Jaya: An Illustrated Retelling of the Mahabharata Read online

  The purpose of life is to grow—materially, intellectually and emotionally. Unfortunately, the Kauravas focus only on material growth. By embracing Krishna, the Pandavas are offered intellectual and emotional growth, besides material growth, that has the power to help them break their own self-imposed limitations.

  Book Fifteen

  War

  ‘Janamejaya, in the battle, fathers, teachers, brothers and friends were all killed, so that delusion could be replaced with wisdom.’

  78

  Bloodbath

  Krishna’s song had changed Arjuna’s perspective of the battlefield. This was not Kuru-kshetra, where war was about property or vengeance. This was Dharmakshetra, where Arjuna would triumph over his fear, guilt and rage.

  Arjuna picked up his magnificent bow, the Gandiva, and requested Krishna to take him towards the enemy lines. As the chariot rolled, Arjuna’s banner with the image of Hanuman fluttered against the blue sky. The deep sound of Devdutt, Arjuna’s conch-shell, filled the air, joined by the sound of Panchajanya, Krishna’s conch-shell. Together, they announced the start of the war.

  Far away, in the palace of Hastina-puri, the blind king and his blindfolded wife heard Sanjay describe the scene thus: ‘Then commenced the battle between your sons and your nephews, O monarch, which was as fierce and awful as the battle between the Devas and the Asuras. Men and crowds of chariots and elephants, and elephant-warriors and horsemen by thousands, and steeds, all possessed of great prowess, encountered one another. Resembling the roar of the clouds in the season of rain, the loud noise of rushing elephants of fearful forms was heard. Some chariot-riders, struck by elephants, were deprived of their chariots. Routed by those raging beasts other brave combatants ran off the field. Well-trained chariot-warriors, with their shafts, dispatched to the other world large bodies of cavalry and the footmen that urged and protected the elephants. Well-trained horsemen, O king, careered on to the field, surrounded the great chariot-warriors, and struck and slew the latter with spears and darts and swords. Some combatants armed with bows surrounded great charioteers and dispatched them to Yama’s abode, the many united battling against individual ones.’

  As the sun reached the zenith, he said, ‘Those warriors, O monarch, longing to take one another’s life, began to slay one another in the battle. Throngs of chariots, and large bodies of horses, and teeming divisions of infantry and elephants in large numbers, mingled with one another, O king, for battle. We beheld the falling of maces and spiked bludgeons and lances and short arrows and rockets hurled at one another in that dreadful engagement. Arrow showers terrible to look at coursed like flights of locusts. Elephants approaching elephants routed one another. Horsemen encountering horsemen, and chariots encountering chariots, and foot-soldiers encountering foot-soldiers, and foot-soldiers meeting with horsemen, and foot-soldiers meeting with chariots and elephants, and chariots meeting with elephants and horsemen, and elephants of great speed meeting with the three other kinds of forces, began, O king, to crush and grind one another.’

  At the end of the day, when the soldiers withdrew to their battle camps, this is how Sanjay described the battlefield: ‘The earth, covered with blood, looked beautiful like a vast plain in the season of rains covered with red flowers. Indeed, the earth assumed the aspect of a youthful maiden of great beauty, attired in white robes dyed with deep red. Variegated with flesh and blood, the field of battle looked as if decked all over with gold. The field, O monarch, indented with the hoofs of the steeds, looked beautiful like a beautiful woman bearing the marks of her lover’s nails on her person. Strewn with those fallen heads that were crimson with blood, the earth looked resplendent as if adorned with golden-coloured lotuses in their season. Many steeds with garlands of gold on their heads and with their necks and breasts adorned with ornaments of gold, were seen to be slain in hundreds and thousands. And strewn with broken chariots and torn banners and brilliant umbrellas, with shredded chamaras and fans, and mighty weapons broken into fragments, with garlands and necklaces of gold, with bracelets, with heads decked with earrings, with headgears loosened off from heads, with standards, with the undercarriage of upturned chariots, O king, and with traces and reins, the earth shone as brightly as she does in spring when strewn with flowers.’

  In the Vishnu Purana, the earth-goddess in the form of a cow complains to Vishnu that she has been milked so terribly by the greedy kings of the earth that her udders are sore. Vishnu promises to teach the greedy kings a lesson; as Parashurama, Ram and Krishna he will spill their blood on the earth so that like a lioness, the earth can drink their blood. Thus the battle at Kuru-kshetra is preordained by cosmic events. It is a sacrifice to quench the thirst of the earth-goddess and restore the earth’s splendour.

  Every warrior on the battlefield has a conch-shell trumpet. The sound of the conch-shell indicated the strength and stamina of warriors, and served as a warning to their opponents. Yudhishtira’s conch-shell was called Ananta-vijaya, Bhima’s was called Poundrya, Nakula’s was called Sughosh and Sahadeva’s was called Mani-pushpak.

  The descriptions of the war and renditions in art suggest a crowded battlefield covered with millions of fighting warriors. Vedic wars, in all probability, were primarily duels where the chief warriors of opposite sides confronted each other. Each warrior, mounted on a chariot, was accompanied by elephants, horses and foot soldiers, who were there more to cheer the warrior, demonstrate his power and mock the opponent rather than actually fight. Poets added their imagination to the reality to create a grand, mesmerizing epic.

  79

  Sacrifice for victory

  For nine days, they struggled. The sun rose, arched across the sky, and plummeted down the horizon, watching brother kill brother, friend kill friend. Hands were cut, heads smashed, stomachs torn, eyes gouged out—but there was no victory in sight. The ground was wet with blood, the air filled with the stench of rotting corpses. Day after day young men hurled themselves into battle, their energies stoked by the beating drums and the songs of charioteers and the commands of their generals. By evening, a few returned bruised and maimed, impatient for the sun to rise again.

  In the silence of the night, servants who had waited in the battle camps all day collected the bodies of their masters lying dead or maimed on the battlefield. Kuru-kshetra was thus prepared for the next onslaught at dawn. By the time the land was cleared, the sun appeared on the horizon: there was no time to dispose of the dead, who were then simply piled up in heaps on the rim of the battlefield, their dead eyes watching the continuing carnage.

  At first, it seemed the Pandavas would win. Then the battle moved in favour of the Kauravas. The old leader of the Kauravas proved to be an astute general. Under his command, the warriors successfully pushed the Pandava army back. But young Dhrishtadyumna was an able commander too. He matched the size of the Kaurava army with nimbleness; his instructions ensured that his army stood its ground and his soldiers did not lose heart.

  As the days passed, it was clear that the two sides were equally matched. Victory eluded either. Strategies which worked at dawn failed by dusk. For every attack, there was a counterattack. Every astra was matched with an equally powerful astra from the opposite side. If the Pandava side included Rakshasas in their army, so did the Kauravas; if there were elephants on the Kaurava side, there were elephants on the Pandava side. Frustration built up. Hope was like a mirage, appearing for a few hours each day, and then disappearing. Amidst the war cries and clanging of weapons, it was clear to all that this war would not end soon.

  ‘Perhaps if we sacrifice to Kali, the goddess of the battlefield, a worthy warrior, she might reveal how this war may be won,’ said Krishna on the ninth night. The oracles were consulted and they agreed. A warrior with thirty-two sacred marks on the body would be ideal, they said.

  Only three men on the Pandava side had such marks: Arjuna, Krishna and a warrior called Iravan. The Pandavas could not sacrifice Arjuna and would not sacrifice Krishna and so all eyes turned