at the pit. Slowly I came to my feet and patted the dust off my clothes and made to walk back to the barracks.
I had only taken a few steps when I heard a deep voice call out my name.
It was Guru Drona. I lowered my eyes and bowed my head as he approached. ‘I heard you didn’t treat your weapons kindly today, putra,’ he said softly.
I didn’t know what to say so I kept my head lowered, and prepared for another blow.
‘It wasn’t the right thing to do. But I think you already know that.’
I looked at him, seeking sarcasm in his eyes, finding none.
‘Putra, being a warrior does not come naturally to everyone. You have to find what comes to you.’
But I am born a Kshatriya…to fight,’ I pleaded.
‘We’re all born to do certain things, but not necessarily the right circumstances in which to do them. In life, we have to fulfil both—the expectations we have been born into and those we have made for ourselves.’
I didn’t quite understand him and it must have shown. His beard stretched into a smile.
‘Become a warrior. But don’t let it become you.’
I remembered those words as my chariot rumbled towards the Kambojas. They were pulverizing our ragged front, pushing into our lines with their enormous steeds.
I lifted a stabbing spear and balanced it between my thumb and forefinger. I didn’t have the necessary rage to handle a mace or the serene calm to handle a bow, but I was equipped with enough nervousness to poke at anything approaching me with intent.
My chariot went to the front of the line and our infantry began rallying around me. A lancer charged at me and I went on my knee to the chariot floor and stuck out my spear, jabbing unsuccessfully at him as he passed. Two riders charged at me from either side. One hacked at my chariot umbrella as he went, nearly dislodging the battle standard, and the other struck a glancing blow at the side of my chariot and sped away. I set my spear aside and picked up a javelin which I threw with all my strength at an oncoming horseman. It went through his chest and felled him from his horse. A few horsemen came up at a canter, but a wall of infantry gathered around me and beat them off.
Behind us, Shikhandi had gathered the chariot warriors of the reserves. With mechanical precision, they took out their quivers and began peeling off arrows from behind us into the Kamboja horsemen.
Abhimanyu was here despite Dhristadyumna’s instructions. And he was doing magnificently. He didn’t even need to stop to look where he was firing, but still managed to find a victim for most of his arrows. Shikhandi was more deliberate. Marking her targets carefully, stalking them till she felt confident of a kill. Bhima was back on his feet and stringing a bow impatiently. We moved ahead, recovering ground slowly, pushing back the Kamboja horsemen.
Some moments later a trumpet was heard. A row of infantry with leopard skins draped around their armour marched in to take the place of the remaining horsemen. Shikhandi looked at me and raised her eyebrows. The new leopard-skinned arrivals were Suyodhana’s personal guard. But to the best of our knowledge he was nowhere near this part of the field.
We were right.
Four chestnut-coloured mares drawing a white chariot with a battle standard that bore the emblem of a sacrificial fire came into view. Clad in a simple white armour with no embellishments, and holding a large, white war bow was Guru Drona. The leopard skins took a step in front together and swung their large double-handed battleaxes in a perfectly synchronized upward thrust. Then another step, and once again, a thrust. Our infantry stepped back, unable to counter the savageness of their assault. Drona and a row of chariots came up slowly behind the Leopard Warriors. Dhristadyumna was already behind me telling me to get away, but it was too late. Guru Drona saw me and charged his chariot into our lines, crushing some of his own soldiers in the process.
I took up a
I had only taken a few steps when I heard a deep voice call out my name.
It was Guru Drona. I lowered my eyes and bowed my head as he approached. ‘I heard you didn’t treat your weapons kindly today, putra,’ he said softly.
I didn’t know what to say so I kept my head lowered, and prepared for another blow.
‘It wasn’t the right thing to do. But I think you already know that.’
I looked at him, seeking sarcasm in his eyes, finding none.
‘Putra, being a warrior does not come naturally to everyone. You have to find what comes to you.’
But I am born a Kshatriya…to fight,’ I pleaded.
‘We’re all born to do certain things, but not necessarily the right circumstances in which to do them. In life, we have to fulfil both—the expectations we have been born into and those we have made for ourselves.’
I didn’t quite understand him and it must have shown. His beard stretched into a smile.
‘Become a warrior. But don’t let it become you.’
I remembered those words as my chariot rumbled towards the Kambojas. They were pulverizing our ragged front, pushing into our lines with their enormous steeds.
I lifted a stabbing spear and balanced it between my thumb and forefinger. I didn’t have the necessary rage to handle a mace or the serene calm to handle a bow, but I was equipped with enough nervousness to poke at anything approaching me with intent.
My chariot went to the front of the line and our infantry began rallying around me. A lancer charged at me and I went on my knee to the chariot floor and stuck out my spear, jabbing unsuccessfully at him as he passed. Two riders charged at me from either side. One hacked at my chariot umbrella as he went, nearly dislodging the battle standard, and the other struck a glancing blow at the side of my chariot and sped away. I set my spear aside and picked up a javelin which I threw with all my strength at an oncoming horseman. It went through his chest and felled him from his horse. A few horsemen came up at a canter, but a wall of infantry gathered around me and beat them off.
Behind us, Shikhandi had gathered the chariot warriors of the reserves. With mechanical precision, they took out their quivers and began peeling off arrows from behind us into the Kamboja horsemen.
Abhimanyu was here despite Dhristadyumna’s instructions. And he was doing magnificently. He didn’t even need to stop to look where he was firing, but still managed to find a victim for most of his arrows. Shikhandi was more deliberate. Marking her targets carefully, stalking them till she felt confident of a kill. Bhima was back on his feet and stringing a bow impatiently. We moved ahead, recovering ground slowly, pushing back the Kamboja horsemen.
Some moments later a trumpet was heard. A row of infantry with leopard skins draped around their armour marched in to take the place of the remaining horsemen. Shikhandi looked at me and raised her eyebrows. The new leopard-skinned arrivals were Suyodhana’s personal guard. But to the best of our knowledge he was nowhere near this part of the field.
We were right.
Four chestnut-coloured mares drawing a white chariot with a battle standard that bore the emblem of a sacrificial fire came into view. Clad in a simple white armour with no embellishments, and holding a large, white war bow was Guru Drona. The leopard skins took a step in front together and swung their large double-handed battleaxes in a perfectly synchronized upward thrust. Then another step, and once again, a thrust. Our infantry stepped back, unable to counter the savageness of their assault. Drona and a row of chariots came up slowly behind the Leopard Warriors. Dhristadyumna was already behind me telling me to get away, but it was too late. Guru Drona saw me and charged his chariot into our lines, crushing some of his own soldiers in the process.
I took up a