The Puffin Mahabharata Page 13

  ‘We shall fight,’ replied Yudhishthira. ‘My days of forgiveness lie behind me.’

  Draupadi’s brother Dhrishtadyumya was chosen as the commander-in-chief of the Pandava forces. All the troops and the kings who commanded them converged at the great field at Kurukshetra, where the battle was to be fought. A moat was set up around the Pandava camp and tents erected for all the kings.

  The Kaurava army also began its march towards Kurukshetra. Duryodhana requested his great-uncle Bhishma to command his army.

  ‘I love the sons of Pandu as much as I do the sons of Dhritarashtra,’ Bhishma replied. ‘I will not aim at the Pandavas when I fight, but I shall undertake to destroy their army. Only Arjuna is superior to me in warfare—only he can defeat me and perhaps even kill me.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘There is another condition which I must impose,’ Bhishma continued. ‘Karna and I do not get along with each other—I shall fight only if Karna is not allowed into the battlefield at Kurukshetra.’

  Karna had been listening to the conversation. He realized that Duryodhana did not know how to react, for he did not want to displease either his great-uncle Bhishma or his friend. ‘I promise you that I shall not enter the battlefield as long as Bhishma lives,’ Karna declared. ‘The pleasure of killing Arjuna shall still rest with me, as your great-uncle has vowed not to hurt his beloved Pandavas in any way.’

  Back in Hastinapura, Kunti was overcome with anxiety about the fate of her six sons. The hatred that Duryodhana bore for the Pandavas was equalled only by Karna’s hostility towards Arjuna. ‘I shall go to Karna and tell him the secret of his birth,’ Kunti resolved. ‘Perhaps I can stop him from fighting.’

  Kunti knew, as did everyone in Hastinapura, that Karna worshipped the sun at its zenith by the banks of the Ganga at midday. She approached him just as he completed his prayer. It was common knowledge that the generous Karna granted any boon that was asked of him immediately after his meditations.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Karna asked the gracious lady who stood before him. He had never met Kunti in his years at Hastinapura, but he could see that she was of royal lineage. And yet there was something naggingly familiar about her, as though he knew her very well indeed.

  Kunti feasted her eyes upon her firstborn child, whom she had not seen since that day so many years ago when he had confidently challenged her other sons at the archery competition. ‘You may or may not know me, my son, but I have come to ask a boon of you,’ she said softly.

  ‘I feel as though I have known you forever,’ Karna said wonderingly. ‘I know your sad eyes, your soft voice, your face—you are the woman in my dreams.’

  Kunti was startled.

  ‘Every night for many many years I have had the same recurring dream,’ her son continued. ‘I see a woman who is dressed like a princess, but her face is always covered by a veil. She bends over me and the hot tears run down from her eyes to burn my face. “I cry for the injustice I have done you,” she says. “I can talk to you only in your dreams.” “Who are you?” I ask her, always, but she disappears without answering my question.’

  Kunti’s proud head was bowed low in shame. ‘I am your mother,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘You are my firstborn son. The five Pandavas, your brothers, were born much after you were.’

  Karna’s head whirled with many emotions, but dominating all was joy. ‘This is the moment I have waited for all my life,’ he cried, as he clung to the mother he had always longed to know. ‘What is the boon you want of me? Your son awaits your command.’

  ‘You shall make peace with your brothers and rule their kingdom with them—that is the boon I ask of you,’ Kunti exclaimed.

  A voice spoke within Karna’s heart. ‘Listen to your mother and obey her.’ It was Surya, the sun god, pleading with his impetuous son to do what was best for him.

  But Karna disregarded the voice. After the first moment of joy, his heart was overflowing with conflicting emotions. ‘All my life I nursed my anger against the mother who abandoned me,’ Karna said. ‘But now that you stand before me in the flesh, my heart is filled with love and compassion. And yet, my beloved mother, I cannot grant you the boon you ask of me. The enemy of your sons and my brothers, Duryodhana, has been more to me than a brother. I cannot let him down. What has been written by the fates and ordained by the gods cannot be changed.’

  ‘Do not kill your brother Arjuna in battle,’ Kunti pleaded, her frail body wracked by helpless sobs.

  ‘I shall spare your other sons, Mother,’ replied Karna ‘I shall not engage in battle with Yudhishthira, nor Bhima, nor Nakula, nor Sahadeva. But I have sworn to fight Arjuna and I cannot go back on my word. I shall either kill him or meet my death at his hands. Whatever the outcome, you shall still be the mother of five valorous sons!’

  The two clung to each other again, as though in a dream. Drained of all emotions, Karna returned to the battle-camp, and Kunti made her way back to her palace. In the distance, the sounds of battle conches wailed and resonated through the fields.

  Before the Battle

  The river Hiranwati was the point of demarcation between the two opposing camps. The Pandava troops were positioned to the west of the Kurukshetra battlefield, while the Kauravas were facing to the east. The rules of warfare were duly declared and accepted by both armies.

  The code of conduct laid down by both sides tried to ensure that every confrontation was between two equal parties. A chariot could combat another chariot, an archer another archer, a macebearer take on another macebearer in the battlefield. Two archers or chariots could not engage against a single foe. Anybody who withdrew or retreated from the battlefield was not to be pursued or humiliated. Nobody could be attacked unawares or overtaken treacherously from behind. The rules of Sankula Yuddha or single combat applied also to foot soldiers and the ranks of the akshauhinis. These rules of battle were to be strictly adhered to at all times, for warfare was a strategic game of honour, not a barbaric show of strength.

  Before the war began, Yudhishthira stood on the battlefield and addressed the hundred Kaurava brothers. ‘If any of you wish to join the side of righteousness, come to us. We shall give you all honour and respect,’ he pleaded.

  Only one person stepped over. Yuyutsu, a brother of Duryodhana, approached the oldest of the Pandavas. ‘I shall abandon my blood brothers for the sake of dharma,’ he announced. ‘I shall fight with your troops from this moment.’

  The blind king Dhritarashtra was visited by his ancestor Vyasa, the great sage who watched over the Kuru race. ‘I can restore your sight to you, O Dhritarashtra,’ he said, ‘so that you may observe the mighty battle at Kurukshetra.’

  But Dhritarashtra declined the offer. He knew already in his heart that his sons were doomed, and that certain death attended all those he loved. Instead, Sanjay, a kinsman of the Kauravas, was granted the gift of inner sight by Vyasa so that he might relay the news of the battlefield to the blind king.

  Before the battle formally began, the field of Kurukshetra echoed with fierce battle cries. The call of trumpets, horns, kettledrums and conch shells rang through the air. The thump of a mace, the whistle of an arrow flying through the air, the sharp clash of steel against steel; these were the sounds of preparation as soldiers tested their weapons one last time.

  A sudden silence fell upon Kurukshetra as Yudhishthira removed his armour and laid his weapons carefully upon the ground. Unarmed, he walked towards his grand-uncle Bhishma, and the other elders, including his teachers Dronacharya and Kripacharya and his uncle Salya, and sought their permission to engage in battle.

  Bhishma blessed Yudhishthira. ‘The battlelines are drawn,’ he said, ‘and we must fight. But you have conducted yourself righteously. Dharma is on your side, for the moral victory is already yours. My good wishes are with you.’ So saying, he wiped the tears from his eyes and prepared himself for the great confrontation ahead.

  Arjuna’s Hesitation

  Bhishma blew his conch and let out a fierce battle cry. It was the for
mal call for the battle to begin. In response, Arjuna took the holy Panchjanya and coaxed a long angry wail from the sacred conch. His golden chariot, yoked with white horses, had Lord Krishna as the charioteer. As Arjuna looked up at the gathered ranks of their opponents and saw the elders of his family, the people he loved and respected, arrayed against him, his head reeled. ‘I cannot fight! How can I hurt those I love!’ he exclaimed, swooning as he spoke.

  Krishna revived him and comforted him with these words: ‘O Arjuna, you should not grieve for those you fight. A wise man weeps neither for the dead, nor for the living. It is only the body of man that is destroyed by his death, for the eternal soul is imperishable.’

  ‘But this is my family! How can I think of killing them?’ said Arjuna.

  Krishna smiled with infinite grace and compassion. ‘You say that you will not kill. Yet you must do your duty, and fight against evil and injustice. Weapons cannot hurt the soul, fire cannot burn it, nor water extinguish its undying light. The soul is eternal and exists forever.’

  Arjuna was listening intently to Krishna’s words. ‘You are a warrior; it is your duty to fight a just war,’ his charioteer commanded. ‘Do not be weak of heart. Wipe your tears and do your duty. Enter the battlefield of life as you must.’

  These words of Lord Krishna later came to be known and remembered as the core of the Mahabharata—the Bhagvad Gita.

  The Pandava army had a difficult time on the first day of battle, for Bhishma, their great-uncle, was the most accomplished of warriors. Brave Abhimanyu, Arjuna and Subhadra’s son, Lord Krishna’s nephew, resolved to retaliate against Bhishma’s attack. As the oldest and youngest in the family met in battle, the gods themselves came down from the heavens to watch.

  Bhishma’s aged heart overflowed with pride at young Abhimanyu’s prowess in battle. The king of Matsya, whose daughter Uttara was married to Abhimanyu, came to the defence of his son-in-law, aided by his son Uttar Kumar and Drupad, Dhrishtadyumya and Bhima.

  Uttar Kumar led a fierce charge against the king of Salya, who hurled a javelin at the heart of the young prince. The gallant Uttar Kumar lay dead, and his brother Sveta rushed to avenge him.

  Just then, Bhishma appeared unprotected before Arjuna. Krishna urged him to aim his magical bow, the Gandiva, but Arjuna refused. ‘When I was young, a naughty, dark-skinned child with curly hair, I would climb all over the noble Bhishma and dirty his silken garments. When I called him father, he would correct me, saying that he was better than that, for he was my grandfather. I am still that dark child with curly hair whom he loved, and he is still my grand sire. I cannot, will not, fight him in the battlefield.’

  Bhishma looked at them, smiling. ‘I bow to you, Krishna. I will be honoured to meet my death at your hands,’ he said. But Krishna had sworn not to fight, and he bowed back to the grand old man of the Kuru dynasty, whose flowing mane of white hair fluttered like a proud banner on the field of Kurukshetra.

  When the sun set, the warriors disengaged from battle and returned to their camps. But as the battle progressed over the next day, Bhishma’s unbeatable tactics routed the Pandavas again and again. The banner of the monkey god which fluttered on Arjuna’s chariot was in retreat. ‘We must fight Bhishma,’ the Pandavas resolved, ‘even if he is our great-uncle and the head of our family.’

  Krishna was halted by a chariot upon which fluttered a flag with a blue lotus on a silver base. Sikhandin, the man-woman warrior who had vowed to kill Bhishma, leapt on to Arjuna’s chariot as it rushed in pursuit of Bhishma. The patriarch’s bow sang a song of death. Rivers of blood flowed on the field of Kurukshetra.

  Bhishma stood smiling in his chariot even as he rained a volley of fatal arrows upon his opponents. Whenever Sikhandin advanced towards him, Bhishma would turn his face away and engage with another opponent. ‘I must ignore Sikhandin,’ he had decided, ‘for a warrior cannot fight a defenceless woman, even if she considers herself a Kshatriya.’

  Sikhandin’s whole existence was for the purpose of killing Bhishma. She blamed Bhishma for all that had gone wrong in her life. She had sworn vengeance and become a man and a soldier in order to fight Bhishma. But the patriarch would not fight back, for his code of chivalry forbade it. Bhishma had been granted a boon that he would die only when he wished to, and the aged hero had resolved to face death only at Arjuna’s hand.

  The Bed of Arrows

  Finally, on the tenth day of battle, the mighty grandsire Bhishma, born Devavrata—son of king Santanu and the river Ganga—fell from his chariot. Arrows had pierced him by the hundreds until there was no place on his body for another arrow to rest. Even as he fell he could not touch the ground for the arrows held him up above it.

  Warriors from both sides assembled before Bhishma. They came with bare feet and bowed heads, their armour and weapons laid aside.

  ‘I am still alive,’ said Bhishma, ‘and I want a pillow for my head.’

  The kings and warriors hurried to do his bidding. They brought pillows of silk and cloth-of-gold from their royal tents, but Bhishma rejected them all.

  Only Arjuna understood what he meant. He took his bow, the Gandiva, and shot three arrows from the magical quiver upon the ground near his grandfather Bhishma’s head. Then he moved the wounded hero so that the feathered ends of his arrows supported Bhishma’s mane of white hair.

  ‘I want water,’ Bhishma whispered next. The Kauravas rushed to do his bidding, but again he refused their offerings.

  ‘Only Arjuna will understand,’ he said, upon which Arjuna invoked the gods and sent an arrow into the ground near Bhishma’s head. A clear pure fountain of water from the Ganga spurted to quench the thirst of her child.

  ‘These are not Sikhandin’s arrows that burn my body,’ Bhishma said to himself as he lay on the bed of arrows. ‘I shall die at Arjuna’s hands as I was fated to.’

  The royal physicians came for Bhishma, but he sent them away. ‘I shall not die before the winter solstice,’ he said, ‘when the sun returns to its northern path. I shall rest here until then on these arrows.’

  Soldiers from both armies built a trench around Bhishma, and sent guards to protect him; his flag with the emblem of the golden palm tree flew in the wind to mark the spot where he awaited his death.

  Late at night, when the moon hid behind the clouds, Karna went to visit the wounded warrior. ‘I am Karna, the man you so despise,’ he said to Bhishma. ‘I have come to seek your pardon for my anger and unkindness. Please forgive me, and grant me permission to fight the war.’

  ‘I do not despise you, Karna,’ Bhishma replied. ‘You are a generous and noble man, and a great warrior. I know you are the brother of the Pandavas. I am honoured to have you as a grandson.’

  ‘You must promise to tell no one of the secret of my birth,’ Karna pleaded.

  ‘I shall tell no one but Duryodhana,’ said Bhishma. ‘The proud Kaurava must realize the extent of your friendship and sacrifice.’

  Karna went to Duryodhana’s tent and conferred with him. ‘The great Dronacharya, who has been your teacher, and is skilled in the art of war, should rightfully lead our army after Bhishma,’ he suggested. Duryodhana agreed and requested Drona to succeed his injured great-uncle as commander-in-chief.

  The Chakravyuh

  Drona decided that it would be a good strategy to capture Yudhishthira. ‘It can be done only if Arjuna were to be drawn away from his side,’ he told Duryodhana. So a plan was drawn up. King Susarma agreed to lead the Trigartas against Arjuna. The Trigarta brothers—Susarma, Satyaratha, Satyavarma, Satyaasta and Satyadharma—challenged Arjuna and drew him and Krishna to the southern side of the battlefield.

  The Kaurava army had been arranged by Drona into the formidable formation called the Chakravyuh. Duryodhana was placed at the heart of the circle. He was surrounded by the first layer of radiating petals: Karna, Dusasana, Kripa and other such fierce fighters. The next layer in the formation was composed of Dushala’s husband Jayadratha, and his immense army. By his side were the
heroic Ashwathama, son of Drona, and the brothers of Duryodhana.

  The third circle was guarded by Sakuni, Kritavarma, Salya, Bhoorisravas and his brother Sala. The aged teacher of the Kauravas and the Pandavas, Drona himself, stood at the outskirts of this ring, ready to guard it with his life.

  The Kaurava warriors were dressed in blood-red silken garments and wore fragrant garlands of scarlet flowers around their necks. Red is the sacred colour of victory. In the morning light the Chakravyuh looked like an enormous crimson lotus, blooming on the dusty earth of Kurukshetra.

  Bhima led his army in an attack on the Chakravyuh. It was defended by Drona, who warded off the Pandavas with ease. Satyaki, Krishna’s cousin, the king of Drupad and his son Dhrishtadyumya, Bhima, Nakula, Sahadeva, the sons of Draupadi, her brother Sikhandin, the Kekaya brothers; all these heroes could not make their way past Drona’s chariot, with its prancing chestnut horses. Arjuna, the only man who was Drona’s equal in battle, was fighting the Trigarta brothers to the south of the battlefield.

  Yudhishthira turned in despair to sixteen-year-old Abhimanyu. Yudhishthira knew that Arjuna had been teaching his favourite son the complicated technique of breaking into the impenetrable Chakravyuh. Only four people knew how to do this: Krishna and his son Pradyumna, Arjuna and Abhimanyu. ‘Help us to enter the Chakravyuh, my child,’ Yudhishthira said to Abhimanyu. ‘We must break down the defences of the Kauravas.’

  Abhimanyu looked thoughtful. ‘My father has taught me how to break into the Chakravyuh and enter it,’ he said, ‘but he has not yet taught me how to come out of it again.’

  Now if the patient Yudhishthira had a fault, it was his rashness in the face of certain danger. It was this lack of caution that had led him to gamble away his kingdom, his brothers and Draupadi to Sakuni so many years ago. ‘You need not worry about that,’ he said confidently. ‘Once you break into the formation, we shall follow you in and shatter their ranks.’