Karna had fled the field, unable to withstand the relentless onslaught of Arjuna. The divine trumpet lay shattered, and waves of thunderous force drove the Kauravas ranks into trembling dread. Though Karna stood foremost among the Kurus, only Dronacharya could now hinder Arjuna’s advance. Thus spoke Arjuna as he surveyed the wavering host. Uttara, overwhelmed, confessed that never had he witnessed so dreadful a clash, and that his senses had nearly fallen into a spell of wonder. Arjuna, smiling gently, bade him take heart and drive the horses with courage. Strengthened by these words, Uttara steadied himself for the tide of events to come.
Drawing the bowstring, Arjuna released a deep resonance that swept across the battlefield, shaking warriors from their resolve. “Behold,” he said, “the chariot drawn by red-maned steeds, bearing mighty Drona—master of all the Kuru princes, peerless in archery and warcraft, learned in the Vedas and their limbs, and knower of celestial weapons. His mind is pure and his judgment upright. He favoured me above his own son and shaped my hand in war. Yet the law of royalty binds me, and I must stand against my preceptor. Guide our chariot toward him.”
Like two noble tuskers meeting in a forest glade, Drona and Arjuna faced one another. Arjuna bowed with folded hands and said, “Master, through hardship in the wilderness I have awaited this destined hour. Let mercy prevail for those struck by calamity. Bear no wrath toward me; unless you strike, I shall not answer.” Amid the acclaim of his soldiers, Drona released twenty arrows that struck Arjuna squarely, then followed with a storming volley. Arjuna met each shaft in equal measure. Sky and field darkened as master and disciple hurled weapon upon weapon, stirring awe among the Kurus, who watched with bated breath.
Murmurs rose among them: that none could match Arjuna save Drona himself; that the white-feathered arrows of the preceptor fell like swans upon a lake, while Arjuna’s darker shafts swept like gathering storm clouds; that their bowplay was so swift no eye could discern whose arrows crossed whose path. Drona invoked divine missiles of wind, water, fire, and storm, each countered in turn by Arjuna. The sky grew dim beneath a thick carpet of arrows, and neither side could tell from where the next stroke would fall.
Though the Kuru legions stood in support of their master, Arjuna showed them none of the gentleness he reserved for Drona. Golden armlets were hewn, crowned heads fell like uprooted lotuses, and blood flowed in streams like rain-fed pools. Drona’s forces wavered as his strength diminished. Astonished, the preceptor reflected that Arjuna was indeed invincible—he who had contended with Shiva, he who was the son of Indra, lord of heaven, whose rains bless all the worlds.
From the heavens, the gods marvelled that, though hordes of fearsome beings had fallen before Arjuna, this lone preceptor yet stood unyielding. Then Arjuna’s shafts overwhelmed Drona—his steeds, banner, and guards struck down before the eyes of Ashwatthama. The son of the master rushed forward with his full array of weapons, and their clash resembled the primeval battle between Indra and the dread foe of the skies. The rumbling wheels, the thunderous twang of bows, and the collision of arrows shook the heavens like a forest fire driven by tempest winds.
Arjuna slew Aswatthama’s steeds, and in return, the warrior cut the string of the Gandiva. Yet Arjuna restrung his bow in a flash, earning the wonder of celestial watchers. Ashwatthama’s quivers emptied swiftly, while Arjuna’s inexhaustible store of divine missiles remained abundant. Seeing his companion overborne, Kripacharya charged fiercely, his arrows spreading like a rising blaze. But Arjuna shattered his flag, yoke, steeds, bow, and charioteer in rapid succession. Kripa hurled a flaming spear, which Arjuna broke with ten keen shafts. Sword and shield in hand, Kripa advanced, only to have both severed, forcing him to mount Ashwatthama’s chariot, shaken and defeated.
The Kuru troops took refuge behind the chariot of Bheeshma as Arjuna swept upon them like a blazing tempest. He cleaved their ranks, scattered golden-crowned heads, and crushed flesh and bone into mire, until the field resembled a vast lake of blood. As he advanced toward Bheeshma, Vrishasena sprang upon him like a mighty ram against a mountain. Arjuna shattered his bow and armour, and the youth fled wounded from the field.
Then Dussasana, Sakuni, Durmukha, Vimsati, and Vikarna surrounded him. Radiant as the rising sun, Arjuna smashed their armour, felled their steeds, and shattered their chariots, compelling them to abandon the field.
Pointing ahead, Arjuna said to Uttara, “Behold the golden banner marked with the palmyra, gleaming like a storm-lit cloud—that is Bheeshma. He shall now feel the weight of our celestial arms. Steer us forward.” Bheeshma sounded his conch, and Arjuna answered with Devadatta, whose thunderous call pierced the hearts of warriors. The two champions met like wrathful bulls. Gods watching from above whispered that both had mastered their art with equal devotion, and no measure could declare who held the greater power.
Bheeshma’s arrows struck Arjuna’s banner, horses, and charioteer with deadly precision, but Arjuna answered with an unbroken storm of shafts, which Bheeshma cleaved with ease. Each countered the other’s astras until, in a sudden stroke, Arjuna cut Bheeshma’s bow. The grandsire seized another and leapt like a lion, but Arjuna slew his guards, shattered his chariot, and pierced him in the chest, stunning even that ancient warrior. Perceiving the moment, his charioteer bore him away from the field.
Thus passed a terrible hour—a herald of the world’s approaching transformation, when the inexorable fires of destiny would soon reshape the balance of ages and the order of men.
