The Puffin Mahabharata

by Namita Gokhale

  Arjuna spoke next. ‘Uttara has been my student. She is like a daughter to me. I cannot marry her myself, but I will accept her as my daughter-in-law. She shall marry my son Abhimanyu, born of Subhadra, and nephew of Krishna.’

  Abhimanyu was summoned from Dwarka, where he had been living with his mother and uncle. The young couple looked at each other with love in their eyes. The priest Dhaumya performed the wedding rites. Kings and princes from neighbouring lands came to bless the couple, and to pledge their support to the Pandavas in the war that was sure to follow. Lord Krishna came accompanied by his brother Balarama, and his cousins, Kritavarma and Satyaki. Draupadi’s father King Drupad came from Panchala, accompanied by his sons, Dhrishtadyumya and Sikhandin.

  The shadow of the impending war loomed large, but the warriors celebrated and laughed and were glad for this short respite from the violent events of those difficult times.

  Karna’s Generosity

  Lord Indra knew that in the forthcoming war, Arjuna and Karna were sure to confront each other. He loved his son fiercely. Karna had both strength and invincible weapons, and had studied the art of war under the great sage Bhargava. Indra wondered how he could protect Arjuna. ‘I will appeal to Karna’s generosity,’ he decided. ‘Karna has a big heart; I shall use it to my advantage.’

  Karna’s father, the sun god Surya, came to know of the subterfuge Indra was planning. He was determined to warn his son and save him from certain disaster. At midnight, the sun god came to his son and spoke to him in a dream. ‘The lord of the heavens, Indra, will visit you at midday, after you have said your daily prayers. He will come with his begging bowl, disguised as a poor Brahmin seeking to take advantage of your unfailing generosity and will ask you for your kavach—your golden breastplate, and your kundala—your golden earrings. You must not part with them at any cost. Promise me that you will do as I say.’

  Karna was stubborn when it came to his convictions and oaths. ‘I have made a vow to give alms at midday; how can I break it?’ he asked.

  ‘Offer Indra anything and everything you have, but do not give him your golden breastplate or earrings,’ the sun god insisted. ‘Your life depends on it.’

  ‘I do not value my life more than my vow,’ Karna responded scornfully. ‘I have had a troubled and unhappy life. I do not mind losing it. If Indra, who gives life to the world, comes to me as a beggar, I will think it a privilege to grant him what he pleases.’

  ‘Very well then, I will ask you for a promise. You must not refuse my request,’ the sun god cautioned. ‘If you are determined to be foolish and defy fate, you must ask Indra for something in return. Ask him for his Shakti, which is the greatest weapon a man can have. It may protect you and compensate to some extent for the loss of your kavach and kundala, which make you invincible.’

  When the Pandavas had insulted Karna about his low birth during the archery contest many years earlier, Karna had taken a vow. He would pray to Surya at midday every day, when the sun was at its zenith, to seek strength to avenge the insult. After his prayers he would give alms; anybody might ask him anything, and he would grant it if it was his to give.

  Karna was moved by Surya’s concern for him. Nobody, except his foster mother Radha and his friend Duryodhana, had ever shown him any love. He had no idea who his real father was; neither did he know the identity of the mother who had so cruelly abandoned him in a reed basket in the river Yamuna after he was born. He did not know that Surya, whom he worshipped with such devotion, was his father. Neither could he dream of the strange circumstances under which Kunti had given birth to him, and to his arch-foe Arjuna. The entire story of the Mahabharata might have been quite different had these secrets been revealed to him earlier in life, but fate follows its own inexplicable course, and even if there is a reason for everything, sometimes we do not understand it.

  A few days later, after Karna had finished his worship of the midday sun, a poor Brahmin stood before him with outstretched hands. It was, of course, Lord Indra in disguise. As expected, he entreated Karna to give him his kavach, his golden breastplate and his kundala, his earrings, as alms.

  The rash but noble Karna paid no heed to the sun god’s caution. ‘I cannot be false to myself,’ he declared. ‘I must adhere to my vow and give you what you ask. But please listen to what I have to say before I grant it to you.’

  Indra was moved by Karna’s transparency and simplicity. ‘Speak, my child,’ he said.

  ‘I know you are partial to the Pandavas,’ Karna told Lord Indra. ‘You wish to deprive me of my strength. I sense that perhaps I am not meant to win the war, for fate is not on my side. I do not seek victory or a long life. No, I seek only greatness. I will defend Duryodhana and fight his enemies, and do my duty on the battlefield. If you, Indra, the greatest of givers, ask me for my breastplate and earrings, you shall have them. They protect me, so in effect I grant you my life.’

  Karna tore away the armour from his body and wrenched the earrings from his lobes. His face shone with an unearthly glow.

  Indra’s eyes were moist with unshed tears. ‘You are the noblest mortal I have ever met,’ he said to Karna. ‘I bless you with eternal glory. Your name and fame will live on forever. Now I, too, shall give you a gift. Ask me for what you please.’

  Karna remembered his promise to the sun god. ‘Give me your astra the Shakti,’ he said, ‘and teach me how to use it well.’

  Indra agreed. ‘You shall have my Shakti,’ he promised. ‘But you can use it only once, against a single enemy. After that, it will return to me. May it serve you well.’

  Negotiations

  War clouds were gathering. In Hastinapura, Duryodhana was intractable in his resolve to fight. Bhishma and the elders were vehemently opposed to war, but Karna, Duryodhana, Dusasana and Sakuni were all equally confident of victory against the Pandavas.

  Yudhishthira sent an emissary to the court of Hastinapura. A learned Brahmin priest was deputed by King Drupad of Panchala to convey the Pandavas’ point of view and to assert their right to get back their land now that their exile was over. In the meanwhile, the brothers were busy seeking the support of powerful kings and potential allies as they saw that war was inevitable.

  In turn, the Kauravas sent an emissary called Sanjay to the Pandavas. The message he carried from Dhritarashtra amazed the brothers. Their uncle suggested that they forsake their right to the kingdom that was lawfully theirs and continue as hermits and exiles, for the sake of preserving peace. Yudhishthira’s patience and forbearance had been interpreted by the blind king and his sons as sheer cowardice.

  ‘Fire is not quenched when it is fed,’ exclaimed the eldest of the Pandavas. ‘My uncle, too, is like an insatiable fire; he is never satisfied, for his greed grows the more I feed it with my tolerance.’

  The Pandavas took Sanjay around their camp at Upalavya, near Virata. He was shown their troops, chariots, horses and elephants. Then he was sent back to their cousins in Hastinapura with a clear ultimatum. Justice or war were the only options that Yudhishthira was prepared for.

  Duryodhana’s spies came to know that Arjuna was going to Dwarka to seek support from Krishna. ‘Whoever has Lord Krishna on his side is sure to win the war,’ Sakuni kingdom without halting for a single hour on the way. You must forestall Arjuna.’

  By the time Arjuna arrived at Dwarka, Duryodhana was already waiting in the palace. As Krishna was asleep, both of them decided to wait by his bedside until he awoke. Duryodhana strode arrogantly to an ornate golden chair by the headboard of the couch where Krishna lay sleeping, while Arjuna seated himself humbly by the feet of the man he revered and admired.

  When Krishna awoke, his eyes fell first on Arjuna, and only after that did he realize that Duryodhana too was waiting in his bedchamber. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, a little confused at seeing the two of them before him at the same time.

  ‘I have come to seek your help in the war that we intend to fight against the Pandavas,’ Duryodhana said, in his proud, boomi
ng voice. ‘As I came to you first, you must support me, rather than Arjuna.’

  ‘We too seek your help in the war,’ said Arjuna.

  ‘Although you came here before him, my eyes fell first on Arjuna, as he sat by my feet,’ said Krishna thoughtfully. ‘One of you may have my armies and all the trained warriors, who form a formidable battalion. The other side can choose me, and me alone; but I shall not fight, nor shall I carry any weapons. Choose as you please. Arjuna shall have the first choice as he is the younger one and my eyes alighted first on him.’

  ‘I choose you, my Lord, and you alone,’ said Arjuna, his heart overflowing with faith and devotion.

  ‘Then I shall have to be content with your armies,’ said Duryodhana, who was secretly delighted by Arjuna’s sentimental and impractical choice of an unarmed, neutral Krishna.

  Krishna’s brother Balarama had always been fond of Duryodhana, but he declined to fight for him. ‘I cannot side with you if the Pandavas have Krishna with them,’ he said apologetically.

  Both armies were trying frantically to muster forces. In those days, a battalion was called an akshauhini. It consisted of 21,870 chariots, as many elephants, 65,610 horses and 109,350 footmen. It was important for both the Pandavas and the Kauravas to rally the support of their allies and get them to pledge their akshauhinis and other resources.

  The Kauravas resorted to low tricks to secure allies. Salya, the king of Madra and uncle of the Pandavas, left his capital with an army of one akshauhini or battalion of invincible fighters. On the way, Duryodhana met him and pretended to be one of his nephews. The wily Kaurava duped the king of Madra into promising him support. A warrior must always honour his oath, and so Salya found himself pledged to battle against the very Pandavas he had set out to help.

  Hearing of what had happened, Yudhishthira went in secret to meet Salya. ‘You have given your word to Duryodhana to support him,’ the Pandava said to his uncle. ‘But there is one request you must grant me. My enemies will ask you to drive the chariot of their ace warrior, Karna. When the time comes for Arjuna and Karna to fight their final, decisive battle, you must destroy Karna’s confidence. You must caution him and put fear into his heart and destroy his morale. I seek this promise from you.’

  The king of Madra loved his nephews the Pandavas, and felt that they had been wronged by their greedy cousins, the Kauravas. ‘I will do as you say,’ he promised solemnly.

  The Pandavas’ allies began to converge at Upalavya. The first to arrive was Krishna’s cousin Satyaki, with his contingent. Dhrishtkatu, the king of the Chedis, marched to Upalavya with his akshauhini of soldiers, all raring to go into battle. The king of Magadha, Sahadeva, son of Jarasandha, arrived with an akshauhini of trained men, chariots and elephants, as did the five Kekaya brother-kings, with one akshauhini. King Drupad brought his sons Dhrishtadyumya and Sikhandin and his five grandsons, Draupadi’s sons, who were hot-blooded warriors, as well as one akshauhini. The king of Matsya had an akshauhini of Virata soldiers placed at the Pandavas’ disposal. Other minor kings, like the rulers of Neela, Pandya and Mahishmati, came with their armies, which together comprised one more akshauhini.

  The Kauravas too were drumming up support. All the kings who had paid tribute to Duryodhana during the Rajasuya yagna came to his aid, including the kings of Avanti and Khamboja. Salya, the king of Madra, who had been tricked by the Kauravas into supporting them, had one akshauhini of men, as did Bhoorisravas and Kritavarma. In the final reckoning, eleven akshauhinis of soldiers on the Hastinapura side, flying the pennant of the Kauravas, stood ranged against the seven akshauhinis the Pandavas had managed to assemble.

  As the preparations gathered momentum, Lord Krishna visited Hastinapura in one last attempt to avert war. He wanted to broker peace without giving in to Dhritarashtra’s greedy demands. Vidura, Bhishma and the elders agreed with his views but Duryodhana, Dusasana and the impetuous Karna seemed intent on self-destruction.

  ‘Remember my words, O Krishna,’ Duryodhana exclaimed. ‘Not even as much land as is covered by the tip of a needle will be surrendered to the Pandavas.’

  Krishna laughed. It was a strange laugh, which contained anger and sorrow, contempt and pity. ‘You have always prided yourself on getting what you wanted, Duryodhana,’ he said, in a low, steely voice. ‘Well, you wanted war, and now you shall get it.’ He turned to Bhishma. ‘When my uncle Kamsa troubled and tortured everyone around him, I killed him, although he was my blood relative. Mighty Bhishma, you must sacrifice Duryodhana, Dusasana, Sakuni and Karna for the greater good of the Kuru clan. Give them up to the Pandavas and make peace within the family.’

  Vidura, Bhishma, Drona, Kripa and old king Dhritarashtra listened helplessly as Krishna’s voice rang out loud and clear through the royal assembly hall. ‘The wise say that, for the sake of the family, an individual can be sacrificed; for the sake of the village, a family can be sacrificed; for the sake of the community, the village can be sacrificed. Furthermore, for the sake of saving one’s soul, everything can be sacrificed.’

  Vidura sent for Gandhari, the mother of the Kauravas, to try to persuade them to see reason. Gandhari was a wise woman. She rebuked her husband and sons, and implored them to refrain from war. But their hearts were filled with pride and greed, and their minds were set upon destruction. Duryodhana came up with a wild plan to take Krishna hostage.

  Satyaki and Kritavarma, Krishna’s cousins who had accompanied him on the mission to Hastinapura, came to know of the plot. They rushed to the assembly hall. ‘The Kauravas are planning to hold you captive!’ they told Krishna.

  ‘Are they now?’ said Krishna quietly.

  Krishna was no ordinary mortal, but a god living the life of a man, a reincarnation of Lord Vishnu himself. When he heard of Duryodhana’s absurd idea, he began to glow with a strange light. His physical form grew larger and larger, and more and more luminous, until it filled up the entire assembly hall. All the gods emerged from this glowing virtual form. On his forehead stood Brahma, the creator. The lords of the four quarters, Indra, Varuna, Kubera and Yama, stood on his shoulders facing the four directions. The eleven Rudras looked out through his chest. Agni, the god of fire, glowed from his mouth. The twelve Adityas, the Vasus, the Ashwin twins, the Maruts, all were clustered around him. Arjuna, too, stood with the Gandiva bow held in his hand; Bhima, Nakula, Sahadeva and Yudhishthira stood facing the terrified court of Hastinapura. In his multiple arms Krishna held his war-conch—the Panchjanya, his discus—the Sudarshan, and his invincible mace—the Kaumodoki.

  Although many in the audience were struck speechless with fear by Krishna’s divine manifestation, Bhishma, Drona and Vidura were spellbound by the sight.

  Breaking the spell, Krishna returned to his human form. Bowing to the elders, he hurried to the chariot that was awaiting him. There were two more people he intended to visit before he returned to Upalavya. He first went to meet Queen Kunti at the palace she shared with her brother-in-law Vidura in Hastinapura.

  ‘Give this message to my sons,’ Kunti said to Krishna. ‘They were born of the gods and now they must behave as true warriors. My blessings are with them.’

  Krishna and Karna

  The second person Krishna visited was Karna. Taking him aside, Krishna held Karna’s hand in his and spoke to him from the heart. ‘You are the bravest and most generous of men,’ he said. ‘Why do you endorse this evil war?’

  ‘All my life, people have scorned me and mocked my low birth,’ Karna replied. ‘Duryodhana has given me his friendship. He has been unfailing in his support. Only two people have ever given me their love: my foster mother Radha and Duryodhana. I will give my life for them.’

  ‘I commend your loyalty, Karna,’ said Krishna gently. ‘It is time for me to tell you of your birth, and who your true mother is. Know then that you were born of the sun god Surya. Your mother was a high-born princess. She is the mother of five other sons: they too are as brave and valorous as you are.’

  Karna’s breath was co
ming in short, tight gasps. His heart was beating as if it would burst. His eyes had filled up with tears, and his face was drained of all colour. ‘Are you saying, then, that the Pandavas are my brothers, and their mother, Queen Kunti, my mother?’ he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

  Krishna nodded.

  ‘Why are you destroying my life by telling me this now?’ Karna cried brokenly. ‘I have always been scorned by those very Pandavas for my low birth! Now you say that they are my brothers and that I too am a high-born warrior. And yet I have sworn to kill them.’

  ‘I shall take you to your mother and your brothers if you wish,’ Krishna said to the weeping Karna.

  ‘Kunti gave birth to me,’ Karna replied, ‘but then she abandoned me. The wife of the charioteer Adiratha found me and brought me up with love. So Radha is my mother, not Kunti. I cannot be false to myself or to her. My loyalty lies with Radha and with Duryodhana.’ He wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Why have you chosen to tell me the secret of my birth today?’ he asked Krishna. ‘I know we shall lose the war, but I must fight beside Duryodhana, even if we are doomed. I have sworn to kill Arjuna and I shall not go back on my word.’

  A golden glow, like the radiance of the sun, shone over the unfortunate Karna. ‘I will be as constant in my path as my father, the sun god, is in his,’ Kunti’s eldest son resolved. ‘We part as friends, Krishna, although we shall meet again on the battlefield. You must promise that you shall not tell my brothers of the secret of my birth until after I am dead.’

  Krishna was saddened by Karna’s words, but gladdened immeasureably by his inner strength and unshakeable resolve.

  Lord Krishna returned to Upalavya and told Yudhishthira of the happenings at Hastinapura. ‘You must be firm, now that war has become inevitable,’ he told the eldest of the Pandavas.