Pashupata weapon, which can destroy the three worlds. The guardians of the worlds gave him their weapons. At the city of Virata, alone on a single chariot, he beat all of us and carried off the cattle and even our garments. Because I desire battle with such a hero, whose ally is the one of the Vrishni line (Krishna), I count myself the bravest man in the world.

He is guarded by Keshava, who is Narayana himself, who has no rival, who is Vasudeva bearing conch, discus, and mace, whose qualities the whole world together could not count in ten thousand years. Seeing the two Krishnas on a single chariot, fear enters my heart along with courage. The mountains of Himavat may move from their place, but these two Krishnas will not. Who but me, Shalya, would go against such a Phalguna and Vasudeva? Today either I will throw these two down, or these two will throw me down.

A sub-tale: This long tribute of Karna’s to Arjuna is a fine place in Vyasa’s story. Shalya had been made Karna’s charioteer on a secret condition: that as he drove he would keep breaking Karna’s spirit, so that Karna’s fire would be thinned. Here Karna has seen through Shalya’s praise, but notice, Karna does not shrink his enemy Arjuna’s greatness; he grants it in full detail. This is the paradox of the hero who knows he may be standing before someone greater than himself, and stands anyway.

Saying this, Karna roared like the clouds. Then he went to Duryodhana and told him, and Kripa, and Kritavarma king of the Bhojas, and Shakuni king of the gandharvas and his son, and his own younger brothers, and all the foot and horse: rush at Achyuta and Arjuna, block their way on every side and tire them out with labor, so that when you have wounded them deep I can kill them both with ease. Saying “So be it,” all those heroes went toward Arjuna and began to pour countless arrows on him.

But as the great sea takes in all rivers with their tributary streams, so Arjuna took in all those warriors. The enemy could never tell when he set the arrow on the string and when he loosed it. All they could see was that men, horses, and elephants pierced by Arjuna’s arrows were falling lifeless. Smiling, Partha cut apart the arrows of those great car-warriors with his own rain of arrows and pierced each in the chest with three. Ashvatthama pierced Arjuna with ten arrows and Keshava with three, but Arjuna cut Ashvatthama’s bow with three arrows, cut off his driver’s head with a razor-headed arrow, cut his four horses with four arrows and his standard with three, and threw him from his chariot. Ashvatthama took another bow and shot again.

Then Kripa, Kritavarma, and Duryodhana also covered Arjuna. But Arjuna, with a prowess like the thousand-armed Kartavirya’s, poured arrows on Kripa’s bow, horses, standard, and driver, and pierced Kripa with as many arrows as he had once used on Bhishma. Then he cut Duryodhana’s standard and bow, destroyed Kritavarma’s fine horses, and cut his standard. Your vast army split into a hundred pieces like a dam swept away by water. Then Shikhandi, Satyaki, and the two twins (Nakula and Sahadeva) came forward in Arjuna’s direction and began to hold off the enemy. The Kurus and Srinjayas fell to killing one another, as gods and asuras once fought.

The gist: Karna made a plan to tire Arjuna: first let the others fight him, then I will kill him. But Arjuna beats down Kripa, Kritavarma, Ashvatthama, and Duryodhana one by one. Karna’s tribute gives the story its human depth: he does not swell his own courage by shrinking his enemy; knowing the full greatness of that enemy, he stands before him still.

Bhima’s mace, and the end of Dushasana

Sanjaya said: then Arjuna, wishing to save Bhima, who seemed to be sinking under the press of many warriors, left the division of the son of the charioteer and began to send Bhima’s enemies to the realm of Yama. The sky was covered with Arjuna’s arrows. Four hundred maddened elephants, decked with warriors in golden armor, were struck down by Arjuna’s arrows and fell like mountain peaks. The twang of the Gandiva rang like the crack of thunder.

Then Arjuna met Bhima and told him that the arrows had been drawn from Yudhishthira’s body and that the king was well. With Bhima’s leave, Arjuna went forward again. Ten of your sons, younger than Dushasana, ringed him, but Arjuna cut off the ten heads of all ten with ten broad arrows, their lips bitten in rage and their eyes red. Then ninety Kaurava car-warriors fell upon Arjuna, but Krishna drove the white horses toward Karna’s chariot, and Arjuna cut down those ninety too, with their drivers and standards.

Meanwhile Bhima, seeing Arjuna ringed by a great army, left what was left of the Kaurava host and rushed toward Arjuna’s chariot. Mace in hand, tireless, Bhima slaughtered the remaining army. Terrible as the night of death, that mace fell without pause on men, elephants, and horses. It killed ten thousand horses and many foot soldiers. Seeing Bhima with his mace, your soldiers thought Yama himself stood among them, rod in hand. Bhima entered the Kaurava elephant force like a maddened elephant, like a crocodile entering the sea, and in a little while sent it to the realm of Yama. Then he climbed his chariot and followed after Arjuna.

Then your son Dushasana, without fear, poured arrows on Bhima. Bhima sprang at him like a lion at a great stag. Between them was a battle as terrible as the old one between Samvara and Indra. Bhima cut Dushasana’s bow and standard, pierced his head with one arrow, and cut off his driver’s head with another. Dushasana took another bow and pierced Bhima with twelve arrows, and holding the reins himself poured arrows down. Then he loosed an arrow bright as a sunbeam, set with gold and diamonds, and pierced by it Bhima sank onto his chariot with slack limbs. But recovering, he roared again like a lion.

Dushasana cut Bhima’s bow with one arrow and pierced his driver with six, then Bhima with nine. Bhima, filled with wrath, hurled a spear, but Dushasana cut it apart with ten arrows. Then Bhima said, “Hero, you have pierced me deep; now bear the blow of my mace.” He raised his terrible mace and said, “Wretch, today I will drink your blood on the field.” Dushasana threw a spear like death itself, but Bhima whirled his mace and flung it; it broke Dushasana’s spear and struck him on the head, and threw him from his chariot to a distance of ten bow-lengths. His horses were killed, his chariot ground to pieces.

Then, standing among the great warriors of the Kuru army in that terrible battle, Bhima remembered every outrage of your sons: the dragging of Draupadi by her hair, the seizing of her cloth while she was in her season, and all the humiliations heaped on that princess while her husbands sat with their faces turned away. Bhima blazed with wrath like a fire fed with clarified butter. He said to Karna, Suyodhana (another name of Duryodhana), Kripa, Ashvatthama, and Kritavarma, “Today I will kill this vile Dushasana; let those who can protect him.” Saying this, Bhima sprang on Dushasana like a lion.

Leaping from his chariot he came down to the earth and fixed his gaze on the fallen enemy. Then he drew his keen sword and, trembling with rage, set his foot on Dushasana’s throat, tore open his chest, and drank his warm blood. Then, cutting off his head with the sword, to fulfill his vow, he drank the blood again slowly, as if tasting it. Then, looking on with wrathful eyes, he said that the taste of this enemy’s blood was sweeter to him than his mother’s milk, than honey, than clarified butter, than fine wine, than water, than curds, than every nectar-like drink in the world. Then, seeing Dushasana dead, he laughed softly and said, “What more can I do to you now? Death has taken you from my hands.”

Those who saw Bhima drink the enemy’s blood fell down in terror, and the weapons slipped from the hands of others. Many, looking through half-closed eyes, cried out, “This is no man.” Some said, “This Bhima must be a rakshasa,” and they fled with Chitrasena.

A key to reading this (moral complexity): Bhima’s drinking of Dushasana’s blood is one of the Mahabharata’s most fearful scenes, and the story neither hides it nor makes it beautiful. It is the fulfillment of the vow Bhima made thirteen years before, after the outrage of Draupadi. Yet the soldiers who see it call Bhima a “rakshasa,” which is to say the story itself does not treat the act as simple heroism. Here justice and violence, the vow and the beast, stand together, and Vyasa flattens no one.

Then the Panchala prince Yudhamanyu chased the fleeing Chitrasena and pierced him with seven arrows. Chitrasena turned and pierced Yudhamanyu with three and his driver with six, but Yudhamanyu cut off his head with a single keen arrow.

Bhima took a little of Dushasana’s blood in his hand and said aloud, for all the heroes to hear, “Base man, here I drink the life-blood from your throat. Now, if you are glad, curse us again as ‘beast, beast.’ Those who danced over us with the words ‘beast, beast’ then, we will now dance over them, saying the same words back. The poison in our sleep in the house at Pramanakoti, the deadly poison mixed in our food, the bites of black snakes, the fire in the house of lac, the seizing of our kingdom at dice, the exile in the forest, the cruel dragging of Draupadi’s beautiful hair, our sufferings at Virata’s court, all these griefs sprang from you, by the evil counsel of Shakuni, Duryodhana, and the son of Radha. From the wickedness of Dhritarashtra and his son we bore them all. Happiness we never knew.”

Then, bathed in blood and pouring blood from his wounds, Bhima said to Krishna and Arjuna, “Heroes, the vow I made about Dushasana I have kept today. Soon I will keep the other too, killing the second beast, Duryodhana, in this sacrifice of battle. When I crush his head with my foot before the eyes of the Kauravas, I will have peace.” Saying this, Bhima roared as the thousand-eyed Indra roared after killing Vritra.

The gist: Just before Karna’s killing, Vyasa places Bhima’s killing of Dushasana, a fearful fulfillment of a vow that makes the army tremble. This scene sets the ground for Karna’s death: now Duryodhana is stunned with grief for his brother, and Karna is taking fear from Bhima’s prowess.

The death of Vrishasena, and Karna, grief-struck, rushing at Arjuna

After Dushasana was killed, ten of your sons, Nishangi, Kavachi, Pashi, Dandadhara, Dhanurgraha, Alolupa, Saha, Shanda, Vatavega, and Suvarcha, together ringed Bhima with arrows. But Arjuna sent all ten to the realm of Yama with ten broad arrows. Then fear entered Karna’s mind at the sight of Bhima’s destroyer-like prowess.

Reading Karna’s mood in his face, Shalya said, “Radheya, do not grieve, it does not become you. These kings are fleeing in fear of Bhima. Duryodhana is stunned by the grief of seeing his brother’s blood drunk. The Pandavas are advancing on you. So set the kshatriya’s dharma before you and move toward Dhananjaya. In victory there is great fame, in defeat heaven is sure. There, look, your son Vrishasena, seeing your daze, is rushing at the Pandavas in wrath.”

Vrishasena rushed toward Bhima, but Nakula attacked him. Nakula cut his standard and his gold-bellied bow. To honor Dushasana’s memory, Karna’s son took another bow and pierced Nakula with celestial weapons. A fierce battle followed. Karna’s son killed Nakula’s white horses of the wind-born breed. Chariotless, Nakula took up a shield set with golden moons and a sky-blue sword and fought, leaping like a bird, and cut down two thousand warriors.

Then Vrishasena came swiftly and pierced Nakula with arrows, cut his thousand-starred shield and his steel sword with six arrows, and struck deep arrows into the middle of his chest. Guarded by Bhima, Nakula showed wonderful prowess, but at last, afflicted by Karna’s son’s arrows, he leaped like a lion onto Bhima’s chariot, in Arjuna’s sight. Vrishasena poured arrows on them both.

Then Bhima said to Arjuna, “Look, Nakula is afflicted, and Karna’s son is holding us. Move against Karna’s son.” Arjuna came near Bhima’s chariot. Nakula said, “Kill him quickly.” Then Arjuna, with his monkey-bannered chariot driven by Krishna, moved against Vrishasena.

Seeing Nakula’s chariot and sword cut down, eleven heroes, the five sons of Drupada, Satyaki, and the five sons of Draupadi, came swiftly forward and began to slaughter your elephants, chariots, men, and horses. Then Kritavarma, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Duryodhana, Shakuni’s son, Vrika, Kratha, and Devavridha moved against them. Meanwhile the Kulindas (a hill people of the Himalaya region), mounted on elephants like mountain peaks, fell upon the Kaurava heroes. The Kulinda prince pierced Kripa, but Kripa’s arrows brought him down with his elephant. His younger brother’s head Kripa struck off.

Shatanika (Nakula’s son) worked heavy slaughter, but a Kulinda warrior pierced him, and Shatanika cut off his lotus-like head. Then Karna’s son Vrishasena pierced Shatanika, Arjuna, Bhima, Nakula, and Janardana with arrows. Seeing this the Kauravas rejoiced, but those who knew Dhananjaya’s prowess already counted Vrishasena as an offering fallen into the fire.

Seeing Nakula chariotless and Krishna wounded, Arjuna attacked Vrishasena, who stood before the son of the charioteer. As Namuchi sprang at Indra, so Vrishasena sprang at Arjuna, pierced Partha with an arrow, and roared, then with several more, then Krishna with nine and Partha with ten. Then Arjuna’s brow drew into three lines of wrath.

His eyes red with anger, Arjuna, who could kill even Yama, laughed terribly and said to Karna and all the Kaurava heroes, “Karna, before your very eyes I will send this Vrishasena to Yama’s realm today. People say that all of you together, in my absence, killed my lone and helpless son. I will kill your son before all of you. After that, fool, I will kill you, who are the root of this quarrel and who have grown so proud under Duryodhana’s shelter. And Bhima will kill this vile Duryodhana, whose evil counsel raised this quarrel born of the dice.”

Saying this, Arjuna struck ten arrows into all of Vrishasena’s vital spots, and with four razor-headed arrows cut off his bow, both arms, and head. Armless and headless, Karna’s son fell from his chariot like a sal tree heavy with flowers. Seeing his son thrown down in this way, Karna, burning with a father’s grief, filled with wrath and rushed swiftly toward the chariot of Arjuna and Krishna.

The gist: The revenge for the unjust killing of Abhimanyu is paid here, Arjuna kills Karna’s son Vrishasena before Karna’s very eyes, and this draws Karna into the last duel. A father’s grief runs both ways: Karna had a part in Abhimanyu’s killing, and now Arjuna kills his son. This is the chain of vengeance from which no hero of the Mahabharata is free.

Two suns face to face, and the division of creation

Seeing Karna coming on, unconquerable even by the gods, swelling like the sea, Krishna of the Dasharha line said to Arjuna: There comes the one with the white horses and Shalya for his driver, the one you must fight. So, Dhananjaya, gather all your resolve. Look, Karna’s standard with the mark of the elephant’s rope seems to divide the sky like the rainbow. Son of Kunti, it is for you alone to kill the son of the charioteer with care. No one but you can bear Karna’s arrows. You are able to conquer the three worlds with the gods and gandharvas. You pleased Shiva himself in battle. By his grace, Partha, kill Karna, as Indra killed the asura Namuchi.

Arjuna said: Krishna, my victory is sure, there is no doubt of it, because you are pleased with me. Drive the horses, Hrishikesha. Today Phalguna will not return from battle without killing Karna. Today either Karna will be seen cut down by my arrows, or you will see me dead by Karna’s arrows. The terrible battle has come that people will talk of as long as the earth lasts. Saying this, Arjuna’s chariot came quickly before Karna’s.

Then the two chariots, both bright as the sun, both faced with tiger-skin, looked, as they came near, like two suns. Both great archers with their white horses shone in the sky like the sun and the moon. Seeing them ready for battle like Indra and the son of Virochana (Bali), all beings were amazed. Seeing Karna’s elephant-rope standard and Partha’s monkey standard drawing near each other, all the kings were filled with wonder.

Thousands of warriors clapped their arms and waved their garments. The Kauravas sounded drums and blew conchs to please Karna; the Pandavas filled the quarters with conch-blasts to please Arjuna. Both tigers among men stood on their chariots, bearing terrible bows, armed with arrows and spears, holding high standards. Both wore armor, both had white horses, both had lion-like necks, both had long arms, both had red eyes, both were decked with garlands of gold. One had Krishna for a driver, the other Shalya.

Challenging each other, the two moved to close like two bulls in a cow-pen. They were like two maddened elephants, two angry mountains, two poison-bearing snakes, two world-ending Yamas. Wrathful as Indra and Vritra, splendid as the sun and the moon, they looked like two planets risen for the destruction of the world at the end of an age. Both born of divine fathers (Karna of the sun, Arjuna of Indra), both godlike. Seeing them, a doubt rose in every mind as to which would win.

Then in the sky a dispute arose among the gods, the nagas, the asuras, the siddhas, the yakshas, the gandharvas, and the rakshasas over Karna and Arjuna. All creation split into two sides. The sky with all its stars grew anxious for Karna, and the wide earth for Partha, as a mother for her son. The rivers, the seas, the mountains, the trees, and the healing plants took Arjuna’s side. The asuras, the yatudhanas, the guhyakas, and the sky-ranging crows took Karna’s side. All jewels, the four Vedas, the histories, the upavedas, the Upanishads, Vasuki, Chitrasena, Takshaka, all the great nagas and all the mountains took Arjuna’s side. Airavata and his offspring, the offspring of Surabhi, took Arjuna’s side; the smaller snakes took Karna’s. The Vasus, the Maruts, the Sadhyas, the Rudras, the Vishvedevas, the Ashvins, Agni, Indra, Soma, Pavana, and the ten quarters were for Dhananjaya; all the Adityas were for Karna. The brahmins, the kshatriyas, the sacrifices, and the priestly gifts were for Arjuna. The pretas, the pishachas, the flesh-eating beasts and birds, the rakshasas, the dogs, and the jackals were for Karna. The vaishyas, the shudras, the sutas, and the mixed castes were for the son of Radha.

Brahma, with the rishis and the lords of creatures, and Bhava (Shiva) himself on his mount, came to that part of the sky. Shakra (Indra) said, “Let Arjuna conquer Karna.” Surya said, “Let my son Karna conquer Arjuna.” Indra and Surya, these two, took opposite sides and disputed. The gods were on Partha’s side, the asuras on Karna’s.

Then the gods prayed to the Self-born Brahma: “God, let the victory of these two lions among men be equal. Let not the vast creation perish from this battle. Make their victory equal.” Hearing this, Maghavat (Indra) bowed to the Grandsire and said, “Formerly you yourself said that the two Krishnas will always be victorious. Let it now be so.” Then Brahma and Ishana (Shiva) said to Indra, “The victory of the high-souled Vijaya (Arjuna) is sure, of that Savyasachi who gratified the Fire in the forest of Khandava and who, going to heaven, aided you. Karna is on the side of the danavas, so it is right that he meet defeat. By this the purpose of the gods will be served. Partha is devoted to truth and to dharma; he must be victorious. His driver is Vasudeva Vishnu himself. These two Krishnas are Nara and Narayana, ancient and supreme rishis, over whom none can rule. The three worlds follow them.”

But Brahma also said, “Let Karna, this bull among men, gain a high world here. Let him find union with the Vasus or the Maruts. Let him be worshipped in heaven with Drona and Bhishma, for Vaikartana Karna, the son of the sun, is a hero. Yet let the victory be the two Krishnas’.” Then the thousand-eyed Indra, honoring those words, bowed to all beings and said, “You have heard the word of the two gods. So it will be, and no otherwise. Rest with glad minds.” Hearing this, all beings were amazed, and the gods rained fragrant flowers.

A key to reading this (the idea: Nara and Narayana): By “the two Krishnas” the story means both Krishna and Arjuna, whom Vyasa sees as Nara (Arjuna) and Narayana (Krishna), the two ancient rishis who descend age after age to guard dharma. This is why Brahma says their victory is sure. But notice: even the gods hold Karna worthy of heaven and worship. The story does not cut Karna down as “evil.” He will be defeated because he stands on the danava side, yet his fire has a right to the world of heaven.

The gist: Vyasa makes this duel more than the battle of two heroes; it becomes the division of creation. Rivers, mountains, Vedas, gods, asuras, all choose a side. Father stands against father: Surya for Karna, Indra for Arjuna. And the final ruling is Brahma’s, victory to Arjuna, but heaven to Karna.

The war of celestial weapons, and Ashvasena’s journey of vengeance

The two drivers looked at each other as well. Keshava pierced Shalya with a keen gaze, and Shalya returned it, but Vasudeva conquered Shalya with his gaze, and Arjuna conquered Karna. Then Karna smiled and asked Shalya, “If Partha kills me today, what will you do?” Shalya answered, “If you are killed I will myself kill both Krishna and Arjuna.” Arjuna asked Krishna the same. Krishna smiled and said grave words: “The sun may fall from its place, the earth may break into a thousand pieces, fire may grow cold, and still Karna will not be able to kill you. And if such a thing did happen, know that the destruction of creation is near. Even then I would kill both Karna and Shalya with my bare arms.”

Then Arjuna’s monkey standard sprang upon Karna’s elephant-rope standard and tore at it with claw and tooth, as Garuda tears at a snake. This was the battle of the two standards, the outcome of what had stood still since the time of the dice.

The battle began. Karna first pierced Partha with ten arrows; Arjuna struck ten keen arrows into the middle of his chest. Then Arjuna loosed a fire-weapon that burned the earth, the sky, and the quarters with its heat. The clothes of all the warriors began to burn. Karna loosed the Varuna weapon to quench it, and covered the sky with clouds. Arjuna scattered those clouds with the Vayavya weapon and loosed the weapon dear to Indra, from which thousands of arrows sprang from the Gandiva with the speed of thunder and sank into Karna’s horses, bow, yoke, wheels, and standard. Bathed in blood, Karna loosed the Bhargava weapon (gotten from Parashurama), cut apart Partha’s rain of arrows, and destroyed the chariots, elephants, and foot of the Pandava army.

Then the enraged Bhima said to Arjuna, “Jishnu, how is this fallen son of a charioteer killing so many Panchala heroes before your eyes? You whom the gods and the Kalakeyas could not conquer, you who felt the touch of Sthanu’s (Shiva’s) own arms, how is this suta making your arrows useless today? Remember Draupadi’s grief and his cruel, pitiless words, ‘a sesame seed without a kernel,’ and kill this vile Karna today. This is no time for slackness. I too will crush him with my mace.”

Then Krishna also said, “Arjuna, what is this, that Karna is cutting your weapons today? Why are you losing your senses? Do you not see the Kauravas shouting for joy? With the same steadiness with which you gratified the Fire at Khandava, kill Karna. I give you this Sudarshana; cut off his head with it, as Indra cut off Namuchi’s head with his thunderbolt.” Urged by Bhima and Janardana, Arjuna said, “Now, for the good of the world and the destruction of the son of the charioteer, I loose a terrible weapon.” Bowing to Brahma, he loosed the brahmastra, which could be driven by the mind alone. But Karna made even that useless.

Then, at Bhima’s urging again, Arjuna loosed a second brahmastra, from which hundreds and thousands of gold-winged arrows began to cover Karna’s chariot. Karna pierced Bhima, Janardana, and Arjuna, each with three arrows, and roared. Arjuna loosed eighteen arrows: with one he pierced Karna’s standard, with four Shalya, and with three Karna, and with ten he killed a Kaurava commander in golden armor, who fell like a sal tree. Then Arjuna, piercing Karna again and again, killed four hundred elephants, eight thousand car-warriors, a thousand horses with their riders, and eight thousand foot, and hid Karna with his driver, chariot, horses, and standard under a storm of arrows.

Then the wounded Yudhishthira, whose body had been cleared of arrows and who had been healed with mantras and medicine, came to that spot to see the duel. Seeing him like the full moon freed from the mouth of Rahu, all beings rejoiced.

A sub-tale (Ashvasena): While this duel raged, far below in the nether region the serpent Ashvasena, son of Takshaka, was passing his time. Arjuna had killed his mother in the burning of Khandava, and remembering that enmity he rose to destroy Arjuna. Taking the form of an arrow, he slipped into Karna’s quiver, and Karna did not even know it. This is the thread of the story that begins with the burning of Khandava and now reaches all the way to Karna’s last arrow.

Then, as Partha’s bowstring broke, Karna struck a hundred small arrows, sixty into Krishna and eight into Arjuna. Then Karna poured thousands of arrows on Bhima. But Arjuna strung his bow again and struck ten arrows into Shalya’s armor and twelve, then seven, into Karna. Bathed in blood, Karna looked like Rudra at the end of an age. Then Karna drove five arrows into Krishna’s body, five illusory snakes of the party of Takshaka’s son Ashvasena. But Arjuna cut all five into three pieces each. Seeing Krishna’s limbs cut by those snake-arrows, Arjuna blazed with wrath like a fire burning a heap of grass and struck many arrows into Karna’s vitals. Karna trembled with pain, but with great effort held his ground. Arjuna killed two thousand Kaurava heroes who were guarding the wheels and flanks of Karna’s chariot. Then your sons and the rest of the Kauravas fled, deserting Karna. Even so Karna was not shaken, and with a glad heart sprang at Arjuna.

The gist: This is the war of celestial weapons: fire against Varuna, Vayavya against clouds, brahmastra against brahmastra. Karna keeps cutting Arjuna’s weapons with the Bhargava weapon that Parashurama gave him. And through it all, Ashvasena the serpent hides in Karna’s quiver, an old tale from the burning of Khandava returning now in the last arrow.

The Ashvasena-arrow, and the fall of the diadem

In that terrible battle, when Karna could in no way win over Partha and was himself badly wounded by arrows, he set his heart on that one arrow that lay singly in a quiver. It was that serpent-mouthed, blazing, terrible arrow that Karna had kept for many years for Partha’s destruction and had honored in a golden quiver amid sandal dust. Setting it on the string and drawing it to his ear, Karna aimed to cut off Partha’s head. It was the arrow born in Airavata’s race, in which Ashvasena the serpent had entered. The sky and the quarters blazed, and meteors and thunderbolts fell. The guardians of the worlds, including Indra, wailed aloud. Karna did not know that Ashvasena had entered his arrow by his yoga power.

Seeing Karna aim that arrow, Shalya said, “Karna, this arrow will not succeed in cutting off Arjuna’s head. Look carefully and fix another arrow that can cut off the enemy’s head.” But Karna, his eyes burning with wrath, said, “Shalya, Karna does not aim one arrow twice. Warriors like us are not crooked.” Saying this, he loosed the arrow with great care and said, “Phalguna, you are slain.”

That terrible arrow, loosed from Karna’s arms, blazing in the sky like fire or the sun, went as if drawing the parting in a woman’s hair. Seeing it blaze in the sky, Madhava, the slayer of Kamsa, pressed that fine chariot down with his feet, with the greatest ease, nearly a cubit into the earth. At this the horses, white as moonbeams and decked in gold, knelt and settled on the ground. Then voices rose in the sky in praise of Vasudeva, and celestial flowers rained on Krishna.

Because the chariot had been pressed into the earth, Karna’s arrow could not cut off Arjuna’s head; but by the nature of the serpent-arrow, and by the wrath and care with which it had been loosed, it swept from Arjuna’s head that fine diadem famed in earth, sky, heaven, and water. That diadem, with the splendor of sun, moon, fire, or planet, decked with gold, pearls, gems, and diamonds, the Self-born Brahma had made with great care for Purandara (Indra), and Indra had given it to Arjuna when he went to destroy the enemies of the gods. That diadem could not be broken even by the Pinaka, the noose, and the thunderbolt of Rudra, Varuna, and Kuvera. But Vrisha (Karna) broke it by force with his snake-driven arrow. That beautiful diadem fell to the earth like the sun’s disc dropping behind the eastern hills. In all the worlds a din arose like the roar of earth, sky, heaven, and water lashed by a tempest.

Diademless, dark-skinned, and young, Partha looked splendid as a blue mountain of lofty summit. He bound his hair with a white cloth and stood wholly unmoved. With that white band he looked like the eastern hills lit by the rays of the sun. In this way that she-snake, whom Arjuna had killed at Khandava, through her son Ashvasena, in the form of an arrow loosed by Surya’s son, took only Arjuna’s diadem. But Arjuna too did not return from that battle without bringing the serpent under Yama’s power.

Having burned Arjuna’s diadem, the arrow-serpent wished to turn back toward Arjuna. Karna, who saw him but did not know him, asked, “Who are you, of such terrible form?” The serpent said, “Know me as one wronged by Partha. My enmity with him is because he killed my mother. Loose me again, and I will kill your enemy and mine.” Karna said, “Karna does not want victory today by leaning on another’s strength. Even if I have to kill a hundred Arjunas, I will not loose that arrow twice. Be happy, go elsewhere.” Then in wrath the serpent took the form of an arrow himself and went to kill Partha.

Then Krishna said to Arjuna, “Kill this enemy of yours, the great serpent.” Arjuna asked, “Which serpent is this that comes at me of its own accord, as if going toward the mouth of Garuda?” Krishna told him, “When you gratified the Fire at Khandava, this serpent was in the sky, hidden in his mother’s body. Taking them for a single snake, you killed his mother. Remembering that enmity, he comes today for your destruction.” Then, turning his face in wrath, Arjuna cut the serpent, coursing aslant, in the sky with six keen arrows, and it fell to the earth. Then Krishna lifted that chariot from the earth with his arms.

A key to reading this (Krishna’s intervention): Note that this is Krishna’s first direct intervention, pressing the chariot into the earth with his feet so that Karna’s unfailing arrow falls on the diadem instead of Arjuna’s head. Whether this counts as a breaking of the “rules” the story leaves to you; what it shows is a moment of battle-craft, where the charioteer himself turns the course of the fight. The story hides none of it and tells it openly, with celebration, as flowers rain from the sky in praise of Vasudeva. And here Karna’s height of character rises too: he does not loose one arrow twice, and he will not take a victory that leans on another’s strength.

The gist: Karna’s unfailing serpent-arrow takes only the diadem instead of Arjuna’s life, because Krishna presses the chariot into the earth. Ashvasena wants to return, but Karna spurns him, and Arjuna cuts him down. The old grudge from the burning of Khandava is paid here.

The cry for dharma, and the sinking of the chariot wheel into the earth

Then Karna, glancing sidelong at Arjuna, pierced Krishna with ten arrows. Arjuna pierced Karna with twelve and loosed one arrow that split Karna’s armor, drank his blood, and passed into the earth. Karna in turn pierced Janardana with twelve arrows and Arjuna with ninety-nine, and roared. But Arjuna could not bear his enemy’s joy. Partha, who knew all the vital spots of the human body, struck hundreds of arrows into those spots, then loosed ninety arrows, each like the rod of Yama, at Karna. Pierced by them, Karna trembled like a mountain riven by thunder.

With his winged arrows Arjuna cut off Karna’s jeweled headpiece and his earrings. Then in a moment he cut into many pieces Karna’s bright armor, forged with great care by many craftsmen, and pierced him with four keen arrows. Arrow after arrow, Arjuna pierced Karna’s vitals, and Karna began to look like a red-ochre mountain streaming with lines of red. Then Karna set down his bow, like the bow of Shakra, and his quiver, and stood inactive, stunned with pain and reeling.

The righteous Arjuna, who kept the rule of manly conduct, did not wish to kill an enemy fallen into such distress. Then the younger brother of Indra (that is, Vishnu, Krishna) said with urgency, “Son of Pandu, why do you grow so forgetful? Those who are truly wise never spare an enemy, however weak, even for a moment. By killing an enemy fallen into distress a man earns both merit and fame. Crush this Karna quickly; the moment he recovers he will attack you again. Kill him as Indra killed Namuchi.”

Saying “So be it, Krishna,” Arjuna worshipped Janardana and pierced Karna again with many arrows, and covered Karna and his chariot and horses with gold-winged arrows. Karna too, shooting arrows, looked splendid as the sun going toward the western hills. But Arjuna’s arrows destroyed Karna’s snake-like arrows in the sky. Karna, recovering his patience, pierced Partha with ten arrows and Krishna with six.

Then Arjuna set a terrible iron arrow to the string, whose twang was like Indra’s thunderbolt. At that very moment, when the hour of Karna’s death had come, Death approached unseen, and pointing to the brahmin’s curse, telling Karna that his end was near, said, “The earth is devouring your wheel.” And as the hour of Karna’s death came, the high brahmastra that Parashurama had given him vanished from his memory, and the earth began to swallow the left wheel of his chariot.

From that brahmin’s curse Karna’s chariot sank deep into the earth and stuck fast, like a sacred tree heavy with flowers on a high platform. When the chariot began to reel, when the weapon he had gotten from Parashurama no longer shone in him from within, and when Partha had cut off his serpent-mouthed arrow too, Karna filled with sorrow. Unable to bear these hardships, he waved his arms and began to rail at dharma: “Those who know dharma always say that dharma protects the righteous. We have kept dharma to the best of our power, and yet that same dharma, instead of protecting us who are devoted to it, is destroying us. So I believe that dharma does not always protect its worshippers.” As he said this, he was overcome by Arjuna’s arrows. His horses and his driver too were displaced from their place.

A key to reading this (the two curses): Karna’s two curses ripen here. The first is Parashurama’s, of the Bhrigu line; Karna had learned the brahmastra from him by claiming to be a brahmin, and when the truth came out Parashurama cursed him that in the deepest danger the weapon would fail him, and so it does. The second is a brahmin’s, whose cow Karna had killed by accident, who cursed him that in battle the earth would swallow his chariot wheel when he was most helpless. Both ripen together. Karna’s railing at dharma is the peak of the story’s moral difficulty: the man who claimed dharma all his life feels, at the last moment, cheated by dharma.

The gist: Here both of Karna’s curses ripen at once: the weapon Parashurama gave him flies from his memory, and by the brahmin’s curse the earth swallows his chariot wheel. Karna rails at dharma, and this moment refuses to let the story stay a simple “triumph of the good.”

Karna’s plea for the wheel, and Krishna’s rebuke

Karna pierced Krishna’s arm with three terrible arrows and Partha with seven. Arjuna loosed seventeen straight, fire-like arrows that pierced Karna and passed into the earth. Trembling, Karna invoked the brahmastra with all his strength, and Arjuna held it off with the Aindra weapon. Karna cut Arjuna’s bowstring with many keen arrows, one, then a second, then a third, cutting eleven strings. But Arjuna replaced each string so quickly that Karna could not learn that Partha’s bow had a hundred strings. It struck him as a great wonder.

Then Krishna said, “Partha, go near and strike him with your best weapons.” Filled with wrath, Arjuna wished to loose a Raudra weapon joined to a celestial one. At that very moment, O king, the earth swallowed one wheel of Karna’s chariot. Karna quickly stepped down and gripped the sunken wheel with both arms and strained to lift it with all his might. Under Karna’s strength the earth, which had swallowed the wheel, rose four fingers’ breadth with its seven islands, its mountains, its waters, and its forests. But the wheel did not rise. Seeing the wheel sunk, Karna shed tears of wrath and said to Arjuna:

“Partha, Partha, wait a moment, until I lift this sunken wheel. The left wheel of my chariot has been swallowed by the earth by mischance, so set aside this purpose that can rise only in a coward’s mind. The righteous brave do not shoot at men with dishevelled hair, at those who have turned their faces from battle, at a brahmin, at one who joins his palms or begs for quarter, at one who has set down his weapon, whose arrows are spent, whose armor has fallen, or whose weapon is broken. You are the world’s greatest hero and a man of dharma, one who knows the rules of battle. So forgive me a moment, until I free my wheel. You stand on your chariot and I stand weak on the earth; it does not become you to kill me now. Neither Vasudeva nor you give me even a hair’s breadth of fear. You are a kshatriya, a protector of a high line. Remembering the teachings of dharma, forgive me a moment.”

Then Vasudeva, standing on the chariot, said to Karna, “It is fortunate, Radheya, that dharma comes to your memory. It is often seen that the low, when they fall into distress, curse fate and not their own misdeeds. You, Suyodhana, Dushasana, and Shakuni together had Draupadi, wrapped in a single cloth, dragged into the assembly; where then, Karna, was this dharma of yours? When in the assembly Shakuni beat the innocent Yudhishthira with crooked dice, where had this dharma gone? When by your counsel Duryodhana sought to kill Bhima with snakes and poisoned food, where was it? When the exile and the thirteenth year were done and you did not return the Pandavas’ kingdom, where was it? When you sought to burn the sleeping Pandavas by setting fire to the house of lac at Varanavata, where, Radheya, was it? When you laughed at Draupadi in the assembly, in her season and in scant cloth, where was it? When innocent Krishna was dragged from the inner apartments and you did not stop it, where was it? When you told Draupadi yourself, ‘The Pandavas are destroyed, fallen into hell; choose another husband,’ and watched that scene with delight, where, Karna, was this dharma? When many great car-warriors ringed the boy Abhimanyu and killed him, where was it? If that dharma was nowhere on those days, what use is it to parch your palate with its name now? Now you wish to walk in dharma, suta, but you will not live.”

A key to reading this (the heart of the moral difficulty): This is the deepest moral place in the Mahabharata, and it can be neither hidden nor made soft. Karna asks for the shelter of the rules of battle; to kill a chariotless, helpless enemy is against dharma, and this is true. Yet Krishna counts over that same Karna’s old breaches of dharma. The story holds no one here innocent: Karna’s claim to dharma is genuine, and so is Krishna’s rebuke. This is Vyasa’s vision, where dharma and its breaking are braided into one another, and even the road to victory is never wholly spotless.

Krishna went on: as Nala, though beaten at dice by Pushkara, won back his kingdom by prowess, so the greedless Pandavas will win back their kingdom by the strength of their arms, with all their friends. Killing their enemies, they, with the Somakas, will win their kingdom, and the sons of Dhritarashtra will meet destruction at the hands of those lion-like Pandavas, who are always guarded by dharma.

Told this, Karna bowed his head in shame and gave no answer. With lips trembling in wrath, he raised his bow and went on fighting Partha. Then Vasudeva said to Arjuna, “Mighty one, pierce Karna with a celestial weapon and throw him down.”

The gist: Karna asks a moment for the wheel and pleads the dharma of battle. Krishna cuts that plea away by counting over all Karna’s old wrongs: the dice, the stripping, the house of lac, the killing of Abhimanyu. This is the moment where the Mahabharata’s dharma stops being a straight line: both sides are half in the right and half at fault.

The Anjalika arrow, and the death of Karna

Remembering Krishna’s words, Arjuna blazed with wrath, and flames seemed to leap from every pore of his body. It was a wonderful sight. Seeing it, Karna invoked the brahmastra and poured arrows on Arjuna, then tried again to free his chariot. Arjuna answered with the brahmastra. The son of Kunti loosed a fire-arrow; Karna quenched it with the Varuna weapon and darkened the quarters with clouds. Arjuna cleared those clouds with the Vayavya weapon.

Then Karna took up a terrible, fire-like arrow to kill Arjuna. As it rose to the string, the earth with its mountains, waters, and forests shook, a fierce wind rained pebbles, the quarters were shrouded with dust, and cries of grief rose among the gods in the sky. Loosed from Karna’s arms, the arrow entered Arjuna’s chest as a snake enters an anthill. Pierced deep, Vibhatsu (a name of Arjuna) reeled, his grip loosened, and the Gandiva slipped from his hand. He trembled like the king of mountains in an earthquake.

Seizing that chance, Karna jumped from his chariot to free his sunken wheel. He gripped it with both arms and strained with all his strength, but for all his great might, as fate would have it, he failed. Meanwhile the diademed Arjuna recovered his senses and took up the arrow deadly as the rod of Death, named Anjalika. Then Vasudeva said, “Partha, cut off the head of this enemy Vrisha (Karna) with your arrow, before he climbs back onto his chariot.”

Applauding Vasudeva’s words, while the enemy’s wheel was still sunk, Arjuna cut down with a keen razor-headed arrow Karna’s elephant-rope standard, set with gold, pearls, gems, and diamonds, made by the finest craftsmen, blazing like the sun, which had been the courage of your army and the fear of its foes. As that standard fell, the fame, pride, hope of victory, and hearts of the Kurus all fell, and cries of “Alas, alas” rose in the Kaurava army. Your army no longer hoped for Karna’s victory.

Then, hastening for Karna’s destruction, Arjuna drew from his quiver that fine Anjalika weapon, like the thunderbolt of Indra or the rod of fire, with the splendor of the thousand-rayed sun, piercing the vitals, smeared with blood and flesh, a destroyer of men, horses, and elephants, three cubits and six feet long, a terror to all living things. This arrow was unconquerable even by the gods, and always honored by the son of Pandu. Seeing him aim it, the whole world of moving and unmoving things trembled, and the sages cried out in a high voice, “Peace be to the universe.”

The wielder of the Gandiva set that matchless arrow on his bow and said, “If I have ever practiced austerity, pleased my elders, and listened to the counsel of well-wishers, let this arrow of mine be a great weapon that swiftly destroys the body and heart of my enemy. By that truth, let this keen arrow, honored by me, slay my enemy Karna.” Saying this, Dhananjaya loosed that terrible arrow for Karna’s destruction, an arrow potent as a rite prescribed in the Atharvan of Angiras, blazing with splendor, beyond even Death’s bearing in battle. And Partha, decked with diadem and garlands, said with delight, “Let this arrow bring my victory. Let this sun-bright arrow of mine take Karna to Yama’s presence.”

With that Anjalika weapon Arjuna cut off his enemy’s head as Indra cut off the head of Vritra with his thunderbolt. In that afternoon the son of Indra cut off the head of Vaikartana Karna. Karna’s trunk fell to the earth. His head, splendid as the rising sun, splendid as the autumn sun at noon, fell to the ground like the crimson-disced sun dropping behind the western hills. That head left Karna’s beautiful body, always nursed in luxury, as unwillingly as an owner leaves his fine mansion full of wealth. Bleeding from every wound, Karna’s tall trunk fell like the summit of a red-ochre mountain streaming with crimson lines after a shower. Then from that fallen body a light rose, tore through the sky, and entered the sun. This wonder the human warriors saw after Karna’s fall.

Then the Pandavas joyfully blew their conchs. Krishna and Arjuna blew their conchs too. The Somakas cried out in joy, sounded their drums, and waved their garments. All the warriors came near Partha and praised him, and some, dancing and singing, said, “By great good fortune Karna lies on the earth, pierced with arrows.” Karna’s severed head looked as beautiful as a mountain peak toppled by a storm, as a fire gone out after the sacrifice, as the disc of the sun that has reached the western hills. That Karna-sun, who had made his arrows into rays to scorch the enemy army, was at last brought to his setting by the mighty Arjuna-time. As the sun going toward the western hills gathers up all its rays, so that arrow of Arjuna’s carried away Karna’s life breaths. The head of Karna, its face as lovely as a thousand-petaled lotus, fell to the earth like the thousand-rayed sun at the close of day.

Seeing Karna pierced with arrows and bathed in blood, Shalya, king of the Madras, drove off on the chariot bereft of its standard. At Karna’s fall the rest of the Kauravas, filled with fear, fled the battle, casting their eyes again and again on Arjuna’s blazing standard.

A key to reading this (Karna’s power of truth): Arjuna charges the Anjalika arrow with an oath of truth, “if I have practiced austerity, if I have pleased my elders.” This is called a satyakriya, an act of truth, in which one makes the impossible possible by calling one’s own life’s truth to witness. The light that passes from Karna’s body into the sun is the sign of his being the son of the sun, and it is the honor the story gives its fallen hero.

The gist: When Karna steps down from his chariot to lift the sunken wheel, Arjuna, at Krishna’s word, cuts off his head with the Anjalika arrow. The light of Karna’s body enters the sun, the very sun that was his father. The hope, the pride, and the heart of the Kaurava army fall with Karna.

After Karna: the broken army, and Duryodhana’s call

Sanjaya said: seeing his army crushed by arrows in that battle of Karna and Arjuna, Shalya drove off in wrath on that chariot stripped of its equipment. Seeing his army bereft of the son of the charioteer, its chariots, horses, and elephants destroyed, tears flowed from Duryodhana’s eyes, and again and again, the very picture of grief, he sighed long. The warriors came and stood surrounding Karna, pierced with arrows, bathed in blood, laid on the earth like the sun fallen from the sky. Some of them showed joy, some fear, some sorrow, some wonder.

Hearing that Karna had been killed, some Kauravas fled like a herd of cows in terror at losing their bull. Bhima, roaring terribly, slapping his armpits, leaping and dancing, put the Kauravas to fear. The Somakas and Srinjayas blew their conchs. All the kshatriyas embraced one another in joy at seeing the son of the charioteer slain. Having fought a terrible battle, Karna was killed by Arjuna as an elephant by a lion. Thus Partha kept his vow and made an end of his enmity toward Karna.

Stunned in heart, Shalya, king of the Madras, drove quickly on that standardless chariot to Duryodhana and said in grief: your army’s elephants, horses, and best car-warriors are killed. With mountain-like warriors and elephants killing one another, your army looks like the realm of Yama. Bharata, there was never before such a battle as that of Karna and Arjuna today. Karna made a mighty attack today on both the Krishnas and all your enemies. But surely fate has flowed toward Partha. That is why fate protects the Pandavas and does us harm. Bharata, do not grieve for this; it is fate. Take heart; success does not always come. Hearing this, Duryodhana, reflecting on his own misdeeds, the very picture of grief, nearly lost his senses and sighed long again and again.

Dhritarashtra asked: on that terrible day, when in that battle of Karna and Arjuna my army was crushed with arrows and fleeing, what was its shape? Sanjaya said: hear, O king, with care, how that terrible slaughter came. At Karna’s fall Partha roared like a lion, and great fear filled the hearts of your sons. After Karna fell, no warrior set his mind on holding the army or showing prowess. Seeing their refuge destroyed by Arjuna, they became like men whose boat has sunk in a fathomless sea. After the killing of the son of the charioteer the Kauravas, afraid and pierced with arrows, became like a herd of elephants without a master, afflicted by lions. Like bulls with broken horns or snakes with broken fangs, they fled. Stripped of weapons and armor, losing their sense of the quarters, crushing one another, they fled, crying, “That Vibhatsu is chasing me,” “That Vrikodara is chasing me,” and every Kaurava went pale with fear.

Seeing them flee, Duryodhana, crying “Alas, alas,” said to his driver, “Partha will never be able to pass me, the archer. Drive my horses slowly behind the whole army. If I stand at the rear of the army and fight, the son of Kunti will not be able to pass me, as the sea does not pass its shore. Killing Arjuna, Govinda, the proud Vrikodara, and the rest of my enemies, I will pay off my debt to Karna.” Hearing these brave and honorable words, the driver drove the horses slowly.

Then twenty-five thousand foot soldiers of your army, without chariots, horses, or elephants, made ready to fight. The enraged Bhima and Dhrishtadyumna ringed them with a fourfold army and struck them with arrows. Those foot soldiers fought Bhima and Dhrishtadyumna too, and some called out by name and challenged him. Then Bhima, filled with wrath and keeping the proper rule of battle, stepped down from his chariot, took his mace, and fought those foot soldiers on foot, and killed all twenty-five thousand. Then he stood, placing Dhrishtadyumna before him.

Dhananjaya moved toward the Kaurava chariot force. Nakula, Sahadeva, and Satyaki rushed joyfully at Shakuni and slaughtered the army of Subala’s son. Seeing Arjuna’s chariot with its white horses, Krishna for driver, and the twanging Gandiva, your army fled. Seeing the Kovidara-bannered chariot of Dhrishtadyumna too, the Kauravas were afraid. Chekitana, Shikhandi, and Draupadi’s sons blew their conchs. All the heroes began to chase the fleeing army.

Then Arjuna, seeing the remnant of your army still standing for battle, drew the Gandiva in wrath and covered them with arrows. The rising dust darkened everything and nothing could be seen, and your army fled in fear on every side. When the Kuru army had thus broken, King Duryodhana moved against all his enemies and challenged all the Pandavas to battle, as the asura Bali once challenged the gods. All the Pandava heroes fell on him together, but Duryodhana, filled with wrath, killed hundreds and thousands of enemies without fear. That he, alone and unaided, should fight all the Pandavas was a great wonder.

Then Duryodhana, holding back his army, pierced with arrows and ready to flee, resolved to guard his honor and heartening those warriors, said, “I see no place on earth or in the mountains where you could flee and the Pandavas would not kill you. So what use is flight? The Pandava army is small now, and both the Krishnas are badly wounded. If we all stand for battle, victory will surely be ours. If we scatter and flee, these wicked Pandavas will chase us and kill us all. So to die on the field is best. Death in battle brings joy. The dead man knows no grief; in the next world he enjoys unending happiness. Listen, kshatriyas, fight while keeping the kshatriya’s dharma.”

A key to reading this (Duryodhana’s last note): The moment Karna falls, the spine of the Kaurava side is broken, and yet Duryodhana does not flee. Shalya offers him the shelter of fate, but Duryodhana raises the note of the kshatriya’s dharma and the glory of death in battle. Here Vyasa does not let Duryodhana stay a mere villain; he sets his grief, his remorse (“reflecting on his own misdeeds”), and his final heroic resolve side by side.

The gist: Karna’s killing was the hinge of the war, and the moment he falls the Kaurava army, left masterless, scatters. Bhima kills twenty-five thousand foot soldiers, and Duryodhana, in the midst of grief and remorse, rallies his army one last time under the shelter of the kshatriya’s dharma. The Karna Parva, at its climax, now turns toward the Shalya Parva.

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