Karna's Wife (44 page)

Duryodhana stepped out of the water, his mace held high. ‘I am not hiding like a coward as you claim. I am cooling the fire burning in me for so long. I have no fear in me now—because I have no fear of losing. I have lost everything already! Yes, I shall fight you. I am alone, but I will fight the five of you together.’

Reminding him of all the injustices inflicted on them, Yudhishthira taunted him about the young, hapless Abhimanyu who, alone and defenceless, had been killed by a band of great warriors like him. Duryodhana heard him out, then snarled, ‘Enough of talk! It’s time to fight once again!’

Then, leaping at Bhima as his first opponent, Duryodhana began his last combat. The duel was long and protracted as they matched each other in strength and skill—until the moment Krishna spoke the fateful words that were to decide the outcome of the fight. He reminded Bhima of his oath again—of how he had said he would smash Duryodhana’s thighs, the same thighs on which Duryodhana had dared to invite the helpless Draupadi to sit. Hearing this, Bhima gave an infuriated war cry as memories of the outrage surged back. Then, in his rage, he smashed his mace below Duryodhana’s waist and ripped his thighs apart mercilessly. Duryodhana’s groans thundered as he writhed in pain. Placing his foot on the head of the prostrate Duryodhana, Bhima would have trampled him to death had Yudhishthira not stopped him.

Leaving him to die a slow, agonizing death, the Pandavas left their cousin, who was still seething with anger and hate in his last dying moments. ‘Oh, Krishna, I will die as a true kshatriya. I was a noble king and a brave warrior. I shall die in a few moments and meet my friend Karna and my brothers in heaven. But you and the Pandavas will live and suffer!’ he said, spitting out hate and venom for the man he believed was the cause of his destruction.

And that was how Ashwatthama, Kripacharya and Kritavarma—the three survivors of the holocaust—found him a few hours later. The gentle Ashwatthama, enraged about the brutal way his father and Karna had been killed, promised a terrible oath to the dying Duryodhana—that he would kill all the five Pandavas the same night, before the dawn of the next day.

He went away to fulfil his promise and returned in a short while, triumphantly announcing, ‘The Pandavas are dead!’ When Duryodhana heard these words, he opened his eyes for a moment, more peaceful after hearing that his enemies were dead at last. Then, he declared Ashwatthama as the next supreme commander of the Kaurava army. He eventually died in the arms of Ashwatthama, who did not know that he had perpetrated a more heinous crime than the devious murders of his father and his best friend.

The very night he had promised the dying Duryodhana that he would kill the Pandavas, Ashwatthama had set fire to the Pandava camp. He had attacked the seven ill-fated men sleeping inside, kicking and stamping them mercilessly to death. At the break of dawn, Ashwatthama realized that it was not the Pandavas but the five sleeping sons of Draupadi and her two brothers, Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi, whom he had heartlessly trampled to death. When they learnt what had happened, the grieving Pandavas bayed for Ashwatthama’s blood. They searched high and low for him but he could not be found.

Uruvi was told about Duryodhana’s excruciating death by Ashwatthama himself. The war had officially ended, Bhishma Pitamaha had breathed his last, but the search for the murderous Ashwatthama was still on.

Three weeks after the war was over, it was she who found him, or rather, it was he who came searching for her. Uruvi was gathering medicines at the camp and locking up the supplies when she saw a shadow against her tent. Knowing no fear, she stepped out to face the gory, bleeding visage of a tall man. She started violently and barely managed to stifle her cry of horror when she recognized the voice of the injured man, who said, ‘I want some medicine, sister. I am hurt!’ It was the soft undertone of Ashwatthama, the man who had painfully recounted each detail of Karna’s last day and how he had died. Ashwatthama, the man whom Karna was closest to besides Shona and Duryodhana. The man who was Karna’s everlasting friend.

She took him inside. Ashwatthama’s face was wet with blood, which made it difficult for Uruvi to find the source of his wound. And then she saw it. Right in the centre of his forehead was a huge hollow from which he was bleeding profusely. It was the very spot where a glittering pearl once lay, the precious gem Ashwatthama was born with that blessed him with immortality. The gem was to protect him from death, disease, hunger and war—but it could not protect him from the wrath of the Pandavas.

Uruvi slowly started cleaning the wound as Ashwatthama rasped, ‘They eventually tracked me down in the forests! They couldn’t kill me as I am blessed with this wretched immortality but they prised away the gem from my head to give to their grieving wife, Draupadi!’

‘Draupadi, whose five sons and two brothers you mercilessly killed!’ Uruvi shook her head in dismay. ‘Yet in the grief and pain you caused, I’ve heard she has forgiven you. But have you forgiven them—or yourself?’

‘I got what I wanted!’ he answered feverishly. ‘The Pandavas have no heirs now! I killed them all!’ he breathed.

‘Oh, Ashwatthama, what has happened to you?’ cried Uruvi. ‘You were the kindest, the gentlest and the most just of them all! You were the man who could harm no one, think ill of no one, and yet today can you recognize yourself? You are what Duryodhana was, burning in the never-ending fire of hatred and fury. Why? Why did you allow yourself to become such a monster?’

‘You call me a monster, sister?’ he cried in frustrated fury. ‘And were not the Pandavas more terrible demons to murder my father in that heinous way? Was Arjuna not a monster when he killed my friend Karna while his back was turned and he was grappling with the wheels of his stuck chariot? They were the ones who made me a demon! They talk about righteousness but were they ever fair themselves? I wanted to kill the Pandavas but I killed their sons instead…and I have no regrets! I am ready to bear Krishna’s curse of finding no release from this life!’

‘You murdered them in their sleep!’ said Uruvi sadly. ‘You killed each one of them and Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi by trampling them to death! You, gentle Ashwatthama, who hated it when anyone lashed even a horse! What has the need for revenge done to you?’

Ashwatthama looked hard at her and finally said, ‘You were the most fiery lady I ever met—how can you so easily forgive the death of Karna? He didn’t deserve to die that terrible death!’

‘And is that why you are hitting back? Would Karna have been happy to see you in the state you are today? No, brother; hate and anger are corrosive—they only allow evil to flourish. And the worst evil you have inflicted is on yourself—you have made the good man in you become evil.’

The same words hold true for me as well, thought Uruvi, abruptly pausing in her statement. Had she, too, got so corrupted with hate, anger and resentment that she had forgotten how to grieve for what she had lost? Had she lost Karna as well as her innate faith in goodness? Would she end up being a bitter wreck, wallowing in antagonism and animosity all her living moments? Staring at Ashwatthama’s distraught eyes crazed with utter hatred, Uruvi felt a prick of fear. She was afraid of herself now; she feared her virulence and her vindictiveness. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she recalled her abominable behaviour at Karna’s funeral—hard and unforgiving as she was now, three weeks later. She shivered and it was not because of the cold wind outside.

Swamped by her own uncertainties, Uruvi heard herself cautioning Ashwatthama, ‘Yes, Karna died by deceit, but by hating Arjuna, will I get my Karna back? I cannot spoil the sanctity of Karna’s memory with rage and rancour. It would defile all that he stood for. Could you not have respected his memory?’

Ashwatthama flinched but Uruvi persisted, swabbing the wound stubbornly. ‘You were the son of Dronacharya and today you are a fugitive, running away from the world! You tried to kill the unborn baby of Abhimanyu in Uttara’s womb by targeting it with the dreaded astra of destruction. But fortunately, the baby survived—and he was born as Parikshit. So, the Pandavas have their heir, Ashwatthama. You could not save your father or Karna but try to save yourself now. Ask for Draupadi’s forgiveness and you shall seek redemption. You have come to me to heal your wound. I have done as much as I can but I cannot stop the bleeding from this gaping wound in your mind. It runs too deep. It will bleed forever. Go to Draupadi—only she can help you.’

Uruvi turned around to apply some balm on his cleansed wound. But he was not there. He had left some time ago.

Uruvi could not sleep any more. Each time she shut her eyes, she saw the image of Karna standing tall against the battlefield. It was him again, with his thick mane, his sunset gold eyes, his twinkling earrings, walking towards her, with his gold armour blazing against the raging fire behind him, burning everything, everywhere. She saw the blood-spattered battlefield, with headless corpses heaped in the centre, the cries of those mortally wounded screeching against the sunless skies.

She realized she had been dreaming, but the dream was no different from reality. Dreaming about the terrible war, she was only seeing, in the harshness of waking, the senseless carnage, the blood and the pointless deaths of all those whom she loved and revered. There had been little reason for this meaningless war, the futile bloodbath and the hopeless future it harbingered. She vividly replayed the death of her husband and a shudder ripped through her. She was senseless with grief, she couldn’t think any more and she wished she could escape from her everyday torment. How would she survive without Karna, without his affectionate laugh, without his teasing smile, without his reassuring kisses? No, she screamed silently, I cannot live without him, I see him everywhere, and I feel him near me. I can feel his breath, I can smell his scent, I can see his deep eyes laughing up at me, I can hear his soft laugh, I could just sink into his arms…

Lulled by the lovely vision of her husband when he was alive, she thought she heard voices below her balcony. Vrushali’s was the loudest. Uruvi sat up with a start. Why was the soft-spoken Vrushali talking with so much intensity? Vrushali had been almost mad with grief ever since her terrible losses, so Uruvi hurried out of the room to see what was troubling her afresh.

The sight she met with stopped her in her tracks. Vrushali was arguing with Krishna, not allowing him to enter the palace. Trying to console her was Draupadi and looking on helplessly were the Pandavas and Kunti.

‘Vrushali!’ Uruvi said urgently, rushing to her sister-in-law’s side. ‘Let them come inside.’

‘I don’t want them here, Uruvi!’ Vrushali said shrilly. ‘I don’t want any of them anywhere near us ever! They are murderers! They killed my Radheya, Shona and all my sons! They have heaped enough pain on us. What more do you want from us?’ she rounded fiercely on the guests, her eyes glittering with unsuppressed fury.

‘I have lost my sons too,’ Draupadi interrupted softly. ‘And my brothers and my father. My loss cannot be your solace but all of us are suffering—no one has been spared!’

Uruvi thought Vrushali would lose control on hearing Draupadi but the raw anguish in Draupadi’s voice seemed to calm the frayed nerves of the older woman. Draupadi was unusually quiet, more temperate than before, the fire in her completely quenched. She was more like ash after a devastating fire. Her eyes were dull, her face lined, and her long flowing mane was tied in an untidy knot. She stood stooped and lifeless, wretchedly unhappy.

Vrushali looked suddenly exhausted. ‘I wish we had never come to Hastinapur! I want to go back to Champanagari!’ she said plaintively. And she swept out of the room in a flurry, unmindful of the guests she had just been rude to.

‘Please don’t mind her,’ Uruvi murmured apologetically. ‘She has still not recovered…’ she allowed her voice to trail off deliberately. She bowed low to Lord Krishna and said formally, ‘What is the reason for your visit? The fact that all of you are present means it must be something important.’

It was Yudhishthira who stepped forward and said reverently, ‘We have come to take you home, Uruvi.’

‘Home?’ she repeated, almost stupidly. And then what they were asking of her sank in. ‘No!’ she said fiercely. ‘This is my home! This is Karna’s home; this is our home with his memories in every corner! This is my sanctuary!’

‘No, I cannot leave this place,’ she said more calmly. ‘I can’t live with you at Hastinapur. I am happier with my family here. In this house.’

‘Please, Uruvi, won’t you ever forgive us?’ broke in Arjuna urgently.

He looked into her pale face, her sleep-deprived bleak eyes shadowed by pain and anxiety. She had a pinched look, making her wistful loveliness more fragile than before. Her eyes were vacant, but he sensed a silent accusation in them. Or, possibly it was his own sense of culpability making him imagine it. He could not rid himself of the guilt ripping him. He had killed his own brother. He had made this woman he once loved, a widow.

‘Can you ever pardon me, Uruvi?’ he pleaded. ‘I can never say that to Karna, but please make me feel better. Help me to regain my pride. I have repented for the awful crime I have committed—I have killed my own brother in cold blood! However much Krishna and my mother try to convince me that Karna was a doomed man and that he had faced death because of six other people, I can’t forget how I alone was responsible for his death!’