Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (39 page)

The evening passed in profound conversation.

In the morning, Krishna rose, bathed,

performed his morning puja, and dispensed

gifts to the many brahmins in attendance.

He made sure Daruka had fed the horses,

groomed them and harnessed them, ready to leave.

Then Duryodhana and Shakuni came

to escort him to the assembly hall.

Krishna greeted them with courtesy.

In their chariots, flanked by foot soldiers,

they traveled in procession through the streets

of Hastinapura, past crowds thronging,

jostling to catch a glimpse of Krishna,

cheering in ecstasy. Dark-skinned Krishna,

swathed in a robe of yellow silk, resembled

a sapphire in a setting of bright gold.

The council was assembled. Also present

were kings and generals of the allied armies,

splendid in their sumptuous robes and jewels.

As Krishna entered, all rose to their feet,

and he noticed, hovering in the sky,

several seers, headed by Narada.

At Krishna’s prompting, Bhishma welcomed them,

offering them fine seats and worthy guest gifts.

Now, in this assembly of the powerful,

after the usual formalities,

addressing Dhritrashtra, Krishna spoke.

His voice was like a deep and resonant drum,

reaching the furthest corners of the chamber.

“Sir, I bring greetings from Yudhishthira.

He sends respects, and prays for your good health.

He wishes me to say he bears no grudge

for what he and his family have suffered

up to now.

“But you know why I stand here.

The house of Bharata has been renowned,

always, for its honor and probity,

for its courageous following of dharma,

which has brought it riches and acclaim.

But now your sons, led by Duryodhana,

have brought your great house into disrepute

by straying into greed, and cruelly

stripping your nephews of their patrimony.

This is shameful, king. If you do not check

your wayward son, catastrophe will follow—

a war so terrible, the entire clan

together with their allies on both sides

will be strewn, lifeless, on the field of battle,

with no one left to light their funeral pyres.

I have come here wishing to benefit

both the Kauravas and the Pandavas.

If you now follow the righteous course

it will be for your good as well as theirs.”

After Krishna had finished his address,

the eminent seers—Rama Jamadagnya,

Narada and Kanva—also spoke,

making the same point through parables,

stories of pride punished by the gods,

designed to change Duryodhana’s resolve.

He sat, stony-faced, quite unmoved.

Dhritarashtra murmured, “You are right,

all of you, but I cannot act alone.

I am powerless—speak to my son.”

Krishna turned to Duryodhana,

sitting at his ease, next to Karna,

and spoke kindly to him. “Best of Bharatas,

listen to the wisdom of your father,

and of the elders, not to your misguided

and malevolent advisers. They may say

that you can win a glorious victory.

It is not so. What man on earth but you

would make enemies of your virtuous cousins—

and for what? For slaughter and destruction.

Look at your brothers here, your sons, your allies—

don’t make them die for you. For die they will.

You could live in peace with the Pandavas,

each in your own domain, each enhancing

the power and prosperity of the other.

Together, you could be invincible.”

The king and all the elders lent their voices

to Krishna’s plea. They summoned up a prospect

of peaceful times, certain that Yudhishthira

was sincere in his expressed intention

to put past cruelties out of his mind.

“When Krishna returns to Upaplavya,

why not go with him, son,” suggested Bhishma.

“Let Yudhishthira take you by the hands,

and his brothers welcome you with affection.”

But when Duryodhana stood up to speak,

his angry breath hissing between his teeth,

it was clear that nothing he had heard

had had the least effect. “Long-haired Krishna,

you are reviling me because you favor

the Pandavas. You always have. These elders

are also hostile to me. The fact is

I have done nothing wrong. Yudhishthira

came freely to the gambling hall, and lost.

He paid; and now he wants us to return

Indraprastha to him.

“But I maintain

that the hasty carve-up of the kingdom,

long ago, was an ill-judged mistake.

It never should have happened. I was young

and could not prevent it. In recent years

I have ruled the entire kingdom as proxy

for my father here. He is the king.

I am his eldest son, his heir apparent.

That is how it will stay. The Pandavas

will not receive a speck of Bharata land,

not while I’m alive! I’m ready to fight.

Manliness consists in making efforts—

striving, never giving in to pressure.

A kshatriya can have no greater honor

than to die in the glorious heat of battle.

If it comes to death, then heaven awaits me.”

Krishna’s dark eyes shone with mockery.

“You shall have your wish. You’ll find a hero’s bed

for certain! There is not a single warrior

who will see his home again once he rides out

to battle with the mighty Arjuna,

unvanquishable even by the gods!

‘Nothing wrong’? Don’t think it is forgotten

how you tried to burn the Pandavas alive,

how you entrapped them in the gambling hall,

how you subjected virtuous Draupadi

to utter humiliation. And you claim

that you’ve done nothing wrong? Shame, Duryodhana!

“You say I am partial to the Pandavas

but I seek what is best for them
and
you.

Not one of the wise elders in this hall—

not Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vidura,

not even your own father—takes your part

in your intransigent malevolence.

If you act against the best advice

you will put yourself in the gravest danger.”

Duhshasana spoke to Duryodhana:

“Brother, if you don’t agree to peace

it seems to me that Bhishma and Drona here

will capture you—and me and Karna too—

and hand you over to Yudhishthira.”

Duryodhana, black with rage, sprang to his feet

and disrespectfully strode from the hall,

followed by his friends.

Krishna turned toward

Bhishma, Drona and the other elders.

“I call on you now to act—it is your duty.

Act now, while there is time. A while ago,

in the prosperous kingdom of the Bhojas,

I removed an upstart prince, Kamsa,

who had usurped the throne while his father lived.

There was civil war. By eliminating

that one prince, the kingdom was returned

to peace, prosperity and lawfulness.

I urge you, revered elders—do the same.

Bind the perverse prince and his friends, before

they bring disaster on an unknown scale.

Sacrifice the few to save the many.”

Silence. Dhritarashtra, as though deaf,

made no answer, but sent for Gandhari

hoping his son would listen to his mother.

“Dhritarashtra, you are much to blame,”

said Gandhari. “Out of misplaced love

you have allowed your son to have his way,

and now he is past control. I’ll speak to him.”

Flanked by his friends, his face dark with resentment,

Duryodhana was brought back to the hall

and stood, shifting sulkily, barely listening

while his mother made familiar arguments.

“This kingdom has always been ruled according

to the law of succession. Yudhishthira,

as the eldest of the Bharata princes,

is generally acknowledged heir apparent.

We all know about the obsessive hatred

you have always harbored for your cousins

and, because you have your father’s ear—

a father incapable of saying no—

you have engaged in all kinds of deceit

and trickery to seize the throne yourself.

“But the fact remains—the true succession

rests with Yudhishthira. He is generous,

only claiming that half of the kingdom

he ruled before he was tricked out of it.

Yet, gripped by greed, you stubbornly refuse

to give up even this. I blame your father.

If Dhritarashtra had performed his duty,

and restrained you years ago, would you, my son,

be the stubborn fool who stands here now,

bringing ruin on the Bharatas?”

Again, the prince swept out of the assembly,

followed by loyal Karna and Shakuni.

Together they devised a daring plot:

seeing that Krishna could not be appeased,

and perceiving him as unprotected,

Duryodhana proposed to take him hostage,

keep him prisoner until the Pandavas

agreed to give up all claim to the kingdom.

But observant Satyaki got wind of it

and went to tell Krishna and the elders

in the assembly. Once more, Duryodhana

was forced to listen to their reprimands:

Dhritarashtra said, “You must be deranged!

Do you not grasp the measure of Krishna’s power?

If you attempted such a hare-brained scheme,

that would be your final act on earth;

you would be like a moth attacking fire.

Just as no human hand can stop the wind,

or reach the moon, as no man can lift the earth,

so there is no force that can capture Krishna.”

Krishna turned his gaze on Duryodhana.

“Half-witted prince, just try to use force on me

and Yudhishthira’s problem will be over.

I will capture you and your crass friends

and hand you over to the Pandavas.

You think I am just one man, easy prey,

but with me, on this spot, stand the great seers,

the Pandavas, and all our mighty allies.”

He laughed a thunderous laugh and, instantly,

he was surrounded by a blinding light.

His body blazed fire, and from his many arms

sprang thumb-sized Pandavas and countless warriors,

Narada and the other holy seers,

Indra, the Ashvins, and many other gods.

From his mouth and nostrils flickered flames.

Conches, discuses and other weapons

shone around him, held in his many hands.

Dazzled, those assembled shrank away

and covered up their eyes in utter terror.

Only the wisest—Bhishma, Vidura,

Drona, Sanjaya—looked on in wonder.

Krishna resumed his human shape, and walked

out of the hall. The king called after him,

“You’ve seen what power I hold over my son!

Make sure my nephews know I wish them well.

If Duryodhana stays on this wicked path

there’s nothing I can do.”

“You are indeed

powerless,” said Krishna ironically.

He left the hall, bound for Upaplavya.

But before setting out, there were two more

people he must see, to complete his mission.

Krishna went first to Kunti’s residence.

He bent and touched her feet in deep respect.

“Kunti, mother of heroes, I am leaving.”

He talked about his unsuccessful mission:

“I and the elders all spoke with one voice

but Duryodhana is immovable.

The whole family is in thrall to him,

heading for the abyss. Now, please tell me,

what should I say to your sons on your behalf?”

“Remind them,” said Kunti, “they are kshatriyas.

Tell them to have regard for their dharma—

which is to fight, to protect the people,

to wield authority. Tell Yudhishthira

this is what his father and I prayed for,

not for a son who would gabble the Vedas

parrot-fashion, and pass his time with rishis.

Remind him that a king is the creator

of the times he lives in, not the reverse.

“Tell him this ancient story:

“
T
HERE WAS ONCE
a woman of the kshatriya class, famously strong-willed, whose son, defeated in a battle with the Sindhus, lay about all day in gloom and apathy. His mother came to him in his apartments, where he was dallying with his concubines.

“The mother said, ‘Whose son are you? Not mine, that’s for sure! Are you too cowardly to rouse your anger, too feeble even to cling to a low branch with your fingernails? Have some self-respect! You look like a man, but you behave like a eunuch. Wallow in self-pity if you want to waste the rest of your life.

“‘Get up, coward! You have no pride at all. Your enemies are most delighted with you and think you have forgiven them. Have you? Are you going to grow old like a dog, or are you going to rouse yourself and fight back, even if it means your early death? It is far more honorable to blaze up for an instant than to smolder like a pile of damp chaff. Effort is what counts.’

“The son said, ‘Your heart is made of iron, relentless, pitiless, warmongering mother. You can’t love me, speaking without compassion as you do.’

“The mother said, ‘I was born into a great family, highly honored while your father was alive. Now I am pitied, stripped of wealth, ashamed that I can’t give to brahmins as before. Your wife is suffering, your little sons long to have a father they can be proud of. We are at sea—be a harbor to us! We are drowning—be a raft to save us! Stand up tall, find your dignity. Better to break in the middle than to bend. You have it in you to be a heroic king. Unknown to you, we have a hidden treasury which you can draw on to raise an army. Stiffen your spine, rise up, defend yourself, be a terror to your enemies. Why don’t you answer me?’

“The son said: ‘I have kept silent because I wanted to listen to your every word, mother. Now I have found my manhood! I shall fight and, whether I win victory or not, I shall have lived like a kshatriya!’

“Tell my sons that story, Krishna,” said Kunti,

“to remind them where their duty lies.”

As Krishna left the city, he called on Karna

and asked him to ride with him a little way

in his chariot. Seriously, he addressed him.

“Karna, you are well versed in the Vedas.

You know, then, that a child born to a woman

out of wedlock becomes her husband’s child

when she marries. That is the case with you.

You are the first-born son of Kunti, conceived

by Surya, the sun god—in law, therefore,

you are the eldest of the Pandavas,

a Bharata on your father’s side, my cousin

on your mother’s.” Krishna explained to him

the detailed circumstances of his birth.

“Recognize then with joy, son of Kunti,

that you are the rightful heir to the kingdom.

Come with me today, my dear cousin,

to Upaplavya. Greet the Pandavas

as your true brothers. They will be overjoyed.

Yudhishthira will gladly renounce his claim

in your favor. Of all the sons of Pandu

it is you whose skill and temperament,

combining truthfulness with martial zeal,

most fits him to govern a great kingdom.

Your nephews will fall down and clasp your feet,

and you will share Draupadi as your wife.

“You are not the son of a wagoner,

you are a kshatriya. This very day,

you can be crowned. Brahmins will officiate,

I myself shall perform your consecration.

You will be king, with Yudhishthira

as your younger deputy. Bhima will hold

the shining parasol over your head.

Today, let the Pandavas be united!”

Karna had been staring at him, amazed,

as this glorious future was laid before him.

Moments passed. Karna remained silent.

Then he spoke.

“Krishna, I have no doubt

you speak out of friendship for me. I believe

what you have just told me. It makes clear

what, all my life, has been a mystery.

I have always felt that I was born to fight.

I am never more at ease within myself

than when I raise my bow, and test my skill

against overpowering odds.

“So, Krishna,

under the law I am a kshatriya

and, from what you say, a Pandava.

But this revelation comes too late.

Kunti abandoned me. She cast me out

like rubbish, as if I had been stillborn,

left me to the caprices of the river.

Adhiratha found me, and he and Radha

loved me from the first. Out of love for me

Radha’s breasts poured forth milk immediately.

Out of love she cleaned up my excrement.

Adhiratha performed the birth rites for me

as a suta. He taught me all he knew.

I love him and respect him as my father.

When I came of age, he found wives for me.

I have sons and daughters—sutas, Krishna.

My heart is tied to them with bonds of love.

Do you think I would disown them now?

“Furthermore, nothing—not gold, not offers

of all the kingdoms in the world, not fear,

not lust for power—could make me break my word.

And I have promised Duryodhana

that I will be his bosom friend till death.

Duryodhana has raised armies and prepared

for war because I have encouraged him,

and I have vowed to defeat Arjuna

single-handed. Only one of us

will live to walk away.

“I know full well

that, with your help, the Pandavas will win.

I can see it now—all their great warriors

in their chariots, banners flying, ranged

on the field of Kurukshetra. It will be

the greatest war sacrifice that the world

has ever seen, with you as the chief priest.

I see the Terrifier, with monkey standard

fluttering boldly above his chariot.

Gandiva
will be the ladle, men’s courage

the sacrificial ghee. The divine missiles

will be invocations uttered by Arjuna,

and men’s blood will be the oblation, Krishna.

So much blood.

“I want you to promise

not to tell the Pandavas what you have said.

If Yudhishthira knew I am his brother

he would resign his kingdom to me at once;

and I would give it to Duryodhana,

to whom I owe whatever wealth and honor

I have enjoyed. But I know the kingdom

would best belong to him who has Lord Krishna

as his friend and guide—that is, Yudhishthira.

I regret the insults I have flung

at the Pandavas, to please Duryodhana.

You can tell them that, when the time is right.”

Krishna smiled. Then he laughed, and said,

“Can my offer really not persuade you?

Not even when you know that Duryodhana

would probably give up all thought of war

if you changed sides, knowing he could not win?

Not even when I am offering you the earth?

Not even when I tell you that this war

will involve unprecedented carnage?

There will be no more lucky throws at dice.

Arjuna’s
Gandiva
throws blazing iron.”

“I know it all already,” Karna said.

“I had a dream—Yudhishthira ascending

steps to a huge palace, with his brothers.

All wore resplendent robes and white turbans

and Yudhishthira was eating rice and ghee

which you had served him, from a golden platter;

I knew that he was swallowing the earth.

Then I saw the armies of Duryodhana,

all in red turbans, except for Ashvatthaman,

Kripa and Kritavarman, turbaned in white.

There were open tumbrils drawn by camels,

and Bhishma, Drona and the rest of us

were being carried off to Yama’s realm.

“So I have no illusions. But my honor

is more precious to me than life itself.

I know the dreadful bloodbath that is coming

has been caused by me and my associates

encouraging the folly of Duryodhana.

But it is too late. I will not betray

those I love, or the Kaurava for whom

I have pledged to die, if die I must.”

“Then,” said Krishna, “the last hope is gone.

I have seen my mission fail completely.

Tell the elders this month is propitious—

not too hot or cold, plenty of fodder

and fuel in the fields. In seven days

it will be New Moon, the Day of Indra.

Tell them that is the day war should begin.”

Karna embraced Krishna long and hard.

“When we next meet,” he said, “it will be in heaven.”

Vidura was in torment. He could not sleep.

He saw all too clearly what was coming,

as in a nightmare from which one cannot wake.

He spoke to Kunti to relieve his feelings

and she, sick with anxiety herself,

wondered what she could do—and thought of Karna.

“Surely,” she thought, “when he knows the truth

he will obey me as his mother, and stand

with his brothers against Duryodhana.

That way, war may be prevented, even now.”

She rose early, and went to look for Karna,

finding him where he stood every morning—

on the riverbank, stripped to the waist,

chanting his praises to the god of light.

She waited by a tree, taking shelter

from the sun’s already oppressive heat,

until Karna had finished his devotions.

He turned and, seeing her, he bowed, hands joined.

“I, the son of Radha and Adhiratha,

greet you, my lady. How may I be of service?”

She blurted out, “Karna, I have to tell you—

you are
my
son, not the son of Radha

and Adhiratha. The sun god is your father.”

And Kunti told the story of Karna’s birth,

asking him, as Krishna had before her,

to join his brothers as a true Pandava.

Immediately, Karna heard a voice

that came from the sun:
Kunti speaks the truth;

obey your mother and you will benefit.

But Karna’s mind was steady as he replied,

“Noble lady, I hear what you say.

But you did me irreparable wrong

when you cast me on the river. By that act

you robbed me of the honor and respect

I should have had as a kshatriya.

What enemy could ever have harmed me more

than you have? All these years, you have witnessed me

slighted and abused within the court,

heard me sneered at, called ‘the suta’s son,’

only the king’s sons befriending me.

Yet you said nothing. You have never acted

as my mother—you only speak up now

in your own interest, to protect your sons.

“For all the men who live in comfort here,

enjoying the bounty of the Bharatas,

the time has come to repay what they owe.

For Drona, Bhishma, Ashvatthaman, Kripa,

and for me as well, honor demands

that we be true to our salt. Duryodhana

is entitled to my love and loyalty

and he shall have them—I shall strain every sinew