According to the resolve of the Kuru assembly, Prince Duryodhana shaped his design to seize the cattle of the Matsya king. He commanded that before word of this enterprise reached the agents of Virata, the Kuru forces must advance; on the waning moon’s eighth day, Susarma would overpower the cowherds, and on the ninth day the herds of the capital would be taken. Yet in naming these very days, he sealed his own fate, for on the tenth day Arjuna would vanquish both the Kauravas host and Susarma in a single blazing conflict, foreshadowing the ruin that awaited him in the greater war. These dates he fixed without counsel from any elder, though the elders, aware of the crooked intent of Duryodhana, Dussasana, Karna, and Shakuni to draw the Pandavas from concealment, nevertheless endorsed them, knowing that the brothers’ term of hiding would end on the ninth day. The prince’s retinue swelled with vain pride at the multitude of their forces, while the Pandavas and Draupadi endured the last harsh hours of their hidden life, little heeded by their foes.
Susarma, burning with the memory of his past humiliation and greedy for Virata’s wealth, marched at the head of his army, brandishing his cherished double-edged blade. Hungry for plunder, he moved his divisions like a creeping shadow, encircling the herds unseen by common folk. Without drums, conches, or trumpet calls, he prepared a silent strike, swift and sudden as lightning. His scouts marked the pastures, and his troops, wild as predators, drove the cattle toward their frontier. The shepherds resisted boldly; though outmatched, they held their ground, only to have their limbs hewn by trained soldiers until many fell bleeding and fainting. Some fled in terror and breathlessly informed King Virata, appearing before him like sorrow made flesh. The king asked why they were so grievously injured, and with broken voices they answered that the fourfold army of the Trigarta king had surrounded them; though they fought with meagre means, a shower of arrows had slain many, and the herds were being driven away. If the march were not halted at once, nothing would remain.
Virata, astonished and enraged, declared that the Trigarta king had forgotten his former defeat and dared to plunder his wealth once more. “Let him come,” he said, “for his end draws near.” Commanding his ministers to summon the chiefs of his army, he urged that war be proclaimed with earth-shaking force, that conches and war horns burst the courage of the thieves who had stolen in silence. At his call the army roared; the clangour of drums and trumpets rose like the tumult of oceans. Ordering his charioteer to ready the royal car, he told him to show at last the courage he always boasted of. Warriors donned armour, swords, bows, and arrows; the chariot was harnessed, and Virata set forth against Susarma.
His brother, known among enemies for the power of his arms, entered the field beneath his proud standard. Another brother, Madiraswa, led a mighty elephant corps whose trumpeting beasts raised dust thick as storm-clouds. A third, Suryadatta, famed for mastery of weapons and dreaded in hostile lands, sprang forward to crush the foe. Virata’s eldest son, Śanku, sounded his conch with the roar of a lion leaping upon prey. Many seasoned warriors gathered, their strategies unsurpassed, advancing like a swelling tide toward the invaders.
Virata paused to assemble his ranks, when Dharmaraja placed each of his brothers in their proper stations and went to the king. “O sovereign,” he said, “I have learnt arms from a sage of perfect mastery. It is not fitting that I remain behind when you recover your herds. Grant me a chariot, and let Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva be equipped likewise. Know that Valala is renowned for strength and daring, Damagrandhi skilled in the art of war, and Thantripala capable of guiding the fourfold army; provide them chariots and send them forth.” Virata, pleased, ordered Sāttanīka to make all arrangements, and the warriors—Kanka, Valala, Damagrandhi, and Thantripala—rode out to meet Susarma.
The elephants smashed trees with their swinging ears; chariots thundered through forests and echoed along mountains; horses churned dust into mire; foot soldiers advanced like a surging sea that made the earth tremble. Virata at last beheld the Trigarta host and fell upon them with a lion’s roar. The clash of both armies rose like two oceans colliding. The ring of steel, the pounding hooves, the elephant trumpets drowned the calls of conches, producing a fearsome tumult. Arrows flew thick and many-headed, tearing through armour, while Virata’s warriors struck the Trigartan forces as though Death himself danced among them in fire. Heads rolled, bodies fell, limbs scattered; the field raged with equal fury on both sides. Soldiers ruthless and relentless struck down foes, yet praised their valour; warriors stepped upon the fallen and pressed on. A lone horseman cut through ranks only to be surrounded again; neither side showed retreat or weariness, the cavalry surging like waves rising and falling upon a shore. Celestials watched in wonder at the courage displayed.
The duelists of each side met in single combat, their supporters withdrawing as if in reverence; equals in skill, they fought, admired one another, and parted as friends. Elephant trunks showered spray that settled the dust; their towering forms seemed to touch the sky; bells upon them rang without ceasing, filling woodlands and hills with echoing music. Arrows felled footmen and elephants alike, as though mountains toppled upon the earth. Horses were crushed beneath tusks, yet wounded warriors fought on with bleeding limbs, tireless and unbroken. The chariot battles astonished even the gods: one yoke struck another; a warrior leapt to a fresh car and fought on; when horses perished, fighters pressed forward on foot; when charioteers fell, warriors guided their own steeds. A man fainted from arrow-wounds only to rise moments later and rejoin the fray. Everywhere there was alertness, fire, and indomitable resolve. Victory or defeat seemed of little weight; it was the fierce and noble spirit of the contest that shaped the destiny unfolding on that dreadful field.
