TWENTY-ONE
Kunti said, “Come with me to your brothers.”
Karna’s powerful body shook with sobs. “No! I must not even think of it.”
“Why do you say that? You know the truth now, come away to your brothers. Surely, you don’t mean to fight them when you know who they are.”
He gazed out across the rippling Yamuna, her currents livid with the light of the setting sun. His face turned from her, he said, “Yes, I do mean to fight them, because I cannot abandon Duryodhana. All these years, when the stigma of being a sutaputra attached to me, only he stood with me. He gave me his love, never holding back. He set me beside him in the sabha of Hastinapura and when the war is over, he means to share the earth with me.
My life has been harsher than you can imagine. I was raised a sutaputra, yet my blood raged that I must become an archer. Who has heard of a sutaputra being an archer? I came to Drona and begged him to teach me, but he turned me away because I was not a kshatriya. I took myself to a score of gurus and every one refused me; most laughed at me. At last, I went to Parasurama Bhargava and by now I was so desperate I had resolved to put an end to myself if he also turned me away. I lied to the Bhagawan, telling him I was a brahmana and he took me in. He was kind to me and generous; he taught me all he knew. But finally, when my tutelage was complete, he discovered that I was not a brahmana. Perhaps, with his seer’s vision, he saw who I really was and my guru cursed me.
Then I came to Hastinapura. It was the day of a tournament.”
He turned to her again; a shadow flitted across his face and there was anguish in his eyes. Kunti wept silently. Karna said, “You knew me as soon as you saw me, didn’t you? From my kavacha and kundala. Your mother’s heart would have known me, anyway. But you chose to say nothing, you did not come near me. I will not ask you what your reasons were; I do not want to cause you any more pain.
I was telling you about Duryodhana. When Bheema and Arjuna mocked me on the day of the tournament and Arjuna refused to fight me because I was a sutaputra, Duryodhana crowned me king of Anga. When I asked him what he wanted in return, he said to me, ‘All I want from you is your love, Karna.’
That is how it has been between him and me, since that day. My heart belongs to him and he has loved me more than he has his brothers1. I will never betray that love, not if I have to sacrifice my life for it.”
He sighed. “And until yesterday, it wasn’t hard for me to love Duryodhana and be loyal to him. But these last two days have been like two lives and deaths. Ah, mother, the truths with which Krishna and you have struck me are too fierce! Suddenly I feel no more anger or hatred for Yudhish-tira or Arjuna, but only this overwhelming love. You think you need to beg me to come away with you to my brothers. You don’t know how I long to do just that! I would give this life and ten more to be able to come away with you. Alas, I am cursed, the most unfortunate man alive, that I cannot.”
He fell silent and grew still beside the deep river. Kunti said in despair, “Why not, my child? Karna, I have always loved you. Whenever Arjuna spoke scornfully of the sutapura, I felt my heart would break. My son, have mercy on me. Your mother has borne the burden of her guilt for too long. What I made you suffer is unforgivable. But I was young and afraid of the world. See how savagely my sin has come to roost. Oh, my sweet child, all these years I have felt an emptiness in my heart and my other five sons could never fill it. I yearned for you, Karna. Today is the first day I feel whole and as if God has finally taken pity on me. Let both our torments end here. I have paid in full for my sin. Now I have found you, at last, I could not bear losing you again. Come with me, Karna, let us heal each other.”
She sobbed again. He took her face in his hands. “Though I long to, I cannot come with you. Duryodhana depends on me. You have come to me at this eleventh hour; he has always been with me. A thousand bonds of love bind me to him. Honor has always meant more to me than my life. What honor will I have if I forsake my friend in his hour of need? Your love seizes my heart and I ache to come with you to my brothers. But my heart is not mine to give; it belongs to Duryodhana. I am dearer to that man than his own blood and I will not betray his love. That he couldn’t bear.”
She began to speak, but he said, “Mother, I know why you have come today. You are frightened for your sons. You know who I am and you fear me. But you have no reason to be afraid. Duryodhana’s cause is doomed and with it all those who fight for him. Dharma is with the Pandavas; they must win this war and we their enemies must die. Besides, Krishna is with them. Who in this world, or any other, can stand against the Dark One? He is the Avatara; have no doubt the side he is on will prevail.”
She still looked anxious. He smiled, “You are most afraid for Arjuna’s sake because he and I have sworn to kill the other. Kunti Devi, I will tell you why Arjuna must win the duel between us and why Karna must die.
First, when my guru Bhargava cursed me; he said that when I fought my most powerful enemy I would forget the mantras for the devastras. Then a brahmana, whose cow I killed, cursed me saying I would be shot down as I had his beast: when I least expected it.
And haven’t you noticed a change upon me? My father’s kavacha and kundala, which made me invincible, have gone. Indra himself came begging for alms at my hour of worship. He took my armor and earrings, so his son can kill me. Finally, now, Krishna and you have taken my greatest weapon, my hatred. You have robbed my mind of its strength. How will I kill Arjuna when I know that he is my brother, when I love him?”
Karna covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Kunti took him in her arms; she pulled his head down into her mother’s lap. Thus they sat, for a long time, as twilight fell around them. Karna raised his face and said, “Stop crying, mother. You must not cry today, when we have found each other again. A son needs his mother’s blessing as long as he lives. So bless me now, Kunti. Say my fame will last for ever and that I will find honor, at last, in heaven.”
He prostrated himself at her feet and, with her tears falling on him, Kunti laid her hands on him in a blessing. Rising, Karna said, “I have never refused anyone who came to me at my hour of worship, whatever they asked me for. Yet, I have denied my own mother the boon for which you came. I will not send you empty-handed from here. I have a boon for you: not the one you asked for, but one that I give you anyway. I swear I will not kill four of your sons in battle: Yudhishtira, Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva, none of them shall die at my hands.”
She waited, breathlessly. He went on, “But Arjuna I must fight. We must face each other in a mortal duel and the world must know who is the better archer. Of course, now, one of us knows it is his brother he must fight and the other does not. No matter, either he or I must die. And when the war ends, you will still have five sons, as you have all these years.”
Then he could not endure it any more and said hoarsely, “Now go before my heart breaks. I beg you, go!”
Kunti began to wail loudly. Karna embraced her. “What use are your tears now? For both of us it is too late. Not a line, not a word of what the Gods wrote for you and me can change. Our lives were already decided, long before we were born: every moment of them, their last ones, as well. Don’t cry now, uselessly; rather, pray for me. Pray that I reach the swarga where kshatriyas go when they die and pray that at least there I find peace.
I feel light! As if my grief has been taken from me, as if my sins have been washed away by my mother’s tears, more sacred than the waters of this Yamuna.”
Feverishly, he kissed her hands, her eyes, her lips. He said again, “Now go, while I can still bear it. It is late and no one must discover that you and I have met. Let these hours be as just another dream.”
He had to help her to her feet and she stood swaying from the pang inside her. Again, they embraced. Sobbing, she clutched him to her. After a long moment, she released him, turned and, without another glance at his face,—for then she would never be able to walk away—Kunti stumbled blindly back toward the city. Karna stood turned to stone, watching her. Long after she was out of sight, he stood on.