Karna's Wife (11 page)

It was his blazing kavach and his sparkling kundals that first attracted her to him, Uruvi had often insisted to her husband. Karna’s typical reply was a small smile broadening into a grin. The golden armour her husband was said to have been born with spread across the huge expanse of his chest, from his wide shoulders down to his trim waist. She could never resist teasing him about the armour and the glowing orbs he was born with.

‘They say you are the best-looking man in the country right now. Each morning when you go down to the river to have your bath, the women of Hastinapura go crazy!’ she said one night, with a naughty sniff. ‘You should either start bathing at home or stop showing off!’

‘And here I thought I was popular for being the bravest warrior!’ Karna replied with a smile. ‘But even as a child I had problems with my kavach and kundals. I used to keep pestering Mother and ask her why Shona didn’t have them as well. Poor lady, she had no answer! But I realized as a child that they were a blessing. Whatever I did, I never hurt myself. I fell off a tree once and I was unhurt! It was always Shona who was all bruised and black and blue all over!’

Uruvi gave the golden sheen on his chest a deliberate, hard look. ‘Well, it doesn’t hurt you but it’s causing a lot of harm to many! It’s all because of your kavach and kundals that you draw such a huge fan following of women,’ she said, hoping she had induced the right whine in her voice. ‘They can’t keep their eyes off you.’

‘Well, what do you suggest? I rip it off? I can’t remove it. So you better suffer it and your husband with it!’ he said, pulling her close against him.

Uruvi recalled Bhishma Pitamaha’s words about Karna’s birth. She rested her chin lightly on his glistening chest to look up at the twin twinkling orbs. ‘I agree with your good friend Duryodhana when he said that this is what marks you from all the others. They are proof that you are special, exceptionally special. That you may be of…let’s say…celestial birth?’ she teased, her eyes twinkling.

‘No, dear, you have the wrong man. I have no godly genes. How about your husband being a lowly mortal instead?’ he whispered, his lips close to her ears, his warm breath fanning her face.

She allowed a fleeting pout to play on her lips. ‘A mere mortal? Is that all I get?’ she said and raised her shoulders in a little shrug. ‘But I love this lesser mortal nevertheless!’

She flashed a quick impish look at him. She could hear the steady thud of his heartbeat as she nestled close against him.

When the morning came, she roused him out of a deep sleep with a sprinkle of kisses all over his face. It was her morning ritual. The early rays of the sun slanted into the room on his golden armour, lighting him with an ethereal glow. He woke up quickly, his eyes wide and lustrous, and pressed her close to him as he always did when he woke up.

Later in the afternoon, Karna was with Shona, discussing a minor matter of the court. But Shona soon noticed that his brother’s mind was elsewhere. A tinkle of laughter chimed in the quiet afternoon hour, prompting them to look down at the garden from the wide verandah. Karna’s lips lifted in a small smile, his eyes softening. His wife was playing with his sons below. Shona saw he could not take his eyes off her; he had never caught his brother looking at Vrushali in that manner.

Uruvi’s laughter rang clear, blending naturally with the happy squeals of his sons. A soft smile played constantly on her lips, her eyes bright, her long neck bowed towards them. It was a charming laugh, rippling and gay like a young child’s, tinged with a joyous abandon that was infectious. She laughed constantly, and when she was not laughing, a bantering smile tugged at her lips. Her soft eyes shimmered with the joy of living, the happy warmth spreading wherever she went. It was her sheer vitality that was Uruvi’s most shining trait. The pulse of life gave her a glow that dazzled him. He could not forget the impression she made on him at her swayamwara when he first saw her, breathtaking in her loveliness.

She was like a goddess in the land of the ordinary. She had strength and sensitivity and, although simple and unaffected, was proud, her bearing showing a nobility that befitted a princess. If she was charming to everybody, she was also barely courteous to those whom she disliked. Karna frowned when he recalled Uruvi’s glacial curtness when she spoke to Duryodhana. Otherwise, she was endearingly uncomplicated—but she was caring only to those whom she liked or loved. Oh, yes, she was loving, so tenderly loving…he remembered her soft, supple body against his and his face flushed.

‘Radheya, are you in love with Uruvi?’ asked Shona abruptly, walking up to him from behind.

Karna walked further to the edge of the verandah and looked intently at the blue magic of the early morning sky. There was a slight smile on his face when he turned back to Shona. ‘Yes,’ he answered reflectively. ‘I do not love her the way I love Vrushali, who I know you are utterly devoted to. I will never hurt Vrushali, if that’s what you are afraid of. I know that’s the reason you are asking me this question. I respect her too much. She is a very good woman, with a sweet, gentle nature, who can make everyone happy. Uruvi, on the other hand, is like a wild exotic flower in a desert who must be sheltered from the bitter winds. I want to protect Uruvi; she has fought the world to be with me. No one need think of protecting Vrushali for she is too capable and self-sufficient. I think Vrushali loves me for myself and not for what I may become. Whatever happens to me or whatever I do, I shall never disappoint her. But I am not good enough for Uruvi.’

‘She doesn’t think so. She adores you, as does Vrushali.’

‘I admire Vrushali more than any woman I have ever known,’ said Karna gravely. ‘But Uruvi is much too good for me. She has a wonderful intelligence; she is as good as she is lovely. I love her enthusiasm, her lively humour, her ambition to work as a healer. She is interested in everything and has a lot of knowledge and good sense. There are very few topics she cannot discuss. She is an extraordinary creature of opposites—there seem to be two women in her, one rational, the other emotional. I am entirely unworthy of her.’

‘What utter rubbish! When have you started getting daunted by love and beauty?’ Shona scoffed.

‘It’s not just love and beauty as you so dismissively say. Uruvi has taught me a lot of things…’

‘Oh? How? What has she taught you?’ Shona asked, bewildered.

‘She has taught me to live…’

Shona laughed scornfully. ‘Really? Is she teaching you how to be more of a kshatriya? No, the question here is—is she worthy of you? Is she suited for you, for our family?’

‘She is. She has already passed her test…but I have yet to do so.’ Karna had his back to Shona so Shona could not see his face. Was it possible that Karna had smiled when he said those words?

At the King of Anga’s palace, a visitor who often came by was Ashwatthama. Uruvi was a little intrigued by this unusual friendship, because Guru Dronacharya’s disdain for Karna was as notorious as his undying affection for his famous disciple, Arjuna. Ashwatthama, the ‘brahmin warrior’ and the only son of Guru Dronacharya, clearly did not follow his father’s sentiments, Uruvi gathered, with a mirthless smile. And neither father nor son made any pretence about their feelings for Karna. Dronacharya’s dislike of Karna was equal to the loyalty Ashwatthama pledged to the same man. Dronacharya’s distrust of Karna went a long way back—as long as Ashwatthma’s burgeoning friendship with the young Karna when the sutaputra had dared to visit the guru’s ashram so many years ago.

‘It soon became clear to us that Radheya was obsessed about learning warfare rather than taking up a charioteer’s profession like his father,’ sighed Radha, when a curious Uruvi asked her how Karna and Ashwatthama became friends. She never once called him Karna, Uruvi noticed with amusement; he was always her Radheya, the son of Radha.

‘One day, bowing to Radheya’s demands, Adhiratha decided to take him to meet Dronacharya, then an established teacher in the art of warfare who taught the Kuru princes. But Dronacharya, on realising that Radheya was Adhiratha’s son, rudely refused to accept Radheya as his student because Adhiratha was a charioteer. He only taught kshatriyas, he insisted. Angered by the guru’s insolence and being dismissed so indifferently, and seeing his dream crumbling before him, Radheya was a little more impolite to the guru than he meant to be.’

‘Oh, what did Karna say? I know that Dronacharya was so piqued that he has still not forgiven Karna,’ Uruvi asked, intrigued.

‘Radheya has always been a rebel against caste and the social hierarchy,’ her mother-in-law said, after a brief pause. ‘He has constantly been cruelly reminded that as a sutaputra, he cannot aspire to more than he deserves, but he believes in his own worth and is contemptuous of those inferior to him in merit. And he did not hesitate to ask Drona, who had refused to train him with the Kuru princes, why he could not be taught by him. He asked why the royals were so privileged—were they blessed with special gifts like a hundred arms? Why do they get this importance? Moreover, if Dronacharya taught only kshatriyas, then how did his son, Ashwatthama, a brahmin, qualify to learn the art of warfare from his father? Radheya’s impertinence infuriated Dronacharya and he was curtly told to leave the ashram. But Ashwatthama, who had witnessed this conversation in mute admiration, was clearly impressed with Radheya. From that day, they became close friends. In fact, it was Ashwatthama who informed Karna about the celebrated archery contest at Hastinapur, and persuaded him to participate in it.’

‘Karna could not stop himself from going there uninvited, so he gatecrashed at the contest at Hastinapur,’ Uruvi sighed deeply, remembering that momentous day, the day life changed so irrevocably for her…and for Karna.

‘Yes, I was so worried that I sent Adhiratha to see what was happening, and he followed Radheya to the grounds where the contest was being held.’

Because of his foster father’s unsolicited presence there, Karna had to admit to his lineage and was publicly heckled by the Pandavas. The incident still rankled in Uruvi’s mind and she was enraged when she recalled the humiliation Karna was forced to suffer. If it could upset her so much even today, Uruvi wondered how intensely it must have affected Karna. Ashwatthama could have done little to help his friend, and the saviour of the moment had been Duryodhana instead. After that, a lasting friendship between Karna and Duryodhana began, which few could fathom but most disapproved of, she being one of them. Uruvi pursed her lips tightly in rising frustration.

Like Duryodhana, Ashwatthama befriended Karna unconditionally, without any bias or reservation. Karna and Ashwatthama were strangely similar—both were loved dearly by their families but not socially accepted. Ashwatthama’s parents loved him exceedingly, yet he was ignored by others for no fault of his own, and he had no friend to boast of except Karna, who was an outcast himself. Perhaps that was why they empathised with each other so well, Uruvi deduced. His father’s staunch disapproval of the friendship did not deter the son.

She recalled Ashwatthama as a young lad, a serious, quiet boy, always courteous and obedient. Being older than the Kuru princes and her, he did not join in their games at the palace gardens. And as far as she could remember, neither the Kaurava princes nor the Pandavas treated him too well; they were flippant with him, as if they tolerated him just because he was their guru’s son. He used to watch them with his solemn eyes, his face always grave and impassive. She recalled him revealing some emotion only when he looked visibly displeased at the blatant favouritism his father showed for Arjuna. If the guru frowned on the friendship between his son and the sutaputra, the son resented the strong bond between his father and Arjuna, the proud guru and his devoted shishya (disciple).

As the only son of Dronacharya and Kripi, Ashwatthama was the centre of their existence. But as Dronacharya was dreadfully poor before he came to Hastinapur, the son bore the brunt of their poverty. Ironically, it was their great love for their son that strained the relationship between Dronacharya and his wife Kripi. And it was because of his great love for his son that Dronacharya earned a sworn enemy in his once-upon-a-time friend, King Drupad of Panchal.

The story about Ashwatthama, which had been told to her by her mother, was a curious one. It seemed that the couple was so poor that they did not own even a cow, in spite of being brahmins, and little Ashwatthama had never tasted milk as had the other boys in the brahmin neighbourhood. One day, a very fretful Kripi, tired of fooling her little son with rice powder and water, which she gave him instead of milk, taunted her husband Dronacharya about the great gap in wealth between the two friends—while one was a king, the other remained a poor brahmin who could not afford milk for his only son. Angered and shamed by her words, Dronacharya left home, promising he would only return with wealth and fame. Recalling King Drupad’s promise to share his kingdom with him, Dronacharya approached his friend for help. But that promise turned out to be empty and the arrogant King of Panchal not only refused to help him out, but did not acknowledge the guru as his friend either. ‘Friends are among equals,’ he said scornfully, and offered to give him alms befitting a poor brahmin. Humiliated, Dronacharya took the insults silently—but he vowed revenge.