Karna's Wife (39 page)

‘How can I tell the world that Karna is my son, Uruvi?’ exclaimed Kunti. ‘And even if I had, would anyone have listened?’

Uruvi was amazed at the older woman’s simple reasoning. ‘Did you even try? What kind of a mother are you?’ she asked derisively, her face showing her open scorn. ‘If you could walk into the court of Hastinapur and announce the five Pandavas as the sons of celestial gods, what stopped you from mentioning your oldest son? The moment you threw him into the river, you forgot about him as one would get rid of garbage! Did you bother to check if he was dead or alive? How could you allow your son to suffer so many years of ignominy while you preened yourself as the queen mother? You preferred to keep it a secret because it served your interests. Even now you chose to disclose the truth only because it helps you. Why don’t you announce the truth to your sons? The war you dread will come to an immediate halt. Duryodhana may not want Yudhishthira to have the crown, but he would be only too happy to give Indraprastha to Karna. I am sure that like Yudhishthira, Duryodhana would voluntarily surrender his kinghood to the one person he loves most—Karna. Do you have the courage to do it?’

Kunti flushed deeply as Uruvi went on. ‘No, dear queen, you have never loved nor accepted Karna as your son. But today, you have the nerve to go to him and beg for the lives of your other sons!’ she said scathingly, her contempt burning in each word she uttered. ‘By disclosing that you are his mother, you have so cleverly used the fact of motherhood as a political weapon to guarantee a win for your Pandava sons. You forsook Karna even today just like you did when he was born. He remains rejected even now—as he was at birth. You made him a pariah within his own family. He is today hated by his brothers only because of you! And that’s why his death in this war is a foregone conclusion. Because while Karna knows that he is facing his blood brothers whom he has promised not to harm, thanks to your perfectly timed revelation, the Pandavas are thirsting to kill the sutaputra they have detested all their lives.’

Uruvi was furious, her eyes blazing. She was the spirited princess Kunti had always known her as, but this time her lashing words were directed at her. ‘Such was your enormous will that though you fainted at seeing your son for the first time at the archery contest at Hastinapur, you calmly watched him being insulted by his younger brothers, Bhima and Arjuna. How could you? What are you made of? You remained silent as Karna was being publicly humiliated about his parentage. I was right next to you, but you did not give the slightest hint that the young boy who looked like a god and fought like a noble warrior was your son.’

‘Did I have an alternative?’ Kunti asked evenly. ‘What was I to do? Yes, by his kavach and kundals, I recognized my long-lost son, but could I shout with joy and pride? Could I tell the world that he was the son I bore before my marriage to King Pandu?’

Uruvi broke into a loud, jeering laugh. ‘Why not? From when has unwed motherhood been such a sin in our society?’ she sneered. ‘Your family has done it before—wasn’t Rishi Vyasa Queen Mother Satyavati’s illicit son before she married King Shantanu? Not just that, the son was given full royal respect. When her stepson Bhishma refused Satyavati’s request that he should practise niyoga with Vichitravirya’s widows, Ambika and Ambalika, it was Rishi Vyasa who finally performed niyoga on his widowed sisters-in-law and produced Dhritrashtra and Pandu and Vidura as heirs to the dynasty. Was that less scandalous than you announcing Karna as your son and the worthy heir of the Kuru kingdom?’

Uruvi’s scornful words did not stop. ‘In our society, we have a term for children who are born to a woman before her marriage—kaneena. Such incidents are not uncommon as you well know. Why even the Dharmashastras say that such children belonged to the woman’s husband when she married later. Even if you had dared to tell King Pandu, who was begging you for children anyway, he would have accepted Karna. Yet, you preferred to throw your baby into the flowing river, leaving him to an unkind fate. Were you ever humiliated because of the way you conceived the Pandavas?’ she asked scathingly. ‘No. You were not. You were always accorded a royal welcome and blessed as a queen. Your niyoga was never considered a moral lapse. Had you revealed who the father of the child was—Lord Surya—in your list of dharma, Vayu and Indra as the Pandavas’ fathers, Karna too, would have commanded the respect your other sons were given. Chances are that this son would have not only been socially accepted, but held in awe as he was born with divine signs on his body. You could have publicly acknowledged him, not only without shame, but with immense pride at the archery contest. This son of the sun god had not just the godly kavach and kundals, he had already proved he was equal, and superior, to the best warrior of his day—your other son, Arjuna. You had the chance to accept him socially. You did not. What were you scared of? That your image would be tarnished? It would not have been. Rishi Vyasa did not suffer any severe condemnation nor did his unwed mother. Both were universally respected and did not suffer any social rejection. But Karna did. And for all these years. Why? Because he did not know who his mother was! Because you did not have the courage to own up!’

Kunti cowered under Uruvi’s verbal attack and two red spots rose suddenly to her cheeks. ‘Uruvi, you hate me today for what I did, but I had no choice, believe me,’ she appealed to her. ‘I have suffered all these years, looking at him but never being able to call him my own, to hug him, to be with him. When you told me you loved him and were bent on marrying him, I think that was the happiest, most relieved moment of my life. If not me, he could have you. You would give him all that I could not. And through you, Uruvi, I experienced the joy of being near Karna! Uruvi, please don’t hate me so…!’

Kunti was dry-eyed as she gazed numbly at the girl whom she had reared so tenderly. There was no love, no softness in Uruvi now. The anger she was unleashing showed that she despised her foster mother as fiercely as she loved her husband. Kunti realized that the woman seething in front of her was no longer the daughter she loved. She was the wife of her son whom she had never recognized as her own. And if not the son, the wife now demanded an explanation. Uruvi wanted to punish Kunti as harshly as she had wronged them; and the brutal truth was her only weapon to crush her.

Uruvi moved nearer to Kunti; the hunter closing in on the hunted. ‘You erased him from your life so smoothly—never turning back nor looking forward to search for him,’ she said. ‘He could never be a part of your life, your love. You never wanted him! You gave him nothing, but yet you have made demands of him. You abandoned him not once, but repeatedly. Like you did at his birth, at the archery arena, at my wedding, at the Rajasuya ceremony, at Vrishakethu’s naming ceremony—in fact, each time you met him! You could have taken any of these occasions to accept him but each time you turned your face away. A single word of your acknowledgement would have overturned the entire situation and Karna would have been the son and heir of the Kurus. Had you spoken out then, perhaps this war could have been avoided. But you favoured silence to confession. You favoured your honour for his dishonour, you favoured your five sons over him, you wanted their life and his death!’ she said in a choking voice. ‘All your life you have denied him a dignified life, now you are denying him even a dignified death! And you call yourself a mother? You are heartless!’ she said bitingly. ‘You have not given him anything but are still exacting every drop of blood, dignity and life from him. You are even more cowardly and shameless than you were that day at the arena—by begging him to spare your other sons’ lives, you are making him sign his own death warrant. You are a murderess!’

Kunti’s face went ashen but Uruvi was beside herself with rage. She leaned towards the older woman, forcing her to look at her. ‘And that is what Karna’s promise to you means, isn’t it?’ she breathed harshly. ‘His death! You would rather watch him die than any of your other sons. And you have the effrontery to talk of your great love for him! It is a sham. Your love is as fake as you are! You are the one who pushed him towards Duryodhana and his evil ways. You are the one who, by rejecting him constantly, have hurt him always, wounding his very being. Why did he join Duryodhana and the Kauravas? Because of you! By deserting him, you forced him to turn to them. You made Karna become the heart and soul of the Kauravas—and now you want him to join you and your sons who have never even been civil to him? Karna yearned for social recognition—and only you could have given it to him. But you lied, and Karna suffered in misery all his life. You wanted to sacrifice your own son.’

Kunti gave a soft moan of horror and covered her face with her hands. Uruvi prised open her fingers and held the older woman by her wrist. ‘I loathe you, not just because you are an uncaring mother but a shrewd woman who even now sees her own interests first. You extracted another promise from Karna, did you not, you heartless woman?’ she demanded, her eyes shining with pure hate. ‘You made him promise you that he would not use any divine arrow or weapon more than once, fully knowing that Karna had the mighty Nag astra, but which is now useless as he cannot make use of it more than once. You are cunning!’ she spat virulently. ‘Look at me, face the truth. That is what Karna’s promise to you means, isn’t it? Not just Karna’s death, but worse, his ultimate disgrace—as a traitor! You are forcing Karna to betray Duryodhana, the man he trusts and loves most. Duryodhana has stood by Karna all his life and you are now asking your son to turn against him—for what? For honour, for truth, or for your sons who have run him down in the vilest of ways? By taking from Karna the promise not to kill any of the Pandavas, you are forcing your son, who has always stood by Duryodhana in his best and worst moments, to act against him. Karna, despite his supposed “low birth”, has been known not just as a formidable warrior but as the epitome of loyalty, honour and gratitude. You want him to be reduced to a cheap, low ingrate! You want Karna to betray his friend, to desert him in his darkest hour of need. You, for your self-serving purpose, will make him stoop to the lowest—even in his death!’

Kunti shrank back in the face of Uruvi’s rage. ‘But that is what you actually are. A cold-blooded woman. Not a mother,’ Uruvi enunciated each word with a savage brutality. ‘You were the mother who tricked her sons to marry one woman. And you are that mother-in-law who allowed her daughter-in-law to be labelled a whore, while you maintained your spotless reputation. Why, even in this hour, you are ready to use your daughter-in-law as his ultimate temptation. You are ready to corrupt anyone for your goal.’

‘Stop it, Uruvi!’ Kunti stood staring at her with wide, startled eyes, her face creased in pain. Kunti’s plea went unheard and Uruvi went on.

‘You have got people killed for your betterment,’ Uruvi hissed the words venomously as she watched the older woman hunch her shoulders as though struck by blows. ‘It was your implacable will which got the Nishada woman and her five sons drunk in the palace of lac so that no evidence remained of the Pandavas’ escape from the gutted palace except for the six dead, charred bodies of the unfortunate woman and her five sons. You murdered them ruthlessly to protect your sons and yourself. Now you are doing the same with Karna. Nothing and no one must touch even a hair of your precious sons and their throne. Not even your eldest son!’

Kunti was standing bolt upright with her hands to her heart. ‘Uruvi, do you think that I never pined for Karna? I have suffered so much!’

‘Never!’ Uruvi retorted violently. ‘Never as much as you made him suffer. And I cannot ever forgive you for that. Go away, go away with your son’s death on your head and my misery on your conscience—if you have any! You are no mother of mine. Nor his!’

Kunti let out a soft whimper, the last cry of an animal wounded to death and hid her face with her hands. Staggering like a dying woman, she left the tent, unable to bear more.

In the midst of her confrontation, Uruvi found clarity in her mind, knowing she had forced Kunti to face the motives behind her actions. She stared after Kunti, her eyes gleaming with triumph, bright with unforgiving, unshed tears.

The last few days before the war passed slowly. The entire household at the Anga palace was uneasy, the dark future looming ahead threateningly. Karna, Vrushali, Shona, Radha, Adhiratha and the sons of Karna, except Vrishakethu, were like victims being prepared for the savage rites of a sacrifice. Her terror numbed Uruvi. She could not bear to let Karna out of her sight; her parched, dry eyes drank in the sight of him thirstily. It was only in the rare moments when he was with her that her courage came back and she clung to those moments to take her through the dark days. She had ceased to cry; the tears had long dried up. To shake off the vague terrors that assailed her, she prayed and worked fervently, spending longer hours at the rehabilitation camps. It was an escape from her ordeal, from her anguish. The endless days, one after another, dragged out their weary hours.