SIXTEEN
As Krishna rode out of Hastinapura, he saw Karna standing alone on the palace steps, gazing at the horizon. Krishna told Satyaki, “Stop the horses.”
The Dark One called out, “Karna! I must talk to you.”
Karna stood for a moment, looking doubtfully at Krishna. Then he came down the steps.
Krishna said, “Come for a short ride with me.”
Without a backward glance, Karna climbed into the chariot and they drove out of the city-gates and to some nearby woods.
“Stop, Satyaki, this will do. Karna let us take a walk together.”
When they had walked some way, Krishna turned abruptly and laid a hand on Karna’s shoulder. Karna raised an eyebrow in surprise. Krishna said urgently, “I know you well, Karna, I have watched you carefully. You are a man of truth, a man of your word and one of great courage. All your life you have fought against impossible odds and you have often prevailed. You are hard, but you are not evil. I know you are a master of the Vedas and the Vedangas. Behind the callous mask you wear is a learned man, who knows the subtle shades of dharma.”
When Karna laughed, Krishna held up a hand. “Let me finish, before you mock. You don’t deceive me, Karna, I know the man behind the mask. You are not what you pretend to be and shall never be. You are not like Duryodhana, Dusasana or Shakuni. You have a noble heart as few men possess; you have great character. You have ample wit and you know your friend sets himself and all those with him on a course to death. He walks the way of sin and you, who know better, walk with him. Why, Karna?”
Karna smiled, as he seldom did and his severe face softened. He met Krishna’s gaze evenly, “Why do you flatter me today, Krishna? I have not heard such praise from you, of all people. What do you want from me? Surely, it is what you can never have.”
Krishna murmured, “Perhaps not.”
Grave again in a moment, Karna said in his intense way, “If you really want to know why I walk with Duryodhana, I will tell you. What you say is true, about the path he has chosen for himself. He treads the dark way of sin: perhaps, the short way of sin?
But I say to you, Krishna, there is no man on earth as noble as Duryodhana. I will never judge him as you or the others do and my reason is simple: I love him too much. The world spurned me because I was a sutaputra; but not once has Duryodhana even thought of me like that. To him I am never Karna the sutaputra, but Karna his friend. And I am as dear to him as his brothers, dearer.
Once I came to this city in search of a livelihood. I was finally an archer and I heard there was to be a tournament. The Kuru princes were to show the skills they had learnt from Drona, who refused to take me as his sishya, because I was a suta’s son. Do you know the story of my life, Krishna? It has not been an easy life.”
Krishna said nothing, only listened. Karna resumed, “I studied archery with Bhargava. Yet, I did not leave his asrama with his blessings, but his curse: because I was a sutaputra. When I came to the tournament in Hastinapura, I did not intend to announce myself as I did. Then I saw Drona and his pupils so smug with their accomplishments, especially young Arjuna. He was brilliant, all right, but I knew I was a better archer than he was. I could not help myself; I had to challenge him. Even after I had shown them my skills, they said I could not fight Arjuna because I was not a kshatriya. Then Duryodhana took my hand and made me king of Anga. I can never forget that day, Krishna; it changed my life.
I was overwhelmed and I said to him, ‘I am in your debt forever. Tell me what I can do to repay your generosity. Let it be anything, my life is yours to ask for.’
He embraced me and replied, ‘You are a great warrior; Anga is the least you deserve. I want nothing from you, Karna, but your love. Give me your heart.’
How could I not? Krishna, only two people have loved me like that. My mother Radha and Duryodhana; and it is for the sake of these two that I am still alive. I care little enough for my life; it has brought me nothing but anguish. But don’t ask me to ever sit in judgement over Duryodhana, whatever he may do. I know a Duryodhana who is my friend, who loves me and who is the truest of men.”
There were tears in his eyes. Krishna nodded, “The debt of gratitude, the most difficult thing to pay back on earth.” Then, out of the blue, he said casually, “Karna, I suppose you have made your choice knowing who your real mother is?”
Karna was startled: how did Krishna know Radha wasn’t his mother? Recovering at once, he said, “I never knew who my real mother was, but I dreamt of her. I sometimes felt she was a princess who lived in a palace beside a river; as if a dim memory of her has stayed with me. I must have been illegitimate and she cared more for her reputation than her child. She floated me down the river in a box; that is how much she loved me. She must have other sons now and has forgotten me like some bad dream she had once, briefly. But I have left all that far behind me. Why speak of it now? Anyway, what does my mother have to do with whether or not I stand with Duryodhana?”
Krishna was looking at him so queerly and Karna felt disquieted. But he said, “And besides, Radha is my mother, even if she didn’t give birth to me. She loves me, she is proud of what I have achieved and that is all that matters.”
Gently, Krishna said, “Your mother was indeed a princess and she did abandon you because she feared what the world would say and what her father, who was a king, would say. She was not married when she had you. But Karna, since the moment she floated you down the river, she has thought only of you. Yes, she has five other sons, as splendid as any mother could wish for. But her heart yearns for the beautiful baby she once abandoned. The baby born with the golden armor, her first child she lost. She pines for you, Karna.”
Karna breathed, “If my mother is a king’s daughter, I am a kshatriya! Small wonder that I longed to be an archer.” He seized the Dark One’s hands. “Krishna, do you know my mother? Is she alive? Who is she? Tell me!”
Krishna gazed into Karna’s face, trying to decide if he should tell him the terrible truth. At last, he said, “Karna, your mother had five sons after you and your brothers are the greatest kshatriyas on earth.”
For a moment, Karna did not understand. Then he whispered, “Five sons…the greatest kshatriyas. Krishna, do you mock me?”
Full of pity, Krishna shook his head. Karna clutched his hands more fiercely, “It cannot be!”
“But it is, Karna,” the Avatara told him. “Kunti is your mother, the Pandavas are your brothers.”
Karna’s roar echoed in that wild place. “And my father? Who is my father, Krishna?”
“The God you worship every day, your Ishta Devata. Surya Deva is your father.”
Karna swooned; Krishna caught him as he fell. When he came to his senses again, he began to sob helplessly, as he had not done for years. With such sorrow in his eyes, he said to Krishna, “Now I am certain that I am the most cursed man alive. Surya Deva is my father; Kunti Devi is my mother; Yudhishtira, Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula are my brothers, my flesh and blood. And what am I to the world? An upstart sutaputra!” He laughed bitterly. “Now I know why Bhargava cursed me. He knew who I was: not who I thought, but more a kshatriya than I knew myself. But oh, how will I live with the truth with which you have struck me, Krishna? The Pandavas are my brothers and I.”
His face hardened. He wiped his tears and his voice full of suspicion, he said, “But you haven’t just discovered this, have you? You have always known who I am. Why do you tell me this now? To disturb me, so I will not be able to fight my brothers. Ah, you are a crafty one.”
But Krishna’s black eyes were full of love. “I tell you this, Karna, because I want to save your life. Not only that; I have an offer to make you, an honorable one. You know kshatriya dharma as well as anyone. You know that if an unmarried woman has a son, when she marries that child becomes her husband’s heir. You are a Pandava on your father’s side. Karna, on your mother’s side you are a Vrishni. You and I are cousins. Come away from this city of sin; come with me to your brothers. They will welcome you as the eldest of them. Yudhishtira will set his crown on your head; dark Pan-chali will be your queen.
They will make you sit in a golden chariot. Yudhishtira will lead you to it, Bheema will hold the white parasol over your head, Arjuna will be your sarathy and Nakula, Sahadeva and I will walk behind you in train: on the way to your coronation! Who is more worthy of being lord of the earth than you are? Karna, your dharma is as staunch as Yudhishtira’s. Your heart is as warm as Bheema’s, your archery as deep as Arjuna’s. You are regal in all your parts and I think you are learned past what anyone realizes, since you never flaunt your learning as other men do.
And more than any of these, you have suffered as not even the Pandavas have. You have had scorn heaped on you and lived with the constant pang of being a sutapura. Only men who have suffered know the value of compassion; above anything, a king must be compassionate.
You have lived thinking your mother who gave birth to you did not love you. She longs for you. Not seeing you, not knowing you, causes her more grief than you can imagine. Come away with me, Karna. Don’t look back, come now.”
For a moment, Karna stood staring at Krishna. Then he smiled, “Ah, Krishna, who could make it sound more enchanting than you? And I see that you do it out of love. But it is not as simple as you make it out to be. True, by law I am a Pandava, a Kaunteya and your cousin. But just the facts of blood cannot change the course of my life as it has been. Krishna, my mother floated me down the river when I was an infant. I could have drowned; but her reputation was more precious to her than my life. Such a woman is not worth calling one’s mother.
Atiratha found me, abandoned and adrift, as I am sure God meant him to. When his wife Radha saw me—she always marvels at it—her breasts filled with mother’s milk! She took me in her arms and fed me. Not Kunti, but Radha is my mother. Atiratha has loved me like his own son. My heart belongs with them; they will always be my parents.
Then, there is Duryodhana. How can you think I would abandon him? No, not for all the kingdom and wealth on earth would I betray Duryodhana. What you don’t account for is that I am a grown man; it is too late for me to change. My loves and hates, my friendships and enmities have already formed. The only way I can change them is to die.”
With pity and admiration, Krishna looked at this remarkable warrior. Karna said, “It is honor and fame that I live for. More than anything else, I live to fight Arjuna in what I have sworn shall be the last battle of one of us. If I join the Pandavas now, how will the world witness the duel we have both promised it? Above all, I am an archer and so is Arjuna. Each of us claims to be the finest bowman on earth. Mustn’t we discover the truth in battle?”
Krishna began to say something, but Karna went on, “I know what you want to tell me: that you, great one, protect the Pandavas and no force on earth can conquer them. I am not a fool that I do not know this. But honor demands that I fight my own brothers. My place is beside my deluded, doomed friend. I will fight for Duryodhana and die for him. I am fate’s plaything, its victim and have always been; not even you can suddenly turn me into her favorite son. It is too late for that, sweet cousin. If I betray Duryodhana now, I shall not only be time’s victim, but her clown.”
Krishna heaved a sigh and shook his head sadly. Then Karna’s eyes were full of fear. “How will I fight Arjuna when I know he is my brother? Krishna, did you have to pierce me with this savage truth? I have never lived in peace and now I will not die peacefully either. Yet, how do I hold it against you, when you are trying to save my life? But since you love me and since we are cousins, there is one service you can do me.”
Krishna’s eyes were bright and moist. “Tell me what it is and I will do it.”
“Swear you will keep this secret, until I am dead. Yudhishtira will never fight me, if he knows we are brothers. He will offer me the kingdom he is fighting for and that would never do. We are kshatriyas, Krishna; we are born for battle.
As for me, I know I fight for a cause that is lost, before the first arrow is loosed. Yet, though I am doomed by my choice, I will stand with Duryodhana. There is a heaven above for kshatriyas who die on the field of battle; I aspire to that swarga. The earth holds no charm for me and my life is worthless, especially now, after what you have said. What use is living, when my heart is in pieces and I can never be sure of who I am? I prefer death, because I have never been comfortable in life. And my way to death lies clear before me: fighting Duryodhana’s hopeless war.”
“What makes you so certain the Pandavas will win this war?” asked Krishna.
“Why, my lord, because this war is to be a yagna, your awesome sacrifice. It is the end of the dwa-para yuga and the earth’s burden must be made lighter; the wise say you have been born for that. The rest of us are but players in your lila. You will be the ritvik, the high priest on the field of Kurukshetra and Arjuna will be your fire. The rest of us, Dhritarashtra’s sons, Bheeshma, Drona and I and all the kings who fight for Duryodhana, we shall be your havis, your offerings; we shall all burn.
I have dreams, Krishna. As I used to dream of my mother once, I now dream of the war of the Kurus and its end. Repeatedly, in my dream I see Yudhishtira, bright as a star, with a golden bowl of payasa in his hands out of which he drinks. I saw Bheema on a mountain, immense himself, glaring down at the world spread below him like a tapestry. I saw you, Krishna and Arjuna, like two suns, your light streaming down over the world. In my dream, I saw Nakula, Sahadeva and Satyaki clad in white silk, with garlands around their necks and jewels glittering on their bodies, to signify their lordship over the earth. They smiled at me.
But that is not all I saw. I saw the warriors of Duryodhana’s army, all of us wearing black and our heads bent, walking south, always south. Those who walk south in a dream never have long to live. Krishna, I saw the end of your sacrifice on Kurukshetra. Dusasana lay bleeding on the earth, his chest torn open; Bheema stood over him and his lips were stained with blood. Drona and Bheeshma fell, killed by Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi. I was cut down by Arjuna’s arrow and I fell. And at last, Bheema broke Duryodhana’s thigh, as he swore he would and left him to die slowly, to pay in agony for everything.
I see it all as if it has already happened. Inexplicably, these dreams fill me not with dread, only elation. I am more than ready to die. I began my lonely journey the day I was born. I have borne my burden long enough; I am impatient for death to free me! There is indeed a swarga above for kshatri-yas who die in battle. I dream of that place, too; only there, shall I find my peace. Only there, will I find my brothers, my father and mother again. And then it shall truly be heaven.
But now, Krishna, I see in your eyes that you must be going. This is perhaps the last time we shall meet like this, kindly. When we see each other next, it will be as mortal enemies on the field of war.” He paused and a wistful look touched his face briefly. Karna said, “But then, we shall meet again as friends, cousin, in Devaloka after I am dead.”
Krishna clasped Karna to him and for a moment, Karna had tears in his eyes. He wiped them quickly and wrung Krishna’s hand one last time. They walked back together toward Satyaki waiting in his chariot.