NINETEEN
Vidura and Kunti sat together in her apartment in his palace, both of them dejected. It was the day Krishna left for Upaplavya. In a strained voice, Vidura had been telling Kunti what had happened in the Kuru court.
“Duryodhana would rather see the world end than give up his obstinacy. Again and again, Yudhishtira asked to make peace; but Duryodhana will not listen. He won’t give back five towns, which are all your son wants.” Vidura sighed. “I have no doubt the Pandavas will win the war; but at what a cost. Blood will flow in rivers on the holy land. Perhaps, Duryodhana might have been persuaded by wise counsel, but Shakuni, Dusasana and that wild Karna are his advisors. I haven’t slept a wink these past few days, Kunti, thinking of the pass we have come to.”
Kunti sat listening, without saying a word. She knew how powerful her sons were. But she also knew the Kaurava army had four aksauhinis more than the Pandavas did. And when she heard that Bheeshma had agreed to command Duryodhana’s legions, fear clutched at her. What unnerved Kunti even more was the thought of her other son. Above anyone else, she feared Karna and her terror of him was heightened by guilt. When the exhausted Vidura left her, she told herself, ‘Not Duryodhana’s hatred for my sons can match Karna’s envy of Arjuna. Karna is Surya’s son; he is every bit the archer Arjuna is. He may well kill Arjuna, or Arjuna, him; either way, I will lose a son.’
She wept in despair then decided: ‘There is only one thing to do.’
She also retired for the night, which was a long and sleepless one.
The next day at noon, when the sun was at his zenith, burning down on the earth, with her head covered to protect her from the searing heat, Kunti went down to the banks of the Yamuna. Among the mirages that rose from the river, she saw Karna worshipping the Sun God. He stood bare-bodied, his arms raised straight above his head, his face lifted to the calescent star. Motionless he stood, chanting the Surya mantra.
Kunti approached him softly, her heart pounding. She stood behind him, unmoving. It is told that Karna was so tall and magnificent, she sheltered comfortably in his shadow, as in the shade of a tree. In a while, he lowered his arms, then his head and opened his eyes. Her shadow fell across his own and he turned. For the first time Karna saw his mother, like a wreath of wilted lotuses and his heart gave a lurch. She stood before him, not saying a word, her head and face still covered. Gently, he took her hand and led her to a tree that grew at the edge of the water.
He folded his hands to her and said, “I am Atiratha’s son Karna. This is the hour when I grant a boon to anyone who comes to me. I see you are noble and unused to the heat. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
She gazed and gazed at his face and at first made no reply. He saw tears in her eyes and they spilt over. She is uncannily familiar, he thought: her eyes, her exquisite hands, her regal bearing! But for the life of him, he could not tell where he had seen her before. For her, after the fateful day she floated him down the river in the wooden box, this was the first time she had seen him so close.
She dried her eyes and said, “Perhaps you know me, or then again you might not. But I have come to beg a boon from you.”
He still stared at her, then he said slowly, “I cannot remember having seen you, but I feel I know you. Why, I feel I have known you all my life.”
He broke off and stared more intently. Then he breathed, “It’s you! The woman in my dreams. Of course I know you, I have always known you.”
He knelt before her. She said, “I don’t understand. How can you say you know me, when we have never met? How have you seen me in your dreams? I have time to listen, if you care to tell me. I have come to spend some time with you.”
Karna did not take his eyes off her and his gaze scathed Kunti. He said, “I never told anyone except my mother Radha about the woman in my dreams and I never felt the need to. Today, I know I must tell you about her and about myself. Though Radha raised me, she is not my natural mother. One day, my father Atiratha found me floating in a wooden box on the Yamuna, an abandoned child. He brought me home to his wife and they adopted me. I never knew any other parents, never knew Radha was not my real mother, or Atiratha my father. For many years I was called only Radheya, Radha’s son.”
Gravely she listened to him, tenderly. Karna went on, “Since I was a child, ever since I can remember, a dream has haunted my sleep, the same dream over and over again. A woman would appear with her face covered and in sorrow and love, she would bend over me. Her tears would drip onto my face, burning me.
Still dreaming, I would ask her, ‘Who are you? Why are you crying?’
Her voice choking, she would answer, ‘I am crying because of what I have done to you, because this is the only way I can see you. But I am such a sinner that I may not speak to you even in our dreams.’
She would turn to leave. I would run after her and try to lift the veil that hid her face. I would cry, ‘Show me your face! I want to see who you are.’
But she would vanish and I would awake trembling.”
His eyes still searched her face. “As I grew, the dream became rarer and the woman hardly appeared any more. It has been years since I saw her at all. But I am sure it was my mother who came to me in my sleep. At first, she thought of me a good deal and she frequented my dreams. But later, when she had other children, she thought of me less and less, or did not want to; and she did not come any more.
That is the story of the woman in my dreams.” He paused, then said, “But you look exactly like her. Who are you, gracious one? What is the boon you seek from me?”
Kunti could hardly look into his eyes, full of the years’ long pain. She bent her head down, down and gazed at her fine hands. Then, quietly, she said, “It is true, I am your mother.”
No expression flickered on his graven face. She went on without pausing, “I am the Pandavas’ mother Kunti. You, Karna, are my firstborn son.”
Karna began to laugh. He said, “Kunti Devi, mother of the Pandavas, has come to her son Karna to beg a boon! Surely, I am asleep and dreaming, for this can’t be true.”
He stopped. They stared at each other and then with a cry, she was in his arms, sobbing. Karna moaned, “You have come! At last, you have come and I knew that one day you would. Mother, how I have longed for this moment, how many times I have lived this day in my imagination. Why did you wait so long? You who bore me in your sweet body, by my Lord, my father Surya Deva whom I worship!”
She gasped. He said, “I know everything.”
“How could you? When did you know? And once you did, why didn’t you come to me?”
Karna said evenly, “I knew only yesterday when Krishna told me. But why speak of the past now? When, at last, at last, we are together! Let us not waste these moments. Come, sit near me and let me lay my head in your lap. This is a perfect moment; let us not spoil it with words. Be quiet, mother, our time together will last just briefly, though I wish it would go on for ever.”
He laid his head in her lap and shut his eyes. Her hands were on his face, in his hair, stroking him and her tears fell on him. The Yamuna murmured along beside them, the only witness to their precious moment.