TEN
Karna lies on the earth like a fallen star. And it seems nothing beautiful is left in the world after he left it, as if all that was noble has died with him. High noon of the seventeenth day of the dharma yuddha claims Karna’s life. As the Pandava legions break into deafening cheers, the Sun above pales in grief to see his son slain by Arjuna. He shines so dimly he seems like a moon in the sky. An abrupt twilight falls on the battlefield, where Karna lies cut in two on Kurukshetra.
His head is like a thousand-petaled lotus sprouted on the earth and his body gleams like gold. Slowly, the Sun contains his searing sorrow and shines down again on the world: but with soft evening light though he is at his zenith.
Shocked, his eyes streaming, Shalya drives his chariot back to the Kaurava camp. Both its banner and its warrior have fallen. Strangely, when Karna dies, the chariot comes out easily from the mire, as if its wheel was never stuck at all. Amidst the exultant roaring of the Pandava army, their blasting conches and trumpets, Shalya rides back in a sad frenzy.
Numbly, he comes to Duryodhana’s tent and finds him outside, in a terrible state. The Kaurava’s chest heaves in gasps and no words come from his lips that seek to form them, again and again: to cry out his untellable grief. Tears course down Duryodhana’s face, trails of fire. His heart, which bore the death of his brothers and his sons so bravely, cannot believe his friend is dead.
Duryodhana sees Shalya in the empty chariot. His eyes roll up; his legs buckle under him and he falls in a heap. Shalya runs to him and lifts him up gently. He carries him into his tent, where the Kaurava is ministered to with scented water and salts.
Duryodhana has gone limp. His face is ashen, as if his very life has left him and no word comes from him still. Sitting beside him, Shalya takes his hand and tries to comfort him. “My son, don’t let your heart break. All this happens only as fate wills. I saw how Karna fought today and I tell you only fate could have brought him down. But how he raged before she could have her way with him and I was proud to be his sarathy. Arjuna did not kill him; fate did. If it had been a duel between just the Pandava and him, Karna would have killed Arjuna five times over. Duryodhana, the greatest archer in the world has left us and we are all poorer for his going. Perhaps the Gods love him so much, they could not bear to have him away from them any longer.”
Duryodhana still cannot say a word; but listening to Shalya calms him a little. His chest does not heave as much and he no longer struggles to speak. Some semblance of quietness comes over him. But his eyes are still full of shock; they are desperate: everything is lost now, that Karna is dead.
Shalya says, “The enemy massacres our men. Even the sun is dim that Karna is dead. Shouldn’t we honor his passing by stopping the battle for today?”
Duryodhana can only nod slightly. Shalya sends word that the fighting should be stopped for the day in honor of Karna. He turns back to Duryodhana. “We saw the light of his soul rise into heaven. Your friend is at peace now; don’t grieve for him.”
Aswatthama and some others try to pacify Duryodhana, but he sits like a stone, only the tears flowing down his face. All night he sits like that.
The sun sets over Kurukshetra and Karna lies on the field of death. His body glows as if it is still alive and the smile on the lips of his severed head seems so alive as well. No one dares come near him as he lies there. They say he was the noblest man who lived in the world: rivers stand still when Karna dies, the sun loses his luster, the earth trembles and the sky turns crimson with grief. The planets wander from their orbits when Karna dies and comets flare across the sky, plain even by day. The Devas weep when that kshatriya falls, even they who are free from sorrow.
When he kills Karna, Arjuna raises his conch, the Devadatta and blows on it and Krishna sounds his Panchajanya. Neither blows a joyful note. It is as if they, his enemies who killed him, are sad he is gone. Arjuna feels a part of his own life has ended. So many years he had waited for this duel, since the day Karna first swaggered into the exhibition in Hastinapura and stole his thunder. Now his enemy is dead and least of all Arjuna can believe that by killing Karna, he, the Pandava, has proved he is the better archer. All that hardly matters any more; inexplicable sorrow lays hold of Arjuna.
Yet, there is no taking anything away from his triumph. The last warrior who stood between the Pandavas and victory has fallen and their army celebrates his death. Yudhishtira had come out to watch the duel between Karna and Arjuna; but the pain of his wounds forced him back to his tent.
Arjuna and Krishna make their way to Yudhishtira’s tent through a sea of soldiers, all shouting both their names and those near enough reaching out to touch their heroes.
The news reaches Yudhishtira before they do and he is waiting for them in a fair tumult of joy. Arjuna leaps down from his chariot, runs to his brother, his guru and prostrates himself at his feet.
With a sob, Yudhishtira raises him up and embraces him. Yudhishtira clasps Krishna. Krishna says, “With Karna, Duryodhana’s last hope has died. Yudhishtira, your wrath of thirteen years burns brightly and it consumes the Kauravas. Already, you are lord of the earth again.”
Yudhishtira, the bhakta, says humbly, “You have won this war for me. You are always my hope and my strength. When you are with me, victory must be mine.”
Yudhishtira is deeply relieved; some peace comes to his spirit. It was always Karna he had feared, Karna who had been Duryodhana’s main hope. The eldest Kaurava and the eldest Pandava knew, instinctively, how great Karna was; and the duel that would decide the outcome of the war would be the one between Arjuna and him. Now it is over and Yudhishtira wants to be driven to the place where Karna fell. He wants to see the corpse of the man who haunted him with anxiety for so many years. He wants to see it with his own eyes.
Krishna takes him to the field in his chariot. The Pandava sees Karna’s sons all lying dead and then at last he sees Karna himself, his head cut from his body and restored to calm, after life’s brief, harsh, fever. He sees the great body pierced all over by arrows, like a kadamba flower with its thousand filaments. He sees the thousand lamps lit around that headless trunk, fed by scented oil. A pang grips him and Yudhishtira stands gazing at his dead brother. The Sun is setting behind the western mountain, slanting his last light across his slain child’s face, when finally, the Pandava heaves a sigh and says softly, “He is dead and he is so splendid even in death. Come, Krishna, let us go back.”