30.
Krishna went first to Kunti’s residence.
He bent and touched her feet in deep respect.
“Kunti, mother of heroes, I am leaving.”
He talked about his unsuccessful mission:
“I and the elders all spoke with one voice
but Duryodhana is immovable.
The whole family is in thrall to him,
heading for the abyss. Now, please tell me,
what should I say to your sons on your behalf?”
“Remind them,” said Kunti, “they are kshatriyas.
Tell them to have regard for their dharma—
which is to fight, to protect the people,
to wield authority. Tell Yudhishthira
this is what his father and I prayed for,
not for a son who would gabble the Vedas
parrot-fashion, and pass his time with rishis.
Remind him that a king is the creator
of the times he lives in, not the reverse.
“Tell him this ancient story:
“THERE WAS ONCE a woman of the kshatriya class, famously strong-willed, whose son, defeated in a battle with the Sindhus, lay about all day in gloom and apathy. His mother came to him in his apartments, where he was dallying with his concubines.
“The mother said, ‘Whose son are you? Not mine, that’s for sure! Are you too cowardly to rouse your anger, too feeble even to cling to a low branch with your fingernails? Have some self-respect! You look like a man, but you behave like a eunuch. Wallow in self-pity if you want to waste the rest of your life.
“‘Get up, coward! You have no pride at all. Your enemies are most delighted with you and think you have forgiven them. Have you? Are you going to grow old like a dog, or are you going to rouse yourself and fight back, even if it means your early death? It is far more honorable to blaze up for an instant than to smolder like a pile of damp chaff. Effort is what counts.’
“The son said, ‘Your heart is made of iron, relentless, pitiless, warmongering mother. You can’t love me, speaking without compassion as you do.’
“The mother said, ‘I was born into a great family, highly honored while your father was alive. Now I am pitied, stripped of wealth, ashamed that I can’t give to brahmins as before. Your wife is suffering, your little sons long to have a father they can be proud of. We are at sea—be a harbor to us! We are drowning—be a raft to save us! Stand up tall, find your dignity. Better to break in the middle than to bend. You have it in you to be a heroic king. Unknown to you, we have a hidden treasury which you can draw on to raise an army. Stiffen your spine, rise up, defend yourself, be a terror to your enemies. Why don’t you answer me?’
“The son said: ‘I have kept silent because I wanted to listen to your every word, mother. Now I have found my manhood! I shall fight and, whether I win victory or not, I shall have lived like a kshatriya!’
“Tell my sons that story, Krishna,” said Kunti,
“to remind them where their duty lies.”
As Krishna left the city, he called on Karna
and asked him to ride with him a little way
in his chariot. Seriously, he addressed him.
“Karna, you are well versed in the Vedas.
You know, then, that a child born to a woman
out of wedlock becomes her husband’s child
when she marries. That is the case with you.
You are the first-born son of Kunti, conceived
by Surya, the sun god—in law, therefore,
you are the eldest of the Pandavas,
a Bharata on your father’s side, my cousin
on your mother’s.” Krishna explained to him
the detailed circumstances of his birth.
“Recognize then with joy, son of Kunti,
that you are the rightful heir to the kingdom.
Come with me today, my dear cousin,
to Upaplavya. Greet the Pandavas
as your true brothers. They will be overjoyed.
Yudhishthira will gladly renounce his claim
in your favor. Of all the sons of Pandu
it is you whose skill and temperament,
combining truthfulness with martial zeal,
most fits him to govern a great kingdom.
Your nephews will fall down and clasp your feet,
and you will share Draupadi as your wife.
“You are not the son of a wagoner,
you are a kshatriya. This very day,
you can be crowned. Brahmins will officiate,
I myself shall perform your consecration.
You will be king, with Yudhishthira
as your younger deputy. Bhima will hold
the shining parasol over your head.
Today, let the Pandavas be united!”
Karna had been staring at him, amazed,
as this glorious future was laid before him.
Moments passed. Karna remained silent.
Then he spoke.
“Krishna, I have no doubt
you speak out of friendship for me. I believe
what you have just told me. It makes clear
what, all my life, has been a mystery.
I have always felt that I was born to fight.
I am never more at ease within myself
than when I raise my bow, and test my skill
against overpowering odds.
“So, Krishna,
under the law I am a kshatriya
and, from what you say, a Pandava.
But this revelation comes too late.
Kunti abandoned me. She cast me out
like rubbish, as if I had been stillborn,
left me to the caprices of the river.
Adhiratha found me, and he and Radha
loved me from the first. Out of love for me
Radha’s breasts poured forth milk immediately.
Out of love she cleaned up my excrement.
Adhiratha performed the birth rites for me
as a suta. He taught me all he knew.
I love him and respect him as my father.
When I came of age, he found wives for me.
I have sons and daughters—sutas, Krishna.
My heart is tied to them with bonds of love.
Do you think I would disown them now?
“Furthermore, nothing—not gold, not offers
of all the kingdoms in the world, not fear,
not lust for power—could make me break my word.
And I have promised Duryodhana
that I will be his bosom friend till death.
Duryodhana has raised armies and prepared
for war because I have encouraged him,
and I have vowed to defeat Arjuna
single-handed. Only one of us
will live to walk away.
“I know full well
that, with your help, the Pandavas will win.
I can see it now—all their great warriors
in their chariots, banners flying, ranged
on the field of Kurukshetra. It will be
the greatest war sacrifice that the world
has ever seen, with you as the chief priest.
I see the Terrifier, with monkey standard
fluttering boldly above his chariot.
Gandiva will be the ladle, men’s courage
the sacrificial ghee. The divine missiles
will be invocations uttered by Arjuna,
and men’s blood will be the oblation, Krishna.
So much blood.
“I want you to promise
not to tell the Pandavas what you have said.
If Yudhishthira knew I am his brother
he would resign his kingdom to me at once;
and I would give it to Duryodhana,
to whom I owe whatever wealth and honor
I have enjoyed. But I know the kingdom
would best belong to him who has Lord Krishna
as his friend and guide—that is, Yudhishthira.
I regret the insults I have flung
at the Pandavas, to please Duryodhana.
You can tell them that, when the time is right.”
Krishna smiled. Then he laughed, and said,
“Can my offer really not persuade you?
Not even when you know that Duryodhana
would probably give up all thought of war
if you changed sides, knowing he could not win?
Not even when I am offering you the earth?
Not even when I tell you that this war
will involve unprecedented carnage?
There will be no more lucky throws at dice.
Arjuna’s Gandiva throws blazing iron.”
“I know it all already,” Karna said.
“I had a dream—Yudhishthira ascending
steps to a huge palace, with his brothers.
All wore resplendent robes and white turbans
and Yudhishthira was eating rice and ghee
which you had served him, from a golden platter;
I knew that he was swallowing the earth.
Then I saw the armies of Duryodhana,
all in red turbans, except for Ashvatthaman,
Kripa and Kritavarman, turbaned in white.
There were open tumbrils drawn by camels,
and Bhishma, Drona and the rest of us
were being carried off to Yama’s realm.
“So I have no illusions. But my honor
is more precious to me than life itself.
I know the dreadful bloodbath that is coming
has been caused by me and my associates
encouraging the folly of Duryodhana.
But it is too late. I will not betray
those I love, or the Kaurava for whom
I have pledged to die, if die I must.”
“Then,” said Krishna, “the last hope is gone.
I have seen my mission fail completely.
Tell the elders this month is propitious—
not too hot or cold, plenty of fodder
and fuel in the fields. In seven days
it will be New Moon, the Day of Indra.
Tell them that is the day war should begin.”
Karna embraced Krishna long and hard.
“When we next meet,” he said, “it will be in heaven.”
Vidura was in torment. He could not sleep.
He saw all too clearly what was coming,
as in a nightmare from which one cannot wake.
He spoke to Kunti to relieve his feelings
and she, sick with anxiety herself,
wondered what she could do—and thought of Karna.
“Surely,” she thought, “when he knows the truth
he will obey me as his mother, and stand
with his brothers against Duryodhana.
That way, war may be prevented, even now.”
She rose early, and went to look for Karna,
finding him where he stood every morning—
on the riverbank, stripped to the waist,
chanting his praises to the god of light.
She waited by a tree, taking shelter
from the sun’s already oppressive heat,
until Karna had finished his devotions.
He turned and, seeing her, he bowed, hands joined.
“I, the son of Radha and Adhiratha,
greet you, my lady. How may I be of service?”
She blurted out, “Karna, I have to tell you—
you are my son, not the son of Radha
and Adhiratha. The sun god is your father.”
And Kunti told the story of Karna’s birth,
asking him, as Krishna had before her,
to join his brothers as a true Pandava.
Immediately, Karna heard a voice
that came from the sun: Kunti speaks the truth;
obey your mother and you will benefit.
But Karna’s mind was steady as he replied,
“Noble lady, I hear what you say.
But you did me irreparable wrong
when you cast me on the river. By that act
you robbed me of the honor and respect
I should have had as a kshatriya.
What enemy could ever have harmed me more
than you have? All these years, you have witnessed me
slighted and abused within the court,
heard me sneered at, called ‘the suta’s son,’
only the king’s sons befriending me.
Yet you said nothing. You have never acted
as my mother—you only speak up now
in your own interest, to protect your sons.
“For all the men who live in comfort here,
enjoying the bounty of the Bharatas,
the time has come to repay what they owe.
For Drona, Bhishma, Ashvatthaman, Kripa,
and for me as well, honor demands
that we be true to our salt. Duryodhana
is entitled to my love and loyalty
and he shall have them—I shall strain every sinew
to defeat the sons of Pandu.”
Then, softening,
“But here is my word—only Arjuna,
not his brothers, will meet death at my hands.
In that way, when the terrible war ends,
you will still have five sons.”
Kunti sobbed
in anguish, knowing Karna spoke the truth.
There being neither time nor space for pity,
Karna bowed, and they went their separate ways.
That night, Duryodhana sent for his brahmins
and asked them to foretell what was to come.
They shook their heads, “The planets are at odds,
the stars are angry, and hostile animals—
jackals, wolves—prowl the far horizon.
We see meteors falling on your armies
and vultures circling the city. Dumb horses
are seen to weep and lie down in the fields
and foul diseases rake the population.”
Duryodhana quaked within, but shrugged it off.
The prince would not be turned from his fatal path.