NINE
Once he sloughs off his first hesitation, Arjuna fights exceptionally. Faced with the only real rival—Karna, who even Krishna said was better than him—Arjuna’s archery becomes a mystic thing. So absorbed is the Pandava, he is hardly aware of what he does. The Gandiva is like part of his body, his very soul. Together, bow and bowman are one being: godlike!
All the Kaurava warriors who stood around Karna, guarding his flanks and rear, flee. Many are killed by Arjuna’s luminous volleys. Duryodhana roars at the deserters, but nothing can persuade them to go back.
Karna is hard-pressed to keep the Pandava from burying him in a night of arrows from which he will never emerge. He cuts down as many shafts as he can; they flow at him endlessly, many finding their mark on either Shalya or himself. Karna has no inexhaustible quivers like his antagonist. There comes a time when the Kaurava soldiers can no longer see their Senapati, or anything around him. He is hidden in a perfect darkness of arrows: Arjuna hides the face of the sun.
Fighting for his life now, Karna knows the moment has arrived when he must either kill Arjuna or die. At darkness’ heart, Karna briefly longs for Indra’s Shakti; but the Shakti had returned to the Deva, after it killed Ghatotkacha. His death drawn so near he can reach out and touch it, Karna summons the last weapon he has left with which he can still win this duel. From its scented case, Karna draws the nagastra. Chanting its mantra, which perhaps five warriors on earth know, he fixes the glimmering missile to his bowstring. Already, it seethes and hisses like a cobra disturbed in its nest. Emerald scales cover that weapon; fangs yawn at its snake’s-head, below lidless eyes that gaze plainly at Kurukshetra. Karna aims at Arjuna’s throat, he means to cut his head from his body.
Karna is plunged in the night of arrows and Arjuna cannot see what he is doing. He does not see the nagastra in Karna’s hands; he doesn’t see him fit it to his bowstring. Shalya says to his warrior, “Don’t aim at his throat, you might miss. At least, send another shaft at his heart.”
Karna replies, “A warrior never changes his aim. A real archer never doubts himself, that he must shoot a second arrow. Karna never misses his mark.”
He draws the Vijaya’s string to his ear and, blinded, Arjuna shades his eyes. Karna cries to his inveterate enemy, “Take a good look at the world, Arjuna, this is the last moment of your life!”
A bolt of lightning, the nagastra streaks across Kurukshetra, spitting green fire. A cry goes up from the Pandava soldiers, they are sure Arjuna will die. Karna is certain his aim is true. Shalya, watching, thinks Arjuna is a dead man. Arjuna himself sees the macabre weapon flash at him out of the darkness with which he has covered Karna and he can do nothing against the astra. For that moment, Arjuna also thinks he will die.
They have all reckoned without a blue charioteer. Krishna sees the nagastra; he sees it presciently even before Karna shoots it. As soon as the green thing flares at his kshatriya’s throat, Krishna jerks on his reins. He forces his gandharva steeds down on their knees! In a moment’s core, those horses kneel and the chariot tilts forward a hand’s length. The nagastra flashes true to its mark, but Arjuna’s throat is a hand’s length lower than it had been. The emerald arrow whisks the jeweled crown that Indra gave him from his head and leaves a deep scratch; otherwise, it does not harm the Pandava.
Arjuna feels as if he has died and been reborn. Wild cheering breaks out among the Pandava foot-soldiers. The howl on Bheema’s lips is stanched and a yell of joy issues from him instead. Color flushes back into Yudhishtira’s face, which had gone pale as death in that awful moment. A sigh like a serpent’s comes from Karna: that moment, despite the odds of dharma, victory might have been his. Now, all is lost. He has no other weapon like the nagastra, none that can kill Arjuna. The Suryaputra also knows the Pandava would have been dead except for his sarathy. Then, he had always known that, no matter what, Krishna was always with Arjuna: so, he, Karna, could never win this duel.
Yudhishtira’s heart had stopped beating for that life long moment. Flushed himself, Arjuna darts a grateful smile at Krishna, who is as unruffled as ever, just his eyes a shade brighter. The Pandava ties up his long hair and the scratch on his scalp with a white scarf and he has recovered enough to resume battle.
Meanwhile, a bizarre thing happens to Karna. The crown his nagastra shot from Arjuna’s head is the same one Indra gave him. From where that kirita fell and Karna’s shaft with it, a serpent thrusts itself out from the ground. Invisible to every other eye, it flies through the air to where Karna stands disconsolate in his chariot.
Startled, Karna stares at the gleaming snake. It speaks to him, “You did not know it, but I entered your nagastra subtly; but for me, your arrow would have been quicker and Krishna would not have saved Arjuna. I am Aswasena. Long ago, when the Khandava vana burned and he killed my mother, I swore that I would kill Arjuna. Set me on another arrow, Karna and shoot me at the Pandava. This time there will be no mistake, I swear Arjuna will die.”
Karna cries angrily, “Haven’t you done enough? Karna needs no help to fight his enemies. I would rather die than depend on you. Leave me, before I kill you!”
Aswasena’s eyes glint balefully. He hisses, “If you won’t help me, I will take revenge by myself.”
He flashes through the air, invisibly, at Arjuna’s chariot. But Krishna sees him coming and says, “A serpent comes to kill you!”
By Krishna’s grace, Arjuna sees the snake, hood unfurled, flying to sting him. In a flash, he cuts Aswasena in shreds with six light-like arrows. Panting, Arjuna says, “Who was he that came to kill me though no one sent him?”
Krishna, who knows all things, tells him. Karna and Arjuna resume their duel, more intensely than ever. Soon both of them stream blood from a hundred wounds they have opened on each other. Shalya and Krishna are not spared either.
Karna’s time runs out swiftly; every moment, his death glides nearer. Two curses stalk him close. Fate and the very earth conspire to fulfil the first one. All at once, the ground under his chariot turns soft and his chariot-wheel sinks into the yielding earth. Shalya’s horses cannot pull them out. The ratha tilts backwards and his fine steeds’ hooves are off the ground. Warrior, sarathy, chariot and animals are askew. Karna cannot possibly fight as he is.
A memory from years ago floats up into his mind. He sees a wind-swept beach and at its edge, the corpse of the cow he killed. Karna sees the brahmana’s anguished face before him again. He hears the man curse him, his words ringing above the surf, “When you face your greatest enemy, your chariot-wheel will be mired in the earth.”
A shiver runs through Karna’s body: death’s first touch. He fights more furiously than ever. He thinks of one final astra he has, which might still finish Arjuna. Despair stokes Karna. He decides to use a weapon, which will kill a hundred thousand men besides the Pandava. Karna summons the brahmastra against Arjuna. He draws a golden arrow from his quiver, fits it to his bow in a blur and begins to chant its mantra.
Another face floats up before his mind’s eye: a face he has hardly dared remember all these years. Karna sees his guru Bhargava’s face before him. He sees his master’s angry eyes. He hears his curse across the years, “When you most need an astra to save your life, you will forget the mantras I have taught you.”
Karna fumes. He cannot remember all the mantra for the brahmastra. Arjuna’s arrows swell at him in a squall. Now Arjuna severs Karna’s bowstring, again and again, as quickly as he can mend it. Tears stand in Karna’s eyes. He recalls the misfortunes of his life. He cries, “They say that dharma always watches over those who keep it. I have walked the way of dharma, as I saw it: but there is no such thing in this world!”
Arjuna’s arrows draw flowers of blood on Karna’s body, as he stands helpless in his mired chariot. Arjuna invokes the aindrastra. At the mory last moment, the mantra for the brahmastra flashes into Karna’s mind and he manages to contain the aindra with the brahma. The two astras fuse in the sky.
Every moment Karna’s chariot-wheel sinks deeper into the yielding earth. With a curse, he leaps down to the ground. Kneeling, he pulls out the mired wheel, lifting the chariot with awesome strength. At that moment, Arjuna is thinking of the raudrastra. When Karna sets the chariot-wheel down on what he believes is firm ground, it promptly sinks again.
Howling, he bends again at the offending wheel and cries, “Arjuna, wait until I lift this wheel out. You are a kshatriya. It isn’t dharma for you to shoot at me when I stand helpless. Give me a moment and we will fight again.”
A wild laugh rings out from Krishna. “So you want dharma from Arjuna now! Tell me, Karna, have you always walked the way of dharma yourself? Was it dharma when you plotted against the Pandavas’ lives with Duryodhana? Was it dharma when Draupadi was dragged into the sabha in Has-tinapura and you told Dusasana to strip her naked? Was, perhaps, the game of dice dharma? And let me remind of another moment of dharma, just four days ago.”
Krishna’s face is a mask. “Was it dharma when six of you killed Abhimanyu, when he was alone and without a weapon in his hands? And who broke the boy’s bowstring from behind? I hear it was you, Karna. Was that dharma? That you demand dharma now from Abhimanyu’s father!”
Krishna’s lips throb and Karna reels at what he says: the Avatara’s words are like arrows, tipped with terrible truth. He leaves the mired wheel and with a roar, turns to fight. Arjuna does not summon the raudrastra he had thought of, but looses an agneyastra instead. It burns at Karna. Karna invokes another varunastra to quell the fire in the sky. The effort to remember the mantra for the sea-weapon drains him. Karna staggers against the side of his chariot.
Arjuna invokes the vayavyastra to blow away the clouds of smoke that billow around Karna’s chariot. They screen Karna, give him time to lift his wheel from the sludge. He hardly has the strength any more to do this. His mind is numb. He realizes he cannot remember another mantra. Somehow, he keeps his bow raised and fights back with common arrows. Visions overwhelm Karna. He sees his life flash before his eyes, in a moment. He sees it all so vividly and with complete detachment, as if he was watching someone else’s years. Why, even the present moment, this great duel, assumes a quality of dream. Wonderful illumination floods his tired body. Somehow, he fights on.
Shalya is helpless. His horses are covered in blood, wild-eyed from the wounds Arjuna has given them. Neighing frantically, they strain against their bits. The mired wheel will not let them escape and their legs thresh the air. Shalya is also covered in blood, like his archer on the ground. Gritting his teeth in a last, tremendous effort, Karna shoots a heavy wooden arrow at Arjuna. With a crack like thunder, it flashes into the Pandava’s chest. The Gandiva slips from Arjuna’s hand and he falls.
A cry of dismay from the Pandava army and an excited cheer begins on the lips of the Kaurava legions. It dies before being given full throat, because Arjuna rises as if from the dead, groggily, but his eyes turning red. He picks up his bow and cuts down Karna’s banner of Anga. Karna roars as if he has been shot through his heart; then the wave of visions smothers him again. It is as if there are two men in his body: one fights Arjuna for his life; and the other a Karna wafted far from this field, from this very world on a bright current of bliss.
Karna, the kshatriya, strains again at his chariot-wheel to lift it out. By now, he is bathed in blood. Tears run channels down his cheeks. With his huge effort, the sinews on his back stand out like snakes. Again, he sees the face of the brahmana who cursed him. He hears his voice, as if the man spoke them even now, ‘And just as you have killed my cow, when she least expected it, so, too, you will meet your death, when you are not ready for it.’
Krishna cries to Arjuna, “Quick! Kill him now!”
Karna kneels on the ground, bending his back to his task. Slowly, the chariot-wheel slides out from its furrow. Arjuna draws an uncommon arrow from his quiver, its head wide as two hands and shaped like a thunderbolt. It is the anjalika and the Kauravas who watch hold their breath. Caught in a dream himself, Arjuna chants the weapon’s mantra. The moment pauses as if time will stand still in it. Fluidly Arjuna draws his bowstring to his ear and looses the anjalika at his sworn enemy, his brother. It is just past high noon.
A clap of thunder, the light of a sunflare and the arrow flies at Karna. Karna turns his head to that sound. The livid astra seems to take forever to reach him; Karna looks straight into Arjuna’s eyes and a smile of supreme contempt lights his face. As both armies watch, transfixed, the astra takes off Karna’s head in a burst of wild roses and it falls to the earth, brilliant, like the setting sun. The last disdainful smile still curves his haughty lips and at last, death’s peace softens his face.
Karna’s headless trunk sways and falls beside the chariot-wheel that was his undoing. A pulsing light issues from his bloody neck and rises so slowly from him, as if it was reluctant to leave his magnificent body. Majestically, that light, his soul, rises into the sky and is absorbed into the sun.