On the morning of the tenth day, everyone witnessed a strange phenomenon. Even as dawn broke, the sun appeared reluctant to rise above the horizon, like a bear still hibernating in its wintry cave. Consequently, both armies, poised against each other for the day’s battle, remained frozen in suspense and anxiety. When the sun’s eye opened, and it spread its copper fire across the battlefield, several conches blared and Kurukshetra exploded into fierce fighting.
While Bheeshma himself stood at the front of his asura formation, the Pandava army had been arranged in the deva shape. But, strangely enough, while the day witnessed several duels in different sectors of the battlefield, Bheeshma stood like a statue in his silver chariot, his eyes fixed on the front line of his enemy. As usual, Duryodhana had arranged to have him protected on all sides by such stalwarts as Drona, Kripa and Asvatthama because he did not want to take the risk of his grandfather confronting Sikhandi.
But why had the old warrior not begun to massacre the enemy soldiers this morning, Duryodhana wondered. Was he engrossed in planning some new strategy for the tenth day?
As for Bheeshma, he was seen standing like a pillar, though his white steeds seemed eager to penetrate the enemy ranks. Then, suddenly, he saw a chariot driven by black horses advancing towards him. There he was, Sikhandi, holding his bow and arrows, grinning at the old man. To Bheeshma, he looked like Yama, dark and dreadful. Behind him was Arjuna, with Krishna sitting beside him.
Alarmed, Duryodhana ordered several of his warriors to take Bheeshma away to some other front, but the old man waved them all away. So the moment had arrived. On a couple of earlier occasions, he had himself avoided confrontation with Sikhandi by driving away, but could he avert his destiny today?
Suddenly, Bheeshma heard Sikhandi shout at him: ‘Are you ready for a single combat, O Bheeshma? Across the long span of death and rebirth, I have waited for this moment.’
But Bheeshma stood still in his chariot, mute and composed. His eyes remained focussed on Sikhandi’s face, which burnt with intense anger in the midday sun. Behind his male visage, the old man saw a young woman’s face. Smiling, he now responded, ‘O Amba, I see in your eyes the same fire of revenge raging against me for taking you away from your betrothed. But you never understood that I was bound by my vow of celibacy. You found the flames of your passion for me inextinguishable. That love then turned into loathing and revenge. I do admire your single-mindedness. But as we meet here today, across the vast landscape of time, you know that being a Kshatriya, I will not fight a woman. So here I drop my bow and arrows.
‘But, O Amba, this is also a moment for my thanksgiving to God, for choosing you as my deliverer from this agonizing earthly existence. I have already told Yudhishthira, Krishna and Arjuna all this. I am too tired to bear the burden of existence on my sagging shoulders.’ Then taking a deep breath, he resumed: ‘There, I see behind you Arjuna, my dearest child, with Krishna beside him to ensure that his Gandiva does not miss my chest this time. So move out of our way, O Amba, and let Arjuna seek my chest with his Gandiva.’
As Krishna tried to prod Arjuna into action, he heard him say, ‘Yes, O Vasudeva, I will dutifully complete my task today. But let me first make my obeisance to the man I love and admire.’ Then Arjuna shot his first arrow at Bheeshma’s feet.
‘I bless you, my child,’ said Bheeshma. ‘Now get me with your Gandiva.’
With tears streaming down his cheeks, Arjuna then trained his bow at his grandfather. Each time he shot at Bheeshma’s chest, he cried out: ‘O Narayana, help me!’ The deadly arrows knocked the old man off his chariot. As he fell onto a bed of arrows, thunderclouds rumbled in the sky, followed by lightning. The sun was now shrouded by a cluster of thick clouds, plunging the battleground momentarily into total darkness. From Arjuna’s chariot rose a voice, deep and anguished: ‘O my revered grandfather, I loved you most when I shot at you my deadliest arrow.’ Then, dropping his Gandiva in his chariot, Arjuna walked over to Bheeshma and fell at his feet, muttering: ‘I have sinned, O Lord, forgive me!’
‘On the contrary,’ responded Bheeshma, ‘all the gods in Indraloka will bless you for unburdening me of all the debts I owed Santanu, my father, and Dhritarashtra. What a dutiful man could do, I have done – and who can do more?’
By now the sun had set, bringing the day’s fighting to an end. In the dark, warriors from both sides walked past Bheeshma’s wounded body to pay their respects to the venerable old man who now lay bleeding on a bed of arrows. But when Duryodhana stood at the feet of his commander-in-chief, he said, ‘What will I do now, O grandfather? I feel like a small boy lost in a forest, far away from his parents.’ But deep down in his heart, he was still simmering with anger at the old man, who appeared to have lapsed into some kind of delirium. Duryodhana was, in fact, convinced that it was, once again, a ploy used by Bheeshma to spare the Pandava army any further devastation.
Seeing him lost in thoughts, Bheeshma asked Duryodhana, ‘Are you worried about tomorrow, my child? Well, there is Drona, a mighty archer, to take over the command of your army. Also, you may induct Radheya into this war, now that I am out of it.’
Duryodhana just nodded his head and walked away.
As everyone was gone, Bheeshma felt lonesome, lying on his bed of arrows. Lightning and thunder still played in the sky, though they had lost their intensity. He now recalled that morning in the fisherman’s hut, when he took his fateful vow of celibacy. Then he remembered how he had pledged to his father that he would guard Hastinapur, whosoever was its ruler. All these image flashed though his mind. What recompense had he get for his vow? A solitary life and frequent taunts from Duryodhana and Dhritarashtra! As he was lost in these musings, he heard footsteps approaching him. Turning his head sideways, he saw Radheya standing near his feet. Radheya bowed his head to the old warrior and spoke: ‘I wanted to have a word with you when nobody else was around. My heart bleeds to see you lying here in great pain. How I wish I had been there to kill Arjuna as he was riddling your body with his arrows.’ A moment of brief silence followed, and then Radheya resumed: ‘Indeed we have always had reservations about each other. But don’t we also have something that binds us together – our relationship with Duryodhana? You fought on his side because of your commitment to the throne of Hastinapur, even though you knew he was unjust and avaricious. As for me, I am bound to him with chains of steel – my commitment to him as a very dear friend. So, you see, how both of us found ourselves pitted against the Pandavas.’ After a moment of silence Radheya came on: ‘But I want you to know that I have always held you in great love, reverence and compassion. Because, like you, life has consigned me to loneliness and misjudgement – even from you. So would you bless me too as you blessed Yudhishthira and Arjuna?’
As though blood suddenly surged in his veins, Radheya yearned to call him ‘grandfather’, for wasn’t he Kunti’s firstborn? But no, he must let this secret remain sealed in his heart.
Bheeshma was deeply touched by Radheya’s words. He asked him to come to his right side. Then caressing his hands affectionately, he said, ‘I have a premonition that like me, you too will fall on the battlefield, ordained more by destiny than by your adversary’s superior skill. So, we may soon quit this battlefield to meet again in heaven, where eternal peace resides.’
As Radheya walked away with tears in his eyes, he said to himself: ‘Is death the only release from sorrow and loneliness?’