Where the peerless ancient Bhishma on that dark and fatal day,
Warring with the banded nations still resistless held his way!
On he came, his palm-tree standard still the front of battle knew,
And like sun from dark clouds parting Bhishma burst on Arjun’s view,
And his eyes brave Arjun shaded at the awe-inspiring sight,
Half he wished to turn for shelter from that chief of godlike might!
[313] But bold Krishna drove his chariot, whispered low his fatal plan,
Arjun placed the young Sikhandin in the deathful battle’s van,
Bhishma viewed the Pandav forces with a calm unmoving face,
Saw not Arjun’s fair Gandiva, saw not Bhima’s mighty mace,
Smiled to see the young Sikhandin rushing to the battle’s fore,
Like the foam upon the billow when the mighty storm-winds roar!
Bhishma thought of word he plighted and of oath that he had sworn,
Dropped his arms before the warrior who a female child was born,
And the standard which no warrior ever saw in base retreat,
Idly stood upon the chariot, threw its shade on Bhishma’s seat,
And the flagstaff fell dissevered on the crushed and broken car,
As from azure sky of midnight falls the meteor’s flaming star!
Not Sikhandin’s feeble arrows did the palm-tree standard fell,
Not Sikhandin’s feeble lances did the peerless Bhishma quell,
True to oath and unresisting, Bhishma turned his face away,
Turned and fell; the sun declining marked the closing of the day!
Ended thus the fatal battle, truce came with the close of day,
Kurus and the silent Pandavs went where Bhishma dying lay,
Arjun wept as for a father weeps a sad and sorrowing son,
Good Yudhishthir cursed the morning Kuru-kshetra’s war begun,
Stood Duryodhan and his brothers mantled in the gloom of grief,
Foes like loving brothers sorrowed round the great the dying chief!
Arjun’s keen and pointed arrows made the hero’s dying bed,
And in soft and gentle accents to Duryodhan thus he said:
“List unto my words, Duryodhan, uttered with my latest breath,
List to Bhishma’s dying counsel and revere the voice of death,
End this dread and deathful battle if thy stony heart can grieve,
Save the chieftains doomed to slaughter, bid the fated nations live,
[314] Grant his kingdom to Yudhishthir righteous man beloved of Heaven,
Keep thy own Hastina’s regions, be the hapless past forgiven!”
Vain, alas, the voice of Bhishma like the voice of angel spoke,
Hatred dearer than his life-blood in the proud Duryodhan woke!
Darker grew the gloomy midnight and the princes went their way,
On his bed of pointed arrows Bhishma lone and dying lay,
Karna, though he loved not Bhishma whilst the chieftain lived in fame,
Gently to the dying Bhishma in the midnight darkness came!
Bhishma heard the tread of Karna and he oped his glazing eye,
Spake in love and spake in sadness and his bosom heaved a sigh:
“Pride and envy, noble Karna, filled our warlike hearts with strife,
Discord ends with breath departing, envy sinks with fleeting life!
More I have to tell thee, Karna, but my parting breath may fail,
Feeble are my dying accents and my parchéd lips are pale,
Arjun beats not noble Karna in the deeds of valour done,
Nor excels in birth and lineage, Karna, thou art Pritha’s son!
Pritha bore thee, still unwedded, and the Sun inspired thy birth,
God-born man! No mightier archer treads this broad and spacious earth,
Pritha cast thee in her sorrow, hid thee with a maiden’s shame,
And a driver, not thy father, nursed thee, chief of warlike fame,
Arjun is thy brother, Karna, end this sad fraternal war,
Seek not life-blood of thy brother nor against him drive thy car!”
Vain, alas, the voice of Bhishma like the voice of angel spoke,
Hatred dearer than his life-blood in the vengeful Karna woke!
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