The grandsire, stricken and weary, was borne away from the tumult of battle by his faithful charioteer, who judged this the sole means of preserving the noble elder. Arjuna, meanwhile, stood surveying the field with the poise of a seasoned archer, ready to let fly his shafts upon the foes pressing in from every quarter. Drona, Karna, Kripa, and the other warriors watched his advance, each trying to divine whom he would strike next, for the son of Pandu was steering his chariot straight toward them. Then Ashwatthama spoke to Karna with uneasy urgency, saying that Arjuna neared their flank and that no one save Karna might withstand him. Karna, recognizing the sharp mockery beneath those words, replied with proud disdain that he should witness and enjoy their encounter.
As he spoke, the warriors of Karna’s contingent hurled themselves at Arjuna, who scattered them with effortless ease, like a mighty tusker trampling soft reeds at the riverbank. His ardour blazed forth un-dimmed, while the Kauravas ranks, exhausted and trembling, shrank back in dread. They yielded passage to the advancing Pandavas, murmuring among themselves that no man could endure such unbroken combat; some confessed terror outright.
At this time the young prince Uttara Kumara, guiding Arjuna’s chariot, confessed in despair that his strength faltered beneath the ceaseless struggle. He begged Arjuna to pause, lamenting that though limbs were hewn, heads severed and whole battalions shattered, yet new warriors rose like swarming hosts from the very earth, unmindful of their kin falling lifeless before them. He asked how he could possibly steer the chariot amidst such relentless carnage. Arjuna gently reassured him, bidding him not to fear while he himself stood guard. If the prince desired, he would guide the steeds for a time, and urged him simply to watch a little longer as events unfolded.
And indeed, all proceeded as Arjuna foresaw. Only Duryodhana remained unbroken. Blinded by arrogance, surrounded by sycophants who filled his ears with empty pride, he neither paused nor pondered but, swollen with vanity, prepared anew for war. Encouraged, Uttara guided the chariot toward him. Duryodhana’s guards attempted resistance, but Arjuna struck them down and sent a pair of arrows whistling into Duryodhana’s mail, drawing blood and provoking from him the roar of a wounded tiger. His fury surged like a flood as he shot an arrow that grazed Arjuna’s brow, and the Pandavas, his forehead streaked with blood, shone like a young sun tinged with crimson rays. Both heroes shattered each other’s arrows in mid-air, contending like two fierce tuskers locked in combat.
Karna and Vikarna, with many others, joined the fray to aid their king. Seeing their volleys, Arjuna’s wrath flared; his eyes burned red as though he were the very Lord of Death. With a single, terrible shaft he struck down Vikarna and the great elephant he rode, the fallen beast lying like a heap of rubies in its own blood, gleaming from afar like a mound of smoldering embers. Vikarna fled on foot toward Vimshati’s chariot, while Arjuna once more wounded Duryodhana, plunging his forces into alarm and despair. They fled in disorder, abandoning their king, who himself slipped away amidst the chaos. The ranks, now leaderless, scattered in frantic clusters across the plain.
Arjuna pursued them like a lion chasing herds of deer, crushing their spirit wherever he advanced. Karna cried out desperately to Bheeshma and Drona that Arjuna was driving them to ruin and that Duryodhana, the root of the Kuru host, must be protected. But the elders paid him no heed, for they held no esteem for him who bore neither their rank nor their discipline. Karna, having long belittled them in Duryodhana’s presence, now found them unmoved by his pleas. They waited only for the call of a higher authority, unwilling to stake their honour on Karna’s frantic appeals. They also wished to expose the hollowness of his boasts that he alone could vanquish Arjuna.
Duryodhana, perceiving the gravity of the hour, reluctantly set aside his pride, though not with sincerity but with forced humility. He reproached Bheeshma, Drona and Kripa, saying that they ignored his peril as though some strangers were threatened. Was it not their duty to devise a remedy and act upon it? Was that not the essence of their valour? The elders felt the barb in his words, for he likened their conduct to that of common men and implied that Karna’s criticisms held true. Yet knowing the king’s mind was captive to ego, they merely consoled him and returned with him to the field.
Meanwhile, Arjuna called out to Duryodhana in a voice that cut through the uproar. He declared that a kshatriya must never flee from battle and that Duryodhana’s lineage and pride would be mocked if he abandoned the fight. Arjuna reminded him that he, the youngest of the sons of Pandu, stood alone, unaccompanied by armies, while Duryodhana, elder to him and heir of the Kauravas, dared not answer his challenge. He taunted him that his wealth and renown would become objects of ridicule if he ran before the eyes of friends and allies. Could such a king return to Hastinapura borne in triumph, adorned in royal splendour, or enjoy the pleasures of the court after such disgrace? Arjuna urged him to stand and fight—if victorious, to rule; if slain, to ascend to honoured realms.
Stung like a serpent trodden upon, Duryodhana rushed back into combat. Bheeshma, Drona and others encircled Arjuna, and as the battle rekindled, even the fleeing soldiers returned in trembling groups to support their king. Arjuna repelled them all with measured restraint, pondering his next course. Remembering Bhima’s terrible vow, he refrained from striking down Duryodhana but resolved to humble the entire Kauravas host. He lost the sacred, enchanting missile that confounds the senses. Its power never fails; all who were struck let fall their weapons, their eyes fluttering shut as they sank into deep stupor. Appearing as though overtaken by profound sleep, the warriors lay strewn across the field.
Arjuna then recalled Uttara’s earlier request and told him to gather the turbans of the fallen chiefs before they awoke: the dark band of Ashwatthama, the white of Kripa and Drona, the yellow of Karna. Only Bheeshma, knowing the counter-charm, would remain conscious and must be avoided. The prince collected the trophies and mounted the chariot again. As they made their way out, Bheeshma showered arrows upon them, which Arjuna countered before striking the grandsire’s steeds and sinews with precise shafts, compelling him to pause. Thus, Arjuna passed beyond him, radiant like the sun emerging from eclipse.
When the armies regained their senses, Duryodhana rose, bewildered and searching for the foe. Bheeshma rebuked him gently, telling him that Arjuna had spared them all. Had he wished, none would have survived. That every warrior lay helpless yet unharmed proved the magnanimity of the Pandavas. He warned that further battle would only lead to their destruction, for their pride had already been stripped from their vanished turbans to their fallen arms. Better, he said, to abandon the field. The others, recognizing truth in his counsel, set aside their anger and withdrew.
Arjuna, watching them retreat, followed long enough to break their royal umbrellas and cast down their banners. Satisfied, he roared like a lion and sent respectful arrows toward Bheeshma, Drona, and Kripa, signalling that he left them unharmed. To Duryodhana, he sent a shaft that toppled the gems from his crown, foretelling its future loss. The Kauravas, unable to meet Arjuna’s blazing gaze, hastened away.
Arjuna then told Uttara that they had rescued the cattle, routed the foe, and humbled the pride of Kuru. They returned toward the city, and stragglers who sought refuge approached Arjuna; he received them kindly and sent the wounded for care. He instructed Uttara to tell the king that the prince himself had vanquished the Kauravas and recovered the herds, for such modesty in victory was Arjuna’s wish. Uttara protested that none would believe such a tale, but he accepted the command nonetheless.
Thus ended that day’s trial of the Kauravas, a chastening display of the Pandavas’ might. The illusions of deceit and misplaced confidence crumbled, and even the mighty elders learned the cost of disunity and pride. For in all things the law of nature stands aligned with the righteous, and no power founded on falsehood may long endure.
