Duryodhana burned with humiliation, for Bhīmasena had struck him down before the eyes of friend and foe alike. As midday declined and the sun moved westward, the battle did not slacken. Bhīmasena, the terror of hostile ranks, and Duryodhana, sovereign of the Kauravas, contended like rival titans, neither granting the other a moment’s respite. Elsewhere, Vikarna and Chitrasena engaged the youthful Abhimanyu in fierce encounter. Abhimanyu shattered Vikarna’s chariot, slew his steeds, and left him helpless upon the field; Chitrasena then bore his fallen ally away upon his own car. Meanwhile, the sons of Draupadī hastened to Bhīma’s side and loosed keen shafts against Duryodhana, compelling the Kuru king to withdraw from the immediate clash.
Then Bhīṣma, venerable yet terrible as Time itself, entered the Pandava lines and scattered their formations like dry leaves before a storm. Arjuna, perceiving the ruin, advanced swiftly and challenged the grandsire. At their meeting, both armies revived in spirit, as though infused with new life by the spectacle of their champions. Chariots coursed through streams of blood as ships upon a crimson sea; warriors, seized by a dreadful exhilaration, wielded their weapons as if the battlefield were a grim arena devised by some malignant power. The sun’s rays grew dim and ruddy, foretelling further slaughter as daylight waned.
Bhīmasena, inflamed with wrath, declared that before the day should close he would extirpate the wicked Duryodhana from the earth. Directing his chariot toward the Kaurava ranks, he beheld his adversary and his countenance grew crimson; hot tears of rage gathered in his eyes, for vengeance long delayed seemed at last within reach. He cried aloud that by divine grace the hour of reckoning had arrived: Kuntī’s sorrows and Draupadī’s humiliation might now be avenged. He reproached Duryodhana for spurning the noble embassy of Śrī Kṛṣṇa and for sending instead the insolent Ulūka with empty boasts. “Stand firm,” he proclaimed, “and learn today the lesson your pride has invited.”
With irresistible force Bhīma slew Duryodhana’s steeds and struck down his charioteer. He hewed the royal banner from its staff, felled the standard, and cut the king’s bow in twain. Before Duryodhana could seize another weapon, Bhīma discharged ten piercing shafts that struck him grievously. The Kuru monarch fell senseless, bleeding upon his ruined car. Jayadratha rushed forward with supporting forces to shield him, while Kṛpācārya lifted the fallen king into his own chariot and bore him away from immediate peril.
Abhimanyu, together with the sons of Draupadī and the Kekaya princes, pressed onward and attacked the Sindhu king. Chitrasena, Chitrākṣa, Chitru, Charu, Sulochana, Nanda, and Upananda surrounded Abhimanyu with furious intent. When other Kuru princes advanced to aid Jayadratha, Abhimanyu answered with a tempest of arrows, checking their advance and holding them at bay. Duryodhana himself returned to succor his brothers; yet deprived of chariot and arms, he was compelled once more to withdraw from the forefront of battle. Vikarna, having refitted himself with fresh steeds and car, re-entered the fray, only to be again dismounted by Abhimanyu’s unerring shafts, which slew his horses, struck down his driver, and severed his banner.
The sons of Draupadī stood resolutely beside Abhimanyu, destroying the steeds of many Kuru princes and casting their standards to the ground. Sanjaya, narrating these events, declared that the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, stung by shame yet swollen with pride, fought fiercely against their adversaries. Amid that tumult, Śatānīka, son of Nakula, sprang like a lion into combat and displayed conspicuous valor. Drupada and the Kekaya kings supported him, launching assaults with their fourfold armies upon the wavering foe. At length the sun sank behind the western mountains and disappeared from sight. Bhīṣma, blazing like Rudra at the end of days, struck heavily at the Pandava formations, broke their strategic positions, and then, recalling his troops, withdrew to his encampment. Thus the battle ceased with the fall of night.
The Pandavas, exhausted and parched like creepers deprived of water, retired sorrowfully to their quarters. Sanjaya faithfully reported the day’s dreadful proceedings to Dhṛtarāṣṭra. The blind king, troubled in spirit, inquired how Duryodhana—so grievously humbled and rendered unconscious by Bhīma—had regained strength and returned again to the field. Beneath this question lay his anxious longing for reassurance. He sought, amid the impartial vision granted to Sanjaya, some thread of hope favorable to his son. Though aware that destiny moves beyond human contrivance, he clung to the possibility that even a miracle might secure victory for Duryodhana. Thus, torn between fear and attachment, he probed the narrative, yearning to hear what the divine sight could not alter and what fate itself had yet to reveal.
