Karna's Wife (36 page)

His words tumbled out as he continued, ‘I said, “O Krishna! I should be angry with you but I cannot, because I know you are my ultimate redeemer. But, may I ask you for something?” And the Lord replied, “Yes. Whatever you wish for.” And I said to Krishna, “You know the secret of my birth, but I beg you not to disclose this truth to the Pandavas until the day I die. They will not be able to fight me. Just like I am rendered helpless now, they, too, will put down their weapons and accept me as the oldest brother. Also, I know the noble Yudhishthira will surrender his rights to me. He is righteous and fit to be an emperor. May he rule under your guidance. I know how this war shall end—the Pandavas will win and we shall lose and die on the battlefield. I am prepared to die. I prefer a short, glorious life and desire a death befitting it.”’

Karna stared at her, not really seeing her. His great, shining eyes seem to bore right into her soul. She winced as she was hit by the finality of each word he had uttered.

‘Krishna then asked me why I was so sure that the Pandavas would win. I answered, “This war of Kurukshetra is a mighty sacrifice. It is a platform for our salvation. You are the head deity and Arjuna is the head priest. The other Pandavas are the celebrants. Bhishma Pitamaha, Guru Dronacharya, the hundred sons of Dhritrashtra and I are the offerings in this sacrifice. We shall all attain heaven and one day, I hope I meet you there. We part as friends but till then, my Lord, I beg your leave.” Saying this, I touched his feet. He held me by the shoulders and embraced me. I could feel the deep love, the compassion from within him. We walked slowly towards his chariot and then we parted ways. Now I am waiting to meet him again—on the battlefield of Kurukshetra.’

It had stopped raining. The sun was rising fast now, the shards of gold swiftly overcoming the dark clouds in the warm morning light, which was spreading westwards across the river. The last stars had faded, the sky turned a lovely blue, and shimmering light from the fully awake sun drenched the countryside. Uruvi felt that Karna was like the sun, his inner strength, his unshakeable resolve, his assurance, his acceptance of what was to come drying up her tears of anger and grief. She loved him. She loved him completely. For the first time probably, her admiration for him far surpassed the love she felt.

She touched his shoulder gently, ‘I couldn’t have loved you more!’ she whispered. ‘But today I can say you are my god—a god whom I treated so shabbily! A god whom I had stopped believing in, a god who brought back my faith in mankind. There can be no one more decent, kind and magnanimous than you. And I am sorry that I could hurt a man so wonderful. Oh, how can you pardon me for my insensitivity, my thoughtlessness? Oh, I love you so much! And I always will!’

‘Don’t! Don’t love me so much!’ he said thickly, and gathering her close to his chest, nestled his head in her soft neck. His body was wracked with sobs, the anguished tears, suppressed for so long, seeping into her hair. She held him fiercely close as if to protect him from further hurt, from future harm. She felt his pain, his sense of abandonment, his final betrayal. She became conscious that she was crying too—for him, always for him. She ached with his pain. Her heart bled for him and along with her pain, she felt a new emotion. It was unbridled hatred for the woman who had been the cause of this sorrow—Kunti.

Karna seemed to sense her thoughts instinctively. He raised his glistening face, the pain slowly ebbing, and he regained his customary equanimity. He was not done yet. He took her tenderly by her shoulders and looked searchingly into her shimmering eyes. ‘As I told Krishna, I beg you too—promise me you shall not reveal this truth to anyone. To no one, especially to Queen Kunti. I don’t want you to talk about me to her. Please.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but knowing what was coming next, Karna gently placed his hand on her mouth, muffling her protests. “No, don’t say a word more. I have told you all. Today, I bared my soul to you. And there is nothing more to say, nothing more to expect. I want you to know that I am ready for my death. I am prepared. And I have no regrets—not even about my birth any more.’

‘She doesn’t deserve to have a son like you!’ she cried. ‘You may absolve her of all her actions, Karna. But I can never forgive Kunti. Never!’ she repeated violently. Kunti—she uttered the name silently but with a hardened heart. She had so often addressed Kunti as ‘Ma’, but that name now took on a new meaning. It sounded cruelly hollow. To him—and especially, to her.

War clouds were gathering swiftly. Even the gentle Yudhishthira had decided to leave his days of clemency behind, and preparations were in full swing. Dhrishtadyumna, Draupadi’s brother and King Drupad’s son, was chosen as the commander-in-chief of the Pandava army. All the troops, the scattered contingents, converged towards the great field of Kurukshetra—the battlefield for the warring cousins and kings. A moat was constructed around the Pandava camp, and soon, tents for all the kings dotted the camp.

The Kaurava forces, too, began their slow march towards the sacred battlefield. Duryodhana asked his great-uncle, Bhishma Pitamaha, to be the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava army but it was only after Duryodhana begged him that he agreed—on two conditions. He emphasized that he would not kill any of the Pandavas, even if it destroyed the Kaurava army. ‘The sons of Pandu and the sons of Dhritrashtra are both dear to me. I will not kill any of them. Only Arjuna is superior to me and may perhaps have the power to kill me. But I cannot slay him,’ said the grand veteran, who was blessed with the boon that he would be killed by no man and the boon of ichamaran or choosing the moment of his death.

The second condition was a peculiar one. He told his great-grandnephew that he would only fight for the Kauravas if Karna did not step on the battlefield of Kurukshetra.

‘I almost feel sorry for Duryodhana,’ rued Uruvi as she sat with her husband in a rare moment of peace. ‘No one seems to be unconditionally on his side; he seems to be surrounded by half-hearted, disinclined warriors. Guru Dronacharya has already said he will only capture, not kill the Pandavas, while King Salya is the maternal uncle of Nakul and Sahadeva and an ardent Pandava supporter who has reluctantly joined the Kaurava side. Bhishma Pitamaha declares that he shall not kill the Pandavas! Karna, you are Duryodhana’s sole trump card and his most fierce loyalist. But you have been crippled by the clever manipulations of Krishna. You have been emotionally blackmailed into not fighting against your own brothers. Is this war or a cruel hunting game?’

‘The consequences of this war have already been decided. Except for Duryodhana, all of us know how it is going to end,’ Karna cut in quietly. ‘And now, it seems I won’t be allowed to fight after all!’ he sighed.

Uruvi was surprised when she heard his words. How could Karna not fight? Was it possible that there was still hope? She listened eagerly as Karna went on, telling her about Bhishma Pitamaha’s second condition. ‘Duryodhana protested vehemently when the old man said that I should not enter the battlefield. Then Bhishma Pitamaha suddenly turned on me and said angrily, “I shall not consider having you, a sutaputra, under my leadership, Karna. I have no respect for you and we have never got along. You call yourself a warrior, but you are not even equal to a sixteenth part of the Pandavas. You are no maha-rathi—instead of being a great warrior, you are an ardha-rathi, who cannot measure up to even an ordinary soldier. You are the man who fled from the Gandharvas when they took Duryodhana prisoner. It was not you but Arjuna who drove back the Gandharvas. Again, it was Arjuna who defeated Duryodhana in the battle at King Virat’s capital and humbled both you and Duryodhana.’”

The grand sire’s unreasonable terms took everyone by surprise, even Uruvi, who had known the grand old patriarch for so long. Karna was Duryodhana’s right arm and the Kaurava army’s ace card, so Bhishma Pitamaha’s insistence on keeping Karna out of the battlefield was suicidal. Shona was expectedly furious. ‘Radheya, if you are not permitted to fight, I shall not go to the battlefield either,’ he seethed. ‘If that is how war ethics go, I am a sutaputra too, am I not?’

‘No, brother, don’t take that stance,’ answered Karna levelly. ‘If you do that, it will be a sign of revolt. And we cannot afford to have any dissensions now. We have to be fully prepared for the war. Get ready for it. Go!’ he urged, almost pushing his reluctant brother out of the room.

The more Uruvi thought of the patriarch’s harshness, the more she was convinced that it was not what it seemed. ‘No, there is something wrong somewhere. Karna, Bhishma Pitamaha is the most just and gentle man I have known!’ Uruvi protested earnestly. ‘I can’t believe that he could say such stinging words! There has to be another reason!’ she said agitatedly.

‘He may have his reasons,’ Karna sighed. ‘But I lost my temper too and called him a senile old fool who was clinging to power! I was hurt and so angry that I walked out of the room, but not before telling him: “The pleasure of killing Arjuna rests with me, not you, grand sire.”’

‘Which again is not true,’ Uruvi said quietly. ‘You may have vowed to kill him—but you won’t, will you? Now your vow has lost its force because you know that Arjuna is your own brother.’

Karna turned away. ‘It’s such a lost cause,’ he remarked wearily. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I am here; why was I born? They say there is a reason for your birth, your existence. I am confounded; I have still not found mine. I was born unwanted and lived a life feeling wholly unwelcome in society. My life seems to be a series of unanswered questions, but whatever my lineage is, I have lived as a sutaputra. So what Bhishma Pitamaha said was not wrong. I am saddened, yes, not by his words, but that I cannot help my friend.’

Uruvi was secretly glad that Karna could not participate in the war, the sudden gleam in her eyes revealing her relief. She saw a new lease of life for her husband. There would be no duel between Karna and Arjuna! Karna did not miss the gleam and was a trifle amused. ‘Do you seriously think anyone can stop me from fighting this war?’ he smiled affectionately at her. ‘Silly girl, stop dreaming!’

Uruvi wondered why the soft-spoken patriarch had acted so uncharacteristically. Her childhood memories of the venerable old man were tender ones, of someone caring, with immense patience. Even as a child, she had often seen him getting angry at Duryodhana and Shakuni, but he had never raised his voice or used hurtful language. He could not insult Karna but for a purpose, she kept telling herself. There had to be an explanation and she intended to seek it herself.

She decided to talk to Bhishma Pitamaha. No one dared to meet the grand sire because he was an intensely private man. Very few people could muster enough courage to talk to him, except perhaps Uruvi, who was not unnerved by his monumental stature.

She was not intimidated by his hard eyes that seldom lit up. He had an uncanny way of looking through the person in front of him, with an unwavering stare so devoid of expression that many found it discomfiting. But for Uruvi, he was the kindest man, even more than her father.

When she entered the hall where he sat, she noticed with a pang that he looked feeble. His face was pale, his eyes vacant. His powerful shoulders had the dejected droop of a defeated man. He was old, but he seemed to have aged rapidly in the last few months. She hesitated for a moment; was she being impulsive as usual? She suddenly felt reluctant to broach the topic and wondered how she could slip away. But he had seen her. He gave her a long, thoughtful look and said softly, ‘I hope you are not too angry with me, dear. I know I have hurt you.’

To hear the grand sire apologising to her was too much for Uruvi to take. She rushed to him and hugged him. ‘No, sir, please don’t humble yourself in front of me!’ she pleaded. ‘I know you would never wound me. I am not hurt, I am confused. I want to know why you imposed the condition that Karna is to keep away from the war. As the commander-in-chief, are you not depriving the Kaurava army of its best warrior?’ she asked. ‘You deliberately insulted him so that he would be forced to withdraw from the battle.’

The veteran warrior gave a slight nod, appreciating her shrewdness. ‘No, as I have told you before, I don’t approve of Karna. He has been poisoning Duryodhana’s ears for a long time, and I am neither impressed by his empty boasts nor his show of valour. He is nothing but a sutaputra,’ he reiterated maliciously.

‘You can’t fool me, grand sire. You are too wise a person to label people with their caste and lineage,’ she answered coolly. ‘Otherwise, would you have accepted Queen Satyavati, a matsyagandha, the daughter of a fisherman, as the wife of your father, King Shantanu, and the mother of their sons, Vichitravirya and Chitragandha?’ she said. ‘And if Karna is a sutaputra, ironically, neither King Dhritrashtra nor King Pandu are pure-blooded royals as they claim to be. They were born to kshatriya princesses by a mixed-caste brahmin father—Rishi Vyasa, who himself was the illegitimate son of Rishi Parasher and Satyavati before she married your father. If you look at it this way, the Pandavas and the Kauravas are of mixed blood too, which you may call lowly?’ she taunted.