The clash between King Susarma and the hosts of Virata reached its utmost fury, a contest so evenly matched that neither victory nor defeat nor even stalemate could claim it, for the warriors were bound in a struggle intricate and unyielding. Sataneeka, Virata’s brother, shone in the forefront; his gem-studded armour glittered like the bursting of lightning, and the ceaseless storm of his arrows fell upon the foe like a fiery veil. Chariots were shattered beneath his shafts.
Then Madiraswa, rising with renewed ardour, swept upon the enemy; his impetuous arrows tore through warriors and filled their ranks with terror. In a swift raging surge, he crushed some four hundred chariots, and his mastery of arms drew the wonder of gods and sages alike. Horses, elephants, and men fell beneath his unfailing precision. Suryadatta followed, breaking the elephant corps and horsemen, striking fear with the speed of his advance.
Thereafter, Virata’s son, radiant with confidence, drove the hostile masses into gloom by the countless weapons he hurled. Susarma’s legions were caught as though in a whirlpool and fled in confusion. The feudatory kings also pressed the fight with unrelenting velour. King Virata rejoiced to behold the fierce prowess of his brothers and son, and the steadfast skill of his ministers and soldiers.
Calling his charioteer, he ordered the car to be driven straight towards the ruler of the Trigartas, and on the way he struck down a hundred and five chosen chariots of the enemy. Virata’s entire host surged with spirit, sounding trumpets, drums, and conches in exultant tumult, hemming in their foes and leaving them breathless. Unable to bear the mounting defeat, Susarma—enraged—advanced with his stalwart brother and plunged into Virata’s ranks like an elephant rushing into a lake of lotuses.
With his coming, the Trigarta warriors rallied, burning with will and wrath to seize triumph. Once more, the battle grew horrific; limbs, heads, and trunks fell like ripe fruits, and dread overspread the field. Virata, regarding Susarma as one might ignore an unworthy servant, enclosed him and fought with barbed tridents; their weapons crossed midair and left streaks of light in their wake.
Equal were they in strength, pride, and might. Virata sent ten arrows upon Susarma’s face and breast, and struck his steeds. Bleeding profusely, the Trigarta king lost a fierce volley in return, matched measure for measure by Virata. Dust and fire rose from their weapons into a thick darkness that seemed to swallow the daylight, so that neither could clearly behold the other. Across the field, both armies hurled themselves together with terrible skill, crimson with blood and shadowed by the sinking sun which, in the far west, glowed like a great falling sphere of flame.
Weariness touched both sides, yet none laid down arms; only the descending orb could still their fury, and even as darkness spread, the warriors pressed on. The moon climbed the eastern hills as though longing to soothe them for a moment. When night passed and dawn returned, the contending hosts again rushed upon each other. Virata, with new vigour, attacked Susarma and his brother.
But Susarma, joined by many chariots, surrounded the king, slew his horses and charioteer, seized Virata with a roar, and lifted him onto his own chariot. At the sight, the Matsya troops lost heart and scattered; their drums shook with premature cries of triumph. Filled with proud delight, Susarma sped towards his capital bearing the captive monarch. Then Dharmaraja pointed towards Virata and quietly told Bhima, “We have lived under his shelter; it is our charge to free him from the hands of these unrighteous men. Go swiftly.” Bhima replied, “I shall uproot a mighty arjuna tree, crush all in my path, and bring Virata back. O lord, only command.”
But Dharmaraja smiled gently. “If you wield such a tree, the world will know you for who you are. Choose another means. Let Nakula and Sahadeva guard your wheels; use mace, sword, and bow. Free the king and bind his foes.” Bhima, restrained like a great tusker curbed by its goad, bowed to the counsel. “I will do as you bid. I shall conquer them, release Virata, and deliver him unharmed.” Dharmaraja advanced first, striking the Trigarta host with rapid shafts like thunderclaps. Bhima crushed two thousand chariots; Dharmaraja rent through horsemen and chariot warriors, ever nearing the Trigarta monarch. Nakula overthrew seven hundred chariots; Sahadeva struck down three hundred more. Dharmaraja slew thousands of mounted warriors.
At last, he confronted Susarma. The Trigarta king shot ten arrows into him, but the son of Dharma fiercely slew Susarma’s charioteer and steeds. Taking up his mace, he smote Susarma’s head. Bhima leapt, seized him, bound his hands, and roared like a lion. The enemy guards, the king’s sons, brothers, and kin fled in panic. The captured cattle turned back towards Matsya lands, and Susarma was brought to Dharmaraja. Virata was released and welcomed them with overflowing joy.
Turning to Dharmaraja he said, “My life and wealth you have restored to me; these I offer back. Take the throne of my country and rule; command me as your own.” Dharmaraja replied, “O king, your humility touches my heart. To conquer the foe and return to your land will proclaim your valour before other rulers. What treasure surpasses honour such as this? We have done only our duty; it is but a little service.” The king marvelled at the noble simplicity of his words and said, “What has moved you to such extraordinary courage against my enemies?
I ponder whether it is your wise nature, your innate nobility, or the bond between us—yet I cannot choose among these. I saw how, like wildfire, our allies overwhelmed the foe; the valiant Vallalas cannot be measured, for he is the mainstay of victory. Damagrandhi, aflame with wrath, hewed down heads as one cuts palmyra fruits; Tanthripala, in his skill and fervour, severed the mightiest warriors. Save these four, all our men bear wounds. He who risks himself for another in danger is truly human.
Tell me, how may I repay my debt without bestowing elephants, horses, gems, ornaments, maidens, and riches? Ask what you desire.” The Pandavas answered as one: “Noble king, your honour and gracious words are treasure enough. Do not treat us as strangers; regard us according to your heart when we reach the city.” Then Kanka spoke further: “O sovereign, I ask one fitting boon: release Susarma with his full army. That act will gladden me.”
Though spoken as a request, it carried the authority of command. “Send envoys ahead to proclaim our triumph; let banners rise, victory drums resound, and sacred songs fill the city. Let the people sprinkle scented waters and greet one another in joy.” Virata agreed, sent heralds, adorned the capital, and declared the triumph. The Pandavas, beside the host of Matsya, shone like the sun.
Susarma, his head bowed with shame, was released. Gazing upon the battlefield, they beheld the terrible splendour of warrior’s glory—the severed feet like tender fallen shoots, the thighs and trunks like plantain groves trampled by elephants, the entrails strewn like heaps of lotus stalks pulled by water birds, the ear and hand ornaments glittering like jewels upon serpents rising from their holes. The mangled limbs lay like the dread kitchens of the Lord of Death. The onlookers were struck with awe. Departing the field, they sat upon distant dunes in quiet contentment and rested the night in peace. So, Vaisampayana recited this tale to Janamejaya, who then entreated him to reveal the events that followed.
