The Fall Of Bhishma
While hundreds of men, many of whom he knew personally, continued to fall by his hand, suddenly the eldest of the warriors was assailed by a deep disgust towards war, towards his own valor, towards that cruelty that drove him to massacre soldiers who were like helpless children before him. He approached Yudhisthira.
“I wish to stop fighting now. Do as I told you last night.”
Then Shikhandi stood in front of him and targeted him with arrows, spears and axes. That was the most delicate moment, Arjuna knew it. The Kauravas would do anything not to allow the fall of Bhishma. He had to fight like never before to create a vacuum around that silver chariot. And he succeeded.
“This is the moment,” Krishna told him, “stand behind Shikhandi and stab Bhishma with as many arrows as you can.”
And while the other Pandavas, Satyaki and Abhimanyu built a wall to prevent anyone from coming to help Bhishma, Arjuna and Shikhandi attacked him violently. The old man thought about his whole life: a deep sadness seized him at the thought of the state of degradation in which his noble dynasty had been reduced, due to that fraticidal war. Krishna read all this on his face and shouted to Arjuna:
“Now Bhishma really wants to end his participation in this war!”
Rivers of arrows flew from the arches of Arjuna and Shikhandi, and they all struck the venerable Kaurava, piercing him from one part of the body to the other. And as the arrows fell upon him, Bhishma speaking loudly so that Duhssasana, who had rushed in, could hear, said:
“These are from Arjuna, and these are from Shikhandi. You see, Arjuna’s penetrate deeper and burn, while Shikhandi’s are barely felt.”
But although the arrows continued to rain on him, he still wanted to try to fight.
Everyone was watching the incredible scene: pierced by hundreds of arrows, Bhishma got off the chariot and threw a javelin that Arjuna broke into three parts when he saw it dart at him. When that weapon also failed, the shouts subsided: the duels stopped and all the soldiers stood with their weapons still in their hands, only wanting to see Bhishma submerged by the river of weapons falling on him. Then the silence became total; it was a silence full of consternation and pain. In the air you could see and hear only the flicker of the arrows of the Pandava and the son of Drupada. The sun at its setting flooded with its suffused rays the great Bhishma who fell on the ground, without touching it: the arrows that had pierced him made him remain in mid-air.
Nobody moved, nobody uttered words, it seemed like a stage fiction. Then an ethereal voice came from heaven.
“Mahatma Bhishma is not dead yet, nor will he die until Uttarayana. He has decided to remain in that position until that day, when he will offer all his realized soul teachings.”
When the goddess Ganga learned of her son, she sent the seven great sages in the guise of swans to greet him. Then they returned and reported to her the latest decisions of Bhishma.
In all of Kurukshetra there was no more fighting: the fall of the old hero had paralyzed everyone.
Dhritarastra’s children were petrified and wept like frightened children; some even fainted from the pain. Forgetting for a moment their bitter enmity, everyone, Pandavas and Kaurava, gathered around that great personality. At the sight of that mangled body pierced by a thousand arrows that prevented him from touching the ground, everyone cursed their profession of Kshatriya.
Duryodhana was the most desperate.
Drona, who was now fighting on a distant front, learned the news from Duhssasana and passed out in pain. Even though he had always known that sooner or later it would have to happen, it seemed so far-fetched that he still could hardly believe it.
On the instant, he gave the order to stop all fighting. After removing their sandals and armor and throwing away their weapons, millions of soldiers disciplinedly paraded in front of Bhishma, who greeted everyone with affection and friendship, giving them advice and instructions.
“My head hangs down,” he said at one point, “and I can’t see you well. Please bring me some pillows.”
Impetuously Duryodhana ordered that cushions made of the finest fabrics be brought; but when these were offered to him, Bhishma refused them.
“These pillows are not worthy of a true Kshatriya. I will not rest my head where people who love the comforts of this world sit. I want something else.”
At those words those present were dumbfounded; they didn’t understand what kind of pillow he wanted. Noticing the general embarrassment, Bhishma turned to Arjuna.
“They are warriors and they don’t know what kind of pillow they should use. Show them yourself, then.”
Promptly, in front of the astonished soldiers, the Pandava shot arrows under his grandfather’s head, so that he could rest it on the ends of the rods. The elder smiled.
“See? It seems that only Arjuna knows which pillows the Kshatriyas use.”
Meanwhile, the doctors Duryodhana had hastily summoned had arrived, but Bhishma told them:
“Thank you for coming this far, but I do not wish to be cured. When Uttarayana arrives, I will abandon this body that I have used for far too long and return to the planet I came from.”
After greeting him, the soldiers retreated to their tents. Only a few close friends remained close to him.
Bhishma, in a low voice, said:
“I’m thirsty; please bring me some water.”
Duryodhana had excellent fresh water brought, but Bhishma refused that too.
“This is not the water I want. Maybe Arjuna knows what I want at this moment in my life.”
With a nod of the head the Pandava sadly assented. And once again he shot an arrow close to his head with such power that it pierced the ground until it reached the Ganges: in a few seconds a gush of water sprang from the ground, allowing the brave warrior to drink. Thanks to Arjuna, Ganga himself had come to quench her son’s thirst. At that point Bhishma looked at the king of the Kauravas with strong intensity and seriousness.
“Duryodhana, see what Arjuna can do? He and Krishna are the reincarnated sages Nara and Narayana. You cannot overcome them. Let my death stop this useless war and make peace with them. The Pandavas are pious and will not refuse the truce, indeed they will accept it with joy.”
Duryodhana did not answer. He no longer even looked him in the eye, but looked sadly at the ground. That reaction did not surprise Bhishma; he knew very well that his words would have no effect even in that juncture. He then asked to be alone; all withdrew.
The sage closed in on himself, and began his meditation on the Personal Absolute Truth, so that he soon forgot the miseries of this world.
When Karna heard from his friend Duryodhana about the fall of Bhishma, he decided to go and see him; and when he arrived, there was no one next to him. He sat down beside him and wept.
“I have always treated you harshly not because I was ever really were angry with you,” Bhishma whispered, “but because I couldn’t do otherwise. You hated the Pandavas so much that for their sake it was necessary to decrease your mental energy; in that I intended to protect the Pandavas from your valor. Besides, you were my nephew too, so I could never really hate you.”
Karna was amazed. Bhishma was also aware of the mystery of his birth and had never said anything to him.
“It was Vyasa who revealed the secret to me,” continued the elder as if he had read his thoughts, “but I couldn’t tell you because behind everything that happened there is a precise divine plan that I could not harm. This world has been overloaded with demonic forces and must be released. We have all been just tools in the hands of an almighty heavenly will.”
The two conversed for a long time.
Then Karna asked the venerable Bhishma to bless him, as he would have to go down to the battlefield the following day. And the virtuous son of Surya, with a heavy heart, returned to his tent.
His dreams were tortured by a thousand desolate thoughts.
This is a section of the book “Maha-bharata, Vol. 2”.
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