"Flee for your life with great urgency! The adversary has descended into complete madness. It appears as though the embodiment of death itself has unleashed its ravenous maw to devour every living soul."
"Do not even entertain the thought of engaging in combat. Abandon your weapons and escape from his onslaught."
"What manner of assault is this? It is akin to an inexhaustible deluge of weapons raining upon us, as if it were a divine judgment cast upon the battlefield."
"Do not dare test your fortune in facing this terror head-on. Run, I implore you! Do you not see that even Prince Arjun, devoid of any alternative, is compelled to flee? So why do you all linger here? Let us hasten away from this battlefield!"
The sounds of constant wailing, complaints, and fearful voices permeated the battlefield.
Once filled with fearless warriors on both sides, engaged in valiant combat, the scene had dramatically transformed. It was evident to all that the once formidable army now fled from the battlefield.
Their retreat could not be mistaken for anything other than a panicked flight, as these warriors, previously untouched by fear, now scampered away, tails firmly tucked between their legs.
This shift in behavior was not due to a lack of willingness to sacrifice their lives in the preceding days of battle. In those days, millions had met their demise with smiles adorning their faces.
But the circumstances leading up to this fateful day had extinguished their hopes of victory. It can be said that it is not death itself that halts human progress and drives them backward, but rather the loss of hope.
A single man, seated upon a resplendent chariot, unleashed an unknown weapon, the likes of which had never been witnessed before. As this weapon began to wreak havoc, the entire realm trembled, as if nothing could forestall the impending apocalypse.
In a matter of moments, this weapon had become a harbinger of death, consuming the lives of thousands on the battlefield. To the dismay of all, its insatiable appetite for destruction only seemed to grow with each kill.
This realization dawned upon the battlefield as the weapon's effect persisted, ceaseless and unfathomable. It seemed to search for new victims to unleash its wrath upon.
*Rumble*
What emerged next could only be described as every god and demon prostrating themselves before this weapon, screaming in fear as its gaze turned toward them.
The weapon continued to rain down an unending torrent of arms, not limited to mundane metals and iron, but also celestial weapons. The unwavering determination of the entire army to charge forward and engage head-on began to waver, causing a majority of soldiers to flee. They urged their comrades to do the same. Those who remained, ready to confront this weapon even at the risk of their lives, found themselves stricken with panic upon witnessing their leader, Prince Arjun, retreating.
Amidst this chaotic turmoil and the unleashed weapon, the archer on the golden chariot stood as a figure akin to the scorching sun.
The weapon he discharged still hung in the air, claiming countless lives with each passing moment. In a matter of moments, the death toll soared into the millions.
"Shayla, guide me in the direction of Arjun's escape so that I may bring an end to this cataclysm."
The handsome man calmly instructed his chariot driver to pursue his arch-nemesis. His command was filled with a serene demeanor, much like the weapon that exuded a deathly aura, as if it were not he who had unleashed it.
The sun seemed to concentrate all its brilliance upon this individual, illuminating his figure. His countenance was so sharply chiseled and perfect that it seemed no other being in this world could match him in any aspect.
His very physique embodied art and beauty, every part harmoniously enhancing his overall splendor. Clad in common armor and unassuming ornaments, he resembled a common soldier.
However, his bow was extraordinary, transcending the realm of mortal craftsmanship. Named Vijaya, the Bow of Victory, it was a gift from his teacher.
This bow, originating from the most powerful deity, Lord Shiva himself, bestowed upon its wielder the assurance of perpetual triumph.
This was the first time he had felt compelled to use this bow, for in the past, he had never deemed it necessary. Yet, he carried a premonition in his heart that this day might be his last. His motivation stemmed from a desire to prove to the world that even those considered low caste could achieve greatness through knowledge.
"Shayla, increase our speed. Today shall mark the end of either Arjun or myself!"
His proclamation reverberated through the world, resounding with unwavering resolve. The radiance bestowed upon him by the sun intensified, captivating the attention of all who beheld it.
"Look, he is my friend! Who could possess such power if not him? Let us seize this opportunity and launch an assault..."
A brawny man, brandishing a mace, bellowed, commanding his army to attack the enemy soldiers.
"Yes, Crown Prince!"
"Let the onslaught commence! Let us demonstrate to our adversaries their rightful place and avenge our past losses."
"Indeed! Observe their war leader, who now flees like prey, terrified by its predator! Hahaha!"
"Wasn't he always so proud of his bravery and power? Why does he now scamper like a frightened mouse? Is he afraid of our supporters, who would force him onto his knees? Hahaha!"
In the preceding days of war, the Pandavas had indeed forced their way through the battle, pressing forward. However, the tables had turned with the emergence of a single weapon.
"Madhav, cease the chariot. Allow me to eliminate this imbecile and alter the opinions of those who incessantly prattle."
The man, possessing a dark complexion but a handsome face, held a divine silver bow known to all as Gandiva. He was Arjun, the son of the king of gods, Indra.
Amidst the turmoil on the battlefield, Arjun seethed with unparalleled fury. His anger intensified upon realizing that he had been compelled to retreat.
Despite his ego, fueled by the belief that he was the most formidable archer, Arjun's self-assuredness had been shattered by an individual from a lower caste. He knew he had no suitable countermeasure against this adversary's assault, and his retreat brought upon him a profound sense of shame. He sought to vanquish this shame by confronting this man head-on.
"Not yet. The time has not yet come."
Suddenly, a soft, divine voice resonated, emanating from a figure of the same dark complexion. His countenance personified divinity and rivaled the charm of the man on the chariot.
His attention remained fixed upon the sky, specifically the sun. He awaited the precise moment to pave the path to victory. Should they miss this opportunity, the only recourse would be for Madhav to wield the weapon, breaking the oath he had sworn before the war.
Krishna glanced at the chariot behind him and decided to grant Arjun more time to fight.
"So, Arjun, you have finally ceased. Let us conclude the battle we were never able to finish."
Upon witnessing Arjun's chariot change direction to face him, the warrior on the chariot spoke to Arjun as he notched an arrow upon the string of his Gandiva
bow and released it.
*Bang*
The resonating vibrations of the bowstring echoed throughout the realms. The atmosphere became saturated with the essence of death, engulfing the earth. Though the clash of these two mighty arrows was terrifying, the gods themselves gathered to witness this epic battle, trembling in fear.
"Hmm, indeed, let us bring this battle to its conclusion and dispel any doubts about your superiority."
Arjun, fully immersed in the battle, fought with unwavering seriousness, as if engaged in mortal combat. Meanwhile, his opponent, Karna, appeared to approach the fight with a casual demeanor, withholding his full power out of concern for injuring his adversary.
Arjun found himself lost in thought, momentarily distracted, and in that moment, a powerful arrow from his opponent found its mark, rendering Arjun unconscious.
Witnessing his opponent's arrow successfully incapacitate Arjun, Karna felt a mix of worry and relief. He did not derive pleasure from this outcome; on the contrary, he became concerned. However, seeing that Arjun was merely unconscious and not mortally wounded, he breathed a sigh of relief. He chose not to further harm or kill Arjun but instead began pulling at the stuck chariot wheel, allowing his charioteer, Shalya, a chance to escape if needed.
He placed his bow on the chariot, thus fulfilling the third curse. With both hands, he grasped the immovable wheel, attempting to dislodge it from the mud. Alas, his efforts were in vain. Annoyance crept within him as he strained with all his might, trying to free the wheel.
*Rumble*
The earth quaked, shaking with his exertion. With his incredible strength, he raised the entire earth, along with its rivers, mountains, and oceans, four fingers high. The gods, observing this display of strength, applauded his feat, though their applause was tinged with sadness. Still, the wheel remained obstinately stuck.
"I shall slay you, low-caste scum!"
A thunderous roar reverberated. Arjun, now awakened, felt a profound sense of insult. While he was unconscious, his opponent had opted not to seize victory but instead chose to lift the wheel, a humiliation Arjun could not bear. In his anger, he prepared to unleash the Rudrastra, the roar of Shiva, upon his opponent. Yet, upon witnessing the tremendous feat of strength displayed by his adversary, jealousy once again consumed his heart, causing him to relinquish his divine weapon and opt for conventional celestial arms, directing his aim at his opponent's neck.
With great speed, his arrow sliced through the air, severing his opponent's neck.
*Thump*
The headless body collapsed to the ground, and the severed head rested nearby.
*Thrumble*
As the lifeless body landed, the heavens and the earth changed. The sky darkened abruptly, as if the sun could not bear to witness the scene unfolding beneath it. The earth trembled, expressing its sorrow to the world. Animals cried out, trees toppled. In that moment, all the world's beauty seemed to fade away. The gods, paying their respects to the fallen warrior, closed the gates of heaven.
"No!!!!! Mitra!"
The muscular man dropped to his knees, his cries resounding like a baby mourning the loss of his friend.
The desire for war vanished within him, replaced by an overwhelming longing for his friend's return. He would give anything to have him back, yet he knew it was an impossible wish. Throughout the night, he begged the gods to care for his friend in the heavens, vowing to join him soon.
As night fell, Krishna sounded the conch, signaling the end of the day's battle.
The ensuing night was shrouded in darkness, with no moon or stars casting their light upon the world. It was as if the entire world mourned the sacrifice of the fallen warrior. This darkness dared not touch the fallen warrior's body, for it was the sole remaining source of light. Even death itself could not diminish the enchantment and divine aura emanating from that body.
The 18th day of war culminated as expected. This day marked the final chapter of the Kurukshetra war, with the Pandavas emerging victorious.
The charioteer, in his final act of benevolence, bequeathed victory to them.
This battle would later be known as the Kurukshetra War, a tale woven with tragedy and triumph.