THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (16 page)

This was his cosmic form and his tusked mouth spewed tongues of flame as long as nebulae. Flames leapt from his eyes and nostrils. He was too terrible to look at and, like Duryodhana, most of the Kuru sabha shut its eyes; but not Bheeshma, Drona or Vidura, nor the rishis who had come to that court. They did not blink, but gazed raptly, in adoration, at the spectacle of spectacles. And he, the Lord, gave them the power to gaze on him, impervious; otherwise, a moment of this vision would have destroyed them. Those wise ones drank him into their very souls through staring eyes.

Then, a miracle: Krishna gave blind Dhritarashtra, who had never seen the world, sight and this vision of God to behold. Tears coursing down his face, speechless, the king gazed at immortal Krishna, so dreadful and so ineffably sweet. Even those whose eyes were shut tight in fear heard celestial music in that sabha; even they felt the barely material flowers that rained on them out of heaven and smelt their unearthly fragrance.

Overwhelmed, sobbing, laughing like a child, Dhritarashtra fell on his knees and cried in an ecstasy to Krishna, “My eyes see! Oh, you are the Lord of heaven and earth, Dark One! I am blessed that you sat in my sabha and showed yourself to me like this. Yet, O Krishna, I have a boon to beg of you, king of kings. Having seen you like this, I do not want my eyes to see anything else. Take back the sight you have given me, let my only memory of vision be of you.”

Krishna granted him that. But now, the Avatara had assumed his Viswa Rupa for longer than the earth could bear. The planet began to quake. Tempests swept the oceans and the seven seas began to evaporate in boiling tides. It seemed that time was ending and the world would burst asunder at any moment. Terrified birds flew in wheeling alarm and wild beasts dashed frenziedly everywhere. People of the earth came running out of their homes, screaming. The palace of Hastinapura shuddered and would have crumbled in a moment; then Krishna reverted to his human form. He was God no more, but just the mysterious master of Dwaraka again.

Duryodhana was still on his knees, with his head buried in his arms. All the others had their gazes riveted to the Dark One. Krishna rose. He took Satyaki and Vidura’s hands and walked out of the sabha. Like a deep blue flame he went and all the kings and all the munis rose and followed him, as smoke does a fire. He neither turned his face to them, nor spoke a word. Kritavarman had seen Krishna emerge from the sabha and brought his chariot to the palace steps. Krishna went down those steps with Vidura and Satyaki; Kritavarman saw measureless sorrow in his black eyes that glistened with tears.

From the top of those steps, Krishna heard Dhritarashtra’s anxious voice, “Krishna, you have seen how powerless I am. What can I do when my son will not listen to me?”

Krishna had one foot on the board of his chariot; the people had collected in the street. He paused and said loudly, “I have done everything I could to bring peace to the Kurus. Duryodhana will have none of it; he says he will not give his cousins even land to cover a point of a needle. Now the king admits he is powerless to stop his son from having his way. There is nothing more I can say. I must go back to Yudhishtira.”

He climbed into the chariot. “Go quickly, Satyaki. I must say farewell to Kunti before we return.”

At Vidura’s home, Krishna told Kunti what had happened in the Kuru sabha. He said grimly, “This nest of evil will soon burn with a conflagration called the Pandavas.” He took her hands, “But I must leave you now and fly back to Yudhishtira. Do you want to send any message for your sons?”

Kunti’s eyes were full of grief, full of fire. Quietly, she said, “Tell my sons that they are all kshatriyas and heavenly voices spoke when they were born. Their mother expects them to do what kshatriyas should. Krishna, tell Draupadi that no mother was ever prouder than I am to have her as my daughter.”

A smile broke out on her gracious face, lined with the years. She said, “As for a mother’s anxiety, I have none, Krishna, because I know you watch over my sons. Go in peace, my child.”

She embraced him. He touched her feet and went to his waiting chariot. Krishna set out for Upaplavya with Satyaki.

In the Kuru court, Duryodhana uncoiled himself off the floor like a hamadryad. He roared, “Prepare for war! We shall have war at once! I will not sleep or eat until battle is joined.”

Bheeshma cried, “Duryodhana, listen.”

Dhritarashtra cried, “My son!”

Vidura and Drona tried to stop him, but Duryodhana strode away from them. Soon, eleven aksauhinis prepared to march to the field of Kurukshetra for the war on the crack of the ages.

SIXTEEN
KRISHNA AND KARNA 

As Krishna rode out of Hastinapura, he saw Karna standing alone on the palace steps, gazing at the horizon. Krishna told Satyaki, “Stop the horses.”

The Dark One called out, “Karna! I must talk to you.”

Karna stood for a moment, looking doubtfully at Krishna. Then he came down the steps.

Krishna said, “Come for a short ride with me.”

Without a backward glance, Karna climbed into the chariot and they drove out of the city-gates and to some nearby woods.

“Stop, Satyaki, this will do. Karna let us take a walk together.”

When they had walked some way, Krishna turned abruptly and laid a hand on Karna’s shoulder. Karna raised an eyebrow in surprise. Krishna said urgently, “I know you well, Karna, I have watched you carefully. You are a man of truth, a man of your word and one of great courage. All your life you have fought against impossible odds and you have often prevailed. You are hard, but you are not evil. I know you are a master of the Vedas and the Vedangas. Behind the callous mask you wear is a learned man, who knows the subtle shades of dharma.”

When Karna laughed, Krishna held up a hand. “Let me finish, before you mock. You don’t deceive me, Karna, I know the man behind the mask. You are not what you pretend to be and shall never be. You are not like Duryodhana, Dusasana or Shakuni. You have a noble heart as few men possess; you have great character. You have ample wit and you know your friend sets himself and all those with him on a course to death. He walks the way of sin and you, who know better, walk with him. Why, Karna?”

Karna smiled, as he seldom did and his severe face softened. He met Krishna’s gaze evenly, “Why do you flatter me today, Krishna? I have not heard such praise from you, of all people. What do you want from me? Surely, it is what you can never have.”

Krishna murmured, “Perhaps not.”

Grave again in a moment, Karna said in his intense way, “If you really want to know why I walk with Duryodhana, I will tell you. What you say is true, about the path he has chosen for himself. He treads the dark way of sin: perhaps, the short way of sin?

But I say to you, Krishna, there is no man on earth as noble as Duryodhana. I will never judge him as you or the others do and my reason is simple: I love him too much. The world spurned me because I was a sutaputra; but not once has Duryodhana even thought of me like that. To him I am never Karna the sutaputra, but Karna his friend. And I am as dear to him as his brothers, dearer.

Once I came to this city in search of a livelihood. I was finally an archer and I heard there was to be a tournament. The Kuru princes were to show the skills they had learnt from Drona, who refused to take me as his sishya, because I was a suta’s son. Do you know the story of my life, Krishna? It has not been an easy life.”

Krishna said nothing, only listened. Karna resumed, “I studied archery with Bhargava. Yet, I did not leave his asrama with his blessings, but his curse: because I was a sutaputra. When I came to the tournament in Hastinapura, I did not intend to announce myself as I did. Then I saw Drona and his pupils so smug with their accomplishments, especially young Arjuna. He was brilliant, all right, but I knew I was a better archer than he was. I could not help myself; I had to challenge him. Even after I had shown them my skills, they said I could not fight Arjuna because I was not a kshatriya. Then Duryodhana took my hand and made me king of Anga. I can never forget that day, Krishna; it changed my life.

I was overwhelmed and I said to him, ‘I am in your debt forever. Tell me what I can do to repay your generosity. Let it be anything, my life is yours to ask for.’

He embraced me and replied, ‘You are a great warrior; Anga is the least you deserve. I want nothing from you, Karna, but your love. Give me your heart.’

How could I not? Krishna, only two people have loved me like that. My mother Radha and Duryodhana; and it is for the sake of these two that I am still alive. I care little enough for my life; it has brought me nothing but anguish. But don’t ask me to ever sit in judgement over Duryodhana, whatever he may do. I know a Duryodhana who is my friend, who loves me and who is the truest of men.”

There were tears in his eyes. Krishna nodded, “The debt of gratitude, the most difficult thing to pay back on earth.” Then, out of the blue, he said casually, “Karna, I suppose you have made your choice knowing who your real mother is?”

Karna was startled: how did Krishna know Radha wasn’t his mother? Recovering at once, he said, “I never knew who my real mother was, but I dreamt of her. I sometimes felt she was a princess who lived in a palace beside a river; as if a dim memory of her has stayed with me. I must have been illegitimate and she cared more for her reputation than her child. She floated me down the river in a box; that is how much she loved me. She must have other sons now and has forgotten me like some bad dream she had once, briefly. But I have left all that far behind me. Why speak of it now? Anyway, what does my mother have to do with whether or not I stand with Duryodhana?”

Krishna was looking at him so queerly and Karna felt disquieted. But he said, “And besides, Radha is my mother, even if she didn’t give birth to me. She loves me, she is proud of what I have achieved and that is all that matters.”

Gently, Krishna said, “Your mother was indeed a princess and she did abandon you because she feared what the world would say and what her father, who was a king, would say. She was not married when she had you. But Karna, since the moment she floated you down the river, she has thought only of you. Yes, she has five other sons, as splendid as any mother could wish for. But her heart yearns for the beautiful baby she once abandoned. The baby born with the golden armor, her first child she lost. She pines for you, Karna.”

Karna breathed, “If my mother is a king’s daughter, I am a kshatriya! Small wonder that I longed to be an archer.” He seized the Dark One’s hands. “Krishna, do you know my mother? Is she alive? Who is she? Tell me!”

Krishna gazed into Karna’s face, trying to decide if he should tell him the terrible truth. At last, he said, “Karna, your mother had five sons after you and your brothers are the greatest kshatriyas on earth.”

For a moment, Karna did not understand. Then he whispered, “Five sons…the greatest kshatriyas. Krishna, do you mock me?”

Full of pity, Krishna shook his head. Karna clutched his hands more fiercely, “It cannot be!”

“But it is, Karna,” the Avatara told him. “Kunti is your mother, the Pandavas are your brothers.”

Karna’s roar echoed in that wild place. “And my father? Who is my father, Krishna?”

“The God you worship every day, your Ishta Devata. Surya Deva is your father.”

Karna swooned; Krishna caught him as he fell. When he came to his senses again, he began to sob helplessly, as he had not done for years. With such sorrow in his eyes, he said to Krishna, “Now I am certain that I am the most cursed man alive. Surya Deva is my father; Kunti Devi is my mother; Yudhishtira, Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula are my brothers, my flesh and blood. And what am I to the world? An upstart sutaputra!” He laughed bitterly. “Now I know why Bhargava cursed me. He knew who I was: not who I thought, but more a kshatriya than I knew myself. But oh, how will I live with the truth with which you have struck me, Krishna? The Pandavas are my brothers and I.”

His face hardened. He wiped his tears and his voice full of suspicion, he said, “But you haven’t just discovered this, have you? You have always known who I am. Why do you tell me this now? To disturb me, so I will not be able to fight my brothers. Ah, you are a crafty one.”

But Krishna’s black eyes were full of love. “I tell you this, Karna, because I want to save your life. Not only that; I have an offer to make you, an honorable one. You know kshatriya dharma as well as anyone. You know that if an unmarried woman has a son, when she marries that child becomes her husband’s heir. You are a Pandava on your father’s side. Karna, on your mother’s side you are a Vrishni. You and I are cousins. Come away from this city of sin; come with me to your brothers. They will welcome you as the eldest of them. Yudhishtira will set his crown on your head; dark Pan-chali will be your queen.

They will make you sit in a golden chariot. Yudhishtira will lead you to it, Bheema will hold the white parasol over your head, Arjuna will be your sarathy and Nakula, Sahadeva and I will walk behind you in train: on the way to your coronation! Who is more worthy of being lord of the earth than you are? Karna, your dharma is as staunch as Yudhishtira’s. Your heart is as warm as Bheema’s, your archery as deep as Arjuna’s. You are regal in all your parts and I think you are learned past what anyone realizes, since you never flaunt your learning as other men do.

And more than any of these, you have suffered as not even the Pandavas have. You have had scorn heaped on you and lived with the constant pang of being a sutapura. Only men who have suffered know the value of compassion; above anything, a king must be compassionate.