Ch. 1, Verses 17–19: The battle of the conches, part 4 and conclusion

The cosmic consequences of the Mahābhārata war

Last time, we analyzed the Pāṇḍava brothers’ response to the Kaurava challenge, accompanied (and indeed subtly preceded) by the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa.

This time, we will wrap up the Pāṇḍava response, and finally see the effect all this has on the Kaurava forces.

The Pāṇḍava generals chime in

Kāśyaś ca paramêṣv-āsaḥ, Śikhaṇḍī ca mahā-rathaḥ | 
Dhṛṣṭadyumno, Virāṭaś ca, Sātyakiś câ aparājitaḥ ||
Drupado, Draupadeyāś ca, sarvaśaḥ pṛthivī-pate! | 
Saubhadraś ca mahā-bāhuḥ śaṅkhān dadhmuḥ pṛthak-pṛthak || (BhG I.17–18)

The king of Kāśī (a supremely talented archer), 
Śikhaṇḍin the master chariot-warrior, 
Dhṛṣṭadyumna, 
Virāṭa, 
the unconquerable Yuyudhāna Sātyaki, 
Drupada, 
the five sons of Draupadī, 
and the mighty-armed Abhimanyu son of Subhadra: 

Each and every one of them, 
        o king, 
blew his own conch, one by one.

The conch-blowing continues beyond the Pāṇḍavas now: all of the great generals of their side now take up their own conches individually (pṛthak pṛthak). There are two key points to observe here.

Identifying our blind spots

The list of Pāṇḍava generals enummerated is almost entirely contained within the list of Pāṇḍava heroes Duryodhana points out to Droṇa in Verses I.14–16, with one key exception: Śikhaṇḍin. Śikhaṇḍin is a liminal figure in the Mahābhārata—transgender in some tellings, hermaphrodite in others, transvestite in still others—and plays a critical role in the defeat of Bhīṣma by Arjuna. Duryodhana’s skipping over Śikhaṇḍin as he enumerates Pāṇḍava heroes to Bhīṣma thus illustrates his giant blind spot—and, by extension, our own blind spots in our own lives. We will see, in our upcoming post on Verses I.21 and beyond, how important such liminality is in the Bhagavad Gītā; indeed, we might even say that the notion of the margin or of the borden is central to the Gītā’s message.

The individual and the collective

The Pāṇḍava generals blow their conches individually, and not robotically. Unlike with the Kaurava noisemakers (as we saw in Verse I.13), here the verb dadhmuḥ “they blew” is explicitly in the kartari prayoga (the active voice): Thus, in contrast to the Kaurava war-machine, the Pāṇḍava generals are self-conscious agents of conch-blowing: they are choosing to blow their individual conches and to fight this war. This is a conscious act, one born out of choice and out of individual decision-making (saṅkalpa). They are making this war their own of their own choice, svīkāra.

I have already written earlier about my own purpose in this project of translating and commenting on the Gītā, emphasizing the two ideas of svīkāra and viniyoga: adopting the Gītā as one’s own and applying its lessons to our specific contexts.

Diving into the nectar of the Gītā

This verse, I’d like to believe, is an indication of the importance of svīkāra in our spiritual struggles. While it does not preclude us from finding an ācārya (after all, the entire Pāṇḍava leadership follows the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa in blowing their conches), it does encourage each of us to engage directly with the text and with our own questions.

A taste of things to come

sa ghoṣo Dhārtarāṣṭrāṇāṃ hṛdayāni vyadārayat |
nabhaś ca pṛthivīṃ caîva tumulo abhyanunādayan || (BhG I.19)

That roar ripped through the hearts of the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, even as its tumultuous echoes thundered across heaven and earth.

And finally, we now see the effect of the eighteen named conch-blowers on the Pāṇḍava side upon the Kauravas, or at least specifically on the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra (Dhārtarāṣṭrāṇām): the sound of the conches shatters their hearts, and echoes through heaven and earth. The wording of this verse is very careful and we should attend to it closely.

First half: Shattering hearts

Let’s focus on the first half-verse for now. Although the Pāṇḍavas all blow their conches individually (pṛthak pṛthak), the sound is a unified and integrated one (ghoṣa, in the singular): the Pāṇḍavas are a well-coordinated force and more than the sum of their individual parts. Furthermore, this roar is described with the word ghoṣa, whereas the sound made by the Kaurava army (which, recall, also involved drums and other noisemakers) is described by the plainer word śabda. This is yet another way in which the superiority of the Pāṇḍava sound is suggested.

Next, pay close attention to the specific effect of this roar on the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra: their chests/hearts (hṛdaya-) are ripped apart. The verb here has the prefix vi attached to it, which has two senses that are both applicable here:

1. It can mean an intensification (viśeṣeṇa) of the verbal root’s meaning. Here, if the unprefixed root dṝ means “to tear”, the prefixed root vi + dṝ means “to rip” or “to shred”.

2. It can also convey a sense of separation, or outward motion (vigata).¹ Here that can be captured by translating the prefixed verb as “to rip apart”.

This is yet another foreshadowing of the fatal consequences of undertaking this war for all the Kauravas. It is also, in conjunction with Verse I.15’s lupine epithet Vṛkôdara for Bhīma, a clear reference to the brutal death that awaits Duḥśāsana. 

Notice also that this effect is targeted specifically at the Dhārtarāṣṭras, the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. We are not told how the rest of the Kaurava army responds to the Pāṇḍavas’ conch-blowing, or for that matter how Bhīṣma reacts. But for the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra specifically, these 18 conches blown individually by the 18 greatest leaders of the Pāṇḍavas are the heralds of their doom over the next 18 days.

Second half: Heaven and earth

Turning to the second half of the verse, we can see that the word tumula is repeated here as well, just as it was in the description of the Kaurava noise. This is a reminder to us that, all things said and done, the Kaurava army is a formidable war-machine and equals the Pāṇḍava setup. Nevertheless, even in this similarity, a nuanced difference is made by Sañjaya: In the Kaurava case, we have a rather pedestrian sa śabdas tumulo ’bhavat “that sound was tumultuous.” But in the Pāṇḍava case, we get a much more elaborate description that is exactly twice as long as the description of the Kaurava noise: “even as its tumultuous echoes thundered across heaven and earth.” There are several noteworthy implicit questions that are addressed here.

Climbing up to the heavens

First: What is the range covered by the Pāṇḍava conches? Heaven and earth both. Although the war is being fought on earth to determine who the next king of the Kurus (primus inter pares of the kings of Bhāratavarṣa, though ultimately still a limited terrestrial domain) will be, we see that the Pāṇḍava conches are heard in heaven as well. Their statement of intent is not merely terrestrial, but celestial as well: While any king may theoretically claim lordship over any other king’s land and launch a war to capture it, here the Pāṇḍavas are asserting that their claim has cosmic overtones as well. They have suffered unjustly and have been cruelly denied their claims, and now their intent to wage a righteous war is being declared to the heavens as well.

A resounding affirmation [Sanskrit grammar deep dive alert]

Second: How is the Pāṇḍava declaration of war received across heaven and earth? To do this, we will look at the grammatical analysis of abhyanunādayan. In Pāṇinian technical terms, this is analyzed as abhi + anu + nad + ^ṇi^c + ^śa^p + ^śat^ṛ + s^u. The core root nad means “to make a noise” (and is the same root that is used to describe Bhīṣma’s lion-roar: vinadya), but here its prefixes and its suffixes significantly transform this core meaning. 

• The prefix anu by itself conveys a sense of following something else.

• The prefix abhi intensifies and beautifies the meaning of the root.

• Furthermore, the combination abhi+anu has a sense of general approval or positivity. 

• The suffix ^ṇi^c (which shows up here after further transformations as -ay) is a causative, which means that it is not the tumult itself which does the action of abhi+anu+nad; rather, the tumult makes something else perform that action. In this case, it is heaven and earth which are being prompted to perform the action of abhi+anu+nad by the tumult of the Pāṇḍava conches.

All of this taken together indicates that the tumult of the Pāṇḍava conches makes heaven and earth echo in assent: The whole cosmos approves of the Pāṇḍava declaration of war. 

But we still have one more derivational suffix to go! The suffix ^śat^ṛ makes this a present participle. As we have seen earlier in our discussion of the participle sañjanayan in Verse I.12, this means that the participial action (of making heaven and earth echo) must be either a characteristic (lakṣaṇa) of, or causally linked (hetu) to, the action of the main verb (ripping apart the hearts of the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra). The only possibility that makes sense here is interpreting the approval of heaven and earth as being the fruit (phala) of the main action: This further means that the whole universe approves, not just of the Pāṇḍava declaration of war, but of their shredding their enemies’ hearts (metaphorically for now, but also literally down the road). The Pāṇḍava victory is thus clearly telegraphed to us as being pre-ordained and as being approved by both the terrestrial and the celestial spheres. 

Reaching for the stars

Third: How should we interpret this verse more broadly, in the context of our spiritual transformations and the struggle between righteousness and unrighteousness in our own hearts? We can see this verse as a promise, indeed as a fore-echo (if that makes sense!) of the climactic verse VIII.66 of the Gītā: So long as we blow our own conch in harmony with the Divine, so long as we form a clear intention to walk the path of spiritual transformation, this verse promises us that our declaration will be heard and will be supported all the way in the heavens.

This is a powerful and comforting message. The path of spiritual transformation is long, lonely, and difficult (just as the Pāṇḍavas’ own exile was). A common phrase in Sanskrit is śreyāṃsi bahu-vighnāni bhavanti mahatām api: “Even for great souls, spiritual felicities are blocked by many obstacles.” But, this verse illustrates for us, just as the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa Himself will promise us at the end of the Gītā, once we turn to the Divine and declare our intentions clearly, the Divine will create a pathway for us.

Direct and strategic effects in a sequential game

One of the core lessons in modern competitive strategy is the difference between a direct effect (the immediate consequence of an action you take) and a strategic effect (the second-order effect of your competitor’s response to your action). Thus, you might choose to lower your own prices, the direct effect of which is that you temporarily win market share from your competitors as customers switch to you. But how do your competitors respond? Maybe they lower their prices as well, and maybe they are able to lower their prices even lower than you can. As a result, even more customers switch to your competitors, and you are now objectively worse off than you were before the price war. The direct effect of your action was positive, but the strategic effect was strongly negative and thus outweighed the direct effect. 

We see this same dynamic play off in this scene here. The Kauravas play tough with their noise-making, hoping to intimidate the Pāṇḍavas (the desired direct effect). But the Pāṇḍavas also play tough in response, and the effect of this is that the Kauravas themselves are intimidated (the undesired strategic effect). The Kauravas forgot in their strategic planning that your opponent also gets to have their own say.

This is a classic two-step sequential game in which the Kauravas calculated incorrectly on two fronts: they overestimated their own ability to intimidate the Pāṇḍavas, and they underestimated the Pāṇḍavas’ ability to intimidate them.

All of this is part of the Blessed Lord Śrī-Kṛṣṇa’s grand design—not just for the war itself, but for the opportunity to reveal the Gītā’s teaching to us.

The Battle of the Conches, summarized

I have expended over 10,000 words in discussing 8 verses from the Bhagavad-Gītā that depict what I have called the “Battle of the Conches”. This is a very powerful scene, but it is not a particularly philosophical one at first glance. A bulk of my effort has therefore been spent in excavating layers of meaning, analyzing symbols, and digging into grammatical subtleties to draw otherwise non-obvious conclusions. Since this effort was expended over two years, it may lack temporal unity (or, as Sanskrit philosophers of language termed it, sannidhi) in the reader’s mind, making it hard to connect all the pieces together. Permit me then, to quickly piece together the sequence of events and the conclusions I have drawn from them.

1. Bhīṣma blows his conch.

2. In response, the Kaurava war-machine simultaneously generates a wall of sound.

3. From the Pāṇḍava side, the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna then blow their conches.

4. They are then followed by the remaining Pāṇḍava brothers.

5. The main Pāṇḍava generals also join in one by one.

6. The effect of this is a destruction of the Kaurava morale—the reverse of what was intended!

But our deeper reading of these verses have uncovered a number of subtleties as well, which should hopefully strike you as plausible and not as farfetched:

• While the surface reading suggests that Bhīṣma was blowing the conch to please Duryodhana, we saw that it is also possible to interpret Bhīṣma’s action as intended to please the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa.

• Duryodhana’s plaint yields a lion’s-roar from Bhīṣma; later, we will see that Arjuna’s plaint yields the entire Gītā from Kṛṣṇa.

• The Kaurava war-machine acts mechanically and robotically, producing a cacophonous wall of noise. In contrast, even though the Pāṇḍavas and their generals all blow their conches individually, the result is a single, harmonious sound.

• In his enumeration of the Pāṇḍava generals earlier, Duryodhana had missed Śikhaṇḍin entirely, though he is a Pāṇḍava general. Śikhaṇḍin is thus in the blind spot of the Kauravas, which will eventually cost Bhīṣma his life.

• The Pāṇḍavas’ conches are individually named, giving them personality and character. Nothing similar is shown on the Kaurava side.

• There is great beauty on the Pāṇḍava side, whether it be in their horses or their conches. Nothing similar is shown on the Kaurava side.

• We are not told of the effect of the Kauravas’ noise-making, but we are told that the Pāṇḍava conches shatter the hearts of the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. 

• The noise of the Pāṇḍavas’ conches reverberates through heaven and earth, suggesting divine approval for their declaration of war. This, we just saw, can be seen as a depiction of the crowning verse of the Gītā (VIII.66).

Thus, far from being a simple action sequence, the Battle of the Conches in fact sets the stage for the entire war that is about to unfold after the revelation of the Bhagavad-Gītā. It also foreshadows the eventual victory of the Pāṇḍavas as well. But in addition, it subtly reinforces a key message of the Gītā as well: what we need to do is to freely choose to dedicate whatever we do as an act of service to the Blessed Lord Śrī-Kṛṣṇa, at which point He will take care of the outcome for us both in the here & now as well as in the long long term which lies beyond the horizon of any conscious human planning.

With this post, the Battle of the Conches has ended, but the Bhagavad Gītā proper is just about to start.

|| Sarvaṃ Śrī-Kṛṣṇârpaṇam astu ||

1. The Russian prefix вы- (not to be confused with the 2nd person pronoun вы) similarly conveys a sense of outward motion crossing a threshold.