Chapter II: The Story of the Great War (3)

Meanwhile the Kauravas made an unexpected attack in another direction and began carrying off the royal herds. There was no one at the capital who could go out to oppose them--the troops being all away with the king--but the king’s son, Uttara, ventured out against the invaders with only Arjuna as his charioteer. At sight of the forces arrayed against him and the mighty heroes who led them, Uttara’s courage failed him, and leaping off his chariot he fled from the field, but was brought back by Arjuna who, directing him to take the reins, boldly resolved to give battle to the enemy. After providing himself with the famous and deadly weapons he had concealed a year previously in the _Sami_ tree near the cemetery, he went out alone, with Uttara as his charioteer, to attack the Kaurava host. All the redoubtable heroes of the party were present that day. Old Bhisma the terrible, and well skilled Drona with his mighty son Açwatháman, and Kripa and Karna the famous offspring of Kunti and the day-god. There too, arrayed in all the glittering panoply of war, were the formidable Duryodhana and his brother Dusçasana, with the other proud princes of Dhritarashtra’s race. But Arjuna alone, armed with his wonderful bow, Gándiva, completely defeated them all in one of those incomprehensible battles which delight the Hindu bard but bewilder the European reader. In the unfortunate rank and file of the Kaurava host the slaughter caused by Arjuna was prodigious; but not a single one of the leading heroes engaged in conflict that day was killed, or even seriously incommoded--although each of them, including Arjuna himself, was pierced by scores of deadly arrows.

The defeated Kauravas, of course, recognized their conqueror; but the stipulated period of exile was now fully completed, and the enforced truce was at an end.

Rajah Virata, now enlightened as to the names and proper rank of the Pandavas, engaged to assist them in regaining their Raj; though, after recent events, it is hard to comprehend what assistance such heroes could want from Virata, or anyone else. To cement the alliance between his royal house and that of the Pandavas, Virata offered his lovely daughter, Uttará, in marriage to Arjuna. That hero, however, had been the fair damsel’s dancing-master and on intimate terms with her in the harem. He, therefore, with fine delicacy of sentiment, declined the offer, lest suspicions injurious to the lady’s reputation might be whispered about; but, to attest her fair fame in the most conclusive and impressive way, he accepted her hand for his son, Abhimanyu, to whom she was duly married in the presence of an assembly of kings invited for the occasion, including Krishna, who came attended by a “hundred millions of horse and a hundred billions of foot-soldiers.”

A resort to the final arbitrament of battle seemed inevitable, and warlike preparations were vigorously pushed on by both parties, who despatched their envoys in all directions, requesting the assistance of their friends and allies. Krishna had returned to Dwarka after the marriage festivities at Panchala. Both sides anxiously sought his alliance. Duryodhana and Arjuna posted in hot haste to Dwarka to secure the aid of the mighty Prince of the Vreshnis, and both of them arrived simultaneously at Krishna’s abode while he was asleep. As privileged kinsmen they entered his bed-chamber and placed themselves near his bed, Duryodhana at the head and Arjuna at the foot, but did not dare to disturb him. As soon as Krishna awoke from his slumber the two chieftains eagerly claimed his help. As he was equally related to both he desired to divide his favours between them. He placed himself, but strictly as a non-combatant, on one side, and, on the other, his army of a hundred million soldiers, and offered Arjuna, as he had seen him first upon awakening, the choice between the two. Without any hesitation Arjuna chose Krishna himself, leaving the mighty army of one hundred millions to swell the ranks of Duryodhana’s host.

But before having recourse to arms one party at least deemed it expedient to endeavour to effect a reconciliation by negotiations; and it takes one’s breath away with astonishment to find the mighty Pandava heroes--after all the gross indignities they had suffered, after the outrageous insults to which their joint-wife had been exposed, and after their terrible vows of vengeance publicly uttered--tamely proposing to make peace with their arrogant cousins on condition of having nothing more than _five villages_ assigned to them. All this, too, in the face of Draupadi’s bitter and indignant taunts. However, even this humble offer of theirs was scornfully rejected by Duryodhana. But the Pandavas, even Bhima and Arjuna, being still anxious to avoid shedding the blood of their kinsfolk, Krishna undertook to act as their ambassador, and in this capacity presented himself at the capital of Dhritarashtra. His reception was of the most magnificent kind, and his mission was attended by many supernatural events. When the princes and great officers of State were assembled in solemn conclave to consider Krishna’s proposals, a number of Brahman sages appeared in the sky, and were respectfully invited to come down and take part in the deliberations of the assembly, an invitation they readily accepted. A prolonged sitting of the council took place, during which many speeches, embellished with instructive stories of olden times, were made in order to induce Duryodhana to come to terms with the Pandavas. Advice was, however, thrown away upon the haughty and obstinate prince, who left the chamber in great indignation.

Krishna, seeing that Duryodhana was bent on pushing matters to extremities, expressed an opinion that the best course for the old Maharajah to pursue would be to seize the young prince and his abettors and make them over to the Pandavas. He argued that “For the sake of a family an individual may be sacrificed; for the sake of a village a family may be sacrificed; for the sake of a province a village may be sacrificed; and, lastly, for the sake of one’s self the whole earth may be sacrificed;” and concluded with this exhortation: “O monarch, binding Duryodhana fast, make peace with the Pandavas. O bull among Kshatriyas let not the whole Kshatriya race be slaughtered on thy account.” This proposal being secretly communicated to Duryodhana, he in turn plotted to seize and confine Krishna, but his plan was discovered by that monarch. Now, as the reader is aware, Krishna was no mere mortal, but an incarnation of the Supreme Being. Addressing the prince the next time they met, he said:

“From delusion, O Duryodhana, thou regardest me to be alone, and it is for this, O thou of little understanding, that thou seekest to make me a captive after vanquishing me with violence. Here, however, are all Pandavas and all the Vrishnis and Andhakas. Here are all the Adityas, the Rudras, and the Vasus with all the great Rishis. Saying this, Keçava (Krishna), that slayer of hostile heroes, burst out into loud laughter. And as the high-souled Cawri laughed, from his body, that resembled a blazing fire, issued myriads of gods, each of lightning effulgence and not bigger than the thumb! And on his forehead appeared Brahma, and on his breast Rudra. And on his arms appeared the regents of the world, and from his mouth issued Agni, the Adityas, the Sáddhyas, the Vasus, the Açwins, the Maruts, with Indra and the Viçwedevas. And myriads of Yakshas and Gandharvas, and Rakshasas also, of the same measure and form, issued thence. And from his two arms issued Sankarshana and Dhananjaya. And Arjuna stood on his right, bow in hand, and Rama stood on his left, armed with the plough. And behind him stood Bhima and Yudhisthira, and the two sons of Madri, and before him were all the Andhakas and the Vrishnis, with Praddyumna and other chiefs bearing mighty weapons upraised. And on his diverse arms were seen the conch, the discus, the mace, the bow called Cáruga, the plough, the javelin, the Nandaka, and every other weapon, all shining with effulgence and upraised for striking. And from his eyes and nose and ears, and every part of his body, issued fierce sparks of fire mixed with smoke.” All, except a few privileged ones, closed their eyes, unable to bear the splendour of this divine manifestation, which was attended with an earthquake, celestial music, and a shower of heavenly flowers.

After this amazing display of his personality as the very embodiment of all the gods, Krishna, resuming his human form, left the hall leaning on the arms of two of his kinsmen. The perverse Duryodhana, however, regarded this exhibition of Krishna’s godhood as a mere illusion--a clever conjuror’s trick[91]--and, doomed to destruction as he was, treated it with contemptuous disregard.

The envoy’s mission having thus failed, he prepared for an immediate return to his friends. Before setting out he paid a friendly visit to his aunt Kunti, the mother of the Pandavas; and, as a last piece of diplomacy, artfully endeavoured to detach Karna from Duryodhana’s party. He disclosed to the famous bowman that he was Kunti’s son and, _therefore_, morally, a son of Pandu; since, according to the scriptures, sons “born of a maiden have him for their father who weddeth the maiden.” According to this system of paternity, Karna was not only Pandu’s son, but the elder brother of Yudhisthira; and, as such, entitled to the headship of the Pandava family, to the sovereignty of Hastinapur, and to supremacy over the kings of the whole earth. Krishna represented this aspect of the matter to Karna in the most tempting manner possible, not failing to mention that, if he joined his brothers, the fair Draupadi would be _his_ wife too. But he, who had thus far gone through life known as the humble Suta’s son, had the manliness to treat these offers and suggestions of the divine Prince of Dwarka with proud indifference, adhering with unshaken loyalty to his friend Duryodhana, and the party with which he had been so long associated. The crafty Krishna then urged the absolute certainty of the complete success of the Pandavas in the contest which was approaching; but no cowardly fears disturbed the settled resolution of the hero, who, as he said, was pledged to meet Arjuna in the field of battle and would not, even if sure destruction awaited himself, withdraw from his obligations or shirk his obvious duty to the Kauravas.

Kunti herself next made an effort to win over Karna to the side of the Pandavas. For this purpose she stealthily followed him to the banks of the Ganges and stood silently behind him while he piously performed his devotions. When he discovered her, and respectfully inquired the object of her presence there, she disclosed to him the secret of his parentage, and with well-chosen arguments urged him to join his brothers. An affectionate voice issuing from the sun, the voice of Surya himself, confirmed the statements and supported the advice of Kunti. But Karna, “firmly devoted to truth,” even though thus solicited by both his parents, protested his determination to remain firmly faithful to the cause of his friends. He gently reproached his mother for her abandonment of him in his infancy and her subsequent neglect of her maternal duties, but, with noble generosity, he made an important concession in favour of the Pandavas. “I will not speak deceitfully unto thee;” said the hero, “For the sake of Dhritarashtra’s son I shall fight with thy sons to the best of my strength and might! I must not, however, abandon kindness and the conduct that becometh the good. Thy words, therefore, however beneficial, cannot be obeyed by me now. This thy solicitation to me will not yet be fruitless. Except Arjuna, thy other sons--Yudhisthira, Bhima, and the twins, though capable of being withstood by me in fight, and capable also of being slain--shall not yet be slain by me.” Thus did the magnanimous Karna worthily close one of the most interesting incidents in the great epic.

War was now inevitable. Krishna returned to Yudhisthira, and both parties prepared to join issue on the famous field of Kurukshetra.[92]

The Pandavas gave the supreme command of their forces to Dhrista-dyumna who, as the reader will remember, was the destined slayer of Drona. The Kauravas marshalled their cohorts under the leadership of the terrible Bhisma. This ancient chief had performed mighty deeds in his day; and proudly recounted, in the camp at Kurukshetra, his terrible and successful duel with Rama, the son of Jamadagni, a hero who had, single-handed, vanquished all the Kshatriyas of the earth.

The old man’s end was, however, approaching, and he himself was well aware that he must fall by the hand of one Cikhandin, an ally of the Pandavas, since that prince in a previous existence (being then a woman, the Princess Amba (page 107), and subjected to great humiliations through Bhisma’s conduct) had undergone the most dreadful austerities for the express purpose of compassing his destruction, and, by the favour of Siva, would succeed in so doing.

Both parties with their armies and their allies marched to and encamped upon the famous battle-field. The Pandavas had seven and the Kauravas eleven _akshauhinis_ of soldiers on the ground, making a total of eighteen akshauhinis in all. Now an akshauhini consisted of 21,870 chariots, 21,870 elephants, 109,350 foot-soldiers, and 65,610 cavalry; so that there were at Kurukshetra altogether 393,660 chariots with their fighting men, drivers, and horses; 393,660 elephants with their drivers and riders; 1,968,300 foot-soldiers, and 1,180,980 cavalry.[93] All this, of course, exclusive of camp followers--a mighty host in themselves; for we learn that there were crowds of artisans of all sorts, also bards, singers, panegyrists, venders, traders, and prostitutes; besides surgeons, physicians, spies, and spectators--all housed and provided for by the chiefs.

The commissariat arrangements were necessarily on a gigantic scale, and the arsenals in proportion to the mighty hosts assembled for mutual destruction on that famous battle-field. The leading heroes had their own peculiar weapons, often of celestial origin or possessed of magic properties, and their own inexhaustible quivers of wondrous arrows. For the rank and file there were heaps, as high as little hills, of bows and bow-strings, coats of mail and weapons of every kind; such as battle-axes, lances, poisoned darts, scimitars, nooses, and lassoes. There was also an ample supply of hot oil, treacle and sand to be thrown upon the enemy, and a store of inflammable materials, such as pulverized lac. And, lastly, there was a collection of earthen pots filled with deadly serpents, designed to cause confusion in the ranks amidst which they might be cast.

Before hostilities actually commenced Duryodhana sent a message to the camp of the Pandavas, challenging them to the fight, and scornfully reminded them of the many gross insults and humiliating indignities they had had to endure at his hands. He sent an especially insulting message and challenge to Krishna, making light of his prowess and former achievements. Vaunting and blood-thirsty rejoinders of a suitable kind were, of course, carried back from the insulted Pandavas to Duryodhana and the leaders of his armies.

Before joining issue it was arranged between the hostile parties that only “persons equally circumstanced should encounter each other, fighting fairly;” that car-warriors should engage car-warriors; those on elephants should fight those similarly mounted; that horsemen should encounter horsemen, and foot-soldiers foot-soldiers. It was agreed that no one should strike a disarmed, a panic-stricken, or retreating foeman; that no blow should be given without due notice, and that stragglers, charioteers, and chariot-horses, and drummers, with a host of others, were not to be assailed on any account. It is almost needless to say that in the succession of battles which took place at Kurukshetra these generous covenants were never observed. They seem, indeed, to have been only a formal and somewhat farcical preliminary, drawn up in accordance, possibly, with some ideal but inoperative code of Kshatriya honour.

While the hosts were assembling Vyasa presented himself before King Dhritarashtra and offered to restore the blind old king’s eyesight, but Dhritarashtra, unwilling to behold the bloodshed of his kinsfolk, declined the proffered boon, preferring that his charioteer, Sanjaya, should be enabled by the Rishi’s favour to survey any portion, however remote, of the field of battle, and relate all the events to him in the minutest and most circumstantial detail.

As preparations for the approaching contest were pushed on many strange portents occurred. A shower of flesh and blood fell from the skies. Unusual solar and lunar eclipses took place. Earthquakes shook both land and ocean, and rivers were turned into blood. Revolting acts of immorality were being commonly committed. Some women were giving birth to five daughters at a time, who, as soon as they were born, began to dance and sing. Other women, as well as lower animals, were bringing forth strange monsters; and, as Vyasa assured the blind king, “The images of gods and goddesses sometimes laughed and sometimes trembled, sometimes vomited blood and sometimes fell down.”[94]

After Vyasa had gone away the blind king remarked to Sanjaya that, since “many hundreds of millions of heroic men” had assembled at Kurukshetra, he desired to know all about the countries from which they had come, for there were many nationalities represented in the two armies. Sanjaya, having been endowed with superhuman perception by the Rishi Vyasa, gave his master, the king, a long lesson in geography, which it is rather disappointing to find so largely mythical as to be of little value, except perhaps as an indication of the very imperfect geographical knowledge possessed by the authors of the “Mahabharata.” Sanjaya’s inspired description of the countries of the world abounds in mountains of gold and gems; it embraces oceans of butter, milk, curds and wine; and dwells upon such objects in nature as trees yielding fruits which measure 2,500 cubits in circumference. While revelling in these glories of sea and land, Sanjaya’s descriptive narrative does not quite overlook the causes of natural phenomena; for he, no less than the modern scientist, has his own theory of the winds. It is, we learn from him, all due to “four princely elephants adored by all.” These magnificent beasts, whose enormous proportions Sanjaya does not venture to calculate, seize with their lithe trunks the wandering winds and then breathe them over the earth. “The winds thus let out by those respiring elephants, come over the earth and, in consequence thereof, creatures draw breath and live.”

In the wonderful lands pictured by the inspired geographer, the men were necessarily long-lived. Some races, indeed, were exempt from death, and there were others whose lives extended to many thousands of years. In respect to their own land of _Bharatavarsha_, where the great battle was about to be fought, Sanjaya makes some statements which seem worthy of note. He says, for example, after naming certain mountain ranges, that there are many “smaller mountains inhabited by barbarous tribes;” and he adds that “Aryas and Mlecchas, and many races mixed of the two elements, drink the waters of the following rivers, viz., magnificent Ganga, Sindhu, and Saraswati; of Godavari and Narmuda ... and that large river called Yamuna,” etc.

At length the day of real battle arrived. The chiefs on both sides made their final preparations. With tall and handsome standards, borne conspicuously aloft,[95] drums beating and conchs sounding, they took up their positions on the great plain. Karna alone held aloof from the contest, resolved to take no part in it while Bhisma lived, for he was smarting under some unbearable insults received from the aged leader of the Kauravas.

As both armies drawn up for battle awaited the dawn, a dust storm arose which wrapped everything in darkness. When the air cleared and each party could see the other, as well as hear the blare of its trumpets, a sort of mutual dread seems to have afflicted them, for the warriors on either side trembled at the sight of the mighty heroes of the opposing hosts.

At this critical juncture in the fate of the world, Arjuna, by the advice of Krishna, offered a special prayer for victory to Durga. The goddess in answer to this invocation appeared in the sky and assured her votary of complete success.

As the virtuous Yudhisthira, his white umbrella borne above his head, moved about marshalling his forces, he was attended by a crowd of Brahmans and Rishis hymning his praises and praying for the destruction of his enemies. Of course the pious king could do no less, even at such a busy and anxious moment, than bestow upon these saintly allies of his what, indeed, they, with their habitual proud condescension, were there to receive,--rich presents of kine, ornaments, clothes and gold.

When the armed millions were finally ranged for immediate hostilities, in all the pomp and glitter of approaching battle, Arjuna desired Krishna to place his chariot in the open space between the two armies. Surveying the embattled hosts from this position, Arjuna appears to have been dismayed at the thought of the unparalleled slaughter of kinsmen, which a struggle between such colossal armies would inevitably lead to; and, in view of this deplorable issue, hesitated to join battle with his foes, doubtful whether any personal consideration whatever could justify an appeal to arms under such circumstances.

Krishna undertook to remove his doubts, and succeeded in doing so, the dialogue between them, known as the “Bhagavatgita,” or divine song, which is introduced into the great epic at this stage of the narrative, forming, from a religious point of view, one of its most important parts.[96]

When Arjuna, convinced of the lawfulness of entering into the contest, had taken up his bow, _Gandiva_, in readiness for the fray, his followers raised a joyful shout, and the gods with the Gandharvas, the Rishis and the rest, crowded to the spot eager to witness the impending battle.

But there was still another interruption. Yudhisthira, suddenly laying down his arms and divesting himself of his armour, advanced eastward towards the opposing forces. Although filled with astonishment at this proceeding, his dutiful brothers immediately followed him, themselves unarmed and unprotected by armour. What was the mission the king had undertaken? Was he bent on making a final effort to effect a reconciliation, or was he, terror-stricken by the superior numbers of his adversaries, going to offer an unconditional surrender? No, it was neither the one object nor the other which stirred the heart of the virtuous king to this strange performance in presence of the two armies drawn up for deadly strife. He, pious soul, was only going to crave the permission of his elders and preceptors in Dhritarashtra’s army to engage in battle with them; to solicit, with childlike trustfulness, their _blessing_ in the coming contest with themselves; and, if possible, to induce them to tell him how their own destruction might be compassed by him! The leaders he went to propitiate, though resolved to fight to their utmost for the king whose cause they had espoused, were very affable to the pious son of Dharma; they received him with affection and dismissed him with honour. The conduct of the Pandavas on this occasion excited universal admiration, and met with the hearty approval of all, and we learn that, “in consequence of this, the minds and hearts of everyone there were attracted towards them, and the Mlecchas and the Aryas[97] there, who witnessed or heard of that behaviour of the sons of Pandu, all wept with choked voices.”

The battle of Kurukshetra, which closed the golden age of India, lasted for eighteen consecutive days.

During the first ten days Bhisma commanded Dhritarashtra’s forces, while Karna held aloof in sullen indignation. A goodly volume is devoted to the incidents of these ten days, each of which seems to have had its own special heroes, who, under the influence of a sort of divine fury, like that attributed by the Norsemen to their _Berserkers_, carried everything before them. In picturing the events of these battles the Hindu bards have allowed their imaginations to run riot in a most incomprehensible way. Not only the demigods, but the merely human leaders (very little inferior to the demigods in martial qualities) in both armies, perform the most astonishing feats of arms, and display the most wonderful indifference to wounds. Sometimes a hero will shoot at his adversary arrows enough to envelop him completely and shroud him from view, or to darken the whole sky; but his antagonist, well skilled in the art of self-defence, will, with the greatest composure, stop those myriads of arrows[98] in mid-air with an equal or superior number of shafts from his own bow;[99] or, as Cikhandin did, cut in pieces with his dexterous sword the shower of arrows poured upon him. Sometimes a heavy mace, hurled by a powerful arm with well-directed aim, will whiz through the air towards some leader of men; but as it is hurtling along it will be cut into many fragments by crescent-headed arrows discharged at it with unerring skill, by the hero for whose destruction it was intended. Sometimes standards are brought down by sharp arrows, sometimes the bow is severed in a warrior’s hand by the shaft of an opponent, while horses and elephants, though cased in mail, fall easy victims to the archer’s skill. Occasionally, in pressing emergencies, superhuman weapons are called into requisition, and _mantras_ or spells are employed to give them more destructive force. Nor are the powers of producing strange illusions to terrify or baffle the foe neglected by those who possess them, namely, the Rakshasas in either army.[100] These terrible beings, capable of assuming any shape at will, and able to deceive their foes by strange illusions, would at one time raise up a spectral host of demons to terrify their opponents, and at another time, perhaps, paralyze them by producing before their startled eyes a false picture of their friends and allies lying cruelly slaughtered around them, or in headlong flight before the enemy.

Notwithstanding their inimitable skill in the arts of attack and defence the heroes do not get off unscathed. In a single fight one of them might be pierced with any number of arrows, from one or two to five hundred or a thousand[101] as the case might be, yet, usually, the chiefs seem hardly the worse for the punishment. Indeed the poets love to depict their dauntless favourites bristling with arrows and streaming with blood, when they resemble in beauty blossoming _kincukas_ in spring-time, or “clouds tinged with the rays of the sun.” One warrior with three arrows fixed in his forehead is likened to Mount Meru with its triple summits of gold; another, with a circle of sharp arrows lodged in his ample breast, resembles “the sun with his rays at mid-day.” Odds are of no account when the heroes are once carried away with ungovernable fury, roaring tremendously, and “licking the corners of their mouths like lions in the forest.” Bhima on foot with his club in his hand, is, under such conditions, a match for whole armies, through which he rages, with leonine roars, crushing chariots and horses under his blows and smashing luckless elephants and their riders by thousands, himself bespattered with the blood, fat and marrow of his slaughtered foes; resembling, as the poet tells us, the Destroyer himself, with wide open mouth, as he appears at the end of the _yuga_. Similarly Arjuna, when attacked simultaneously by forty thousand charioteers and hemmed in by them, kills the entire number of his rash assailants with arrows from Gandiva. When Yudhisthira, ordinarily cold-blooded, blazed up with wrath on the battle-field, “the thought that arose in the minds of all creatures was that this king excited with rage will to-day consume the three worlds.” Bhisma, too, and Drona, and many another hero semi-divine or only mortal, seems, in his turn, quite irresistible, and carries everything before him when excited to mad (_Berserk_) fury.

The dire confusion caused by the vast multitudes of resolute combatants, the blind rage and terror of thousands of wounded elephants and horses trampling wildly through the midst of friends and foes, the deafening uproar of the strife, where the tumultuous shouts and cries of contending warriors mingled with the clash of arms, the twang of bow-strings, the blare of trumpets, and the bellowing of elephants, are all vividly pictured by the poet of Kurukshetra.

It would be too tedious to recount the innumerable combats which the author describes, or to follow the varying fortunes of the field, as victory inclines now to one side, now to the other. It would be cruel work, to dwell upon the prodigious slaughter of the rank and file which occurred each day, or to picture the vast plain covered with the mangled corpses of men, horses and elephants. Nor would it be either profitable or pleasant to wander over the ground encumbered with shattered chariots, broken standards and abandoned weapons of every kind, amidst which pitiful wreck flowed great sluggish streams of crimson blood. Somehow the sickening horror of the terrible scenes of carnage which the epic bards have conjured up does not seem to have struck them, for when they remark upon the appearance of the field--strewn with mangled corpses and broken armour, with banners and weapons all reeking with blood--it is usually with admiration of its _beauty_, unmingled with any feeling of aversion or regret. In their eyes the scene of death and ruin, with its gory trophies, “shines as if with floral wreaths,” or “looks beautiful like the firmament in autumn,” or “like a damsel adorned with different kinds of ornaments.” In the gloom of night, however, the Hindu poets realize, with superstitious awe, the abhorrent nature of the dreadful battle-field, “abounding as it did with spirits and with jackals howling piteously.”

How the multitudinous dead and the wreckage which littered the field were disposed of we do not learn, but the opposing parties retired each day at sunset to their respective camps and renewed the battle with the dawn of next day. However, occasional allusions to hungry dogs and vultures, howling jackals, stealthy hyenas and fierce cannibals give a dark, if not very intelligible, hint of the fate of the unburied dead.

The death of Bhisma is the prominent and crowning event of the battles which raged with unabated fury for the first ten days of the war. The old hero performed prodigies of valour, and many a time proved himself more than a match for his brave opponents, slaughtering no less than “a hundred million of warriors in ten days.”[102] Such huge work, it must be admitted, required great celerity of action, and we learn, accordingly, that in one battle Bhisma “felled the heads of car-warriors like a skilful man felling (with stones) ripe (palmyra) fruits from trees that bear them. And the heads of warriors falling upon the surface of the earth produced a loud noise resembling that of a stony shower.”[103] His success against the Pandavas aroused the anger of Krishna, who had not escaped unwounded in these hotly contested fights, and, jumping off the car he was driving, he rushed impetuously forward to slay the son of Ganga, “and the end of his yellow garments waving in the air looked like a cloud charged with lightning in the sky.”

Bhisma cheerfully awaited his doom from such hands, and Arjuna with difficulty restrained the fury of his divine ally and kinsman by promising to slay the chief himself. Later on, Krishna was again roused to fury against the aged champion of the Kauravas, and this time could only be dissuaded from taking his life by being reminded that he had engaged _not to enter personally into the contest_. So despondent did Bhisma’s remarkable success make King Yudhisthira that the latter, accompanied by his brothers and Krishna, actually sought an interview with the ancient chief for the express purpose of ascertaining from himself in what manner his death might be compassed and victory secured for the Pandavas. In consequence of what Bhisma said on this occasion, Cikhandin was, on the tenth day of the war, placed prominently in the forefront of the battle, supported by Arjuna and the best men of his party. A well-directed and persistent attack was made upon Bhisma. A fierce battle ensued, but the chivalrous Bhisma refused to assail Cikhandin, _because he had once been a woman_, and he was eventually overpowered, mostly, however, by the arrows of Arjuna. There was nowhere about the person of the hero a space two fingers wide free from the shafts of his enemies, and when he fell from his chariot he did not touch the ground, being literally supported on a couch of arrows. Although so sorely afflicted by the darts of his enemies, Bhisma did not die immediately. The time was inauspicious and he postponed his death, as he possessed the privilege of doing, till a more propitious moment. “Meanwhile the valiant and intelligent Bhisma, the son of Cantanu, having recourse to that _Yoga_ which is taught in the great Upanishads, and engaged in mental prayers, remained quiet, expectant of his hour.”

The fall of the aged leader was the signal for a cessation of the battle, the chiefs of both sides pressing forward to pay their respects to the dying general. While conversing with those around him he complained that his head was unsupported. Luxurious pillows were quickly brought for his use, but he rejected them all. Upon this Arjuna made a rest for his head with three arrows, and the grim warrior was satisfied. To allay Bhisma’s burning thirst Arjuna shot an arrow into the ground, whence a fountain of pure water came springing up to the great comfort of the wounded veteran. Guards were placed round the old man as he lay on his arrowy couch, and both sides retired to rest.

In the dead of night Karna came to pay his homage to the dying general, and to ask forgiveness for any faults he may have committed. Bhisma freely forgave him, and advised him to transfer his allegiance to the Pandavas, but Karna, nobly faithful to the path of honour, rejected the suggestion as on so many previous occasions.

After the fall of Bhisma the command of the army was given to Drona, and the contest was carried on with unabated vigour, resulting more than once in the defeat of the Pandavas. The record of Drona’s command abounds in numerous descriptions of single combats, in which, besides the more prominent leaders, many another chief fought with marvellous skill and daring. As was inevitable, many heroic warriors were killed--such as Abhimanyu, the son of Arjuna, and the mighty Rakshasa Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s son, who in his fall crushed to death a whole akshauhini of Dhritarashtra’s troops.

In one of the battles Jayadartha, King of the Sindhus performed, single-handed, deeds of matchless daring; for he alone held in check all the sons of Pandu. Arjuna, enraged at Jayadartha’s success, and attributing Abhimanyu’s death to him, vowed, in the presence of all men, either to slay the victorious chief before the day was done or to lay down his own life on the funeral pyre. But the Rajah of Sindhu was so well supported by his friends that there appeared every likelihood that he would survive the day. Rather than this should occur and Arjuna fall by his own hand, Krishna obscured the sun by his _Yoga_ power. The unsuspecting Jayadartha and his friends, believing that the sun had set and night come on, were filled with joy at the prospect of Arjuna’s doom, and were carelessly looking up towards the darkened sky, when Arjuna, at Krishna’s suggestion, taking advantage of their being off their guard, renewed the battle with redoubled vigour. He eventually struck off Jayadartha’s head with one of his wonderful weapons and sped it along through the air with his arrows till it fell into the lap of Vriddhakshatra, the father of Jayadartha, whence it rolled on to the ground. It appears that when Jayadartha was born, a voice, proceeding from some unseen being, predicted that he would meet his death by having his head cut off. His pious father thereupon prophesied that the man who should cause his son’s head to fall to the _earth_, would have his own cracked into a hundred pieces. For his own protection, therefore, Arjuna, at Krishna’s suggestion, had hurled the dead man’s head into Vriddhakshatra’s lap and, as it fell to the earth, lo! the old man’s head cracked into a hundred fragments in grim fulfilment of his own prophecy.

Other marvellous events are not wanting in the narrative; as when, in the thick of battle, Arjuna, piercing the earth with one of his arrows, creates in a moment a lake of water for his thirsty horses to drink from--a lake inhabited by swarms of aquatic birds and covered with lotuses--or when Açwathaman employs the irresistible _Narayana_ weapon, and the Pandavas, on their part, _pacify_ and _propitiate_ this destructive missile by laying down their arms before it.

Drona himself, although advanced in years, defeated the Pandavas many times, and it was only by a cruel stratagem that his destruction was ultimately effected. When he was carrying everything before him in the battle the Pandavas informed him, falsely, that his son had been killed. He did not credit the report at first, but when assured of its truth by the virtuous Yudhisthira himself, who stooped to this mean falsehood upon the advice of Krishna, the old hero threw away his arms and, devoting _himself_ to _Yoga contemplation_, passed away immediately. After his spirit had ascended to heaven in great glory, Dhrista-dyumna beheaded his lifeless corpse,[104] upon which Dhritarashtra’s troops fled precipitately from the field.

Karna succeeded Drona as generalissimo of the forces, but his command was of short duration: for although he performed wonders of gallantry against his adversaries _fate_ was too strong for him, and on the second day he was overthrown by Arjuna. There was something unfortunate, if not unfair, in the circumstances attending his death; for just when he had obtained an advantage over Arjuna, who seemed likely to get the worst of the contest, a wheel of Karna’s chariot came off. He was obliged to leap to the ground and, in this unfavourable position, was despatched by Arjuna.

In the battles which took place under Karna’s direction an eventful combat occurred between Bhima and Dhusashana, ending in the defeat and death of the latter, whose warm blood Bhima drank in fulfilment of his vow on the occasion of Draupadi’s humiliation in the gaming hall. Another incident of some interest is the vigorous but unsuccessful attack made by an army of Mlecchas on Arjuna, as the narrative shows the poet’s high opinion of the martial qualities of the non-Aryan races in the Kaurava army.

For the fourth time Dhritarashtra’s forces were without a commander. This time the choice fell upon Salya, King of Madra, who gallantly emulated the deeds of his heroic predecessors. But though he fought with vigour and determination, though he was ably supported by chiefs like Sakuni, who still survived, though his Mleccha allies, under their leader Salva, did great execution amongst the enemy, victory eventually declared for his opponents. A terrific battle was followed by a complete rout and the utter annihilation of the Kaurava forces, of whose eleven akshauhinis there remained, at the end of the eighteenth day of the war, but _four_ men,--_four men only_ out of all the countless hosts who had joined the blind king’s party!

These four were Duryodhana himself, Kripa, Açwathaman and Kritavarman. Now Duryodhana possessed a charm by which he could remain under water as long as he pleased; and, taking advantage of this, he hid himself in the lake, carrying his mace in his hand. But he was traced to his hiding-place. Yudhisthira approaching the lake taunted Duryodhana with cowardice, and challenged him to come out and fight as a Kshatriya should. Stung by his taunts Duryodhana emerged from his hiding-place, dripping with blood and water, having agreed to engage in a single combat with the giant Bhima, both being armed with clubs only. So equal were the combatants that a prolonged fight ensued. Tremendous blows were freely given and received. The very earth trembled under the dreadful contest, and the Pandavas began to entertain grave fears that if Bhima were vanquished the rest of them would be easily defeated and slain in detail by Duryodhana, who was a proficient in the use of the mace. At this critical moment Krishna artfully suggested by a gesture to Bhima that he should strike Duryodhana on the thigh, and thus fulfil his vow and vanquish his enemy at the same time. A successful blow delivered upon this suggestion, which was contrary to the recognized rules of club fighting, laid Duryodhana low, and left the Pandavas undisputed masters of the day. But, even though countless millions of human beings had already perished on the fatal field of Kurukshetra, and Duryodhana, the cause of all this havoc, lay there mortally wounded, more blood was yet to flow. Of the Kaurava hosts there still remained three men, and of these, one, Açwathaman, lived only in the hope of avenging to some extent the blood of his father Drona. Brooding schemes of vengeance through the dark hours of the night, the young man observed in a forest where he had taken refuge an owl approach noiselessly some sleeping crows and destroy them one after another. Accepting this event as a suggestion for his guidance, he persuaded his two companions to join him in an attempt to steal into the camp of the Pandavas--whose followers were sleeping in fancied security--with the object of wreaking their vengeance on their unarmed and unsuspecting enemies. They justified this nocturnal attack by calling to mind the many unfair advantages which the Pandavas had taken of their more honourable foes during the course of this fratricidal war--as in the cases of Bhisma, Drona and Karna.

At the entrance to the camp the three desperate warriors were met by an awful figure who barred their progress. With him Açwathaman fought a fierce battle, during the course of which he recognized in his redoubtable adversary the great god Siva, before whom he humbly prostrated himself. Presently there appeared a golden altar attended by hideous monsters, and Açwathaman, to obtain the favour of Siva, offered himself as a sacrifice in the fire which blazed upon the altar. Siva was propitiated by this pious act, and himself graciously entered the body of Açwathaman, after explaining to him that he had up to that time protected the family of Draupadi in order to please Krishna, but that he would do so no longer as their hour was at hand.

Açwathaman thus inspired by Siva, and now glorious to behold, boldly penetrated the hostile camp, while Kripa and Kritavarman stood at the gate to intercept and destroy all fugitives. The five Pandavas themselves were away in the now vacant camp of the Kauravas, whither they had gone to take possession of the spoils of the vanquished.

The revenge taken by Açwathaman and his associates was complete and bloody. The first to perish in the nocturnal attack was the generalissimo of the Pandava army, Dhrista-dyumna himself, whom Açwathaman found sleeping in his tent and whom he literally trampled to death under his feet. An indescribable panic was caused by the massacre which followed the murder of the commander-in-chief; and, in the dire confusion of darkness, friends fell upon each other, fathers killed their own sons and sons their fathers. In this terrible “night of slaughter” Açwathaman killed the five sons of Draupadi, one after the other, and carried away their bleeding heads with him to gratify the heart of the chieftain, his master, who lay in the agony of death upon that field of carnage.

Açwathaman approaching the prince told him that he had slain the Pandavas and had their heads in his possession. Even with his life ebbing fast away the feelings of gratified revenge put a transient vigour into Duryodhana, and he leaped from the ground in a transport of fierce joy. The morning was not far distant, and in the uncertain twilight preceding the dawn he examined the heads and was deceived by the resemblance the sons of Draupadi bore to their respective fathers. Gloating over the complete vengeance which had been wreaked by Açwathaman he took into his hands what he believed to be the head of Bhima and squeezed it with all his might. The skull burst in his hands under the violent pressure, and Duryodhana at once perceived that some deception had been practised on him; for he felt that Bhima’s skull would not have thus yielded in his grasp. He desired to see the other heads and, on close inspection, understood what had really occurred. With reproaches on his lips and bitterness in his heart the dying man expired, while his three followers made haste to quit the spot and flee from the pursuit of their enemies.[105]

The war was over. The five Pandavas, now undisputed masters of the situation, sought a reconciliation with the blind king. Helpless though he was, Dhritarashtra’s feelings of bitterness against Bhima, for the unfair defeat of his son Duryodhana, were so intense that he meditated crushing the hero to death in his mighty arms, under the pretence of a friendly welcome; but Krishna, divining his intention, placed an iron image in his embrace, which the blind king, who possessed gigantic strength, crushed to pieces against his breast. Eventually, however, a reconciliation was effected between the Pandavas and the heart-broken old monarch.

The scene of the terrible carnage during eighteen consecutive days was now covered with mourners seeking, with breaking hearts, to recognize their beloved dead amongst the reeking corpses. At length arrangements were made for the cremation of the bodies that lay upon the battle-field, and they were duly disposed of, according to their rank.

A triumphal procession was next arranged from the plain of Kurukshetra to the city of Hastinapur, where Yudhisthira was installed with great pomp and ceremony as Rajah, under the nominal sovereignty of his blind uncle. At the inauguration a friend of Duryodhana’s began to revile the new king for the slaughter of his kinsfolk; but the Brahmans looked upon the reviler with angry eyes, and he fell upon the ground like a tree struck by lightning and was burnt to ashes upon the spot.

Yudhisthira, though now enthroned at Hastinapur, seems to have found his new office so beset with anxieties that he desired to have the advice of Bhisma for his guidance. He accordingly proceeded to the battle-field at Kurukshetra, where the old hero was still alive upon his couch of arrows. The dying sage gave the king excellent advice on many important subjects relating to the duties of kings and the conduct of life, which we cannot, unfortunately, find space for. When he had passed fifty-eight days on his uncomfortable bed Bhisma resolved to die. At once the cruel arrows left his body, his head split open, and his released spirit ascended to heaven like a bright star.

As soon as Yudhisthira was firmly established on the throne of Bharata he determined to perform an _Aswamedha_, or horse-sacrifice. The performance of this sacrifice was an assertion of sovereignty over the whole earth, and had such peculiar virtue that the successful performance of one hundred Aswamedhas gave the sacrificer power even over Indra, the god of heaven. In Yudhisthira’s case, it is true, the Aswamedha was suggested by the sage Vyasa, as atonement for all the monarch’s sins. A horse of a particular colour had to be obtained and, as a preliminary to the sacrifice, the animal was set free to wander at its pleasure for one year. The Rajah who proposed performing the Aswamedha, or the deputy of such Rajah, followed with an army in the track of the horse. If the animal found its way into the territories of any foreign state, the ruler of that state was bound either to seize the horse and fight the invader, or else to acknowledge his own inferiority; and, in proof of submission, to swell with his own forces those of his superior lord.

In order to be present at the ceremony of loosing the horse, Krishna journeyed to Hastinapur. A detailed account of his march is given in the “Mahabharata,” and is of special interest when it is remembered that this Rajah is regarded as an incarnation of the Supreme Being. Krishna’s trip to Yudhisthira’s capital was a joyous progress. He was accompanied by Rukmini and Satyabháma, and his other favourite wives, as well as various members of the family. The crowd that attended him was a motley one, and included no small number of loose characters, dancing-girls and performers of all sorts, with whom Krishna seems to have been on the most familiar footing. And they are represented as having been aware of his divine nature, for a harlot having met with an accident which excited the mirth of the bystanders, remarked: “There is no occasion for laughing, for every day I behold the divine Krishna and therefore all my sins are forgiven me.”[106]

The horse destined for the sacrifice was at length set free, and was followed by Arjuna at the head of a mighty army. It led him and his followers into many strange adventures, but we shall here only allude to a few of them. The horse, in his wanderings, entered the country of the Amazons, young and lovely warriors--“perfect in the arts of love, and in the various ways of fascinating men”[107]--whose charms were as dangerous as their weapons; but who were prevailed upon to allow the horse free passage through their country. Then the host was conducted into a region where the trees bore men and women, and where the men had ears with one of which they covered their heads and with the other their bodies. In this land of marvels the terrible prime minister wore, as ear-rings, a dead elephant and a dead camel.

The horse next passed into the country of Manipura, which Arjuna had visited in one of his earlier wanderings, and over which a son of his was now ruling. This king’s magnificence was such that his palace was surrounded by a golden wall and his capital by a silver one. His reception-hall was supported on golden pillars, and illuminated at night by torches made of sandal wood, wound round with cloth steeped in perfumed oils. The greatness and power of the ruler of this country was commensurate with his wealth and splendour; but his filial respect was so great that he tendered his submission to the invader, his father Arjuna, in the most abject manner. Arjuna disdainfully repudiated a son who exhibited, as he thought, so much cowardice. The result was a terrible battle, in which Arjuna’s head was severed from his body by a crescent-shaped arrow from his son’s bow. However, Arjuna was not to perish thus; and his son procured, from the King of the Serpents, who lived in the bowels of the earth, a certain jewel which possessed the power of restoring life. This, when applied to the body of the dead Pandava, caused the head and trunk to reunite. Arjuna, restored to life, was easily reconciled to his brave son, the mighty Rajah of Manipur.

The year appointed for the wandering expedition at length came to an end, and the horse with its escort returned to Hastinapur. The sacrifice was then performed with the usual magnificence. Gold, jewels, elephants, horses, and cows were, as on all such occasions, freely given away, particularly to the Brahmans. With great ceremony the head of the horse was struck off by Bhima and, immediately mounting towards the sky, soared out of sight. The body was cast into the sacrificial fire. To crown the great ceremony, Indra, with attendant gods, presented himself to partake of the sacrifice, and, amidst general rejoicings, feastings and further extravagant largesses, the Aswamedha was brought to a successful conclusion.

Years passed; the blind old Maharajah, weighed down with sorrowful recollections of his sons and followers who had fallen in the great war, retired, with his wife Gandhari, into a jungle on the banks of the Ganges. Kunti also accompanied them. To this hermitage the Pandavas paid a visit. The conversation, as was natural, turned upon the friends and kinsfolk who had perished on the plain of Kurukshetra. While this sad subject was being discussed the sage Vyasa made his appearance, and promised the mourners that he would, that very night, show them the relatives for whom they had been sorrowing. After bathing in the Ganges the company stood together on the bank of the sacred river. Vyasa, standing by the king, summoned the dead to appear. A scene of inexpressible grandeur followed immediately. The river began to foam and boil. A great noise was heard, and out of the troubled water arose the men who had died at Kurukshetra. They came as when alive, but more beautiful and in all the pomp of martial glory, in full armour, upon their chariots and with music. The foes who had cruelly slaughtered each other now appeared as friends, and were attended by troops of singers and of dancing-girls. Dead and living communed freely with each other and, in the joy of reunion, the sorrows of so many years were forgotten. But, with the morning, the ghostly visitants disappeared. And now Vyasa gave the widows who wished to rejoin their dead husbands permission to do so; upon which all the widows drowned themselves in the Ganges and were reunited to their lords.