by Unknown
However, it was his fate to be the first of his clan to witness the loosening of the caste system and widespread change. He was proud that his ancestors had brought culture and religion to the immoral South and taught them the value of chaturvarna and the smritis. However, the irony was that as the South fell under the sway of Parashurama, the North began to slip from his hold. He was intolerant of the wave of reforms sweeping the North. He hated Bhishma, who had once been his friend and classmate. He resented the fact that Bhishma had rejected the doctrines he had been taught as a student by the present Parashurama's father. Bhishma had even dared to make the low-caste Vidhura, Prime Minister of Hastinapura.
Parashurama kept himself informed about the changes taking place in Hastinapura and these caused him sleepless nights. He had sent his best disciple, Kripa, to gain back what the Brahmins were losing because of the reforms but Kripa had proved to be a traitor. Parashurama now nursed the vague hope that Drona would create Kings who would be more willing to listen to the advice of the Priests and show respect for their religion. But he did not trust Drona completely. His spy, Dhaumya, sent him regular reports and of late, these had been worrying him more and more. After Hastinapura, another northern kingdom was slipping from his sphere of influence. The young Yadava leader, Balarama, was turning out to be a bigger headache. He had dared to defy the Priests' decree and restarted trading by sea. Dwaraka was fast replacing Muzaris as the major port of the sub-continent and Parashurama's war machinery was being weakened.
Parashurama had only contempt for the rebel armies of Takshaka, which attracted all the low-castes and poor who had nothing to lose. He knew they could be an irritant, but a bunch of low-caste thugs were no match for the trained might of either Bhishma's Hastinapura or the Southern Confederate.
Though the Pandava brothers were turning out to be receptive to Brahminical ideology, their claim to the throne of Hastinapura was weak. Crown Prince Suyodhana showed every indication of becoming another Bhishma, but with recklessness and rashness thrown in, making him more dangerous. Parashurama privately lamented that the Gods were turning against him and that he would go down in history as the man who lost everything his ancestors had fought so hard to build over generations. It would be tragic to have to surrender his beloved lands into the hands of reformers like Bhishma and Balarama. It did not help that he did not have children. There was no one to continue the lineage. Taking over Hastinapura before all was lost was the key and he desperately needed a game-changer.
All Parashurama's hopes were pinned on the handsome young man standing before him. His face was as radiant as the rising sun. Parashurama's eyes scanned the fair form, broad shoulders, and shining earrings and chest plate he wore. The teenager looked every inch a warrior. How could a poor Brahmin boy from Hastinapura be so warrior-like? 'Perhaps I looked like that in my youth,' Parashurama thought with a private smile. He had trained Kripa, Drona, and many other warriors, but he had never seen one as talented and passionate as this young man. Parashurama's chest swelled with pride when he thought that only the Brahmins could have produced such outstanding men. 'Those reformist idiots should see this specimen of manhood standing before me,' he thought. 'Never again will they say caste hierarchy has no meaning.'
It was the culmination of the eight years of intense training Parashurama had imparted to the young man. He still remembered the day his guards had brought the youngster to the palace. They had found him wandering aimlessly near the dockyard. Seeing that he was a Brahmin, they had brought him to Parashurama, who had assumed from his accent that the boy had walked all the way from the North. The boy said he had come in search of a Guru and shown him a letter of recommendation from Kripa. Parashurama had frowned in distaste when he heard Kripa's name, but he never rejected a Brahmin before a test. He had personally questioned the boy on his knowledge of the Vedas, mantras and smritis. He had been impressed by the depth of his education. The boy lacked skill in arms but had greater courage than he would have expected in a Brahmin. Parashurama had decided to take a chance and allowed him to attend his training classes, which included the ancient Asura martial art form of Kalari, along with the newer, scientific developments in arms and techniques from all over the world. This training made his warriors the most feared and formidable in the sub-continent.
Parashurama had been happy with his new find. The boy had surprised him from the first. This Brahmin boy from Hastinapura could be the game-changer he had been looking for. He would train him to support the Pandava Princes Drona was teaching. Bhishma was getting old and if the eldest Pandava, Yudhishtra, could be made King of Hastinapura by some means, and this boy developed as his aide, he Parashurama could once again regain everything he had lost to the Grand Regent. Once again, people would return to their roots and religion and respect caste, even in the North.
"Vasusena, my son, you are ready." Parashurama beamed at Karna, who bowed in deep respect, touching his teacher's feet. "Come, let us go." Parashurama put his hand on Karna's broad shoulders and pressed him to his heart. Then they walked past the bowing guards to the deafening cheers of the frenzied crowd.
Karna blinked, adjusting his vision to the blinding sunlight. He said a silent prayer to Surya, the Sun God, touching the ground with his forefingers before lifting them to his forehead and then bowing to the roaring crowd. Tier upon tier of people cheered from the stands of the majestic arena. The rhythmic beating of the chenda drums added to the excitement. The flags of different kingdoms fluttered everywhere. It was the day the young warriors from Parashurama's training school would graduate. The entire populace of the sprawling city of Muzaris, as well as many others from faraway lands, had assembled to witness the spectacular show.
An excited announcer was struggling to be heard above the incredible din. He was calling out the names of the Princes and Brahmin warriors who were going to be part of the display of arms. Karna was thrilled by the thunderous applause that shook the arena when his name was called. He took a seat with a clear view of the platform, which had been built in the centre of the huge ground. Soldiers pranced around on majestic Arabian horses, shouting orders.
Some of the Princes of the Southern Confederate and a few Brahmin warriors dazzled the crowd with their horsemanship. The horses thundered from one end of the ground to the other, gracefully jumping obstacles. Warriors in shining armour clashed with their swords or maces, with surprising speed and agility. One by one, the Kings of the various southern kingdoms entered the arena with troops of musicians and drummers, who would be cheering their own Princes. There were many proud parents among the assembled Kings and Queens.
The reigning Chera King, who ruled Muzaris and the Western coast, fell at Parashurama's feet, asking for his blessing. The mighty Pandyas of Madurai, the majestic Pallavas of Kanchipuram, and other monarchs of the Confederate, followed. The Asura Kings then took their seats, waiting expectantly for their young Princes to demonstrate their prowess. Queens dressed in priceless pearls and diamonds greeted each other with cold civility, secretly praying for the success of their own sons. At the end of the show, Parashurama would bestow the title of Dharmaveera - Protector of the Faith, Religion, Brahmins, Cows and Dharma - on the best warrior. It was a coveted honour and the warrior who won would become one of the acknowledged leaders of the Southern Confederate.
Parashurama made a short speech about the importance of following tradition and religion. Then he blew his conch to mark the start of the proceedings. Karna walked up to Parashurama, bending gracefully to touch his feet and receive his blessing. Then he took up his arms, checking the arrows for sharpness before placing them in the quiver; testing the temper of his bow as well as his swords and daggers. Satisfied, he took the reins of his favourite horse from the waiting attendant and leapt into the saddle with easy grace. Raising his sword to the crowd, who thundered its applause, he swiftly turned to gallop towards his peers. To his left was his strongest competitor and local favourite - the Chera Prince, Uthayan. To his right was the Prince
of Kalahasthi, an expert with the mace. Karna could feel tension knot his stomach. The first competition was horseracing and Karna knew the Prince of Vatapi would be the toughest to beat. He also feared the Brahmin warrior from Kalinga, who, like him, had travelled a long way for this knowledge.
Karna's reaction to the call of the whistle was a little slow. The Princes on his left and right had thundered away by the time his horse leapt forward. The warrior from Kalinga was leading the race, with the Prince of Vatapi trailing him. Blood pounded in Karna's head as he concentrated every nerve and sinew to reach the front. The Prince of Chera kept cutting in on him and blocking his path, and he could smell the sweat of the Gokarna Prince's horse on his left. With just one lap to go, Karna was in fifth position, with the Chera Prince in fourth. The Brahmin warrior from Kalinga had established a comfortable lead by the last round while the Princes of Vatapi, Gokarna, Chera, and Karna, vied for the next spot. However, the Chera Prince was more interested in not letting Karna win than in trying to seal his position. The crowd roiled like an angry sea, rising and falling in waves. Rashly, Karna pulled at the reins of his horse as they reached the last bend, allowing the Prince of Vatapi to shoot forward. The Chera Prince veered to the left, thinking it was Karna who was trying to shoot past. Since the Vatapi Prince had not anticipated Uthayan's move, he crashed into him and the two fell in a tangle of horses and men. Karna jumped over the pile-up and finished just behind the Prince of Gokarna. Prince Uthayan glowered at him with deep hatred.
There were many other contests such as chariot racing, the command and control of elephants, wrestling, archery, hand-to-hand combat, dagger play, combat with sticks and mace, and so on, providing hours of entertainment to the ecstatic crowd. There were many individual champions in various categories but by the end of the day, it was clear that the coveted title of Dharmaveera would go to either the Chera Prince or the Brahmin boy from Hastinapura. By evening, it was a tie between the two. Karna had excelled in archery but lost precious points in chariot racing. He ruefully thought that his most pathetic performance had been in his own caste's area of expertise. The Chera Prince had excelled in swordplay, exhibiting impeccable footwork and sleight of arm. The crowd had split into two camps and fistfights broke out between the supporters of Karna and those of Uthayan.
***
Outside the arena, the guards stopped a tired Brahmin who insisted he wanted to speak to Parashurama himself. They looked at his tattered clothes and naked feet; decided he was nobody, and asked him to wait. The Brahmin had travelled a long way. If the news he was carrying from Hastinapura had not been so important, he might have slept for a couple of days in a wayside tavern. Dhaumya had discovered the real identity of Parashurama's favourite. Hence, the information the Brahmin was carrying from Dhaumya, was explosive.
Without Parashurama's knowledge, the Chera King had written to Dhaumya to enquire about Karna's antecedents. His spies had informed him that Karna was the only real competition to his son, Uthayan, for the title of Dharmaveera. The King harboured a niggling doubt that the Brahmin boy from Hastinapura was not in fact a Brahmin. He was such a natural warrior; the King had taken him to be a Kshatriya. If only he could prove it, Parashurama would have no choice other than to throw the imposter out. With any luck, the boy could be declared Bhishma's spy. It was the only way to ensure the title for his son. However, the reply to his enquiry had still not been received and the Chera King had no choice but to go ahead with the competition.
Had the guards let the Brahmin messenger from the North into the arena to meet either the Chera King or Parashurama, things could have turned out differently. However, the guards, anxious to see the final combat between the Prince and the Brahmin warrior from Hastinapura, did not have time to waste on such unimportant men. They directed the Brahmin to the feeding house where the government fed Brahmins free, thrice a day, and rushed back to watch the final combat. They were relieved to find the last contest would not be archery, as they had feared, but swordsmanship. They knew Karna to be the best archer around but the local Chera Prince was a master of the sword. The guards joined the section of the crowd who were cheering loudly for their Prince and jeering Karna. The Brahmin crowd, however, was cheering for Karna, much to the irritation of the Chera King. But he wisely held his peace. The King prayed that his messenger would arrive and confirm Karna was a Kshatriya, and Bhishma's spy.
The Master of Ceremonies led the two warriors onto the platform. Karna was regretting his impulsive decision to accept the challenge of the Chera Prince for a final test of skill with swords. He knew he was good but not as good as his opponent. He was in a weak position now. Also, he was an outsider and had the support of only the Brahmins. The local crowd cheered for their Prince. The sword in his hand felt like it weighed a ton while his opponent wielded it as if it was made of lightwood. The Master brought the combatants to the centre, where they bowed, locking their shields and swords with one knee touching the ground. The gong sounded once and the crowd erupted into a pandemonium of whistles, drumbeats and applause. Both warriors jumped away, assessed their opponent and charged. The swords clashed and the iron shields clanged with brutal swiftness. It was a fascinating spectacle as the two masters of swordplay clashed in a whirlwind of thrusts, cuts, blocks, dodges and footwork. They fought like fighting cocks, rising six feet into the air and then falling to the ground, only to bounce back again. The frenzied beat of the drums drove the crowd crazy with excitement.
***
The messenger from Dhaumya sat in the feeding house, eating his first wholesome meal in many days. He heard the frenzied roar of the crowd and wondered what the fuss was about.
***
As the fight with traditional swords proved inconclusive, it was decided to test the combatants' skill with the Asura weapon, urumi. This was a fearsome sword and Karna had yet to master it. He shuddered at the smile the Chera Prince wore. The urumi was twelve feet long - a thin, flat strip of metal that was worn by seasoned warriors like a belt. In the hands of a skilled warrior, the weapon was deadly. It swished through the air with a mind of its own and could wind itself around an opponent's neck or arm like a python. A deft jerk decapitated the head or amputated the arm. It was a difficult sword to master and even more so to defend against using a shield.
Karna took a deep breath as he was handed the sinuous sword. The routine of bowing was completed quickly as the crowd was getting impatient for a result. Once again, the two warriors clashed, but this time it was more confusing and frightening to watch. The flexible swords swished through the air like silver vipers and locked in the air, searching for the opponent's body. The urumis looked almost alive and there seemed to be four warriors fighting instead of two. Twice, Karna narrowly escaped his hand being sliced off. Once he nearly got the Chera Prince's head. It was no longer a competition; it was deadly combat, with the crowd baying for blood.
In one of those quirks of destiny, Uthayan's urumi became entangled in Karna's armour for a moment. The Chera Prince tried desperately to free his sword but that second's reprieve proved enough for Karna. He saw the fear in Uthayan's eyes. The Chera Prince had aimed at Karna's neck, missed by a hair, and the urumi caught in Karna's armour instead. Then a calm acceptance of his fate wiped out the fear from Uthayan's eyes. In a similar situation, he would not have hesitated to cut off Karna's head. He waited for Karna's urumi to wind around his neck and sever it in an instant. A deathly hush fell on the crowd. The Chera King gazed at the scene in horror. Then Karna's urumi swished through the air in a crazy arc and wound itself around Uthayan's urumi, not his body. With a jerk, the deadly weapon was prised from the Chera Prince's hand.
The match was over. Karna was the new Dharmaveera. The arena erupted in a frenzy of blowing conch shells, rhythmic beatings of chendas and wild cheers. Shame flooded the Chera Prince's soul and he looked at the warrior from Hastinapura with deep hatred. He had played hard and lost. Now everyone would forget him. The reward for failure was oblivion. His eyes met his fath
er's but the King looked away. His son had failed him. It would have been preferable if Karna had killed Uthayan in combat. At least he would have died with his head held high, not as someone who owed his life to a Brahmin's generosity. One of his ancestors had impaled himself after winning a war, because of a wound on his back. Though he had led his troops to victory and fought well, the illustrious Chera ancestor had decided that his honour had been compromised by the injury on his back. It meant he had shown fear and turned to run away from his opponent. Now Uthayan owed his life to an insignificant warrior from the North. Wearily the King suppressed his thoughts. Though he felt sorry for his son, he had other duties to attend to. He was playing host to the grand event and could not be found wanting in hospitality to his guests. Even an unintentional slight could lead to a bloody war. The Asuras were a sensitive race who protected their honour from real or perceived slights and fought like fools over trivial issues.