Radheya saw the war clouds hanging over the battlefield of Kurukshetra. He knew that since both Bheeshma and Drona never took too kindly to him because of his warmongering and his vow to kill Arjuna, he wouldn’t be allowed to play any role on the battlefield. So he resigned himself to staying away in his tent, oblivious of the happenings on the battlefield.
On the morning of the first day of war, he walked over to the bank of the Ganga, as usual, for his prayer to Surya. When he’d just finished his pujas, he heard a voice from the sky: ‘You are a compulsive giver, my child, never refusing anything to anybody after your morning prayer. But, today, I feel awfully concerned about you. I wish to caution you that someone may ask you this morning to give him your kavacha and gold earrings. This time you should not give these things away. But before Radheya could ask him the reason for his warning, the sun-god went silent.
Indeed, a little later, he saw a Brahmin walking up to him. In a warm and solicitous tone, he asked him, ‘Will you give me, O sun worshipper, your kavacha and earrings? I will bless you for this.’
At once, Radheya recalled the sun-god’s warning. But could he refuse anything to anyone after his prayer? After a moment’s hesitation, he tore off his body both his kavacha and earrings, and handed them over to the Brahmin.
‘I am deeply touched by your magnanimity, O noble warrior,’ said the Brahmin. Then, after a brief pause, he added, ‘Since you have not let me go away empty-handed, let me also give you something in return. Then taking a weapon from his sack, he said, ‘Here is something for you – Sakti, a divine weapon that will make you invincible. But, remember, that you will be able to use it only once, and against one individual only. Thereafter, it will become ineffective.’
Before Radheya could thank the Brahmin, he saw him walk away, briskly.
Then he heard the same voice from the sky, though this time it sounded anguished. ‘O child, that man was not a Brahmin, but God Indra who had his own design to deprive you of your weapons of defence. But what’s done cannot be undone.’
As the voice went mute behind a cluster of clouds, Radheya stood there, dazed and dumbfounded.
On the war front, Duryodhana advised Bheeshma, his commanderin-chief, to make the first move so as to take the enemy by surprise. At once, the Kaurava army advanced its elephants and horses, raising dust that almost obscured the sun. Seeing Bheeshma leading the attack, Bheema rushed forward, brandishing his mace and roaring like a lion.
Then followed a shower of arrows from both sides. It seemed as if a swarm of locusts had descended upon the battlefield. As Bheema wedged deeper into the Kaurava army, he was confronted by Duryodhana’s brothers who could not, however, withstand his fury. Now seeing him surrounded by a large number of Kaurava soldiers, Nakula and Sahadeva also plunged into the battle.
Amidst the din of trumpets, horns, bugles and conches, the warriors from both sides leapt at each other with bows, swords and maces. But as Bheeshma penetrated deeper into enemy ranks, his arrows mowed down Pandava soldiers like a plough furrowing through a paddy field. He looked like a mighty rock that had come crashing down a hill, unimpeded. Consequently, the forenoon saw hundreds of Pandava soldiers lying dead on the battlefield.
Then appeared on the scene Abhimanyu, with his chariot’s golden karnikara tree fluttering in the wind. He was determined to stem the tidal sweep of his great-grandfather. But he had hardly moved forward when he was confronted by Kripacharya, who challenged him. But even he could not withstand Abhimanyu’s bow, which shot arrows like a fire blazing through a forest. Marvelling at the young warrior’s skill at archery, Kripa could not help exclaiming: ‘More than a peer to his father!’
Seeing Abhimanyu destroying everyone who came in his way, a group of Kaurava soldiers surrounded him on all sides. But undeterred, he let his arrows fly from his bow with such fury that hundreds of Kaurava soldiers lay dead like pawns tumbling from a chess board.
Abhimanyu now found himself pitted against the Kaurava commander-in-chief, who felt thrilled to see Arjuna’s son standing up against him. For a few moments, two pairs of eyes met each other. But just as Bheeshma’s gaze lingered on the young archer’s face, an arrow fell at his feet.
‘I need your permission to engage you in battle, O my revered great-grandfather.’
‘I have already blessed your father, my beloved child. All glory to you as well. Do your duty, just as I must do mine.’
Abhimanyu then trained his arrow at Bheeshma’s palm-tree pennant, which fell to the ground, tattered. Then followed another arrow that pierced Bheeshma’s left arm, but the old warrior simply pulled it out with a smile, as if it were a thorn.
The sun, which had hidden itself behind a cluster of clouds, suddenly burst out, as if to watch the single combat between the youngest and the oldest members of the Kuru family. But since Bheeshma could not bring himself to retaliate with his bow, he asked his charioteer to drive him away. Duryodhana, who was watching the scene, resented Bheeshma letting Arjuna’s son escape.
If Abhimanyu had been spared by Bheeshma, why not get Prince Uttar, Virata’s young son in his place, thought Salya. But as he advanced towards the young Matsya riding his elephant, he found in him a valiant adversary. It seemed that Prince Uttar, who had once run away from the battlefield, had now blossomed into a skilled archer. But before he could pick up his bow, Salya hurled at him his javelin, which pierced the young warrior’s chest and he fell off his elephant, bleeding to death. Surprisingly, Prince Uttar’s elephant refused to budge. Trumpeting loudly, as if smitten by grief, it charged at Uttar’s killer. But before it could trample him down, it was killed by several Kaurava soldiers who had come to Salya’s rescue.
Enraged by his brother’s untimely death, Sweta, Uttar’s brother charged into the battle, advancing menacingly towards Salya. A gory fight now ensued. Sweta was about to bring Salya down with a shower of arrows when Duryodhana sent some of his soldiers to save him. But unfazed, Sweta continued to kill as many of his enemies as he could. When he saw Bheeshma’s chariot advancing towards him, he turned to the old warrior. A furious battle followed, during which even Bheeshma had to acknowledge the valour of Virata’s second son. Brandishing his mace in the air, Sweta attacked Bheeshma’s chariot and smashed it to splinters. The old warrior now stood on the ground, glowering at the young fighter. Then he raised his bow and shot a volley of arrows at Sweta. Unable to fend off the attack, the young prince slumped to the ground, his body riddled with arrows.
The day’s battle raged into the afternoon, during which Bheeshma’s arrows wreaked havoc on the Pandava army. By the time the sun went down, Yudhishthira had lost countless soldiers. Heartbroken, he said to himself, ‘Why did I blunder into this war? I should have known that I had no chance against Bheeshma, Drona and Kripa. How will I be able to atone for the sin of wrecking the lives of my innocent soldiers?’
As he stood brooding there, Krishna walked up to him. ‘I know, dear Yudhishthira, why you have retreated into your despondent self. But sorrow and regret do not fall within the ambit of a Kshatriya’s dharma.’
‘I wish I had not been born a Kshatriya – to kill or be killed.’
‘You speak the same language as Arjuna did, when he laid down his Gandiva and refused to fight. I need not repeat how I admonished him. I will only ask you to have faith in me. A single day’s battle is not the end of a war. So let courage not fail you. Remember, if your army sees you downcast, your men will feel dispirited. So conduct yourself like a leader.’
Krishna’s words rekindled Yudhishthira’s spirits and he said, ‘I should have remembered that when you lead, victory must follow.’