“Devi, the rivalry between the cousins is deep, yet, if you wish, the war can still be avoided.”
“I want my son to be King after Dhritarashtra,” Kunti said, looking towards the hills in the distance.
“Gandhari wants Suyodhana to be King and you want Yudhishtra.” Vidhura sighed. He was wasting his time here.
“I do not speak of Yudhishtra.” Kunti turned away from Vidhura and pulled her pallu over her head. Her face was in shadow but Vidhura saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“I don’t understand.” For some reason, his heart began pounding in his chest. Perhaps it was the way she had spoken.
“I speak of Karna.”
Had he heard correctly? Vidhura’s heart began beating like a frenzied drum. “What has that Sutaputra to do with it?” Vidhura asked, looking at his sister-in-law in astonishment.
“He is not a Sutaputra.”
Vidhura remained silent, waiting for Kunti to say something more.
“Karna is my son,” Kunti said on a sob. Her unshed tears threatened to choke her.
Vidhura stood up, holding on to the bamboo pole near him. The world had turned upside down. The man who had been ridiculed for his caste by everyone was Kunti’s firstborn son?
“But how?” The news was as incredible as it was shocking.
“I had him before my marriage to Pandu. He is my illegitimate son. It would have created a huge scandal for the Princess to have a son before marriage. I was just sixteen. So I gave him to Mother Ganga, in a reed basket, leaving him to live or die. Every day I have prayed for him, his health and happiness.”
“Devi, how could you have been so cruel, to him and to yourself?”
“Vidhura, I have borne the pain and guilt every living moment since that day. I saw him when he came to challenge Arjuna on the day of the Princes’ graduation. I watched him being humiliated by one and all. Only Duryodhana stood by my son. Now my sons will fight each other and I am afraid.”
Vidhura knew not how to respond. He felt both revulsion and pity for the old woman before him. The reasons and justifications could be many but Karna was the real victim in this drama. “Why did you choose to tell me this now?” he finally asked in a low voice.
“I know what you must think of me, yet even now I do not have the courage to tell the world that Karna is my son.”
Vidhura waited but Kunti turned away. He wondered if she realized that her secret would drag the whole country into a bloody war. Thousands would die and be left destitute. He wanted to shout at her but when he looked into Kunti’s face, he could not bring himself to do it. He would have to find another way.
“Devi, I will tell Lord Bhishma. He will find a way. Perhaps this is our last chance to prevent the war.”
Kunti sat with a faraway look in her eyes. Vidhura bowed and took his leave. The future looked frightening. It was going to be a major war and both sides would do anything to win. Vidhura walked the familiar road to the palace. He had to meet the forgotten old man and tell him about Karna. It was his country’s last hope.
***
The wheel of karma was turning. Suyodhana had been struck with many tragedies but the best time to strike was when the enemy was down. The Southern Confederate had declared its independence from Hastinapura. Parashurama braced for Karna’s army to descend upon them. When nothing happened, he grew bolder. The Guru restored dharma by reversing Suyodhana’s reforms. Though Parashurama longed to be at Kurukshetra, he knew his fighting days were over. He would control his puppets from behind the scenes.
“What is Takshaka’s new city called?” Parashurama asked Uthayan.
“Nagapura, the City of Nagas. Takshaka has reversed the caste rules and everyone except Nagas are considered untouchables.”
“The rise of Kali is imminent.” Parashurama spat out red paan juice. “Nagapura sits at the centre of Bharatavarsha – an ideal place to instil the laws of dharma.”
“Guru, the Nagas have forgotten the lessons of Indraprastha but we will remind them. Do we move to Kurukshetra after that?”
“Kurukshetra! It will be the mother of all wars. Are the Kings of the Confederate ready to fight evil?”
“Not Kalinga, Guru. The traitor supports the Suta, saying he has been chosen by the Sun God.”
“But Krishna is siding with the Pandavas. Evil will be vanquished.”
***
The Confederate army marched towards Kurukshetra, ravaging everything in its path. They captured Nagapura and butchered thousands of Nagas. Takshaka was on the run again. Parashurama felt smug. From the city of the Nagas, he would decide the present and future of Bharatavarsha.
Uthayan travelled further north and led the Kings of the Southern Confederate to the Pandava camp. He bent to touch Krishna and Dhaumya’s feet and then bowed to Yudhishtra. “We have come from the distant South to help the cause of dharma.”
“Ah, we were expecting you,” Dhaumya said smoothly. “We would like the Confederate army to arrange for all the food and weapons for the Pandava side.”
“But we came to fight Duryodhana,” Uthayan protested. He was confused, this was not the treatment he had expected. It was almost insulting. Battles had been fought in the South for far more trivial reasons.
“It is a critical job, King Uthayan. Only you can do it. The country is reeling from drought and there is barely anything for the people to eat, let alone horses and elephants. It needs great administrative talent and your people are famous for that.” Dhaumya smiled.
Perhaps what the good priest said was important. Uthayan turned to his soldiers. “Scrounge in every home and force open every granary. There is no time to waste. We must consolidate our supplies before the enemy grabs it.” Uthayan began barking orders to his men. In an exemplary display of Southern discipline, the Confederate army spread into the countryside to forage, pilfer and loot.
“Why did you do that, Guru?” Arjuna asked. He felt offended by the lack of respect shown to another warrior.
But Dhaumya merely smiled. “They are not pure Kshatriyas. They have Asura blood. This is not only about winning the war but also who wins it.” He let his words sink into the minds of the Pandavas. The last thing he wanted was Uthayan or any Asura King winning the war for them. It would be best to keep such glory and achievements to the fringes. The carefully built theory of caste purity would collapse if Uthayan turned out to be as skilled as Arjuna. That would make the war meaningless. In matters of dharma, it was not worth taking such risks.
Dhaumya noticed a dark-skinned young man standing alone at the edges of the forest. He looked like a Naga. But what was a Naga doing at the Pandava camp? As the Guru watched with growing anger, the young man bowed low. He had to find out who the youngster was. The face looked oddly familiar. Suddenly, Dhaumya stopped. The Naga resembled Arjuna! If he was right, then he would have even more work to do to save dharma, the Guru thought.
*****
49 WAR GAMES
BHISHMA STARED AT THE EMACIATED figure standing before him. He had expected Vidhura to age but nothing had prepared him for the frail and hunched man standing before him with bowed head.
“To what do I owe the honour of this visit, Vidhura?” he asked gruffly, trying to hide the distress he felt. His words sounded harsh even to his own ears.
“Sir, forgive me, but I did not have the strength to see you like this,” Vidhura answered, looking at the floor.
“I am just a forgotten old man, caged in my room, unwanted by my grand-nephews and my country.” Bhishma wished Vidhura, that man of unfaltering reason and intellect, would protest, but his former Prime Minister stood in stricken silence. Bhishma shifted the manuscripts on his table listlessly. Only a few palm leaves containing verses from the Upanishads remained. Once there had seemed too few hours in the day to get through what lay on his work-laden table.
Vidhura’s heart filled with sorrow. Could any country prosper when it dishonoured the noble and the brave? “Our country is crumbling,” he said in a low voi
ce.
“We don’t deserve anything better,” Bhishma said, slamming his palm on the table.
“Sir, why did you not stop Suyodhana from pawning the country to Yuyutsu?” Vidhura asked the question that had troubled him for a long time.
“One Prince pawns his wife, another pawns his country to a merchant. What is the difference between the fools?” Bhishma asked, standing up. Despite his years, he still had the powerful frame of the warrior.
“There is going to be a war,” said Vidhura softly, almost to himself.
“So be it. At its end, there will be one fool left instead of two.”
“Drought and famine loom large. People are starving to death,” Vidhura said, knowing Bhishma knew it better than anyone else.
“What am I supposed to do about that? There is a King on the throne; there are mahatmas, sages and avatars living and preaching throughout this land. Ours is a holy land, is it not? We fight bloody wars to uphold dharma. Let the common man die. We can offer them moksha in the afterlife.” Bhishma’s lips curved into a bitter smile.
“We must stop the war.” Vidhura finally raised his head and looked Bhishma in the eye.
“Do you know a way to do that? For I do not. Both sides are bent on destroying each other. I have done what I could for as long as I could. Enough! Let there be war. Let no fool, including old ones like me, be spared. Let a new Bharata rise from the ashes of our funeral pyres.”
“I have met Kunti,” Vidhura said in a low voice that was almost lost in the echoing vastness of the chamber.
“Then you had better hurry to meet Gandhari as well, or else it could become another cause for war,” Bhishma said with a tired smile.
“She told me something shocking.”
Bhishma grunted.
“About Karna.”
“I do not wish to hear anything about that Suta.”
“Karna is not a Suta, nor the son of a charioteer.”
“I always knew he was a bastard. It shows in his arrogance.”
“Sir, he is the bastard son of Devi Kunti.”
Bhishma became as still as stone. Only the pulse throbbing in his temple suggested he was aware of what had been said. Then he turned away saying, “It is a lie. Kunti is up to something.”
“Karna was born before Kunti’s marriage to Pandu. His father belonged to the Suryavamsha dynasty of Sri Ramachandra.” Vidhura explained the entire sequence of events.
Reluctantly, after many interpolations and questions, Bhishma took a deep breath and said, “This changes everything, Vidhura. I have always been harsh on Karna. Now it seems he is the eldest of my grand-nephews, but that does not make him a Pandava. He is the illegitimate son of a daughter-in-law of the house. Of course, there are shastras which sanction that, but the husband is required to acknowledge his wife’s children begotten before marriage. That has not happened here.”
“Sir, this is the only chance for peace. Make Karna the next heir and no one will be able to question it,” Vidhura begged earnestly.
“My son, you do not know Suyodhana or Yudhishtra as I do. Nor do you know Karna. And you have not considered Yuyutsu. He too, is an illegitimate son of Dhritarashtra. His father has accepted him publicly as his son. He could well stake a claim to the throne. But I doubt Karna will be prepared to betray Suyodhana.”
“Who will say no to the throne of Hastinapura, Sir? Karna will agree. You only need to suggest it.”
“Vidhura, for a wise man, you are being short-sighted. The issue of the inheritance has to be settled once and for all. War is the best way to do that.”
“Sir, a war at this time would be a terrible thing. And what of the thousands who will die for no fault of their own?”
“It is the dharma of Kshatriyas to fight.”
“The rains have failed for the third year.”
Bhishma went to stand by the window. “I will lead Suyodhana’s army but I will ensure that none of the Pandavas die. We can use the drought and famine conditions to force peace. In three or four days, supplies will start running out. Then we can work out a truce.”
“In three or four days thousands will have died, Sir.”
“War is not about individuals. People are bound to die, but I will ensure the Kuru dynasty survives,” Bhishma insisted, annoyed that Vidhura had failed to see his deeper point.
“There are other enmities that also run deep, Sir. Dhristadyumna, Drupada’s son, has vowed to kill Drona.”
“Nobody can touch Drona.”
“Karna and Arjuna are itching for a fight. Once the war starts, you will be unable to control it,” Vidhura said with utter certainty. He could feel the knot of fear in his stomach.
“Hmm, you have a point. Karna has an impulsive nature. I saw it at Virata. We must find a way to keep him off the battlefield.”
“Sir, please reconsider... a war will be disastrous for all.” Vidhura looked at the old warrior by the window and knew he had lost. As long as Bhishma breathed, there would be no compromise.
“Getting sentimental in your old age, Vidhura? It will be a skirmish, a display of arms to demonstrate to these fools the foolishness of war.” Bhishma walked up to Vidhura and placed both hands on his frail shoulders.
Vidhura took both Bhishma’s hands in his own and pressed them together. He stood still, praying silently. Bhishma felt sorrow fill his heart as he looked at Vidhura’s bent head. He was just a trembling shadow of the fine, upright man he had once been. Bhishma saw his own reflection in Vidhura’s eyes. They both looked so insignificant now. Was he starting something they could not control? No...he had years of experience in leading armies. He knew how to pace a war. Only that Suta…perhaps not a Suta...had to be kept away from the battlefield.
Vidhura paused at the door, remembering something important. “Sir, be wary of Shikandi.”
“Ha, what can that eunuch do to me?” Bhishma asked with genuine amusement in his still rich voice.
Vidhura hesitated a moment and then walked away with tired steps.
‘Poor man, he is far too sincere for these times,’ Bhishma thought as he took a sword off the wall and swung it gracefully. His old limbs were still supple. He chuckled to himself. It would be good to be back in action. Bhishma felt alive again.
***
When Suyodhana entered the Sabha, the air was thick with anticipation. Bhishma had called the Sabha to make an important announcement. Suyodhana sat down near Karna. Why was Bhishma avoiding his gaze? His father looked worried.
The murmuring stopped as Bhishma rose to speak. His voice lacked its usual power and he sounded weary. “I have nurtured this country with my blood. Vidhura and I toiled day and night so that our people could sleep peacefully. Alas, now my grand-nephews want to fight each other. Both sides have committed unspeakable atrocities. I have failed as a teacher and grandsire to them.”
Suyodhana felt overcome by shame. He should never have behaved as he had with Draupadi, no matter what she deserved. What had revenge gained him? Then sudden resentment swamped his mind. How could Bhishma equate the atrocities of the Pandavas with his foolishness? His action had been directed at one woman, who had shamed him; the Pandavas had killed thousands of innocents.
“Since war has become inevitable, I am forced to take sides. On one hand there is Arjuna, who is dear to me. I admire his humility and skill with arms. There is Yudhishtra, who is saintly in his demeanour. I owe much to Draupadi for not speaking out when Suyodhana shamed her in public.”
Suyodhana’s heart sank. Bhishma was going to side with the Pandavas. He would have to fight his venerable grandsire. And if Bhishma himself was partial to the Pandavas, there was little question that Drona would side with them also. Aswathama would then go with his father. He had only Karna.
“I have to consider Suyodhana too. He has his faults. His arrogance and temper have earned him many enemies. What he did to Draupadi was unpardonable. Yet I do not judge people on one incident. How is Suyodhana as a ruler? The treasury is almost empty and we are
staring at imminent famine. That is not the mark of a great administrator. But his mistakes are those of inexperience. One can gain experience, acquire wisdom and correct mistakes. He has corrected one such mistake by not giving in to Yuyutsu’s demands.”
Suyodhana watched Bhishma intently. What was he hinting at?
“What cannot be acquired is goodness of heart. Suyodhana has proved himself the better human being through numerous acts, some of which you may perhaps not be aware of. The elevation of the son of a Suta as King of Anga; treating Ekalavya as an equal; his misguided but well-intentioned acts to bring equality to all men and women across the country; his open stand against what he considers unfair, all prove his goodness of heart. If he allows me to do so, I can teach him administration. What I need not teach him is compassion towards the downtrodden and a sense of fairness and justice.”
Suyodhana’s hands were wet with perspiration. Bhishma’s next words fell as gently as winter rain. “Son, will you not compromise with your cousins, since I ask it of you? Will you not share a small part of this kingdom in order to avoid bloodshed?”
Suyodhana wavered. He was at a loss for an answer. Gaining victory in war was not going to be easy. Neither was he sure who would decide to defect to the other side. By compromising, he could keep Hastinapura and most of the country. Finally, he looked at the patriarch and said, “Pitamaha, can you vouch that Dhaumya will not impose his laws in the Pandava part of the kingdom?”
“No one can predict the future, son.”
“In that case I would be forsaking half my subjects.”
“If you lose the war, you will be forsaking all your subjects.”
“I will not lose. Dharma is with me.”
Bhishma shook his head. Why did people always need to take the hard road to learn life’s lessons? Sighing, he pronounced his decision: “I will fight against the Pandavas.”
Suyodhana was not sure he had heard correctly. He looked at Bhishma in disbelief and then fell to his knees, touching his forehead to the floor in reverence before the patriarch. He could hear Dhritarashtra’s jubilant voice and people shouting in excitement.
AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) Page 28