THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (77 page)

Under the watchful eye of her guru, the eunuch Brihannala, the gifted princess Uttaraa began to blossom into a rare dancer. Very often, Virata would spend an hour or two watching his daughter at her lessons. The old king would gaze at Brihannala out of the corner of his eye, marveling at the eunuch’s powerful shoulders and her muscled arms. But there was no doubt that Brihannala was indeed a eunuch, for the king had him examined. Still, a persistent suspicion troubled Virata: that Brihannala was more than what he seemed to be; that some mystery lurked behind the eunuch.

The Pandavas spent three happy months in Virata’s court, hidden as if they were back in their mother’s womb. Even Draupadi, the sairandhri, was satisfied enough with her lot; though, when she thought of her husbands as courtier, cook, stable-hand, eunuch and cowherd, her eyes would fill.

FOUR THE COOK AND THE WRESTLER
 

The Pandavas had imagined the thirteenth year of exile would be the hardest. They found themselves happy and occupied in the kindly Virata’s court. Bheema was delighted to be back in a city; somehow, from here Hastinapura and Indraprastha did not seem so far.

Virata was already very fond of the strangers he had taken into his service and by some miracle, he never thought of connecting them to one another. In the fourth month of their ajnatavasa, there occurred an incident in the Matsya capital that made Ballava the cook a greater favorite than ever with the king.

It was a festival day, when Siva was worshipped in the city. There was a tournament of wrestling and contestants came from all over Bharatavarsha to show their prowess. Virata’s wrestlers were renowned for their skill and strength and one of them had never failed to take the prize. This year things were not going well for them.

On the very morning of the wrestling, a sullen giant of a wrestler arrived in the city, from a distant land whose name no one had heard. The judges asked him, “Who are you, stranger?”

Grinning insolently, he replied, “I am Jimuta and know that I am the greatest wrestler in the world and none of your puny fighters can face me. I am as strong as ten lions, so let every wrestler in Virata beware!”

He declared all this standing in the middle of the arena and never bowing to the king. Some of Virata’s courtiers said among themselves, “A great braggart, anyway. We shall see if his wrestling matches his boasting.”

But it did. No one could face the huge stranger for more than a few moments. His strength was hardly human and he crushed Virata’s best wrestlers. He was savage in victory, always breaking an arm or a leg of all his opponents, needlessly, after he had beaten them. Soon no one dared fight him and the rough fellow stood unchallenged in the ring.

Virata was beside himself. The wrestler’s conceit was intolerable, but he seemed invincible too. The king turned to Kanka, the ascetic gambler who sat at his right hand. “Is there no one in all this kingdom who can beat this arrogant man?” the king whispered, his kindly eyes glittering in anger.

Kanka said quietly, “But there is, my lord; in your very kitchen. When both he and I were in Yudhishtira’s court at Indraprastha, I had occasion to see the friendly fellow wrestle. This lout is no match for your cook Ballava.”

Bheema had said earlier to the king, “My lord, I shall have a busy day in the kitchen preparing the feast. You must not ask me to come to wrestle, or the food will not be as it should.”

Though he longed to fight, Bheema was anxious lest he was recognized. Virata was disappointed; but he thought of Bheema more as a cook than a wrestler and made no point of it.

But now he said to Kanka, “Let Ballava be fetched from his kitchen. This is a matter of honor. I would hate to see the foreigner win our tournament.”

Bheema was brought to Virata’s enclosure and the king said, “Ballava, Kanka tells me you can teach this braggart a lesson. Fight for the honor of the Matsyas today.”

Though he would have loved nothing better, Bheema hesitated. With a glance at the swaggering wrestler in the ring, he knew he could beat him, but he had learnt a lesson of caution from twelve years of exile.

Then, Kanka said, “You mustn’t refuse the king today, Ballava. He has been so kind to you that no price should be too high to pay in return.”

A flicker in the cook’s eyes at this; Ballava bowed and said, “I will fight for the honor of the Matsyas today and may Siva bless me.”

The king had it announced that a challenger would wrestle with the brute in the ring. The giant laughed. Jimuta called out, “Have you found another fool to risk himself for you? I am the greatest wrestler on earth. I have my strength from a rishi’s blessing and no one in the world can fight me. I have torn tigers limb from limb and brought a bull-elephant to his knees with a blow of my fist. What man can stand against me? I am the mightiest!”

He smote his chest, across which he wore a tiger-skin and roared like a tiger himself.

The king said, “Stranger, we don’t dispute your strength. But we have a man in our court who will beat you.”

The wrestler growled, “The world acknowledges that I am the greatest wrestler of these times. No champion has lasted more than a few moments against me. I say to you, your challenger will not leave the arena alive. So make your choice: either give me the reward, or have your wrestler’s death on your conscience!”

He strutted around the ring again, roaring from time to time. The king was very fond of his cook Ballava. He blanched to hear the wrestler’s threat and turned to Kanka in some alarm. Kanka laid a hand on Virata’s arm and said, “Have no fear. Your cook is more than this braggart’s equal.”

“Where does your challenger come from, Virata?” cried the wrestler.

“From my kitchen. My cook is more of a wrestler than you are!” answered Virata warmly.

The arena echoed with the lout’s laughter. Then, clad in a black singlet, his body oiled and shining, Ballava stepped into the ring like a lion. He wore a crimson mask over his face. The crowd stood up to cheer him.

The king also rose and cried, “This is my cook Ballava and he will teach you a lesson, O greatest wrestler in the world!”

Jimuta gave a start when he saw Bheema. He knew this was no common cook that came to fight him. The foreigner could tell at a glance that he was no common wrestler either. And why did his heart flutter as if death had stepped into the arena with him? But, repressing the stab of fear, the champion roared at Bheema, “Fool, go back to your pots and pans or I will break your neck for you!”

Bheema said nothing. He bowed to the king and approached the smoldering wrestler. Their gazes met and locked. It was as if they already strained together, limb against mighty limb. The crowd fell hushed and you could hear the breeze in the leaves of the palace trees. Both at once, the outsider and Bheema bent at the waist and began to circle each other.

Never touching they circled; their arms were extended before them and every muscle in their bodies was taut. To the crowd, it seemed as if they were dancers in a weird play. They circled ten or, perhaps, twenty times and then the foreigner’s courage faltered. He cried, “Stop circling, cook! Let us have done with it.”

Jimuta lowered his head like a bison and charged Bheema. Later, those who watched remembered vividly what happened next. For, though it happened so swiftly that it was all over in a moment, it seemed time dilated herself so every detail was engraved on the people’s memories.

The wild charge was a technique the wrestler had used against his other adversaries. He had knocked them down and battered them into submission before they got their breath back.

But when he struck Bheema, with awesome force, it was as if he struck a rock. The cook did not so much as sway at the impact; instead, the wrestler staggered back stunned. In a flash, Bheema seized him and lifted him over his head. He whirled the giant around thrice and flung him down, head first, like a thunderbolt, driving his neck into his thick body, crushing his skull, killing him instantly.

There was a moment’s awed silence; then the crowd was on its feet, running into the arena to embrace Ballava. The people yelled his name and carried him aloft on a sea of shoulders. Finally, he managed to free himself and cried, “Let me go, friends. I have fifty dishes on the fire and they will all burn!”

Ballava bowed to king Virata, who was also on his feet, applauding and Kanka the gambler was beside him, his eyes shining. His task accomplished, the cook ran back to his fires. Through it all, even when he received the new champion’s generous purse, he kept his crimson mask in place.

From then on, Ballava became a favorite not just with king Virata but the people of his city. And the feast he produced that day did not suffer a bit from the short while he was away from his kitchen.

FIVE KARNA’S DREAM
 

When Indra sent Lomasa to the Pandavas, the muni also brought a secret message from the Deva, just for Yudhishtira.

Indra said, “I know the dread in your heart, Yudhishtira. You fear Karna because you think he is a greater archer than Arjuna. Do not be afraid, I will take some of Karna’s power away from him.”

Yudhishtira kept Indra’s message close and it consoled him. And one dark night of a new moon, Indra decided to keep his promise to Yudhishtira. The Pandavas’ exile neared its end and the great war drew near; it would not do to leave Karna as invincible as he was. But Karna’s father, Surya Deva, divined Indra’s intention.

That night, as Karna lay asleep, the Sun God came to him in a dream. He came as an illustrious brahmana. He said to the warrior, “Listen to what I have to say, Karna. I have come to save your life.”

The brahmana seemed strangely familiar and Karna said, “Tell me what you have come to say, Brahmana.”

The brahmana said, “You worship the Sun God at noon and never turn away anyone who comes to you for alms at that hour. Your charity sets you apart from other men.

But tomorrow, Karna, a mortal enemy will come to you for alms. Indra himself will come to you as a brahmana and he will ask for your kavacha and kundala. He is Arjuna’s father and the alms he will ask for are the two things that are your very life.”

In the dream, Karna stood amazed before the brahmana whose eyes were flames. He stood passive, in the way of dreams and listened avidly. The brahmana continued, “Your golden earrings belong to Aditi, the mother of the Devas and the armor you wear was dipped in amrita. Part with the kundalas, Karna and you will part with half your life. Give away your kavacha and you will not live long after. The mail you wear is protection not merely against enemies’ weapons but time itself.

I wish you well, Karna. When Indra asks for your kavacha and kundala, offer him anything else in their place. Offer him your army, your kingdom, but tell him he cannot have the earrings and the armor.”

Karna was moved. “How fond you are of me, stranger! And you are no ordinary brahmana, who know what will happen tomorrow. Why, you know the mind of Devendra himself.

Then, Brahmana, you are even more extraordinary in that you seem to love me. I have lived many years in this sad world and only two people have truly cared about me. My mother Radha loves me and Duryodhana loves me like his own brother. Now you seem to be a third. Brahmana, tell me who you really are.”

The brahmana shone brighter than ever in Karna’s dream. He said, “I am Surya whom you worship every day and I bear you great love!”

Karna saw the brahmana’s body was iridescent now and he fell at the Deva’s feet. He cried in a fervor, “My Lord! You are my Ishta Devata, the only God I worship. I am blessed a thousand times tonight, that you have come to me yourself.”

Karna clasped the brahmana’s feet in his hands and wept for joy. Surya Bhagawan said, “Karna, there is more truth in you than any other man alive. I have not come lightly, but to warn you of dire peril and to save your life. When he comes begging tomorrow, do not give your kavacha and kundala to Indra.”

Karna raised his eyes to look into the face of the God, who was his father, though the son did not know it. He said, “My Lord, I have sworn my oath for you. Every day, after I worship you, I wait for someone to come to me for alms. The alms I give are in your name and I give anything I am asked.

All these years, I have never wavered in this ritual. The oath I swore was in anguish, that the world shunned me because I was a sutaputra. My own guru cursed me when he discovered what I was. It was after Bhargava cursed me that I swore my oath and since that day, some peace entered my life. This charity is what sustains me; it calms my unquiet heart.

The dearer what I give away is to me, the greater the peace I find. Lord, if someone asks me for my very life, I pray I have the wisdom and the courage to give it without a thought. For that shall be my Salvation and bring me honor.”

The splendid Sun stood over his child, listening to him absorbed, in deeper love than Karna guessed, anxiety and pride. Karna went on, “I have never loved this life of mine much, anyway. I have never belonged anywhere, or to anyone. Not even to my mother Radha, since I am not her flesh and blood, though she loves me more than her life.

Above everything else, I crave honor. Honor is the only balm that soothes my pain and I have won honor for myself in the hardest way any man ever has. If tomorrow Indra asks me for my kavacha and kundala and I refuse to give them to him, my honor will die in a moment. It is true that I might live longer then, but my shame will outlive me.

If the Lord of heaven himself, who slew Vritrasura, comes to me as a beggar, why, it will be with pride that I give him my very life. And that final charity must bring me eternal fame.”

A shadow crossed Karna’s proud, ravaged face. He smiled wryly, “Fate has never been my ally, not since my natural mother abandoned me. It seems I have a harder road to walk than any other man. I have no doubt that, like Indra, fate is also on the side of the Pandavas. In my heart, I know that even if I am the better archer, Arjuna will kill me. I have never told this to anyone before, but I know when he and I face each other in battle, finally, as we were born to, I will die by Arjuna’s hand.

I am certain of this and not a day passes without my thinking of it. Yet, even if Arjuna take my life, there is one thing he shall never have: my honor. I love my honor more than my life. Long ago, I chose honor for my bride and I will cling to her even in death. Only she imbues my life with meaning, invests it with purity. Without honor, life is meaningless. Why should I seek to prolong my life after I abandon its meaning, its very soul?

I care nothing if Indra takes my kavacha and kundala, when, by doing this, he shall bless me with the everlasting life of the spirit.

I swear in your name, Surya Deva, my only Lord, I will not refuse Indra what he wants. Why, most of all, because he asks for no less than my life!”

The Sun God said, “Ah Karna, don’t do this foolish thing. Life is as precious as honor. And what about your wife and your sons? And Duryodhana, who you say loves you as his brother? Give away your kavacha and kundala and you will give away the war that is coming; for only you can stand between the Pandavas and victory.

What use, Karna, will honor be to you when you are dead? My bhakta, even as you have worshipped me every day, I too have loved you. In the name of that love, I implore you, don’t do this senseless thing! Turn Indra away when he comes tomorrow to beg for your life.”

With tears in his eyes, Karna said, “It is only you I have ever worshipped and my heart is full today seeing how you love me. Yet, I cannot do as you ask. I am not afraid of death, but the very thought of dishonor terrifies me. I have sworn an oath. I must not betray myself by breaking it, not for the sake of victory, or of all our lives.

Ah, my Lord, what greater joy can I wish for than your coming to me like this? Bless me, Surya Deva. Lay your hands on my head and grant me undying fame.”

Surya, the brahmana, said, “Your dharma is greater than even Yudhishtira’s: almost as if you both were brothers and you the elder one! I am proud of you, Karna. When Indra comes tomorrow and takes your kavacha and kundala, ask him for his Shakti in return. That Shakti will protect you, in some measure, when your golden armor is gone.”

The Sun God laid his nitid palms on Karna’s head and vanished from the warrior’s dream. Karna awoke with a start in the darkness of night. Over and over, he relived his dream, until dawn lit the world outside.