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Pandavs routed by Bhishma
Fell the thickening shades of darkness on the red and ghastly plain, Torches by the white tents flickered, red fires showed the countless slain,
With a bosom sorrow-laden proud Duryodhan drew his breath, Wept the issue of the battle and his warlike brother's death.
Spent with grief and silent sorrow slow the Kuru monarch went Where arose in dewy starlight Bhishma's proud and snowy tent,
And with tears and hands conjoined thus the sad Duryodhan spoke, And his mournful bitter accents oft by heaving sighs were broke:
"Bhishma! on thy matchless prowess Kuru's hopes and fates depend, G.o.ds nor men with warlike Bhishma can in field of war contend!
Brave in war are sons of Pandu, but they face not Bhishma's might, In their fierce and deathless hatred slay my brothers in the fight!
Mind thy pledge, O chief of Kurus, save Hastina's royal race, On the ancient king my father grant thy never-failing grace!
If within thy n.o.ble bosom,--pardon cruel words I say,-- Secret love for sons of Pandu holds a soft and partial sway,
If thy inner heart's affection unto Pandu's sons incline, Grant that Karna lead my forces 'gainst the foeman's hostile line!"
Bhishma's heart was full of sadness and his eyelids dropped a tear, Soft and mournful were his accents and his vision true and clear:
"Vain, Duryodhan, is this contest, and thy mighty host is vain, Why with blood of friendly nations drench this red and reeking plain?
They must win who, strong in virtue, fight for virtue's stainless laws, Doubly armed the stalwart warrior who is armed in righteous cause!
Think, Duryodhan, when _gandharvas_ took thee captive and a slave, Did not Arjun rend thy fetters, Arjun righteous chief and brave?
When in Matsya's fields of pasture captured we Virata's kine, Did not Arjun in his valour beat thy countless force and mine?
Krishna now hath come to Arjun, Krishna drives his battle-car, G.o.ds nor men can face these heroes in the field of righteous war!
Ruin frowns on thee, Duryodhan, and upon thy impious State, In thy pride and in thy folly thou hast courted cruel fate!
Bhishma still will do his duty, and his end it is not far, Then may other chieftains follow,--fatal is this Kuru war!"
Dawned a day of mighty slaughter and of dread and deathful war, Ancient Bhishma, in his anger drove once more his sounding car!
Morn to noon and noon to evening none could face the victor's wrath, Broke and shattered, faint and frightened, Pandavs fled before his path!
Still amidst the dead and dying moved his proud resistless car, Till the gathering night and darkness closed the horrors of the war!
X
Fall of Bhishma
Good Yudhishthir gazed with sorrow on the dark and ghastly plain, Shed his tears on chiefs and warriors by the matchless Bhishma slain!
"Vain this unavailing battle, vain this woeful loss of life, 'Gainst the death-compelling Bhishma hopeless in this arduous strife!
As a lordly tusker tramples on a marsh of feeble reeds, As a forest conflagration on the parched woodland feeds,
Bhishma rides upon my warriors in his mighty battle-car, G.o.d nor mortal chief can face him in the gory field of war!
Vain our toil, and vain the valour of our kinsmen loved and lost, Vainly fight my faithful brothers by a luckless fortune crost,
Nations pour their life-blood vainly, ceaseless wakes the sound of woe, Krishna, stop this cruel carnage, unto woods once more we go!"
Sad they hold a midnight council and the chiefs in silence meet, And they went to ancient Bhishma, love and mercy to entreat,
Bhishma loved the sons of Pandu with a father's loving heart, But from troth unto Duryodhan righteous Bhishma would not part!
"Sons of Pandu!" said the chieftain, "Prince Duryodhan is my lord, Bhishma is no faithless servant nor will break his plighted word,
Valiant are ye, n.o.ble princes, but the chief is yet unborn, While I lead the course of battle, who the tide of war can turn!
Listen more. With vanquished foeman, or who falls or takes to fight, Casts his weapons, craves for mercy, ancient Bhishma doth not fight,
Bhishma doth not fight a rival who submits, fatigued and worn, Bhishma doth not fight the wounded, doth not fight a woman born!"
Back unto their tents the Pandavs turn with Krishna deep and wise, He unto the anxious Arjun thus in solemn whisper cries:
"Arjun, there is hope of triumph! Hath not truthful Bhishma sworn, He will fight no wounded warrior, he will fight no woman born?
Female child was brave Sikhandin, Drupad's youngest son of pride, G.o.ds have turned him to a warrior, placed him by Yudhishthir's side!
Place him in the van of battle, mighty Bhishma leaves the strife, Then with ease we fight and conquer, and the forfeit is his life!"
"Shame!" exclaimed the angry Arjun, "not in secret heroes fight, Not behind a child or woman screen their valour and their might!
Krishna, loth is archer Arjun to pursue this hateful strife, Trick against the sinless Bhishma, fraud upon his spotless life!
Knowest thou good and n.o.ble Krishna; as a child I climbed his knee, As a boy I called him father, hung upon him lovingly?
Perish conquest! dearly purchased by a mean deceitful strife!
Perish crown and jewelled sceptre! won with Bhishma's saintly life!"
Gravely answered n.o.ble Krishna: "Bhishma falls by close of day, Victim to the cause of virtue, he himself hath showed the way!
Dear or hated be the foeman, Arjun, thou shalt fight and slay, Wherefore else the blood of nations hast thou poured from day to day?"
Morning dawned, and mighty Arjun, Abhimanyu young and bold, Drupad monarch of Panchala, and Virata stern and old,
Brave Yudhishthir and his brothers clad in arms and s.h.i.+ning mail, Rushed to war where Bhishma's standard gleamed and glittered in the gale!
Proud Duryodhan marked their onset, and its fatal purpose knew, And his bravest men and chieftains 'gainst the fiery Pandavs threw,
With Kamboja's stalwart monarch and with Drona's mighty son, With the valiant bowman Kripa stemmed the battle still unwon!
And his younger, fierce Duhsasan, thirsting for the deathful war, 'Gainst the helmet-wearing Arjun drew his mighty battle-car,
