Sanjaya’s address to the royal assembly unsettled the impatient and compelled the elders to listen with grave attention, for his words carried the weight of destiny and the shadow of coming ruin.
Krishna declared that one must first understand the cause of his words. Draupadi, the daughter-in-law of Pandu, had once cried out to him in anguish, calling upon Govinda when he was far away, and that cry still echoed in his heart like an unpaid debt. He said that this debt would be repaid when he guided the chariot of Arjuna, who would enter the battlefield bearing the twin quivers and the Gandiva. Where, then, could the Kauravas flee, for no refuge would remain to them? As he spoke, Sanjaya reflected upon the unyielding resolve of the Pandavas and the stubborn refusal of the king’s sons to grant them their rightful share. Fear seized him, for Duryodhana understood nothing of their true strength.
Sanjaya recalled that when he had once spoken of Bhishma, Drona, and the pride of Karna standing with the Kauravas, Arjuna, his eyes reddened like a blazing lotus, had replied that Sanjaya should carry his words to Duryodhana before all the allied kings. If the rightful portion of Dharmaraja were denied, there would be no further speech. Bhima and Arjuna would shatter Duryodhana’s pride for all his wickedness, and the war would become the crown of vengeance. Duryodhana had agreed to face Bhima and Arjuna, and Arjuna declared that nothing more could be desired, for it would serve their purpose well.
He foretold that the days when Dharmaraja lay upon the bare earth in the forest would be repaid when Duryodhana lay upon a bed of arrows. The anger long restrained through insult and hardship would burst forth upon the enemy like wildfire in a parched forest, and only then would the sons of Dhritarashtra come to reason. Bhima, like Yama at the hour of doom, would whirl his mighty mace, shattering elephant hosts and scattering the Kaurava ranks like broken herds. Horses and chariots would be crushed, and the field would resound with tumult until Duryodhana himself was brought low.
Satyaki, Abhimanyu, Nakula, and Sahadeva would spring like enraged tigers among deer, cutting down the Kaurava forces and spreading terror until they fled in search of peace. The sons of Draupadi would leap like lion cubs upon the enemy, and the battlefield would run with blood, bearing floating corpses, until Duryodhana was humbled. Virata, with his kinsmen and allies, would crush the foe, while Drupada would charge like a wild elephant, forcing the Kauravas to flee in fear and lament their cruel deeds.
Shikhandi, without turning aside, would press forward against the Kuru king and advance toward Bhishma, and only then would thoughts of dividing the kingdom arise. Dhrishtadyumna, his bow flashing like lightning, would stand before Drona eager for battle, and at that sight, the elders themselves would seek to restrain the war and pursue peace. The Gandiva, its string resounding, would loose torrents of arrows, covering the battlefield, while the conch Devadatta would thunder across the field, compelling the foe to choose between surrender and destruction.
Arjuna spoke not his own name, yet his deeds were evident. Krishna, who had slain hosts of demons as though in sport, would be worshipped by the three worlds, awaited by gods and sages alike for his blessing—yet Duryodhana would not heed him. How then, Arjuna asked, could he be made to understand, when his perception reached no higher? Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa were honoured, yet the Pandavas would fight for their rightful kingdom. Whoever took up arms for the Kauravas would see their weapons broken by Dharma itself.
Having endured exile in the forest and a year of concealment in disguise, bound by oath, and armed with the merit of righteousness, the Pandavas would prevail even if Indra and the celestials stood against them. Krishna would walk before them, victory would follow them, and they would slay the Kauravas, along with Karna, and reclaim their kingdom. The Gandiva would pour forth its arrows without cease, divine weapons like the Pasupata would blaze forth, and war would become inevitable. Sanjaya was commanded to speak these truths without fear.
Hearing these words, the aged Bahlika, grandsire Bhishma, guru Drona, Kripacharya, Ashvatthama, the son of Drona, the wise Vidura, and the valiant Shalya listened in silence, knowing that whatever course they chose would shape the end. Though addressed to all, Sanjaya’s message bore a single truth—that the decision of the elders would determine the fate of all. Strength, intent, and consequence were laid bare, yet the burden of choice passed quietly, even as it struck its mark.
Then Bhishma spoke aloud, addressing Duryodhana before the assembly. He recalled that in ancient times, in the court of Brahma, two radiant beings shone like thunderbolts in the foremost places. When Brihaspati asked who they were, surpassing even Brahma in splendour, Brahma replied with affection that they were Nara and Narayana, embodiments of penance, strength, courage, pride, and chivalry, who manifest age after age to protect the worlds. Wherever unrighteous war arose, they upheld virtue and ensured victory.
Bhishma continued that in the wars of gods and demons, Indra had worshipped them and gained victory over the Poulomas, Kalakeyas, and countless others. The slaying of Narakasura and many demons by Krishna was well known. He declared plainly that when Krishna and Arjuna entered the battlefield together, not only mortals but even Shiva himself could not withstand them, for one was the guide and the other the warrior, blazing together upon a single chariot like fire.
He recalled the burning of the Khandava forest, when Arjuna pierced even Indra’s storm clouds with his arrows, earning a terrible renown. Fixing his gaze upon Duryodhana, Bhishma warned that if his counsel were ignored, the prince would soon hear the names of his loved ones spoken only in death, with no time left for regret, until war uprooted the Kuru lineage itself.
Stung by these words, Karna rose in anger and challenged Bhishma. He asked what fault was his, when he had lived by the grace of the Kauravas and served Dhritarashtra and his sons with loyalty, reminding the assembly that Duryodhana had crowned him king of Anga. Bhishma replied to Dhritarashtra that Karna was no match for the Pandavas, not even in part, and that his boasts were empty, praised only by the wicked. It was this delusion, he said, that had kindled Duryodhana’s enmity.
He added that the Pandavas, rich in virtue and valour, had each earned their victories, while Karna had fled when his brother fell to Arjuna and had achieved little of worth. Drona then spoke, affirming that Bhishma’s counsel was for the king’s welfare. War, he said, would bring only ruin, and alliance with Dharmaraja was the wiser path, for Arjuna—known as Vijaya, unmatched in all realms—was capable of fulfilling every vow he had made.
Yet Dhritarashtra, disregarding these warnings, urged Sanjaya to continue. He asked what Dharmaraja intended and whose support he would seek against the assembled armies. Sanjaya sighed and stood silent for a moment, struck by the king’s blindness, wondering how such ignorance could be answered.
Still bound by duty, he spoke at last. Dharmaraja, he said, sought alliance and bore no desire to harm his kin. When his rightful share was denied, he asked only for justice, caring nothing for power or might. As for who would stand with him, Sanjaya said the king already knew. With quiet disappointment and restrained frustration, he began to lay bare the differing views, demands, and obligations that faltered upon the throne of Dhritarashtra—undermined by selfishness and partiality—and he revealed the far-reaching consequences that must inevitably follow.
