Mahabharata · Ashvatthama’s Night Massacre, the Brahmastra, and the Thread of Parikshit

About 66 min read · 11,151 words

Night was thickening, and at that far edge of Kurukshetra where the clang of iron and the scream of elephants had rung all day, only three chariots were left. Drona’s son Ashvatthama, his uncle Kripacharya (the son of Sharadvan, and so also called Sharadvata), and Kritavarma of the Bhoja line. Out of the vast host that had gone to war, an army that at its start numbered eleven akshauhinis (one akshauhini being a full division of more than twenty-one thousand chariots, as many elephants, and hundreds of thousands of horse and foot), these three men alone were still alive. Sanjaya is telling it to Dhritarashtra, and what he tells is a night whose very telling can tear the heart of the one who hears it. Come with us into that same night, as if the voice of Vyasa were carrying us, seated close, hiding nothing.

At sunset the three had come to a spot near the Kuru encampment. They let their animals loose and grew afraid. The high roar of the Panchalas and Pandavas celebrating their victory reached their ears, and dreading pursuit, they fled toward the east. After they had gone a little way their horses tired and they themselves were tormented by thirst. On fire with rage and the hunger for revenge, those great bowmen could not bear that their king Duryodhana had been struck down. They halted a while to rest.

Dhritarashtra’s Outcry and the Three Under the Banyan

Here Dhritarashtra breaks in on Sanjaya. He says: Sanjaya, what Bhima did seems past believing. The son of mine who was killed had the strength of ten thousand elephants. Young and in his full strength, his body hard as a thunderbolt, he was not a man any living thing should have been able to slay. And yet that very son of mine fell in battle to the Pandavas. Sanjaya, my heart must surely be made of adamant, for it does not break into a thousand pieces even on hearing that all my hundred sons are dead. What is to become of us now, an old couple left without children? The man who once laid his command over the whole earth, who stood above every head, how will he live now as a slave to the son of Pandu, brought so low? Vidura warned us of exactly this, and my son would not listen. But tell me this, Sanjaya: after Duryodhana had been felled by foul means, what did Kritavarma, Kripa, and Drona’s son do?

Sanjaya goes on: O king, they had not gone far when they stopped, for a dense forest rose before them, thick with trees and creepers. Resting a little, then mounting their cars drawn by fine horses whose thirst had been eased, they entered that great wood. It swarmed with every kind of animal and rang with the cries of many birds, and carnivores prowled through it. It was lovely with many pools and lakes covered over with blue lotuses. Casting their eyes about, they saw a gigantic banyan with a thousand branches. In its shade those great warriors alighted, let their animals go free, cleansed themselves in the proper way, and said their evening prayers.

Then the sun reached the western mountains, and Night, who is called the mother of the universe, came down. The sky, studded with planets and stars, shone like a piece of embroidered brocade. The creatures that walk the night began to cry out as they pleased, while those that walk the day fell under the spell of sleep. The flesh-eating beasts filled with glee, and the night, as it deepened, grew dreadful.

At that hour, filled with grief and sorrow, Kritavarma, Kripa, and Drona’s son sat down together. Seated under that banyan, they spoke their sorrow over the ruin that had fallen on both the Kurus and the Pandavas. Heavy with sleep, they lay down on the bare earth. The two great car-warriors, Kripa and Kritavarma, who had always slept on costly beds, now lay like helpless men on the open ground, worn out by toil and grief.

The gist: At the end of the great war only three warriors are left on the Kaurava side: Ashvatthama, Kripa, and Kritavarma. Shaken by the killing of their king, tired and wounded, they take shelter in a dense forest under a banyan tree. Back in the palace, Dhritarashtra is mourning the end of his hundred sons.

The Owl’s Sign and Ashvatthama’s Resolve

But Drona’s son could not sleep. Held by rage and by love for his father, he kept hissing like a snake. Not once did his eyes close. He turned his gaze around that terrible forest. Then he noticed another banyan, this one crowded with crows. Thousands of them had settled on it for the night, each perched apart from its neighbor, sleeping at ease.

While those birds slept in such safety, Ashvatthama saw an owl of terrible aspect appear all at once. Of frightful cry and huge body, green-eyed, tawny-feathered, with a great beak and long talons, it came with the speed of Garuda. Uttering soft calls, it crept in among the branches of the banyan. That ranger of the sky, that slayer of crows, settled on a branch and killed a great many of its sleeping enemies. It tore the wings of some, cut off the heads of others with its sharp talons, and broke the legs of many more. It struck them down before their own eyes. The ground under the spreading branches lay thick with the limbs and bodies of the slain crows. Having killed them, the owl was as pleased as a man who has done with his foes exactly as he wished.

Watching that pointed deed done in the dark, Drona’s son began to reflect on it, eager to shape his own conduct by that example. He said to himself: this owl is teaching me a lesson in war. Bent as I am on destroying the enemy, the time for the deed has come. The victorious Pandavas are not men I can kill in a fair fight. They are strong, steady, sure of aim, and skilled in striking. And yet, before the king, I vowed to kill them. I have bound myself to a self-destroying act, like an insect rushing into a blazing fire. If I meet them face to face in fair battle, I will surely have to give up my life. But by one act of guile, success may still be mine, and a great destruction may yet fall on my enemies.

Ashvatthama reminds himself that men of learning, too, prize sure means over uncertain ones. Then he recalls the old verses that truth-seeing men who weighed the demands of justice had once sung: that an enemy’s force should be struck when it is tired, or wounded with weapons, or busy eating, or retreating, or resting in its own camp; and struck in the same way when it lies afflicted with sleep in the dead of night, or is left without commanders, or is broken, or is laboring under some error.

Having reasoned in this way, that brave son of Drona settled on slaughtering the sleeping Pandavas and Panchalas during the night. Repeating the resolve to himself again and again, he woke his uncle and the Bhoja king. Roused from sleep, Kripa and Kritavarma heard Ashvatthama’s scheme. Filled with shame, neither gave him a fitting answer.

A key to reading this (the owl’s sign): The scene of the owl and the crows is the seed-image of the sauptika deed, the night attack on sleeping men. Ashvatthama does not treat it as an omen; he reads it as a justification for a resolve he has already formed. The story refuses to simplify the morality here. It shows how grief and vengeance can turn a man into someone who twists the very teaching he was raised on.

Ashvatthama’s Lament and Kripa’s Counsel on Dharma

After a few moments’ thought Ashvatthama said, his eyes wet: King Duryodhana, that one hero of great might, for whose sake we took up this quarrel with the Pandavas, is dead. Deserted and alone, though he was lord of eleven akshauhinis, he was struck down by Bhimasena and a pack of low men banded together in battle. And the vile Vrikodara (Bhima) did one more base thing: he set his foot on the head of a man whose crowned locks had been bathed in the sacred water of the coronation. The Panchalas are roaring and laughing aloud, blowing their conchs and beating their drums in joy. The harsh din of their instruments, mixed with the blare of conchs, rides the wind and fills every quarter. The Pandavas have made such havoc of Dhritarashtra’s sons that we three are the only survivors of that great slaughter. Some among them had the strength of a hundred elephants, some were masters of every weapon, and still they fell to the sons of Pandu. I take this for one of the reversals that Time brings about. If your judgment has not been carried off by bewilderment, then tell me what is right for us to do in this grave and desperate pass.

Kripa answered: I have heard all that you say, O mighty-armed one. Now hear a few words of mine. All men are governed by two forces, Destiny and Exertion. There is nothing higher than these two. Our acts do not succeed by destiny alone, nor by exertion alone. Success springs from the union of the two. As rain falling on a well-tilled field makes the seed yield a great harvest, so it is with a man’s success. Sometimes Destiny, having fixed the course of events, works itself out without waiting for effort; even so, the wise, aided by skill, have recourse to exertion.

Kripa went on: This Duryodhana, stained by greed and empty of foresight, took no counsel and foolishly set about an unripe purpose. Ignoring all who wished him well and taking counsel only with the wicked, he warred, though warned against it, with the Pandavas, who were his betters in every good quality. He was wicked from the start; he could not restrain himself; he would not do as his friends advised. Now he burns in grief and calamity. And we, because we followed that sinful man, have had this great disaster fall on us. It has scorched my understanding. Sunk in thought, I cannot see what is good for us.

A man who is himself bewildered should ask counsel of his friends. We should go to Dhritarashtra and Gandhari and the high-souled Vidura and ask them what we ought to do. Whatever they say, that we should do. This is my firm resolve. Those whose acts fail even after they have exerted themselves should be understood, beyond doubt, to be afflicted by destiny.

Hearing these words of Kripa, so full of good sense, of dharma and of profit, Ashvatthama was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. Burning as if with a blazing fire, he framed a wicked resolve and said to them both: Understanding differs from man to man, and each man is pleased with his own. Every man thinks himself wiser than the rest and praises his own judgment. A man’s understanding is one thing in his youth, another in middle age, and a third in his old age. When he falls into terrible distress, or comes into great fortune, his understanding is seen to waver badly.

A sub-tale: Here Ashvatthama lays bare the irony of his own birth. He says: I was born into an honored and high family of brahmanas, yet by ill luck I have been wedded to the work of a kshatriya. The Creator gave each order its own excellence: to the brahmana the Veda, to the kshatriya superior energy, to the vaishya skill, and to the shudra the duty of serving the other three. And so a brahmana without self-restraint is to be censured, and a kshatriya without energy is base. I hold an excellent bow and excellent weapons; if I do not avenge my father’s killing, how will I ever open my mouth among men? Honoring the duty of a kshatriya, therefore, I will today walk in the steps of my high-souled father and my king.

Then Ashvatthama laid his terrible resolve bare: The Panchalas, drunk with victory, will sleep tonight without a care, their armor off, sunk in the pleasure of their triumph and spent with toil. While they sleep at ease in their own camp, I will fall upon it in a great and terrible assault. As Maghavat (Indra) cuts down the danavas, so will I show my prowess and kill them all as they lie sleeping and senseless. As a blazing fire eats a heap of dry grass, I will destroy them all at once, along with their leader Dhrishtadyumna. Tonight, O son of Gautama, with my sharp sword I will cut off the heads of the sleeping sons of the Panchalas and the Pandavas. Having wiped out the sleep-bound Panchala army tonight, I will win great peace of mind and count my duty done.

The gist: Ashvatthama counts over how Duryodhana was killed by foul means and how Bhima set a foot on his head. Kripa gives a balanced teaching on Destiny and Exertion and urges him to seek counsel from Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and Vidura. But Ashvatthama, burning with grief, announces his resolve to slaughter the sleeping Panchalas that very night.

Kripa’s Last Restraint and Ashvatthama’s Unbending Will

Kripa said: O you of unfading glory, by good fortune your heart is set today on vengeance, and not even the wielder of the thunderbolt could turn you from it. But rest this night. Put off your armor and take down your standard. In the morning we two, Kritavarma of the Satvata race and I, clad in mail and mounted on our cars, will go with you against the foe. The three of us together, showing our full prowess, will kill the Panchalas and their followers tomorrow in the press of battle. You have kept awake through many nights. Rest, sleep, and come fresh against the enemy, and you will surely kill him. I too am a master of celestial weapons, and this hero of the Satvata race is a mighty bowman. United, the three of us will succeed in slaying our gathered foes in battle. Neither I nor Kritavarma will ever come away from that fight without having beaten the Pandavas. This I tell you truly, O mighty-armed, O sinless one.

To these kindly words of his uncle, Drona’s son, his eyes red with rage, answered: How can a man who is afflicted, or seized by rage, or forever turning over schemes to get wealth, or ruled by lust, find sleep? All four of these are present in me. Any one of them alone would drive sleep away. How great is the grief of a man whose heart is fixed day and night on the killing of his father. My heart is burning without rest. You all saw the way those sinful men killed my father. The memory of it is cutting through my vitals. After the Panchalas have said that they killed my father, how could a man like me live even a moment? I cannot bear the thought of holding on to life without having killed Dhrishtadyumna in battle.

Kripa then reasoned with him again: My son, in this world the slaying of sleeping men is not approved by the rules of dharma. The same holds for men who have laid down their arms, who have come down from their cars and horses, who say “We are yours,” who surrender, whose hair is unbound, whose mounts have been killed under them, or whose cars are broken. Tonight all the Panchalas will sleep with their armor off, trustfully sunk in slumber, like dead men. The crooked-minded man who would make war on them then will sink, that much is plain, into a deep and bottomless hell with no raft but himself. In this world you are famous as the foremost of all who know weapons. You have not yet committed even the smallest wrong. This shameful deed, so impossible in a man like you, would show like a red stain on a white sheet.

Ashvatthama said: There is no doubt, uncle, that it is as you say. But the Pandavas broke the bridge of righteousness into a hundred pieces long before this. In the sight of all the kings, before your own eyes, my father was killed by Dhrishtadyumna after he had laid down his weapons. Karna too, when the wheel of his car had sunk and he stood in dire straits, was killed by the wielder of Gandiva. So also Shantanu’s son Bhishma, once he had put aside his weapons and stood unarmed, was killed by Arjuna with Shikhandi thrust in front. The mighty bowman Bhurishrava, while keeping the praya vow on the field, was killed by Yuyudhana despite the cries of all the kings. And Duryodhana himself, meeting Bhima in a mace duel, was felled by foul means before all the lords of the earth. Those sinful Panchalas, my father’s killers, I will kill in the night while they lie sunk in sleep; and if for that I am born a worm or a winged insect in my next life, I do not care. The man who could baffle the resolve I have made for their destruction has not been born, and will not be.

A key to reading this (a moral knot): Kripa lays out the rules of the warrior’s dharma plainly: to kill the sleeping, the unarmed, the surrendered, and those with unbound hair is a sin. Ashvatthama does not deny it. Instead he counts over the wrongs on the Pandava side, the ways Drona, Karna, Bhishma, Bhurishrava, and Duryodhana were brought down, and uses them to make his own wrong seem just. The Mahabharata washes no one clean here; it sets both sides’ broken rules down side by side.

The Fearsome Form at the Gate and the Praise of Shiva

So saying, the brave son of Drona yoked his horses to his car and set off toward the enemy. The Bhoja, Kritavarma, and Sharadvan’s son, Kripa, asked: Why are you yoking your horses? What are you set on doing? We had already decided to go with you tomorrow. Ashvatthama told them the truth: as my father was killed while unarmed, so tonight will I kill Dhrishtadyumna in that same condition. Put on your armor without delay, take up your bows and swords, and wait for me here. With that he mounted his car and set off toward the enemy, and Kripa and Kritavarma of the Satvata race followed after him. The three, like three blazing fires in a sacrifice fed with clarified butter, moved toward the Panchala camp where every man lay asleep. Reaching the gate, that great car-warrior, Drona’s son, stopped.

Dhritarashtra asks: seeing Drona’s son halt at the camp gate, what did Kripa and Kritavarma do? Sanjaya says: calling Kritavarma and the great car-warrior Kripa to him, Drona’s son, filled with rage, came up to the gate of the camp. There he saw a being of gigantic frame guarding the entrance, one that could make the hair stand on end, bright as the sun or the moon. Around his loins was a tiger-skin dripping with blood, and a black deerskin was his upper garment. A great snake served him for a sacred thread. His arms were long and massive and held many kinds of raised weapons, and a large snake was wound about his upper arm for an armlet. Flames seemed to pour from his mouth. His open mouth was dreadful, and his teeth made his face terrible. His face was set with thousands of beautiful eyes, and from those thousands of eyes and from his mouth and nose and ears flames broke out. And out of those blazing flames issued hundreds and thousands of Hrishikeshas (forms of Vishnu), each armed with conch, discus, and mace.

Though the sight of that strange being could terrify the whole world, Drona’s son was not shaken in the least. He poured showers of celestial weapons upon him. But the being swallowed every one of those shafts, as the vadava fire beneath the sea drinks the waters of the ocean. Seeing his arrows fail, Ashvatthama hurled a blazing dart, which struck the being and broke apart like a great meteor shattering against the sun at the end of an age. Then he drew from its sheath an excellent scimitar the color of the sky, with a golden hilt, that came out like a blazing snake from its hole, and flung it at the being. It vanished into his body as a mongoose vanishes into its hole. Filled with rage, he then hurled a blazing mace as large as a pole raised in Indra’s honor. The being swallowed that too.

At last, when all his weapons were spent, Ashvatthama cast his eyes around and saw the whole sky crowded thick with images of Janardana (Krishna). Stripped of weapons and beholding that wonder, Drona’s son remembered Kripa’s words, and turning pale with grief he said: the man who will not listen to the good advice of well-wishing friends must repent, sunk in calamity, as my foolish self now repents for having ignored my two well-wishers. The fool who ignores the way the scriptures point out and tries to kill his enemies falls from the path of righteousness and is lost in the trackless wilderness of sin.

Drona’s son recalled the ancient teaching, that a man must never cast a weapon at kine, brahmanas, kings, women, friends, his own mother, his own preceptor, a weak man, an idiot, a blind man, a sleeping man, a terrified man, one just risen from sleep, a drunken man, a madman, or one who is off his guard. He thought: this being before me is surely the terrible fruit of my own sinful resolve, standing here to baffle it. It seems that this holding back from the fight was ordained for me by destiny. So now I will seek the protection of the mighty Mahadeva. He will lift away this rod of divine chastisement raised against me. I will take shelter with Girisha, the lord of Uma, called Kapardin, Rudra and Hara, the source of all that is good.

With that, Drona’s son stepped down from the platform of his car and stood with his head bowed before that supreme god, and he prayed: I take refuge in Him called Ugra, Sthanu, Shiva, Rudra, Sharva, Ishana, Ishvara, and Girisha; in that boon-giving god who is the Creator and Lord of the universe; whose throat is blue, who is without birth, who destroyed the sacrifice of Daksha, and who is called Hara; whose very form is the universe, who has three eyes, who takes many forms, and who is the lord of Uma; who dwells in cremation grounds, who is lord of the tribes of ghostly beings, who bears the skull-topped club, who wears matted locks, and who keeps the vow of brahmacharya. O Destroyer of the triple city, purifying this soul of mine that is so hard to purify, small in energy as I am, I offer myself up to you as the sacrificial victim.

A key to reading this (the gate-guardian’s secret): That thousand-eyed, fire-spouting being at the camp gate, out of whom countless Hrishikeshas pour, is a protecting form of God himself. Every weapon Ashvatthama throws is simply absorbed into it, a sign that his resolve cannot be accomplished by his own strength. Only then does he give himself up and take refuge in Mahadeva.

The Golden Altar, the Ghostly Hosts, and Mahadeva Entering Ashvatthama

Knowing this to be his resolve, a golden altar appeared before the high-souled son of Drona. On it blazed a fire that filled every quarter with its light. Many mighty beings appeared there as well, with blazing mouths and eyes, with many feet and heads and arms, decked with gem-set armlets, huge as elephants and mountains. Their faces were of every kind: some like those of hares, boars, camels, horses, jackals, cows, bears, cats, tigers, leopards, crows, apes, and parrots; some like great serpents, some like ducks. Some had no heads; the eyes of some were like fire. Some had four arms; the voices of some rang out like conchs. Some carried shataghnis, some thunderbolts, some pestles, some bhushundis, some nooses, some maces. Robed in white and golden in hue, those beings called the Ganas beat drums and horns and cymbals and kettledrums in their joy, and some sang and some danced.

Those Ganas could crush every enemy by force and were beyond resisting in prowess. They drank blood and fat and the flesh of animals. They were devotees of Mahadeva, and Mahadeva looked on them as his own children. Even after gaining the eight divine powers, they never swelled with pride. Filling the whole world with the sound of their many instruments, with peals of laughter and lion-roars, they came to Ashvatthama. Singing the glory of Mahadeva and spreading their light on every side, eager to measure Ashvatthama’s energy and to witness the slaughter in the hour of sleep, they gathered around him from all directions.

Even at the sight of them the mighty Ashvatthama felt no fear. Bow in hand, his fingers cased in fences of iguana skin, he offered up his own self as the victim to Mahadeva. His bow was the fuel, his sharp shafts the ladle, and his own mighty soul the offering. Having worshiped Rudra of fierce deeds, Ashvatthama joined his hands and said: O god, sprung from the line of Angirasa, I am about to pour my soul as a libation upon this fire. Accept this victim, O lord. In this hour of distress, O Soul of the universe, I offer myself up. All creatures are in you and you are in all creatures. You are the refuge of all beings. Unable to conquer my foes, I wait as your offering. Accept me, O god. With that, Drona’s son climbed onto that altar where the fire blazed, offered himself up, and entered the flame.

Beholding him stand unmoving, with lifted hands, offering himself up, the divine Mahadeva appeared in person and said with a smile: With truth, purity, sincerity, renunciation, austerity, vows, forgiveness, devotion, patience, thought, and word, Krishna of pure deeds has duly worshiped me. There is none dearer to me than Krishna. For his honor and at his word I protected the Panchalas and showed all manner of illusions. But now they have been overtaken by Time. The span of their lives has run out.

Having said this to the high-souled Ashvatthama, the divine Mahadeva gave him an excellent, polished sword and entered his body. Filled with that divine being, Drona’s son blazed up with energy, and by that godhead-given power he became all-powerful in battle. Many unseen beings and rakshasas moved along his right and his left as he set out, as though Mahadeva himself were entering the camp of his enemies.

The gist: Ashvatthama offers himself up and takes refuge in Mahadeva. Shiva appears and reveals that until now he had protected the Panchalas for Krishna’s sake, but that their time has come. He gives Ashvatthama a sword and enters his body. From this point the deed is no longer Ashvatthama’s alone; a divine sanction stands behind it.

Into the Camp and the End of Dhrishtadyumna

As Drona’s son moved toward the enemy camp, Kripa and Kritavarma stopped at the gate. Seeing them ready to act, Ashvatthama filled with joy and said to them in a low voice: if you two exert yourselves, you are able to wipe out all the kshatriyas, so what need is there to speak of this sleeping remnant of an army? I will go in and range through it like Yama. See to it that no man escapes you alive.

Saying this, Drona’s son entered the vast camp of the Parthas, casting off all fear, going in by a spot where there was no gate. Guided by signs, he made his way very softly toward the quarters of Dhrishtadyumna. The Panchalas, worn out by their great feats in battle, were sleeping in confidence, gathered close by one another. Entering Dhrishtadyumna’s chamber, Drona’s son saw the prince of the Panchalas asleep before him on a fine bed spread with silk, strewn with wreaths of flowers, and fragrant with sweet incense.

Ashvatthama woke the prince, who was sleeping without a care, with a kick. Feeling the kick, Dhrishtadyumna rose and knew Drona’s son standing before him. As he was getting up from his bed, the mighty Ashvatthama seized him by the hair and began to press him down against the earth with his hands. Held down by such strength, the prince, from fear and from sleepiness, could not put out his own strength. Setting a foot on his throat and his chest, Drona’s son set about killing him like an animal. The prince of the Panchalas tore at Ashvatthama with his nails and softly said: O son of my preceptor, kill me with a weapon, do not delay. O best of men, let me, by your act, reach the regions of the righteous.

Hearing those faint words, Drona’s son said: O disgrace of your line, there are no regions for those who kill their preceptors. For that, O man of wicked understanding, you do not deserve to be killed with any weapon. Saying this, and filled with rage, Ashvatthama began to strike the vital parts of his victim with violent kicks of his heels, and killed him as a lion kills a maddened elephant. At the cries of that hero as he was being killed, the women and guards in his tent woke. Seeing someone crushing the prince with more than human force, they took the attacker for some unearthly being and, in fear, uttered no sound. Having sent Dhrishtadyumna to the house of Yama in this way, Ashvatthama came out and mounted his handsome car.

A sub-tale: Dhrishtadyumna was Draupadi’s brother and the commander of the Panchala army, the man who had cut off the head of the unarmed Drona in battle. Ashvatthama deliberately refuses to kill him with a weapon; he crushes him with his heels like an animal, so that Dhrishtadyumna cannot reach the regions won by heroes slain with weapons. This is his revenge for the killing of his guru, and the story neither hides the cruelty of it nor sets it right.

Slaughter Across the Camp and the Vision of Death-Night

Coming out of Dhrishtadyumna’s quarters, Ashvatthama made every quarter ring with his roars and moved on to other parts of the camp to kill. The prince’s wives and guards raised a wail of grief. At that wail many kshatriyas woke, put on their armor, and came to ask the reason for the cries. The terrified women begged them to give chase at once; they did not know whether the attacker was a rakshasa or a man. At these words the warriors surrounded Drona’s son, and he killed them all with the rudra weapon.

Having killed Dhrishtadyumna and all his followers, Ashvatthama saw Uttamauja asleep on his bed, and setting his foot on his throat and chest, killed that great hero too as he writhed. Yudhamanyu, who came up believing his comrade had been killed by a rakshasa, struck Drona’s son on the chest with a mace. Ashvatthama seized him, brought him down to the ground, and killed him like an animal while he shrieked aloud.

Then he moved against the king’s other car-warriors, all of them asleep. He killed those trembling, shrieking men like animals at a sacrifice. Taking up his sword, he killed many more. Passing along the different lanes of the camp, Ashvatthama, skilled with the sword, found men asleep in one company after another, unarmed and tired, and killed them in an instant. Bathed in blood, he seemed to be Death himself, sent by Time.

Then the warriors of the Pandava camp saw a terrible thing: Death-Night in bodily form, a black figure with a bloody mouth and bloody eyes, wearing crimson garlands, smeared with crimson unguents, dressed in a single red cloth, a noose in her hand, looking like an aged woman, softly chanting a dismal note, standing full before their eyes. She was leading away men and horses and elephants, all tied together in a single stout cord. From the first day of the war between the Kurus and the Pandavas, the foremost warriors of the Pandava camp had seen this woman in their dreams every night, leading away the sleeping while Drona’s son struck them from behind. Afflicted now by Destiny, they knew that same dream taking shape before them.

Thousands of Pandava bowmen woke from sleep. Ashvatthama cut off the legs of some, the hips of others, and pierced the flanks of still others, ranging like the Destroyer himself let loose by Time. The ground was soon covered with men crushed shapeless or trampled by elephants and horses. Many cried aloud, “What is this? Who is this? What is that noise? Who is doing what?” and in the midst of those very cries Drona’s son became their destroyer. Blind with sleep and terror, out of their senses, the warriors began to kill one another. Then Ashvatthama climbed again onto his loud-clattering car, took up his bow, and sent many more to the house of Yama with his arrows.

A key to reading this (the dream of Kalaratri): From the very start of the war, the Pandava warriors had dreamed the same dream night after night: a noose-bearing Death-Night, Kalaratri, leading the sleeping away in her cord, and Ashvatthama striking them from behind. Now that dream came true. The Mahabharata shows this slaughter as more than the fruit of Ashvatthama’s rage; it is the surfacing of a design that Time had laid down long before.

The Killing of Draupadi’s Five Sons and Shikhandi

Ranging through the camp in his terrible form like Yama, Ashvatthama came at last upon the sons of Draupadi and the remnant of the Somakas. Startled by the noise and learning that Dhrishtadyumna had been killed, those great car-warriors, the sons of Draupadi, took up their bows and fearlessly rained arrows on Drona’s son. Awakened by their noise, the Prabhadrakas with Shikhandi at their head also began to grind Ashvatthama with their shafts. Drona’s son gave a great roar and, longing to kill those car-warriors, leapt down from his car. Taking up his bright shield marked with a thousand moons and his golden, celestial sword, he fell upon the sons of Draupadi.

In that dreadful fight he struck Prativindhya in the abdomen, and the prince, his life gone, fell to the earth. The valiant Sutasoma pierced Drona’s son with a lance and rushed at him with his sword raised; Ashvatthama cut off Sutasoma’s arm, sword and all, then struck him in the flank, and Sutasoma fell lifeless. Then Shatanika, the son of Nakula, took up a chariot wheel in both hands and struck Ashvatthama hard on the chest; Ashvatthama fell upon him after he had hurled the wheel, and Nakula’s son, badly shaken, dropped to the earth, and Drona’s son cut off his head. Then Shrutakarma took up a spiked bludgeon and rushed at Ashvatthama, striking him on the left of his forehead; Ashvatthama struck Shrutakarma across the face with his excellent sword, and Shrutakarma, his face disfigured and his senses gone, fell lifeless. At this noise the heroic Shrutakirti came up and poured showers of arrows; Ashvatthama caught them on his shield and cut the young man’s beautiful, ear-ringed head from his trunk.

Then the slayer of Bhishma, the mighty Shikhandi, with all the Prabhadrakas, assailed the hero from every side with all kinds of weapons. Shikhandi struck Ashvatthama with an arrow between his eyebrows. Filled with rage at this, Drona’s son closed with Shikhandi and cut him in two with his sword. Having killed Shikhandi, Ashvatthama, in a fury, rushed upon the remaining Prabhadrakas and the last of Virata’s force. He made a great slaughter among the sons, grandsons, and followers of Drupada, singling them out one after another.

A key to reading this (Draupadi’s five sons): Draupadi’s five sons, called the Upapandavas, are Prativindhya (by Yudhishthira), Sutasoma (by Bhima), Shatanika (by Nakula), Shrutakarma (by Arjuna, whom some texts call Shrutakirti), and Shrutakirti, also given as Shrutasena, by Sahadeva. In a single night all five are killed. Shikhandi too, who had been the instrument of Bhishma’s death, is cut in two that same night by Drona’s son.

Darkness, Stampede, and Kripa and Kritavarma at the Gate

As Ashvatthama went on killing thousands, the darkness of the deep night grew more terrible still. The ground lay covered with thousands of the dead and dying, and with countless horses and elephants. The rakshasas in the camp roared aloud in joy. Elephants and horses broke their tethers and ran wild, trampling the warriors of the camp, and the dust they raised made the night doubly dark. In that thick gloom fathers did not know their sons, nor brothers their brothers. Out of their senses, ringed by sleep and darkness, driven by fate, the warriors began to kill their own comrades. The guards left the gates they watched and fled for their lives, and as they fled they killed one another, the killer never knowing the killed.

Those who fled the camp to save their lives were killed at the gate by Kritavarma and Kripa. Of the men who lay on the ground, unarmed, stripped of weapons and armor, their hair loose, their hands joined, trembling with fear, those two let not one go free. Then, to please Drona’s son, the two set fire to the Pandava camp in three places.

When the camp was lit, Ashvatthama ranged through it sword in hand, killing his enemies with great skill. He cut many in two with his sword as if they were sesame stalks. When thousands of men had fallen lifeless, countless headless trunks stood up and dropped again. Ashvatthama cut off arms decked with armlets and still gripping weapons, and heads, and thighs like elephants’ trunks, and hands and feet. He slashed the backs of some, cut off the heads of others, and drove others from the fight.

Before half the night was over, Drona’s son had sent the great host of the Pandavas to the house of Yama. That night, as terrible to men and elephants and horses as it was, was full of joy to the creatures that wander in the dark. Many rakshasas and pishachas were seen there, gorging on human flesh and drinking the blood that lay on the ground. When morning came, Ashvatthama went out of the camp, bathed in human blood, and the hilt of his sword had clung so tightly to his grasp that his hand and his sword had become one. Having walked that path that good warriors never tread, he looked, after that slaughter, like the fire at the end of an age that has burned all creatures to ash. His deed done as he had vowed, Drona’s son forgot his grief for the killing of his father.

Coming out, Ashvatthama met his two companions and joyfully told them of his deed. They in turn told him how they had killed thousands of Panchalas and Srinjayas at the gate. The three great car-warriors together cried “Good luck!” and embraced one another. Ashvatthama said in his joy: all the Panchalas are dead, all the sons of Draupadi are dead, all the Somakas and the last of the Matsyas have been killed by me. Now, without delay, let us go to where the king is. If Duryodhana is still alive, we will give him this glad news.

The gist: Kripa and Kritavarma kill the fleeing warriors at the gate and set fire to the camp in three places. Before half the night is gone, nearly the whole remaining army of the Pandava side has been wiped out. Ashvatthama’s sword-hand is so caked with blood that it fuses with the hilt. The three set off to carry this news of their “victory” to Duryodhana.

The Last News Brought to Duryodhana, and His Death

Having killed the Panchalas and the sons of Draupadi, the three Kuru heroes came to the place where Duryodhana lay, struck down by the foe. There they saw that life had not yet wholly left the king. Lying with his thighs broken, the Kuru lord was almost senseless, vomiting blood from time to time, his eyes cast down. Beasts of prey, wolves, and hyenas stood nearby, waiting to feed on his body, and with great difficulty he kept them off, writhing on the ground in his pain. Seeing him in this state, the three heroes sat down around him in grief. Encircled by them, the Kuru king looked like a sacrificial altar ringed by three fires.

Kripa lamented: there is nothing too hard for destiny to bring about, since this Duryodhana, lord of eleven akshauhinis, lies struck down by his foes on the bare ground, covered with blood. See, he loved the mace, and that gold-decked mace lies even now beside the hero, like a loving wife beside her lord in the chamber of sleep. He before whom a hundred kings once bowed in fear lies today on the field, ringed by beasts of prey.

Ashvatthama too lamented: O tiger among kings, everyone named you the foremost of bowmen. In the mace duel you were a disciple of Sankarshana (Balarama). How then could Bhima find any opening in you? Time in this world is mightier than all else. Alas, how could the wretched Vrikodara bring you down by foul means, you who knew every rule of righteousness? Shame on that low Yudhishthira, who let the head of a man unfairly felled be touched by a foot. Shame on Krishna and Arjuna, who count themselves knowers of dharma and yet stood by indifferent while you were killed. O son of Gandhari, you are most fortunate, for you were killed on the field advancing fairly against the foe. My sorrow is for your mother Gandhari and your father, now left without children.

Then Ashvatthama said to the king: O Duryodhana, if there is life in you still, hear these words that are sweet to the ear. On the Pandava side only seven are alive: the five brothers, Vasudeva, and Satyaki. On our side, we three: myself, Kripa, and Kritavarma. All the sons of Draupadi are dead, all the children of Dhrishtadyumna are dead, all the Panchalas and the last of the Matsyas are dead. See how the debt has been paid for what they did. The Pandavas are now without children. Going into their camp in the night, I killed that sinful Dhrishtadyumna like an animal.

Hearing these words, so dear to his heart, Duryodhana came to his senses and answered: what neither Ganga’s son, nor Karna, nor your father could do, you have done today, with Kripa and the Bhoja beside you. You have killed that low commander of the Pandava forces, Dhrishtadyumna, and Shikhandi as well. For this I count myself the equal of Maghavat. Good fortune be with you all. We shall meet again in heaven. With that the Kuru king fell silent. Casting off his grief for all his slain kinsmen, he gave up his life-breath. His soul went to sacred heaven, and only his body remained on earth. Here Sanjaya tells Dhritarashtra that the divine sight Vyasa had given him now left him, and at early dawn he came away toward the city.

The gist: The three heroes reach the dying Duryodhana, his thighs broken. Ashvatthama gives him the news of the slaughter, counting the living on both sides. Satisfied, Duryodhana calls them the equals of Maghavat, lets go of his grief, and dies. At this point Sanjaya’s god-given vision, by which he had watched the whole war, comes to an end.

Yudhishthira’s Lament and Draupadi’s Fast Unto Death

When the night had passed, Dhrishtadyumna’s charioteer brought King Yudhishthira the news of the great slaughter done in the hour of sleep: O king, the sons of Draupadi and all the children of Drupada have been killed, trustfully asleep in their own camp. Your camp has been wiped out by the cruel Kritavarma, by Kripa the son of Gautama, and by the sinful Ashvatthama. I alone am left of that great host. Hearing this, Kunti’s son Yudhishthira, undone by the loss of his sons, fell to the earth. Satyaki caught him in his arms, and Bhima, Arjuna, and the two sons of Madri reached out to hold him.

Coming to his senses, Yudhishthira lamented: having beaten the enemy, we have been beaten in the end. The foes who were defeated have become the victors, and we who won have been overthrown. Having killed brothers and friends and fathers and sons and kinsmen, having beaten them all, we ourselves are undone at last. Those who had escaped even the arrows of Karna, who had crossed the sea that was Drona, have been killed through our carelessness. In this world there is no greater cause of a man’s death than carelessness. My grief is for the princess Krishna. Hearing of the killing of her brothers, her sons, and her honored father the king of the Panchalas, she will surely fall senseless to the earth.

Then Yudhishthira said to Nakula: go and bring the unfortunate princess Draupadi here, with all her relatives on her mother’s side. Nakula went at once by chariot to Draupadi. Yudhishthira, with tears in his eyes, made his way to the field where his sons had fought. There, seeing his sons and well-wishers and friends lying on the ground, covered with blood, their limbs cut off, their heads parted from their trunks, he sank into deep grief and fell senseless to the earth with all who were with him.

Then Nakula, on his chariot of solar brightness, arrived with Draupadi, who had been living at Upaplavya. Having received that heart-tearing news of the killing of all her sons, and trembling like a plantain tree shaken by the wind, Draupadi came before Yudhishthira and fell down in grief. Seeing her fallen to the earth, the wrathful Vrikodara came forward quickly, raised her up, and held her in his arms.

Comforted by Bhima, Draupadi turned to Yudhishthira and said through her weeping: O king, by good fortune, having won the whole earth in the keeping of a kshatriya’s duty, you will enjoy it after the killing of your brave sons. But O son of Pritha, hearing of the killing of those sleeping heroes by that sinful son of Drona, I burn as though I stood in the midst of a fire. If that sinful son of Drona is not made to taste the fruit of this deed, if you do not, by your own prowess, take his life and the lives of all his followers, then hear me, O Pandavas: I will sit here in praya.

Saying this, Yajnasena’s daughter Draupadi sat down in the praya vow beside Yudhishthira. The righteous king said: O gentle and dharma-knowing lady, all your sons and brothers have met a noble death in keeping with dharma; it is not right for you to grieve for them. And as for Drona’s son, he has gone to a distant forest. How will you make sure of his fall? Draupadi answered: I have heard that Drona’s son has a gem set in his head, born with him. After that wretch is killed, let that gem be brought before me. Placing it on your head, O king, I will go on living. That is my resolve.

Then Draupadi went to Bhima and said: O Bhima, remembering the duty of a kshatriya, you must come to my rescue. Kill that sinful man as Maghavat killed Samvara. There is no one in this world your equal in prowess. At Varanavata, at the time of Hidimba, and in the city of Virata, every time it was you who became our refuge. Those words of Draupadi the mighty Bhima could not bear. He mounted his gold-decked car, made Nakula his charioteer, and, resolved on the killing of Drona’s son, set off like the wind along the track of Ashvatthama’s chariot.

A key to reading this (the praya vow and the head-gem): Praya, or prayopavesana, is a fast unto death held until a resolve is met. Draupadi gives up food and water until Ashvatthama is killed, or at the least until the gem born in his head is brought to her. That gem keeps its wearer safe from weapons, disease, hunger, and the fear of gods, danavas, and nagas, and so it stands for Ashvatthama’s own identity and power.

The Story of the Brahmashira Weapon and Krishna’s Warning

When Bhima had gone, the lotus-eyed Krishna said to Yudhishthira: O son of Pandu, this brother of yours, wild with grief for his sons, goes alone to battle, longing to kill Drona’s son. Bhima is the dearest of all your brothers. Seeing him walk into great danger, why do you not stir? The weapon called Brahmashira, which Drona gave to his son, can consume the whole world. Drona had given that same weapon to Arjuna, and gladly. But Ashvatthama pressed his father for it, and Drona, unwilling, imparted its knowledge to him. Knowing his son’s restlessness, Drona laid this command on him: my son, even in the gravest danger you must never loose this weapon, and least of all against human beings.

Krishna went on: while you were living in the forest, Ashvatthama came to Dwarka, and one day, on the seacoast, when I was alone and he was without a companion, he met me and said with a smile: O Krishna, the Brahmashira weapon that my father won from Agastya by the harshest austerities is now mine as well. In exchange for it, O Dasharha, give me that discus of yours which can kill all foes in battle. With joined hands he begged for my discus most insistently. To content him I said: gods, danavas, gandharvas, men, birds, and snakes, all together, are not equal to a hundredth part of my energy. I have this bow, this dart, this discus, and this mace. Without giving me your own weapon, take whichever of these you can wield and use in battle.

Then Drona’s son, as if challenging me, asked for my thousand-spoked discus, hard as a thunderbolt and made of iron. I said, take it. He rose suddenly and seized it with his left hand, but could not move it from its place. Then he tried with his right, and though he put out all his strength, he could neither wield it nor lift it, and at last, spent, he gave up. Then I said to him: Arjuna, the wielder of Gandiva, than whom I have no dearer friend on earth, to whom there is nothing I would not give, even my wives and children, never spoke to me such words as you have spoken. Nor did my son Pradyumna, nor my brother Rama, nor Gada, nor Samba, nor any of the great Vrishni and Andhaka car-warriors of Dwarka ever ask me for this discus, which you of little understanding have asked for. Tell me, O foremost of car-warriors, with whom do you mean to fight using this weapon?

Drona’s son answered: O Krishna, having worshiped you, it was my wish to fight with you. That is why I asked for your discus. Had I won it, I would have become invincible in the world. Now, my rare wish denied, I take my leave of you. With that he took many pairs of horses and much wealth and gems and left Dwarka. Krishna said to Yudhishthira: he is wrathful, wicked, restless, and very cruel. He knows the weapon called Brahmashira. Bhima must be protected from him.

Saying this, Krishna mounted his excellent car, to which were yoked horses of the Kamboja breed, Shaibya, Sugriva, Meghapushpa, and Balahaka, and whose standard bore Garuda. After him Arjuna and Yudhishthira climbed onto the car. They soon came up with Bhima, but they could not stop him as he rushed on toward the foe. Bhima drove on toward the bank of the Bhagirathi, the Ganga.

A key to reading this (the Brahmashira): The Brahmashira is a supreme weapon able to consume the whole world, which Drona had won from Agastya through austerity. Arjuna held it too, yet even in the gravest danger he never used it. Drona’s warning to his son, never to loose it against human beings, sets the ground for what is about to happen.

The Weapon From a Blade of Grass and the Sages Who Stepped Between

On the bank of the Ganga, Bhima saw the dark-hued, island-born Vyasa seated among many rishis at the edge of the water. Beside him sat the sinful son of Drona, covered with dust, wearing a garment of kusha grass, his whole body smeared with clarified butter. Bhima, an arrow fixed on his bow, rushed at Ashvatthama, crying, “Wait, wait!” Seeing that terrible bowman coming at him bow in hand, and the two brothers on Janardana’s car, Drona’s son was thrown into great agitation and thought his last hour had come. He called to mind that high weapon, took up a blade of grass with his left hand, and with the proper mantras turned it into that supreme celestial weapon. Unable to bear the arrows of the Pandavas and the presence of those who wielded celestial weapons, he loosed it in rage with the terrible words, “For the destruction of the Pandavas.” A fire was born in that blade of grass that seemed able to burn the three worlds like Yama at the end of an age.

From the first, Krishna of Dasharha’s race read the intent of Drona’s son from the signs, and he said to Arjuna: O Arjuna, the time has come to use that celestial weapon whose knowledge Drona gave you. To protect yourself and your brothers, loose the weapon that can undo all weapons. At these words Arjuna alighted from the car, an arrow fixed on his bow, and softly wishing good to the son of his preceptor, to himself, and to all his brothers, and bowing to all the gods and his elders, he loosed his weapon with the words, “Let this weapon neutralize the weapon of Ashvatthama,” thinking of the welfare of all the worlds.

The weapon Arjuna loosed blazed up with fierce flames like the fire that comes at the end of an age. So too the weapon Drona’s son had loosed blazed with terrible flames within a huge sphere of fire. Peals of thunder were heard; thousands of meteors fell; every living thing was seized with great dread. The whole sky filled with noise and took on a terrible aspect from those flames. The entire earth, with its mountains and waters and trees, trembled.

Then two great rishis, Narada, who is the soul of every creature, and Vyasa, the grandsire of all the Bharata princes, seeing the two weapons scorching the three worlds, showed themselves there. Those two, whom no force could overwhelm, stepped between the two blazing weapons and stood like two blazing fires, blunting the energy of both and doing good to all the world. The sages said: the great car-warriors who fell in this war knew many weapons, yet none of them ever loosed such a weapon against human beings. What is this rash thing you have done, O heroes?

The gist: Krishna, Arjuna, and Yudhishthira reach the bank of the Ganga behind Bhima. Cornered, Ashvatthama turns a blade of grass into the Brahmashira and looses it “for the destruction of the Pandavas.” At Krishna’s word Arjuna looses a countering weapon. As the two begin to scorch the three worlds, Narada and Vyasa step in and stand between them.

Arjuna Recalls His Weapon, Ashvatthama Cannot

At the sight of those shining rishis, Arjuna at once resolved to draw his celestial shaft back. Joining his hands, he said: I loosed this weapon so that it would neutralize the enemy’s. If I withdraw it now, the sinful son of Drona will burn us all with the energy of his. You two are like gods; find some means by which we and the three worlds may be kept safe. With that Arjuna drew his weapon back.

To draw that weapon back in battle is a thing hard even for the gods. Setting aside Indra himself, there was no one but the son of Pandu who could recall it once it had been loosed. It was born of Brahma’s own energy. No man of unclean soul can bring it back once it is let go; only one who keeps the vow of brahmacharya can. Whoever seeks to bring it back without having kept that vow has his own head struck off by the weapon, and is destroyed with all his gear. Arjuna was chaste and a keeper of vows, true to his word, humble and obedient to all his elders, and for this he was able to recall his weapon.

But Drona’s son, though the two rishis stood before him, could not by his own energy draw his terrible weapon back. With a heavy heart he said to the island-born Vyasa: hemmed in by a great danger and longing to save my life, I loosed this weapon out of fear of Bhimasena, O sage. This false-dealing Bhimasena acted sinfully in the killing of Dhritarashtra’s son in battle. That is why I, of unclean soul, loosed it. But I cannot withdraw it now. I loosed it for the destruction of the Pandavas, and so it will take the lives of all the sons of Pandu. In my wrath, O brahmana, I have done this sinful deed.

Vyasa said: my son, Arjuna, the son of Pritha, knew the Brahmashira weapon too. Yet he loosed it neither in wrath nor to destroy you; he loosed it only to baffle yours, and then drew it back again. Having received the Brahmashira through your father’s teaching, the mighty Arjuna did not fall from the duty of a kshatriya. Such is his patience and his honesty. Why then do you seek to destroy such a man, and all his brothers with him? Where the Brahmashira is baffled by another high weapon, that land suffers a drought for twelve years, and the clouds do not send down a single drop. For this reason Arjuna, though able, would not undo your weapon with his, out of care for living creatures. The Pandavas must be protected, and so must you, and so must the kingdom. Therefore, O mighty-armed one, draw this celestial weapon back. Cast this anger from your heart and let the Pandavas be safe. And give them that gem on your head; taking it, they will grant you your life in return.

A key to reading this (withdrawing the weapon and brahmacharya): Once the Brahmashira has been loosed, only a man of clean soul who keeps the vow of brahmacharya can call it back. Arjuna can; the unclean-souled Ashvatthama cannot. Where two such weapons collide and are checked, a twelve-year drought follows, and so Arjuna, for the good of living things, will not simply cut down his enemy’s weapon with his own.

The Weapon Turned Toward the Womb, and the Saving of Parikshit

Drona’s son said: this gem of mine is worth more than all the wealth the Pandavas and Kauravas have ever gathered. Its wearer has nothing to fear from weapons, disease, or hunger, nor from gods, danavas, nagas, rakshasas, or robbers. Such is its power, and I could not part with it by any means. Yet what you say, O sage, I must do. Here is the gem, and here am I. But this weapon, once charged, will fall into the wombs of the Pandava women, for it is high and mighty and cannot be turned aside. Having loosed it, I cannot draw it back. I will cast it now into the wombs of the Pandava women. In all else, O sage, I will obey you.

Vyasa said: do so, but form no other purpose than this, O sinless one. Casting the weapon into the wombs of the Pandava women, hold yourself back. Hearing these words of the island-born, Drona’s son cast that uplifted weapon into the wombs of the Pandava women.

Understanding that the weapon had been cast, Hrishikesha Krishna said to him with a cheerful heart: a pious brahmana, seeing Virata’s daughter, who is now Arjuna’s daughter-in-law, while she was at Upaplavya, once said, when the line of the Kurus is all but extinct, a son will be born to you, and for this reason he will be called Parikshit. The words of that pious man will come true: the Pandavas shall have a son named Parikshit. Filled with wrath, Drona’s son replied: this, O Keshava, that you say out of your partiality for the Pandavas, will not be. My words cannot be false. This weapon of mine will fall upon the very fetus in the womb of Virata’s daughter, that fetus which you, O Krishna, wish to protect.

Then Krishna said: the fall of this mighty weapon will not be fruitless. The fetus will die. But being dead, it will live again and have a long life. And as for you, all wise men know you for a coward and a sinner. Forever busy with sinful deeds, you are a killer of children, and so you will bear the fruit of these sins. For three thousand years you will wander this earth without a companion, unable to speak with anyone. Alone, with no one at your side, you will wander through many lands, with no place among men. The stench of pus and blood will come from you, and trackless forests and desolate moors will be your dwelling, and you will roam the earth with the weight of every disease upon you. And that hero Parikshit, growing to manhood, gaining knowledge of the Vedas and the practice of holy vows, will receive all weapons from Sharadvan’s son, Kripa. Learned in all the high weapons and keeping the duty of a kshatriya, that righteous king will rule the earth for sixty years. Before your very eyes, O wicked-souled one, he will be the mighty-armed king of the Kurus, named Parikshit. Though he be burned by the fire of your weapon, I will bring him back to life. Behold, O lowest of men, the power of my austerity and my truth.

Vyasa said: because, ignoring us, you have done this most cruel deed, and because such is your conduct though you are a good brahmana by birth, therefore those excellent words that Devaki’s son has spoken will surely come true for you, who have taken up the ways of a kshatriya. Ashvatthama said: O sage, among all men I will live at your side. Let the words of this foremost of men come true. With that, Drona’s son handed his gem to the high-souled Pandavas and, with a cheerless heart, went off before their eyes to the forest.

A key to reading this (the thread of Parikshit): The name Parikshit means “one who has been tested,” or “one who, when the Kuru line was all but gone, saw it again.” The weapon does kill the fetus in Uttara’s womb, but Krishna brings it back to life; this is the thread by which the Pandava line is saved. Ashvatthama is cursed to three thousand years of lonely wandering and stripped of the gem in his head.

Draupadi Ends Her Vow, and the Gem Is Given Over

Taking Drona’s son’s gem, and setting Govinda, Vyasa, and Narada before them, the Pandavas hurried back to Draupadi, who sat in the praya vow. Alighting from their cars, themselves deep in grief, those great warriors sat down beside the grieving Draupadi. Then the mighty Bhima, at the king’s wish, gave her that celestial gem and said: O gentle lady, this gem is yours. The killer of your sons has been beaten. Cast off your grief, rise, and remember the duty of a kshatriya woman. When Vasudeva was setting out as an envoy of peace, you said these bitter words to him: that if the king wanted peace, then your husbands, your sons, your brothers, and Govinda himself were as good as dead to you. Remember those words, so fitting for a kshatriya woman. We have paid off the debt we owed our enemy. Though we beat the son of Drona, we let him live, for the sake of his being a brahmana and out of respect for our departed preceptor. His fame is destroyed, O lady; only his body remains. He has been stripped of his gem and shorn of his weapons.

Draupadi said: I wished only to pay back the wrong that was done to us. The son of my preceptor is as worthy of my reverence as the preceptor himself. Let the king bind this gem upon his head, O descendant of Bharata. Then King Yudhishthira, at Draupadi’s wish, took the gem as a gift from his preceptor and set it on his head. Wearing that fine celestial gem, the king shone like a mountain with the moon above it. Though stricken with grief for her sons, Draupadi, a woman of great strength of mind, gave up her vow.

So the night we have passed with you was the darkest of all the nights of Kurukshetra, the night in which victory took on the face of defeat, and those who had wiped out their enemies were left without their own sons. The course of Time cannot be resisted. Those who had destroyed the Pandavas were now destroyed, and the seed that was to sprout in days to come was kept safe in the womb of Uttara.

The gist: The Pandavas return to Draupadi with the gem from Ashvatthama’s head. Holding the son of the preceptor as worthy of a preceptor’s respect, Draupadi gives up her demand for his death and has the gem bound on Yudhishthira’s head. So the night of the sauptika comes to its end: victory and defeat become one thing, and in Parikshit the seed of the line lives on.

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