THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (35 page)

For a while, master and pupil fight as if they mean to settle a hatred they have nurtured for years. In the mandala of war, it seems Drona does not see Arjuna, his favorite sishya, before him, but only an enemy; and so, too, Arjuna no longer sees his guru, but a dangerous adversary. Their archery is a holy offering. Seeing his kshatriya so determined, Krishna exults.

From a way off, Duryodhana watches the duel with concern. He is anxious lest Dhrishtadyumna ride to help Arjuna. The encounter between guru and sishya is the converse of two sublime artists. They are like Gods speaking together about the mysteries of the universe; hardly anyone else on that field can decipher their communion. They exchange their very lives with winged shafts; soul brushes soul. Often, Drona laughs aloud in delight at a frenzied, delicate volley from Arjuna.

Once, the master flings up his arms, crying, “How you have grown, Arjuna! No one on earth could have taught you that.”

Arjuna bows to Drona. Then the Gandiva hums again, its deep song. At times, Arjuna’s archery is such a sacred thing there are tears in his master’s eyes! This sishya is a spiritual son, who is now clearly his guru’s equal and, frequently, his superior. Drona cries, “Today I learn from you, Arjuna!”

Yet, these two also grieve that they must fight each other. Arjuna thanks fate that among the crimes he must commit on this field, killing his Acharya is not one. With reverence, the disciple attacks his master and with transcendent elegance.

Arjuna invokes Vayu, the Wind God and looses a vayavyastra at Drona. A towering gale sweeps across Kurukshetra and the Kaurava soldiers are blown about like straws. His chariot caught in the eye of the storm, his horses rearing, Drona summons a sailastra. Arjuna’s tempest dies in a moment.

The duel between master and pupil swells into the esoteric realm of devastras. Around them, the Trigartas run in stark fear. Meanwhile, a way off, Duryodhana and a host of his kshatriyas surround Bheeshma in a tight crescent of protection. The Pitama faces the other Pandavas. Directly before him is Yudhishtira and the Kuru patriarch fights him most intensely. From a side, Bheema leaps down from his chariot, mace in hand and rushes at Bheeshma with a roar. At once, Duryodhana’s elephant legion, detailed to guard Bheeshma against such an attack, comes between the son of the wind and his grandsire.

Far from being put out Bheema roars louder than ever and sets about the huge beasts. Some he strikes down, even as they charge him with lowered tusks. He fells each one with a single blow of his mace, smashing their lofty temples. Others, he attacks from side and rear. At times, he even leaps up on to their necks, then, kills the warriors perched there, knocking them off disdainfully, before he beats the animals to their knees. Some with their trunks cut off by his sword, fell screeching like mortally wounded birds. Like his brother’s vayavyastra, like a fell wind of his natural father, Bheema destroys Duryodhana’s elephant legion. Quickly, the level field of Kurukshetra resembles a land of hillocks with the carcasses of the Kaurava tuskers and it is beautiful!

The elephants that escape Bheema turn and crash away, trampling the soldiers of their own army. Meanwhile, even as he promised Duryodhana the previous night, Bheeshma makes his bow sing on Kurukshetra; indeed, no one has ever seen him fight as he does today. Even Drona stares. Bheeshma summons supernatural power today; he fights like the Vasu he was before this human life. He is Ganga’s son again, who dammed her swirling waters with his arrows once: a life ago.

Seeing the Kuru ancient, Dhrishtadyumna calls his forces to combine against the Pitama. Shikhandi, Virata, Drupada and all the Pandavas together cover Bheeshma with a thousand shafts. These never reach him, or his horses or sarathy, not one barb. They fall around his gleaming chariot like a rain of flowers. In grave calm, Bheeshma continues his decimation of Yudhishtira’s army. Bheema and Satyaki join the battle; to no avail: each moment, a hundred more Pandava soldiers die on Kurukshetra, every one killed by an arrow from Bheeshma’s bow.

Dread grips the Pandava army. The bravest men run from the Kuru patriarch’s cool wrath. It seems that all the other kshatriyas on the field are numb spectators to the old warrior’s blood-ritual. He is so calm and he is elemental. He has no need of his legions’ insignificant prowess. It seems that, by himself, Bheeshma will wipe the Pandava army from the face of the earth.

Arjuna begins to draw his grandfather’s fire. The Trigartas have returned to the field after they fled from the vayavyastra. They come frothing to challenge Arjuna and save some face. At first, he ignores them: he is so absorbed in his duel with Drona. Then, Bheeshma cuts loose and Arjuna sees from some way off that there is no containing him. The Pandava decides, at least, to divert the patriarch.

Drona has stopped his duel with his pupil; the Acharya has become rapt watching Bheeshma. Arjuna, too, has watched his Pitama in awe. Krishna cries to him, “We must turn Bheeshma’s head to us!”

Waking from his absorption, Arjuna raises the Gandiva again, as Krishna already lashes his horses toward Susharma and his legion. At the first screams of the dying Trigartas, Bheeshma turns his chariot and rushes at Arjuna. Quick as light, Yudhishtira, Nakula and Sahadeva flit between Bheeshma and their brother. The three combine to hold up their Pitama.

Duryodhana sees his grandsire’s fury stemmed. More, he sees Yudhishtira and the twins kill five hundred chariot-mounted kshatriyas of his guard. The Kaurava turns to Shalya in despair. “These three will kill all our best men. You aren’t shy to fight your sister’s sons, are you, O Shalya?”

Shalya has no choice but to ride at Yudhishtira and the sons of Madri. Seeing that king plunge at his brothers, Bheema dashes to their side. The four Pandavas defy Shalya and his legion. Away to their right, Bheeshma has broken Arjuna’s shackles; once more, he sweeps the Pandava legions before him. It seems the climbing sun fuels his wrath. Blood splashes everywhere in harsh noon light and the screams of those Bheeshma kills are an eerie song on that field.

Krishna cries to Arjuna, “Bheeshma will kill every soldier in your army, except you five sons of Pandu. You must save those that have come to risk their lives for you. I will ride at Bheeshma, kill him now!”

But then, sorrow is upon the Pandava. He says, “How I hate to fight my blood! Of what use is the kingdom we win by slaying our kin? I would rather go to hell than live in a world worse than hell.”

Krishna favors him with a glare. Arjuna says, “But it is too late to think of all that now. Ride at my Pitama, Krishna, I will do what I can.”

When they see Arjuna’s chariot fly to face Bheeshma, a hopeful shout goes up from the Pandava army. Arjuna’s first arrow cuts down Bheeshma’s banner, so it falls over him. The next clutch breaks the bow in the Kuru elder’s hands. Quick as thinking, Bheeshma snatches up another. With absolute genius, Arjuna breaks that weapon, as well. Bheeshma stands unarmed and vulnerable for a moment. At that critical instant, Arjuna’s fingers waver at his bowstring. His arrow whistles harmlessly past his grandfather’s ears.

In a wink, Bheeshma has another bow in his hands and fights again. Once more, he not only engages Arjuna, but kills a Pandava soldier with every other shaft; a hundred flare from his bow each moment. Arjuna’s response to his relucent archery is pathetic. Krishna watches this for a while. Then, without a word, he flings his reins aside and leaps down from the chariot-head. Once more, the Sudarshana Chakra blazes over his hand and he stalks grimly toward Bheeshma, with the battle all around fallen still.

Soldiers shrink from Krishna. His wrath is a cosmic rictus, as if the galaxies with their limitless fires twitched in anger on his blue face. Among the Pandava soldiers, a tumultuous whisper of joy flashes. “Bheeshma is slain!” they breathe among themselves, like a sea.

Bheeshma smiles radiantly at the terrible Dark One advancing on him. It seems all the killing he did on Kurukshetra was just to provoke this rage from Krishna; so he could die at the Avatara’s hands. Bheeshma folds his palms together and cries in an ecstasy to the Incarnation, “Come, Lord, kill me now! There is nothing in all the worlds I would rather have than death at your hands.” He raises his bow, “I offer you a kshatriya’s worship, before you kill me. The world will know that Devavrata was not only the most unfortunate man on earth, but the luckiest one, as well. For, Narayana killed him with his own hands. Come, Lord!”

He is begging Krishna. All this has taken just a moment, while Arjuna stands petrified in his chariot. Krishna raises his hand higher, the Chakra flaming over it. He takes another step forward. Then, with a cry, Arjuna falls out of his chariot. In a moment, yawned wide as a life, he flings himself at Krishna, clasping his knees. At that crucial moment, Arjuna’s voice fails him. His throat is dry as deserts.

Krishna growls dreadfully. He does not look down at the warrior clinging to his legs, but tries to shake free of the Pandava. The Blue God’s body glows with cold light and strange sounds come from him, like the hissing of an unimaginable hamadryad.

Then the frantic Arjuna finds his voice, “My Lord! I beg you, do not do this. You name is as pure as Pranava; don’t let this deed besmirch it. The killing I have done has darkened my mind. For a moment, I forgot who you are and who I am. Forgive me once more. I swear I will fight, Krishna and the greatest kshatriyas will stop to stare. I will fight in your name, for love of you. From this moment, I offer my war to you; accept it as my worship. Lord, save me from sin!”

Krishna sees the cloud of darkness lift away from his Pandava’s heart. Reluctantly, he lowers his hand and the Sudarshana vanishes. Bheeshma still stands in his chariot, his palms folded. Krishna turns his back on the Kuru patriarch. His face still like thunder, he strides back to Arjuna’s chariot and climbs into it. Tears in his eyes, Arjuna runs after him and climbs into his place. Krishna says no word, but only takes up the reins and cracks them over his gandharva horses.

An anguished roar breaks from Bheeshma, “Aaaah! Why have you abandoned me again?”

Bheeshma rides in fury at the Pandava soldiers. He is more awesome than before, but now Arjuna raises his Gandiva and gives him battle. They fight like Devas: wounding each other and killing hundreds of soldiers. Bheeshma is still tameless. As if being denied death at Krishna’s hands has provoked him to frenzy, he kills twice as many men as Arjuna.

After what appears to be a few moments of supreme anarchy, but is in fact some hours and countless deaths, the sun sets. It seems he crosses the sky quickly because he cannot bear to see the killing below him, with his eyes of white fire. Numb and weary, the armies withdraw. Already, the wolves, hyenas and jackals have gathered in slavering excitement at the edge of the field and the vultures, the kites and crows in the trees that fringe Kurukshetra: for the night’s feasting.

All the talk in both camps is of Bheeshma. In the Pandava camp, there is deep gloom. If Bheeshma fought again as he had today, the war would swiftly be lost. Across the field, beyond the ravening wild dogs, wolves and all that third army ofcarrion-eaters, which tears at the human dead on Kurukshetra under a blooming moon, Duryodhana is exultant. His eyes shine with satisfaction, as he sits with Shakuni, Dusasana and Karna in his tent. Tonight, even Karna is pleased with what Bheeshma has done. For, it saves him from what he now fears most: having to take the field against his brothers.

Duryodhana is more than certain victory will soon be his.

NINETEEN
THE LAST NIGHT OF AN AGE 

On the night of that ninth day of the Mahabharata yuddha, during which the Pandavas have lost twice as many men as the Kauravas, stark despair seizes Yudhishtira. The Pandavas and Krishna sit conferring and Yudhishtira is so shaken he cannot speak. His eyes full of tears, he turns repeatedly to Krishna, but not a word can he utter. It seems everything he has lived for has been snatched from him in a day: worst of all, his faith. His brothers, who have never seen him like this, are shocked, even Bheema.

At last, Yudhishtira whispers, “We will never win, not when Bheeshma fights as he does. Another two days, at most and all our men will have perished. Krishna, do you see the jackals feasting under the moon? How horrible this war is. Hours ago, all those corpses were living men, who had mothers, fathers, wives, children and friends and rich lives. They gave their lives so we could have a kingdom. Look at them now; and we are too exhausted even to cremate them with honor. And our Pitama killed eight out of ten who died today.

No, not Arjuna or Bheema, not Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandi, not all of us together can stop him. He melts our army as Agni would a pat of butter; and if he spares our lives, we will have to return to the jungle with the deaths of a million men on our conscience. What use has it been fighting this war? We should have never come back. Bheema, my brother, it is too late for revenge; too many years have elapsed between the crime and its punishment. Don’t you see, we, the avengers, are being punished instead, by our own grandfather.”

Yudhishtira’s hands shake. His words come in a rush, as if his nerve is gone and tears roll down his noble face. “We have fought as well as we can, for nine days that seem like nine lifetimes with all the killing we have seen and done. But Bheeshma is no sinner and he cannot be killed. His celibacy wraps him in impenetrable armor. I have seen Arjuna’s arrows glance off his skin like lotus stems. Our army is among the greatest the world has ever seen. We could vanquish Indra or Varuna; we could quell Kubera or Yama; but Bheeshma is invincible. His arrows are nagapasas that make ash mounds of living men.