AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (52 page)

“How dare you stop the fighting?” Aswathama shouted at Karna.

“This is a
dharmayudha.
The sun has set. I will not allow any transgressions of
dharma,”
Karna replied in a flat tone, looking away from his friend.

Aswathama turned to Suyodhana, waiting for him to overrule Karna, but Suyodhana too, did not look at him. Aswathama’s heart hammered in his chest. The Suta was not allowing him to even avenge his father, the man who had saved Karna from Arjuna’s arrows in Virata. But what hurt most was Suyodhana’s silence.

Aswathama stood paralysed with grief and frustration as he watched Dhristadyumna’s men turn away jubiliantly. They would talk about Karna’s chivalry for years, but Aswathama knew Karna was just using
dharma
as a cloak. This was his petty revenge for the treatment Drona had meted out to him when the Suta came seeking knowledge. Karna was using the same
dharma
as revenge.
Dharma
or
adharma,
he would get back at Dhristadyumna, he would make the Pandavas pay a bitter price, the son of Drona vowed. He shouted at the vanishing figures of the Pandava warriors, “Evil men, the fruits of
karma
are bitter. You are ecstatic about killing the most formidable warrior through deceit? Do you think the sin of
Brahmahatya
will not haunt you? Then the talk of the body shedding soiled clothes will not be of any solace, and the wisdom of being detached will sound like a hollow drum. I will get you, you evil Pandavas!”

Aswathama fell to his knees as soldiers carried away his father’s lifeless body.

*****

68
   
D
HANAVEERA

THEY SAT BY THE RIVER,
listening to the distant cries of the
chandalas
as they hauled off the dead to the cremation ground. The breeze carried the lingering odour of burning flesh. The ghostly light of the flaming pyres lit the southern sky. The river looked sinister and the water that sloshed at their feet was thick with blood.

Aswathama looked at his reflection and cringed when the precious stone shone in the moonlight. It had brought him so much bad luck. He had been inconsolable since his father’s death. “He died because of me. I was a worthless son, never able to rise to his expectations,” he murmured yet again.

“Aswathama, why are you punishing yourself like this? Guru Drona was proud of you. He was a great man,” Karna said to the Guru’s son. This was not the time to remember that Drona had always treated him as a lowly Suta, thought Karna.

“I should not spoil your great day, Karna. Congratulations on becoming Commander of the Kaurava army, none deserves it more,” Aswathama said without turning his head.

Karna looked at his friend. What was wrong? Was it that Aswathama had still to come to terms with the shock of his father’s death or was it something else? “I owe everything to Suyodhana; Aswathama, you know it as well as I do.”

“It was long overdue, Karna. No one is more qualified than you to command. Bring us victory. Spare none of the Pandavas.”

Karna sighed. He was thankful for the darkness that hid his face.

“Why are you so silent, Karna?”

“I will not spare Arjuna, that I promise you.”

“Not just Arjuna. None of the Pandavas must be spared!”

“I have given my word…”

“Word?” Aswathama’s breathing quickened. He squinted at Karna. What was his friend up to?

“I will not kill any of the Pandavas except Arjuna. I have given my word to Kunti Devi.”

“Karna, are you crazy?”

“I could not refuse. She begged for the lives of all her sons.”

“You are a traitor! You should be tried for treason and hanged,” yelled Aswathama, grabbing Karna roughly. “You cunning rascal! Let us see what Suyodhana has to say about this. The Suta has shown his true colours.”

Aswathama jumped up and would have run towards the camp had Karna not held him back. “Listen to me, Aswathama! I have vowed to kill Arjuna and defeat the Pandavas.” How could he tell his friend that he was the eldest of all the Kurus and not a lowly Suta? How could he say the throne was his for the asking, that he could end the war if he agreed to become King? That would be the greatest act of disloyalty to Suyodhana. “Trust me, Aswathama. I will win this war and see Suyodhana crowned King.”

Aswathama looked at his friend. “I don’t want to create a rift in the camp, Karna, but Suyodhana will be heartbroken if he hears this. How could you do it? Suta, you are no longer my friend. I will be watching your conduct on the battlefield. If I find the slightest hesitation in you, the arrow in your throat will be mine. A traitor as our Commander-in-Chief! There is no bigger fool than Suyodhana!” Shrugging off Karna’s grip, Aswathama walked away.

“Aswathama, stop!” Karna called out but the Brahmin had vanished into the shadows of night.
Traitor!
The word pierced Karna’s conscience. Was he indeed a traitor to the man who had done everything for him? He had no answer. But there was no question of going back on his word, either. There was only one thing left to do – fight until he won or die in the attempt. ‘Forgive me Suyodhana…Aswathama…I never deserved your friendship.’

“Karna!” The voice startled Karna from his reverie and his hand went instinctively to his sword. He relaxed when he saw an old Brahmin standing near him. The face seemed oddly familiar. “I have come to seek alms.”

Karna knew he had heard that voice before. He looked at the stooping figure with suspicion. Who was that standing behind the mendicant in the dark, almost hidden by the bushes?

“Promise you will give me what I ask.”

“I know you from somewhere, Swami,” Karna replied, peering at the figure before him.

“No one knows me. I am a nonentity. Give me your word and keep your reputation as the man who never denies anyone anything.”

Karna sensed a trap. The man standing before him was no ordinary Brahmin. Feeling helpless in the face of a request for alms, he said, “Ask and it shall be yours.”

“Give me your armour, forged by the great smiths of the Surya temple.”

Karna was shocked. “What does a Brahmin want with a warrior’s armour?”

“Karna, deny me and I will go away without complaint. I understand. It is your only protection against Arjuna’s arrows. Without it, you will not last for more than a few minutes before my son.”

“What did you say? Your
son?
Who are you? Indra? Has the Lord of the Devas stooped to this level to protect his son?”

How dared Indra even suggest he could not face Arjuna without his armour? Karna undid the armour and waited for the Brahmin to extend his hand. “Take it. Know that my
dharma
is my protection. If your son thinks he has to strip me to beat me, then go and tell him that Karna stands naked. With or without armour, this Suta
will
defeat him.”

Indra looked at Karna with admiration in his old eyes. “Son, I have no words for your chivalry and bravery. If there is any fairness left in this world, you will win. We are both cast-offs – you by your mother and I by my son. But I am still his father and this my gift to him.”

“Every moment I feel I am betraying Suyodhana. Sir, you have got what you came for. Now please leave me alone.”

“Karna, I am a fair man. Allow me to repay your generosity. Else, I will not be able to sleep with a clear conscience.”

Karna looked at the old man in surprise. Was he trying to pull another trick? Indra turned and signalled. A dark figure emerged from behind a bush. In the dull moonlight, the man’s eyes glittered liked diamonds in his dark face.

“Karna, this is my son, Mayasura, the greatest sculptor to have walked this earth – the man who created Indraprastha, the city named after me. Yes, life is full of irony is it not? Maya, bow to the great Karna. You will see none like him in this world or the next.”

Karna looked at the coal-black Asura in surprise.

“Give it to him,” Indra ordered and Mayasura placed a thick arrow in Karna’s hands. It was sharp, sturdy and beautifully forged.

“Yantra muktha?”
Karna asked, running his fingers along the smooth contours of the missile.

“Yes, with the power of the
vajra.
It is called
Shakti,
after the Mother Goddess. Truthfully, I was planning to give it to Arjuna. I was cynical about your reputation and wanted to test it. But now, how I wish
you
were my son, Karna. This is my gift to you. It can only be used once, but it has unimaginable power. Perhaps you will use it against my son. No one can accuse Indra of being unfair. I may be poor and broken today, but I am still King of the Devas.”

“I humbly accept your offering, Lord Indra,” Karna said, placing the missile in his quiver. Then he took Mayasura’s coarse hands in his. “If we win this war, be assured that these hands will once again build beautiful gardens and temples. I am honoured to have met you.”

“My son has not been of sound mind since we were evicted from Indraprastha. Forgive him if he has not treated you with proper respect.” Indra took Mayasura’s arm and walked away with Karna’s priceless armour.

Karna looked at the disappearing figures, pondering over life’s ironies. He scanned the battleground and saw the silhouette of Iravan’s head. A wasted life, he thought. Why did the Nagas and Rakshasas even bother to fight this war? This was a Kshatriya war. The knowledge that he too was a Kshatriya was more of a relief than he would admit. He would prove that he was a better Kshatriya than anyone who fought on either side. He would be generous in his gifts and noble in abiding by the laws of warfare. That was the Kshatriya code of honour. That was what set them apart from other men.

But in the dead of the night, when silence reigned, except for the moans of dying men and beasts, a sense of deep guilt assaulted Karna. Aswathama’s words came to haunt him. By keeping his word to Kunti and giving his armour to Indra, he might earn eternal fame, but was it not a betrayal of the trust Suyodhana had placed in him? He had no answer. The time had come to fight Arjuna, man to man, without the protection of his armour. Let destiny decide who the better warrior was and who the better man.

*****

69
   
R
AKSHASA

KHATOTKACHA WAS GETTING IMPATIENT.
“Mother, Lord Krishna himself sent a messenger to fetch me. He says only I can save my father from that Suta warrior.”

“You are just a boy, Khatotkacha. If your father cannot stop Karna, how can you?”

“The messenger says my father is asking for me. I am his only hope.”

“You are the only one I have, my son. It is not our war.”

“My father needs me, Mother. I must go.”

“Father! Now he remembers his son? The last time we saw him, he would not even look at me. You are a Rakshasa, a forest dweller, the son of a Rakshasi.”

There was no point arguing with her. Khatotkacha touched her feet but Hidumbi did not move. He turned to go.

“Go and die! You know how they treated Iravan. Oh Shiva, I will have no one to care for me in my old age.”

Khatotkacha stopped at the door and turned back. “Is this your final blessing, mother? Maybe you will only see my dead face.”

“Oh, no, no…I did not mean it, son. Don’t go!” Hidumbi came running after him, but her son did not look back.

An owl flew past Khatotkacha. An owl in the daytime? A bad omen. A strange fear gripped the superstitious Rakshasa. Then he shrugged and picked up his stone mace from the corner of the mud veranda. A few of his Nishada and Naga friends were waiting for him, armed with bows, poisoned arrows, spears, crude swords and stone maces. Khatotkacha nodded to them. “Come, let us go to Kurukshetra and teach that Suta a lesson!”

Shrieking and screaming, the Rakshasa and his savage friends started running. They had to save the Pandavas from a humiliating defeat at the hands of Karna. The owl that had perched on the roof hooted ominously thrice and then flew away into the jungle.

***

“Son, no rules apply to you. Rakshasas are experts in night warfare. Wreak havoc in the Kaurava ranks,” Krishna instructed.