Karna's Wife (23 page)

One day, as Uruvi sat at her dressing table staring at her reflection in the mirror, she heard a commotion in the patio below her balcony, but did not bother to see what was happening. Downstairs, Queen Shubra was delighted to see that her friend, Kunti, had come on a visit. She was meeting Kunti after a long time, but Queen Shubra knew that the visit would not be without a reason. Kunti never indulged in pleasure trips. She, too, wanted to talk to her about Uruvi, who had behaved obstinately again by refusing to return home with her husband.

Kunti smiled as they embraced each other but Queen Shubra noticed that she looked unusually worried. It wasn’t like her. Even in the worst of circumstances, Kunti’s iron will to tide over trouble was astounding. Each time she had emerged stronger, even though a little sadder.

Queen Shubra remembered Kunti as the cheerless little girl, Pritha, who had come from her father’s house to the palace of King Kuntibhoj. That was when and where they had become friends. Kunti had always been strong while Shubra had been a wilful child, so their rivalry centred on who was tougher. The edge of competitiveness continued over the growing years and Kunti had eventually won, but she had once told her, ‘You have had a happier life, Shubra, and the best part of it is Uruvi. She is your ultimate gift.’

Kunti had always reserved a tremendous affection for Uruvi, which was reciprocated in equal measure by the child. Queen Shubra was not a jealous woman and did not resent their closeness. But she did wonder about their unusual bonding. In spite of being the mother of Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna and the foster mother of the twins, Nakul and Sahadeva, it was to Uruvi that Kunti was utterly devoted. ‘She reminds me of myself!’ Kunti had laughed as she swung the little girl in her arms. Shubra knew that Kunti was happiest when she played with Uruvi. She reminded her of the young Kunti deeply in love with Pandu, the handsome prince of Hastinapur she had eventually married. Just like Uruvi had married the man she loved. Shubra was again struck with the similarity of the two—both were enormously self-willed and they usually got what they wanted.

Queen Shubra could guess why her friend had hastily rushed down to Pukeya from Hastinapur. It must be because of Uruvi, or more exactly, her refusal to return home with Karna. Gossip must have already made its malicious rounds when Uruvi had unceremoniously left home for Pukeya. The fact that she had not gone back with her husband, even when he had gone to fetch her, must have stirred another thunderstorm in Hastinapur. And since Uruvi was pregnant, it made the situation seem a lot worse, Queen Shubra thought worriedly. She was doubly relieved now that Kunti had arrived. She hoped Kunti could knock sense into this stubborn child of hers. She was probably the only one who could.

The two friends did not sit down for their habitual chat. They did not exchange a word, their apprehensive glances revealing their worry. Without bothering to rest after her journey, Kunti headed straight to Uruvi’s room.

Kunti had expected Uruvi to rush into her arms as she always did, but this time she did not. She got up instead, more out of decorum, and looked at her expressionlessly. The last time they had met had not been in the best of circumstances. It was, unforgettably, one of the worst times, Kunti recalled with a silent shudder.

The same anxiety was running though Uruvi’s troubled mind. She could not find the words or the emotion to greet the elderly queen as she used to. She stood stiff, her fists tightened. Kunti hugged her and wrapped her arms around her thickening waist, feeling the tension emanating from her.

‘Have you still not forgiven yourself for what happened at the Raj Sabha?’ Kunti asked gently, coming straight to the point. ‘Oh, child, how much will you suffer about this? Let it go.’

Uruvi listened to her in complete silence. Kunti frowned. It was not like Uruvi to be so withdrawn and silent. She would have preferred an impassioned debate with her.

She decided on her next move, which she hoped would provoke a reaction from the silent girl. ‘Is your love for Karna so shallow that you cannot forgive him for what he did?’ she began. ‘Forgive him, dear, for your own sake. If you do not forgive him, you will end up hating him! He will always be the wicked transgressor who broke your dreams and happiness. Worse, you will not be able to forget this unpleasantness. By not forgiving him, you are not forgiving yourself either. Yes, he said those outrageous words to a woman, but so be it. He is repenting—and suffering too. Why are you jeopardizing your marriage for what happened? Try to forget, dear, and accept what you cannot change. It is only then that you will get peace.’

Uruvi looked at her, an unmistakably cynical expression on her face. Kunti was vexed; Uruvi’s coolness almost angered her. ‘What is it that Karna said that has affronted your fine moral principles, Uruvi?’ she asked, her voice sharpening perceptibly. ‘That he called Draupadi a whore? What did he say that was wrong? Draupadi is the wife of five men and that fact remains unchanged, doesn’t it?’

Uruvi flinched.

Undeterred, Kunti went on. ‘You are shocked again, I notice. But Karna, in a moment of anger and pique, was actually quoting the scriptures correctly. They claim that a woman who gives her body to a fourth man is a wanton woman, a swairini. And a woman who has had sex with five men and more is a whore. So, by being the wife of five husbands, Draupadi becomes, theoretically, a whore. Karna merely drove home this point.’

‘What he said was contemptible!’

‘Possibly,’ Kunti argued in a detached tone. ‘But at that moment he believed he had a right to insult her because she, too, had once humiliated him in public. Uruvi, it is an issue fraught with emotion. The matter’s delicate and personal. They both said what they did to preserve their pride and vent their anger—all was said in the heat of the moment. Get over it. It happened, yes, but it’s a moment that is now in the past. Don’t relive it.’

Uruvi looked aghast, her face pale with anger. ‘How can you defend what he said? It’s crass, it’s despicable! And how can you, as her mother-in-law, justify the use of the word “whore”? She’s the wife of your sons!’

‘Because I have gone through it myself!’ Kunti asserted calmly. ‘I have been called a whore and worse when I became the mother of the Pandavas. Everyone knew my husband, King Pandu, was cursed, that he could never consummate his marriage, and yet, I was the mother of three boys. I was never allowed to forget that discrepancy ever! Why do you think Duryodhana still refuses to recognize the Pandavas as his blood relations? Because they were not the sons of King Pandu. They were the sons of Kunti and Madri—never King Pandu’s.’

Uruvi fell silent again, looking at the senior queen with steady, alert eyes. She was watchful, careful not to miss out on a single word.

‘Like you, Uruvi, I fell in love and was fortunate enough to be able to choose my own husband. You, too, fell in love with a man and were determined to marry him. And I think we were lucky to be allowed to get away with our freedom of choice. Which queen in my family got to choose her husband on her own? Satyavati did not select King Shantanu as her husband—he chose her as his queen. Nor did her daughters-in-law, Ambika and Ambalika, who were kidnapped by Bhishma Pitamaha and forced to marry Satyavati’s son Vichitravirya. Gandhari, too, was forced to marry Dhritrashtra by Bhishma Pitamaha, who also made King Pandu marry Madri after I had married him. Subhadra has been fortunate like us—she was in love with Arjuna before she got to marry him. But did Draupadi marry the man she loved?’

Here, Kunti deliberately paused for a fraction, and in that moment, Uruvi realized that the older lady knew Draupadi’s secret as well—that her daughter-in-law had loved Karna. Her cryptic look said it all but both of them did not dare to voice the unspeakable fact.

‘Draupadi did not pick and choose Arjuna at her swayamwara,’ Kunti continued smoothly. ‘He won her. Uruvi, we are the lucky ones. Karna did not win you—
you
chose Karna. As I chose King Pandu. Not that I ever regretted that decision. Do you regret marrying Karna, Uruvi?’

‘No.’ The answer came out in a flash, destroying any doubts she ever harboured about the depth of her feelings for Karna.

‘Nor did I regret marrying King Pandu,’ smiled Kunti. ‘Not even when I discovered that the handsome man I had fallen in love with and married was sickly, suffering from frequent bouts of ill health. Even before he was cursed by Sage Kindama, he could rarely make love to me,’ she whispered in a savage undertone. ‘I could never have his children. And then, he married the exquisite Madri,’ she raised a tortured face. ‘But I loved him so much, Uruvi. I could accept him with whatever flaws he had. It hurt when Madri intervened in our life but I consoled myself and accepted her as I knew he loved me and that he had been forced to marry Madri as a gesture of political goodwill. You are to Vrushali what Madri was to me. Yet, did that make your love weak and insecure?’

Uruvi shook her head, recalling the jealous anger she felt each time Karna was with Vrushali but her intense love had overridden it. What must Vrushali have felt when she, Uruvi, insidiously entered Karna’s life to threaten her marital bliss?

Kunti gave her a knowing look. ‘That’s what I mean when I say love is sublime—it gives us enough strength to face the fiercest odds. Mine was the cruel fact that my husband had to stay celibate. It frustrated him greatly, especially the awful reality that he could have no heir for his kingdom. Yet, the three of us as the newly married young king and his queens lived happily, until one fateful day.’

Uruvi knew that Kunti was telling her something she may have not revealed to anyone else. The fact that she was disclosing it meant that there was a purpose behind it, for Kunti did not act or speak without a reason. Uruvi wanted to know that reason. She heard Kunti continue in a deceptively flat voice. ‘And then one morning, that awful day dawned. King Pandu had gone hunting and killed a deer with his precise aim. The hunter had struck his target but the prey was not what it seemed to be. The deer in actuality was Rishi Kindama who had taken the form of a deer while making love to his mate. The dying rishi then cursed King Pandu, warning him that he would die if he were ever to consummate his marriage with his wife. Forced into abstinence, the young king gave up his throne to his older brother in despair. We left for the forest, but even there our closeness tortured him relentlessly. He had two wives but could not touch them!’ she said thickly.

Uruvi saw that Kunti was finding it difficult to continue but she did not tell her to stop. ‘It was in the dark forest that I revealed my dark secret to my husband,’ the old queen whispered. ‘Before my marriage to King Pandu, Sage Durvasa had visited my father’s house. I had been warned by my father that he was an insufferably irascible sage but I had to see to it that he was served impeccably. He was not to be displeased in any way—I did as I was told. The old sage was so pleased with my devotion and efficient hospitality that he granted me a strange boon. It was as if he knew that one day I would marry a man afflicted with the curse of sexual abstinence. The revered rishi granted me a chant—a mantra—to invoke whichever god I wanted to and ask him to bless me with a son—a son especially endowed with his own godly virtues.’

Kunti stopped, a faraway look in her eyes. Uruvi wondered whether there was any point in what she was telling her. But she did not risk interrupting Kunti as she recalled her painful past. ‘On hearing that this boon was bestowed on me, King Pandu, instead of being upset, was delighted and he requested me to use the boon to provide Hastinapur with an heir. He saw a glimmer of hope of being a father of sons—but whom he could not have fathered. He knew they would not be from him, but he was beyond caring about that. All he wanted was an heir to the throne. And he came up with a solution for all his problems. He exhorted me, he appealed to me, he pleaded with me to use the mantras. Through the mantras, I was to beget his children and follow the custom of niyoga, the practice of offering one’s body to another man with the husband’s consent.’

When Kunti saw Uruvi’s shocked expression, she laughed harshly. ‘Oh, yes, it happens. It happens in most royal families though it’s kept as the best-known open family secret,’ Kunti said derisively. ‘It happened with me and before me, with the two queens of King Vichitravirya, who was an impotent husband—Ambika and Ambalika. They were two out of the three Kashi princesses whom Bhishma Pitamaha had kidnapped for his half-brother, King Vichitravirya, the younger son of Queen Mother Satyavati.’

Suddenly, there was a cold draught in the room and Uruvi shivered. Kunti collected her thoughts and wrapped her shawl around her tightly. ‘After King Vichitravirya’s sudden death, his two widows, Ambika and Ambalika, had to offer themselves to Sage Vyasa, under the orders of the queen mother, who was desperate for an heir to carry on the Kuru dynasty. Earlier, she had asked Bhishma Pitamaha to perform niyoga with the widows but he refused adamantly. Then she called in her illegitimate son—Sage Vyasa, whom she had conceived through Sage Parashara before she married King Shantanu, the father of Bhishma Pitamaha and King Vichitravirya.’

Uruvi was dumbfounded at the royal intrigues Kunti was revealing so faithfully. ‘Ironically, none of the three sons conceived through Sage Vyasa—Dhritrashtra, Pandu and Vidura—were of Kuru blood; they were not the sons of King Vichitravirya at all!’

Why was Kunti tracing the Kuru bloodline for her? This puzzled Uruvi but she wanted to know more. The revelation that neither Dhritrashtra nor King Pandu were ‘pure’ royals was a mockery for Uruvi. ‘Bhishma Pitamaha is said to have refused Queen Mother Satyavati’s request of niyoga on just one reasoning: he said intercourse with the wives of others was a grievous sin. Moreover, niyoga was permissible only at the instance of the husband and
not
of the mother-in-law. Defeated, the queen mother called for her long-forgotten son and that was when Sage Vyasa was brought in.’

The tale got more sordid. ‘The widowed queens had no option: they could not refuse or choose who would perform niyoga,’ recounted the elderly Pandava queen. ‘It seems Queen Ambika shut her eyes in sheer terror when she was alone with the highly renowned but hideously ugly sage and out of that union was born a blind son—Dhritrashtra. Queen Ambalika suffered a similar horrifying experience. She was said to have gone as white as a sheet during the niyoga with the sage, which is why King Pandu was born anaemic and pale. Ambika was ordered to have niyoga with the sage again by her mother-in-law. But the young widow sent across her maid instead to the sage and the consummation was a relatively satisfactory one—and so Vidura, a healthy boy, was born. He was the queen mother’s favourite but since his mother was a maid, he was considered not “royal” enough and was always snubbed as inferior. Just like Karna is,’ added Kunti quietly.