AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

  “Guru... it is my son, my son...” Arjuna jumped away from Iravan’s head as if it was a viper ready to strike.

  “A great sacrifice in the name of dharma!” declared the priest.

  “Krishna! They have killed my son! Is this dharma?” shouted Arjuna, his voice and body trembling.

  Krishna ran to where Arjuna stood gazing in shocked horror at his son’s decapitated body. He looked at Dhaumya, his eyes glowing like coals in his dark and handsome face.

  “It was the Supreme Sacrifice, Lord.” Dhaumya bowed.

  Krishna did not miss the implication. The wily Guru was alluding to Ekalavya’s death. Things were getting out of hand. Dhaumya’s fanaticism was frightening. Krishna yearned for a stable society, but looking at the priest’s glittering eyes, he wondered what the future would bring.

  Arjuna freed himself from Krishna’s grip. “I am sick of this. I will not fight anymore.”

  “Arjuna, listen to me, I will explain.” Krishna hurried after his friend, trying to talk Arjuna out of his depression.

  Dhaumya picked up the lifeless head of Iravan by its hair. “Raise this thing on a pole and plant it in the middle of the battlefield. May it strike terror in the minds of all low-castes who forget their dharma.”

  Soon, Kurukshetra had a stake pierced into its heart. The lifeless eyes of Iravan bored into the conscience of the warriors on both sides for the next eighteen days. The temple of dharma had sacrified its first blood.

  *****

  52 KSHATRIYA

  “CASTE! CASTE! CASTE!” Karna kicked a stone into the water. His toe hurt but it was nothing compared to what he felt inside. He had never expected Bhishma to stoop so low. Years before, Karna had tried to drown himself in the waters of this holy river. It would have been far, far better had Kripa left him to die that day. He had suffered enough for many lifetimes. What pained him the most was the hesitation he had seen in Suyodhana’s eyes. His defeat at Arjuna’s hands at Virata had shaken the belief of even his closest friend. Arjuna was a lucky bastard. He had everything – caste, lineage, fame; he even had the woman Karna had once loved deeply. ‘Draupadi, why do I still yearn for you?’ he thought in agony. Could a Suta even lift his eyes to such a woman?

  A shadow fell on the water and Karna’s warrior instincts became taut and alert. Someone stood behind him. In one fluid movement he had turned, his sword in his hand.

  “Krishna!” Karna could not hide his surprise. “Have you come to do to me what you did to Ekalavya?”

  Krishna smiled his most charming smile. “Karna, my friend, you are like my brother. Why would I harm you?”

  “I am in no mood for small talk, Krishna, leave me alone.” Karna sheathed his sword. Krishna was the last person he wanted to talk to. He stepped into the water, his back to the Yadava. The river was turning saffron in the west.

  Krishna scooped up some water and washed his face. “I understand your pain, Karna, but like the waters of the holy Ganga, what I say will cleanse your soul.”

  “Krishna, leave me alone.”

  “Do you know who you are?”

  “The whole world knows who this Suta is.”

  “What is it that you have always wished for, Karna?”

  When Karna remained silent, Krishna said, “To be a Kshatriya.”

  “I know I am only a lowly Suta. Now go.”

  “All Bharatavarsha could be yours before you can blink, Karna.”

  “Krishna, the peddler of impossible dreams. But even Sutas run out of patience sometimes.”

  “Karna, I met your mother today.”

  Karna’s heart skipped a beat. When had he last been home to see his parents, Athiratha and Radha? Why had Krishna cared to visit a stable-keeper’s hut?

  “She wants you to be King of Hastinapura.”

  “All mothers want their sons to be Kings.”

  “Ah, but your mother can make you King of Bharatavarsha. If you agree, no one can stop you. You will be the greatest of all Kshatriyas, the King of Kings.”

  “If you are done with mocking a poor Suta woman, please go.”

  “I am not talking about your Suta mother, Karna.”

  “So even mothers have castes now?”

  “Karna, you are not a Suta, but the greatest of Kshatriyas.”

  “Do not tell me that caste is based only on character and not on birth. I am tired of that excuse. All the high-castes parrot it but I can no longer accept their smug smiles and platitudes, as though their high status was the result of their exalted character and not a mere accident of birth. To them it is just a philosophy, but to us at the bottom, it is life.”

  “Karna, listen to what I am saying. Radha and Athiratha are your foster parents. You are a Kshatriya by birth.”

  Karna stared at Krishna in complete bewilderment. What was the Yadava trying to tell him? It did not make any sense. In the distance he could see Vidhura. Beside him stood a veiled woman. She looked oddly familiar. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be...?

  “Karna, you are the son of a Suryavamsha, a Prince of the exalted Sun dynasty, the same as Lord Rama. And your mother is Devi Kunti.”

  The world spun around Karna. He felt dizzy. He was the son of Kunti, the mother of the Pandavas? Arjuna, his most hated enemy, was his brother? His heart felt like it would burst through his chest.

  “Karna, do not blame your mother. She was unmarried when she had you. You know how it is. An unmarried woman giving birth to...”

  “So she decided to throw me away! Mother… is she not ashamed to call herself that?” Anger was a strong shield to hide behind. His emotions threatened to overwhelm Karna. Nothing made sense. “Where did my parents find me? In the garbage?”

  “They found you in the lap of Mother Ganga.”

  Karna quickly pulled his legs out of the river and began climbing the steps of the ghat.

  “Karna, I have not finished.”

  Karna halted. “I must see my mother.”

  “You are a great man. Devi Kunti will be delighted.”

  “I meant my real mother, Krishna. I must see her. “

  “Patience, brother. It is admirable that you love your foster parents, but remember, you are going to be Emperor of Bharatavarsha.”

  Karna paused. The ache in his heart felt like a physical pain. His head was aflame. He yearned to reach Radha’s safe embrace, away from a world gone mad.

  “Karna, Yudhishtra would have no objection to handing over the kingdom to an elder brother. Now that you are a Kshatriya, Dhaumya and the other priests too, will have no objection.”

  “Krishna, there is already an heir to the throne.”

  “Karna, you are the eldest; the throne is rightfully yours.”

  “You think Suyodhana would agree with you?”

  “If he does not, we will fight him. Dharma...”

  “Is this the advice of a divine avatar? To betray the man who has made me what I am? Is this your dharma?”

  “The Pandavas are your own blood. Kunti is your mother, Karna.”

  “I have only a few friends, those who stood by me when the whole world jeered at my caste. No Kshatriya other than Suyodhana came to my rescue; no Brahmin other than Aswathama stepped forward to shield me. Even if you offer me the whole world, I will never betray them.”

  “You can avoid a war that will kill thousands.”

  “Accept Suyodhana as King and there will be no war.”

  “For your mother’s sake, if not your own, accept the throne, Karna.”

  “Radha is my mother, Krishna. I am a Sutaputra.”

  “Then I will offer you something you will not be able to refuse.”

  “Do not say another word. Leave me alone, Krishna.” Karna guessed what was coming and he did not trust himself.

  “Kunti will persuade Draupadi to be your wife, too. As the eldest, you will...”

  “Enough! The Pandavas would do anything for power – gamble, cheat and even sell their wife to the enemy.”

  “Karna, you are throw
ing away a great destiny.”

  “Leave this Suta alone!”

  “Karna, you will regret it.”

  “Let dharma win, Krishna.”

  Karna hurried away from the river, his mind in turmoil. Everything he had always believed in had come tumbling down. He felt ashamed that he had almost been tempted by Krishna’s offer, particularly the last one. ‘Draupadi, you almost made me into a devil.’ He hated and loved her with equal ferocity; how was that even possible? But as Karna neared his childhood home, his feelings towards Draupadi turned to pity. How could she bear to live with such husbands?

  The hut looked the same. There was the toy bow he had played with, it still hung on a nail on the mud wall of the veranda. The rangoli his mother had painted in the courtyard brought a flood of memories rushing back. It was here that he had waited impatiently for his charioteer father to take him to Guru Drona; it was in this hut that Athiratha had comforted him when the Guru had rejected him. He was the luckiest son alive to have had such love.

  “Ma!” Karna called. His heart thumped against his ribcage when he heard the familiar rustle of her saree. The door creaked open and the aroma of his mother’s cooking wafted out. A stooped figure with greying hair stared at him, her gaze lingering on his dazzling earrings. Radha burst into tears of happiness.

  “Who is that?” Karna heard his father ask.

  Before his mother could say anything, Karna embraced her and said, “I am hungry.”

  Radha showered him with kisses and Karna melted in shame, guilt and love. He had returned to where he belonged. Radha hurried off to prepare his favourite dishes. Adhiratha looked up as Karna’s tall frame filled the doorway but he did not say a word. Karna smelt the musty sweetness of his home. He would stay here until his friend needed him again. Karna knew in his heart that such ruthless enemies would not fight fairly. His friend would lose, but he, Karna, would ensure it was a glorious defeat and far better than a shame-filled victory. It was the least a Suta could do for his Kshatriya friend.

  *****

  53 LOVE RETURNS

  WHEN HIS SON HAD TOLD HIM SUBHADRA would be waiting near the temple, Suyodhana had convinced himself he would not go. Bhanu had cried herself to sleep, grieving for her son. He had held her so that he would not be tempted when the time came. He could not remember when he had last hugged Bhanu that way. His wife purred in her sleep, content with his touch. It almost broke his heart. Yet, at the appointed time, he stood near the temple, the Ganga flowing like dark ink in the background.

  “I did not think you would come,” she said.

  Her voice was just the same as all those years ago, when they had been teenagers lost in love. The breeze ruffled her hair and he wished he could tuck the strands back behind her ears as he used to do. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest.

  “Thank you for coming, Suyo. I did not think Lakshmana Kumara would tell you. He is a sweet boy,” Subhadra said, her diamond nose stud glittering in the moonlight. “Do you still think of me?”

  Thank God, she could not see his face. ‘What answer do you want from me, Subhadra? Would it make you happy if I told you the truth, that I have ached for you every moment?’ Suyodhana turned away. “Why do you care?” That was not what he had meant to say, a simple no or nothing at all would have been better.

  “How is Arjuna?” Suyodhana asked. It was a foolish question and an awkward one. She did not answer but a smile played on her lips. Those full red lips were just the same too, and the memory of their taste came flooding back to him. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss them once again. Suyodhana shook his head and looked up at the night sky.

  “It is about Abhimanyu.”

  “I hope he is looking after Valsala. Oh I forgot, he has married again hasn’t he? How is Uttara doing?”

  “Suyo, you are still angry about what my boy did to your son?”

  ‘No, Subhadra, I am still mad at what you did to me years ago.’ It was almost more than he could bear to be alone with her, so near that he could smell the fragrance of her hair.

  “My son is so full of vigour that I sometimes fear for his life. He still loves Valsala, but he is madly in love with Uttara now.”

  “No doubt he will marry scores of women. He has a long way to go.”

  “He is such a handsome boy,” Subhadra said and then frowned. “I know what you have left unsaid, Suyo – like father, like son. If you think I am unhappy I married Arjuna, you are mistaken. I do not care how many wives he has, he still loves me the most.”

  “Your vehemence convinces me. My prayers are always with you.”

  “Sarcasm does not suit you, Suyo. You are still in love with me.” Subhadra laughed.

  Her still girlish laughter made him feel that spring had come early.

  “Was it I who called for this rendezvous or you?”

  Subhadra fell silent. Time had not healed the wounds, only kept them hidden. “I have come as a friend,” she said, averting her gaze.

  Suyodhana walked towards the river. The silver moon lay shattered in the Ganga. He hoped Bhanu had not woken to find him gone.

  “Uttara is pregnant.”

  “Convey my congratulations to Abhimanyu. But you do not look nearly old enough to be a grandmother, Subhadra.”

  Subhadra’s dimples leapt into her cheeks for a brief moment. “Abhimanyu is impatient for war.”

  “Should I be happy to know your son is itching to kill me?”

  “Suyo, he just wants to help his father.”

  A sharp retort rose to Suyodhana’s lips. To his surprise, she began to weep. “I am afraid... he does not listen to me. To his father he is just one among many sons from many wives, but I have only him. He is too young to fight in this war.” She moved closer and gripped Suyodhana’s angavastra, wetting his chest with her tears. Her perfume brought back ghosts of long dead moments and he felt himself going weak at the knees. Even after all these years, he could not bear to see her in tears.

  “Please, Suyo, spare my son. He is too young to fight you or Karna or the other great warriors on your side.”

  Suyodhana’s mind felt numb. He could almost hear Bhanu pleading with him about Lakshmana Kumara. Bhanu! What was he doing here with Arjuna’s wife? Suyodhana turned away from Subhadra, freeing himself from her grip. “It is war, not child’s play. In battle, warriors get hurt and killed.”

  “Is Abhimanyu just a warrior to you? As a child, he adored you.”

  “The women’s wing of the Dwaraka palace is large. If he is afraid, let him hide there.”

  “My son is no coward! He is Arjuna’s son!”

  “Then ask Arjuna to protect him, if he can.”

  Subhadra’s eyes flashed in anger. Suyodhana refused to meet her gaze and stood staring at the river, his hands crossed over his chest.

  “You are no longer the Suyodhana I knew.”

  “The Suyodhana you knew died when you eloped with my cousin.”

  “I thank my stars and my brother Krishna, for that. You are the most evil man I know.”

  “Duryodhana is evil, Subhadra; the whole world knows it.”

  “Your arrogance knows no limits. You have insulted my son, my husband, and me. You will pay the price, Duryodhana. I will tell my son not to flinch if his arrow points at you. I will advise him to be the worthy son of a great father. He will be the storm that will destroy your armies.”

  “You came to beg me for your son’s life and now you are cursing me? You have not changed at all.”

  “Duryodhana, keep away your Lakshmana Kumara from the battlefield. If the royal poet shows his face to Abhimanyu, you can start making the funeral arrangements for your son.”

  Suyodhana turned and walked away. He could feel her eyes on his back. He was furious and yet, how he loved her still! He hurried back to the palace, his head bent. When he passed his son’s chamber, he paused to listen to Kumara’s breathing. He fiddled with the pearl necklace he wore, trying to suppress long-forgotten memories. Then too, the ai
r had smelt of burning incense and smoking torches. Bhanu had been talking to Subhadra, and Abhimanyu had been a soft little bundle in his arms, playing with his pearl necklace. He had bestowed the necklace on Subhadra’s son, kissing his curls.

  The smoke from the dying torches was making his eyes burn. Suyodhana hoped Subhadra had returned safely. He should not have left her alone at the deserted riverbank. He reminded himself that memories should not blunt the sharpness of his weapons. He was a Kshatriya and war was his dharma. Hopefully, Abhimanyu would not be wearing that pearl necklace when he faced him on the battlefield.

  *****

  54 RULES OF WAR

  “PITAMAHA, HOW CAN ANYONE PREDICT what will happen in the course of battle?” Suyodhana asked, bewildered by the words of the document in front of him. He and Yudhishtra had been summoned to the patriach’s chambers to agree to the codes of war. Suyodhana looked up impatiently, wondering if this was just another trick by his wily cousin. He felt only pity for Yudhishtra, who wished to impose the old rules of varna on his people. And the rules Bhishma was now reading aloud, belonged to an era which should have been finished and buried long ago. Once the war was won, Suyodhana vowed to himself that change would come.

  Yudhishtra sat reading the ancient codes and ethics governing warfare from a birch leaf manuscript as the cousins faced each other in Bhishma’s chamber. A lone lamp lighted their faces. In the shadows, Vidhura stood with lines of worry creasing his forehead.

  “I am ready to take the oath, Pitamaha,” Yudhishtra said.

  “People who have no intention of following the rules are the first to agree to them,” Suyodhana retorted disdainfully.

  Bhishma brought his hand down on the table, making the lamp flame flicker. Both cousins bowed their heads. Vidhura picked up the birch leaf and handed it over to Bhishma.

  “This is not a casual game of dice, this is war. The two of you have destroyed the peace of this land with your petty rivalry. Even now you cannot stop bickering. This is the ancient code of conduct in war, written by our great rishis and seers. We are not Mlechas.”