The Mahabharata: A Modern Rendering (2 Vols.), page 103
But he stopped her lips with his hand. He was trembling. “You make me cry as well, mother, because I long to be called Kaunteya too. But that cannot be in this life. Karna is Radheya, and Radheya he must remain. No more of that; tell me what you came for. If it doesn’t taint my honour, and it is in my power to give, you shall have it, be it anything.”
Kunti said, “You have suffered such indignity, such shame: because the world never knew you are Kunti’s son, and Surya Deva’s. Your time of torment is over, my child. You hated your brothers, never knowing who they were. Put all that behind you; now you know the truth, you cannot fight the Pandavas. Come with me, I will take you to them. They will worship you, and make you lord of the earth. From today, your destiny lies with them; you must leave Duryodhana and come with me. This is the boon I came to beg.”
A wry, familiar smile was on Karna’s lips, “Strangest times are upon us! These last two days, two of the noblest ones alive have offered me the earth. Both say that Yudhishtira himself will serve me. But, tell me mother, what will really happen if I do come away with you?”
Without hesitation, she said, “Your brother Arjuna will fall at your feet, and the hatred between you will vanish like darkness before the sun. The Pandavas will win the war, and the world will be yours to rule, because you are my eldest son. Karna will not be a sutaputra any more, but the emperor of Bharatavarsha. All your shame and suffering will be paid back to you in honour and glory! Come away with me.”
Suddenly, the disc of the sun on the river grew blinding. Kunti and Karna were swathed in uncanny light, dazzled. A voice spoke out of heaven, earth and river, the voice of Surya Deva, Lord of the day. “My son, do as your mother asks. Long shall you live, and be master of the earth.”
Karna jumped up with a cry, but the unworldly radiance faded in a moment. Karna stood staring at Kunti. Slowly, he said, “Mother, you have no idea how much I hated you all these years. I told myself I would abuse you if I ever saw you, because you were to blame for everything I suffered.” He took her hands, “But now I see you before me, your eyes full of tears, and all I feel is this great love, which I can hardly believe that I, Karna, am feeling. That, and a sadness I cannot describe.
“I have loved my mother Radha as I have loved no one else. But even my love for her pales before what I feel for you.”
He went on, “A tide of love for my brothers overwhelms me. I, who am so used to hatred, find this hard to bear! How will I deal with this terrible love that tears at my heart?”
With a cry, Kunti embraced him, as if to clasp him back into her mother‘s body. From above, Karna’s father, the westering Surya Deva, watched them.
TWENTY-ONE
For love of his friend
KUNTI SAID, “COME WITH ME TO YOUR BROTHERS.”
Karna’s powerful body shook with sobs. “No! I must not even think of it.”
“Why do you say that? You know the truth now, come away to your brothers. Surely, you don’t mean to fight them when you know who they are.
He gazed out across the rippling Yamuna, her currents livid with the light of the setting sun. His face turned from her, he said, “Yes, I do mean to fight them, because I cannot abandon Duryodhana. All these years, when the stigma of being a sutaputra attached to me, only he stood with me. He gave me his love, never holding back. He set me beside him in the sabha of Hastinapura, and when the war is over, he means to share the earth with me.
“My life has been harsher than you can imagine. I was raised a sutaputra, yet my blood raged that I must become an archer. Who has heard of a sutaputra being an archer? I came to Drona and begged him to teach me, but he turned me away because I was not a kshatriya. I took myself to a score of gurus, and every one refused me; most laughed at me. At last, I went to Parasurama Bhargava, and by now I was so desperate I had resolved to put an end to myself if he also turned me away. I lied to the Bhagawan, telling him I was a brahmana, and he took me in. He was kind to me, and generous; he taught me all he knew. But finally, when my tutelage was complete, he discovered that I was not a brahmana. Perhaps, with his seer’s vision, he saw who I really was and my guru cursed me.
“Then I came to Hastinapura. It was the day of a tournament.”
He turned to her again; a shadow flitted across his face and there was anguish in his eyes. Kunti wept silently. Karna said, “You knew me as soon as you saw me, didn’t you? From my kavacha and kundala. Your mother’s heart would have known me, anyway. But you chose to say nothing, you did not come near me. I will not ask you what your reasons were; I do not want to cause you any more pain.
“I was telling you about Duryodhana. When Bheema and Arjuna mocked me on the day of the tournament, and Arjuna refused to fight me because I was a sutaputra, Duryodhana crowned me king of Anga. When I asked him what he wanted in return, he said to me, ‘All I want from you is your love, Karna.’
“That is how it has been between him and me, since that day. My heart belongs to him, and he has loved me more than he has his brothers. I will never betray that love, not if I have to sacrifice my life for it.“2
He sighed. “And until yesterday, it wasn’t hard for me to love Duryodhana and be loyal to him. But these last two days have been like two lives and deaths. Ah, mother, the truths with which Krishna and you have struck me are too fierce! Suddenly I feel no more anger or hatred for Yudhishtira or Arjuna, but only this overwhelming love. You think you need to beg me to come away with you to my brothers. You don’t know how I long to do just that! I would give this life and ten more to be able to come away with you. Alas, I am cursed, the most unfortunate man alive, that I cannot.”
He fell silent, and grew still beside the deep river. Kunti said in despair, “Why not, my child? Karna, I have always loved you. Whenever Arjuna spoke scornfully of the sutapura, I felt my heart would break. My son, have mercy on me. Your mother has borne the burden of her guilt for too long. What I made you suffer is unforgivable. But I was young, and afraid of the world. See how savagely my sin has come to roost. Oh, my sweet child, all these years I have felt an emptiness in my heart, and my other five sons could never fill it. I yearned for you, Karna. Today is the first day I feel whole, and as if God has finally taken pity on me. Let both our torments end here. I have paid in full for my sin. Now I have found you, at last, I could not bear losing you again. Come with me, Karna, let us heal each other.”
She sobbed again. He took her face in his hands. “Though I long to, I cannot come with you. Duryodhana depends on me. You have come to me at this eleventh hour; he has always been with me. A thousand bonds of love bind me to him. Honour has always meant more to me than my life. What honour will I have if I forsake my friend in his hour of need? Your love seizes my heart, and I ache to come with you to my brothers. But my heart is not mine to give; it belongs to Duryodhana. I am dearer to that man than his own blood, and I will not betray his love. That he couldn’t bear.”
She began to speak, but he said, “Mother, I know why you have come today. You are frightened for your sons. You know who I am, and you fear me. But you have no reason to be afraid. Duryodhana’s cause is doomed, and with it all those who fight for him. Dharma is with the Pandavas; they must win this war, and we their enemies must die. Besides, Krishna is with them. Who in this world, or any other, can stand against the Dark One? He is the Avatara; have no doubt the side he is on will prevail.”
She still looked anxious. He smiled, “You are most afraid for Arjuna’s sake because he and I have sworn to kill the other. Kunti Devi, I will tell you why Arjuna must win the duel between us, and why Karna must die.
“First, when my guru Bhargava cursed me; he said that when I fought my most powerful enemy I would forget the mantras for the devastras. Then a brahmana, whose cow I killed, cursed me saying I would be shot down as I had his beast: when I least expected it.
“And haven’t you noticed a change upon me? My father’s kavacha and kundala, which made me invincible, have gone. Indra himself came begging for alms at my hour of worship. He took my armour and earrings, so his son can kill me. Finally, now, Krishna and you have taken my greatest weapon, my hatred. You have robbed my mind of its strength. How will I kill Arjuna when I know that he is my brother, when I love him?”
Karna covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. Kunti took him in her arms; she pulled his head down into her mother’s lap. Thus they sat, for a long time, as twilight fell around them. Karna raised his face, and said, “Stop crying, mother. You must not cry today, when we have found each other again. A son needs his mother’s blessing as long as he lives. So bless me now, Kunti. Say my fame will last for ever, and that I will find honour, at last, in heaven.”
He prostrated himself at her feet, and, with her tears falling on him, Kunti laid her hands on him in a blessing. Rising, Karna said, “I have never refused anyone who came to me at my hour of worship, whatever they asked me for. Yet, I have denied my own mother the boon for which you came. I will not send you empty-handed from here. I have a boon for you: not the one you asked for, but one that I give you anyway. I swear I will not kill four of your sons in battle: Yudhishtira, Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva, none of them shall die at my hands.”
She waited, breathlessly. He went on, “But Arjuna I must fight. We must face each other in a mortal duel, and the world must know who is the better archer. Of course, now, one of us knows it is his brother he must fight and the other does not. No matter, either he or I must die. And when the war ends, you will still have five sons, as you have all these years.”
Then he could not endure it any more, and said hoarsely, “Now go before my heart breaks. I beg you, go!”
Kunti began to wail loudly. Karna embraced her. “What use are your tears now? For both of us it is too late. Not a line, not a word of what the Gods wrote for you and me can change. Our lives were already decided, long before we were born: every moment of them, their last ones, as well. Don’t cry now, uselessly; rather, pray for me. Pray that I reach the swarga where kshatriyas go when they die, and pray that at least there I find peace.
“I feel light! As if my grief has been taken from me, as if my sins have been washed away by my mother’s tears, more sacred than the waters of this Yamuna.”
Feverishly, he kissed her hands, her eyes, her lips. He said again, “Now go, while I can still bear it. It is late, and no one must discover that you and I have met. Let these hours be as just another dream.”
He had to help her to her feet, and she stood swaying from the pang inside her. Again, they embraced. Sobbing, she clutched him to her. After a long moment, she released him, turned, and, without another glance at his face,—for then she would never be able to walk away—Kunti stumbled blindly back towards the city. Karna stood turned to stone, watching her. Long after she was out of sight, he stood on.
2See Appendix.
TWENTY-TWO
Balarama and Rukmi
WORD REACHED THE PANDAVAS IN THEIR CAMP AT KURUKSHETRA that Bheeshma had been made Supreme Commander of the Kaurava army. Here, Dhrishtadyumna was the Senapati of Yudhishtira’s legions.
While the Pandava force waited for Duryodhana’s army to arrive on Kurukshetra, Yudhishtira received a visitor. Balarama came to see him. Yudhishtira welcomed him in some excitement. Had the great Yadava, perhaps, changed his mind about not fighting the war? Yudhishtira prostrated himself before Balarama, and the other Pandavas did as well. Krishna stood by, his arms crossed over his chest and a slight smile on his face.
Balarama’s eyes were red with wine. He was tense. Yudhishtira led him into his tent. For a long moment, the visitor sat silent, his gaze resting on all the Pandavas, in turns, and on Krishna. When he spoke he seemed to address Yudhishtira, but his eyes kept straying to Krishna’s face. The Dark One stood there, laconic, the smile never leaving his lips.
Balarama said thickly, “I hear a great war will be fought on Kurukshetra. I hear the kings of the earth have come here to die, and their blood will flow in rills on this field. I have come to tell you I pray that all of you cross this sea of peril safely.”
He paused, moistened his lips, and continued, “I am told this war could not be avoided. Repeatedly, I said to Krishna, ‘Be impartial to the Pandavas and the Kauravas. They are both dear to us; Yudhishtira is dear, and so is Duryodhana.’
“But it seems my words fell on deaf ears. Against my wishes, Krishna has decided to take sides in this war. He has chosen to be with you, though he will only be Arjuna’s sarathy and bear no arms.”
He gave a short laugh. “But Krishna doesn’t need to carry weapons to give you victory. I know him, we all do. In his hands, the reins of Arjuna’s horses will be more terrible than all the Kauravas’ arrows. Poor Duryodhana, I pity him. What chance has he of winning, when my brother is against him?
“But I did not come here to tell you what you already know. Bheema, I see the questions in your eyes. Yes, indeed, you are my sishya and dear to me; but Duryodhana was always my favourite. Why, I love him as much as Krishna does Arjuna. But I will not be part of Duryodhana’s army, though he has sent word begging me to fight for him. How could I even think of fighting against my brother, however much I may abhor what he does?”
He drew a breath. “I mourn the ancient House of Kuru, at war with itself! I mourn the House of Kuru, which no enemy could ever bring down, but which now turns on itself, and thus to its doom. Why, I mourn the earth, as we have known it; this war will be its end. Yudhishtira, I have come to tell you I am going on a tirtha-yatra, because I cannot watch this war, let alone fight in it. I cannot watch brother slaughter his noble brother. I am going on a pilgrimage, first to the banks of the Saraswati, and then to a hundred other tirthas, to the very south of Bharatavarsha. And I will pray for you all, yes, I will pray for you all.”
Suddenly, tears stood in his eyes. Krishna stepped forward. Balarama rose and clasped his brother in his arms. Choking back his grief, he blessed the five Pandavas. Abruptly, the mighty Yadava stalked out and rode away from Kurukshetra. Krishna had tears in his eyes, too, and memories of a wild and wonderful childhood and youth spent with Balarama in the green arms of a virgin forest: enchanted Vrindavana on the banks of the midnight-blue Yamuna.
At about that time, another kshatriya came to Yudhishtira, unexpectedly. Rukmi of Vidarbha, Krishna’s brother-in-law and his sworn enemy, arrived in Kurukshetra with an aksauhini of his own. The world knew how Krishna had once humiliated Rukmi. The Dark One carried away his sister, Rukmini, on the day she was to marry Rukmi’s dearest friend, Sishupala. Since then, Rukmi had secured Siva’s blessing and had become a king of some conquests and influence. Yet, he was known more for his arrogance than his considerable valour; and today he came haughtily before Yudhishtira.
Yudhishtira received his visitor cordially. When Rukmi sat in the royal tent, he began to speak before Yudhishtira could ask what had brought him to Kurukshetra. Rukmi did not address Yudhishtira at all, but Arjuna.
“I have come to help you win this war, Arjuna! Fear the Kaurava army no more, I am here to raze it for you. Without your lifting your bow, Pandava, I will make corpses of Duryodhana’s best kshatriyas. No matter if they have eleven aksauhinis or a hundred, they will not stand against Rukmi of Bhojataka.”
He smiled smugly around him, then, declared, “And when I have slain your enemies, I shall make a gift of the earth to you! Fear nothing any more, Arjuna, your war is already won.”
Arjuna’s eyes glittered. He glanced at Krishna, but his cousin was impassive. Tense as he was on the eve of battle, the Pandava flashed angrily at Rukmi, “Dare you come here and speak to me of my being afraid? Rukmi, there are many kshatriyas here, twice as strong as you; none of them has ever mentioned the word fear to me. Who are you, that you dare speak of winning the war for us, and of making us a gift of the earth? We have no need for the likes of you. You may stay or leave, as you please.”
For a moment, Rukmi sat very still. Without a word, he rose and walked out of the tent; he left Kurukshetra with his aksauhini. Rukmi rode straight to Duryodhana, and spoke to the Kaurava in much the same vein. Duryodhana laughed in his face, and the lord of Vidarbha returned to his capital, seething. Thus, Balarama and Rukmi were the only two kings of Bharatavarsha who did not fight the war at Kurukshetra.
The Kaurava army arrived on the banks of the Saraswati, and made camp there. The golden river separated the two immense forces, and their soldiers stared at one another across the water. Duryodhana called his cousin, Shakuni’s son Uluka.
“Take a message from me to the Pandavas, Uluka. Go into the presence of Yudhishtira. Be certain the five brothers are there; be sure Krishna is there, and all the kings who are their allies. Then speak boldly to them, your head held high and your words ringing clear. Tell them Duryodhana says: ‘The time for bragging is over, cousins. We shall have no more words, but war. Thirteen years ago, you swore many oaths of the revenge you would take on me and mine. More recently, you sent back an arrogant message to Hastinapura with Sanjaya. The time is here when you cannot brag, or threaten me any more. The time for deeds is here, for keeping the oaths you swore so loudly. The time for arrows and swords and maces is here, the time for war, your time to die.’
“Don’t be cowed by them, Uluka, their fame is greater than their worth. Speak defiantly, remember you are Duryodhana’s messenger.”
He took Uluka aside privately, and gave him individual messages for each of the Pandavas, and one for Krishna. When he heard what he must say to the sons of Pandu, poor Uluka trembled. But he had no choice except go; indeed, Duryodhana thought he was conferring a rare honour on Shakuni’s son by making him his messenger. With trepidation, Uluka set out for Yudhishtira’s camp.
TWENTY-THREE
Uluka’s embassy
