THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (39 page)

Then, Duryodhana goes limp and Karna gently leads him to his bed and makes him lie on it. He pulls off his sandals, loosens his clothes and sits beside him, stroking his face. The Kuru prince shuts his eyes and mercifully falls into sleep. Now and again, a sob wracks him; but he does not wake up.

Karna sits in the dark, gazing at his sleeping friend. He knows that, with the sun the next day, he must take the field against his brothers. Bheeshma had fallen and no one stood between Karna and the war. Seeing Duryodhana, curled up like a child in his bed, gives him strength: in his moment of crisis, the Kaurava had not gone to his uncle or his brothers for comfort, not even to Dusasana. He had come to Karna.

Thus, Karna sits for a long time. The moon sinks in the west, dawn is not more than three hours away. Suddenly, an irresistible compulsion to go out into the night seizes him, as if a voice called him clearly across silvery Kurukshetra. Silence reigns over the last yaama of the night. Karna leaves Duryodhana asleep and comes into the open. Exhausted with the day’s battle and most of all, with the shock of Bheeshma’s fall, the Kaurava army sleeps like the dead. Karna makes his way stealthily through corpses strewn everywhere like large dolls, toward the torches that show where Bheeshma lies on his exceptional bed, in the long wait for the sun to turn north again.

Karna’s body is in soft upheaval; he is terrified to approach Bheeshma. He knows the patriarch never liked him. He remembers all the times the old man put him down in the sabha of Hastinapura. Even the memory of Bheeshma’s acerbic voice makes him shudder. But Karna knows Bheeshma is as much his grandfather as Duryodhana or Arjuna’s and this brings him inevitably to the fallen elder. The guards around Bheeshma have dozed off. Karna pads forward, hoping he can pay his respects to a sleeping warrior and steal away.

Bheeshma’s eyes are shut on his great sad face. Karna creeps closer, like a thief in the night. But, when he is near enough to see the magnificent body stuck with a hundred arrows and the blood that has flowed and congealed in the dark pool below it, a sob breaks from Kunti’s eldest son. All his resistance gives way. Karna falls at his Pitama’s feet, bathing them in tears.

Bheeshma’s eyes flicker open, they are full of light. He breathes, “Who are you? Your tears burn me more than these arrows. Why do you cry at my feet? Come near me, let me see your face. My head is full of fire and I cannot turn it to look at you. Why don’t you speak?”

Karna rises and crosses to where Bheeshma can see him; but his face remains hidden from his grandfather. Bheeshma says again, “Your form is familiar, mighty child. Who are you?”

Karna breathes, “It is I, Karna! Whom you hate, my lord. I would have come earlier, except that I feared what you might say to me when the others were here. But I had to come; my heart would not be still until I did. Forgive me if I cause you distress.”

Karna sees tears fill the old man’s eyes and trickle down his face. Bheeshma raises a hand to call him nearer, as if to whisper in his ear. Instead, he reaches out with both his arms to embrace the amazed warrior and kisses him fervently! Bheeshma says, “I have never hated you, my poor child. How could I, when I have always known you are my grandson?”

Karna gasps.

“Long ago, Vyasa told me. But I had to keep the secret and so did Vidura, who also knows. Ah, my son, whenever I spoke harshly it was only to curb your pride, so it may not lead you to ruin. You must remember I knew the Pandavas were your brothers. How could I listen to you raving against them? If you knew who you really were, you would never say such things; or goad Duryodhana on as you did. Karna, if you were not with him, Duryodhana would never have dared fight the Pandavas for fear of Arjuna. But he believes you are the greater archer; and, Suryaputra, perhaps he is not wrong. Why do you think I made it a condition you would not fight, while I did? Not because I hate you, noble child, but because I could not bear to see you go to war against your brothers. Oh, I don’t dislike you at all, Karna. I love you as much as I do Duryodhana or Yudhishtira.”

The old man strokes Karna’s hand. “My poor, poor child. God alone knows why, but from the first day of your life, fate has been cruelest to you. But now, everything is clear. I beg you, cross the field of death; go and join your brothers. Possibly, that will shock Duryodhana into abandoning this insane war. You are the eldest of your generation. Let it be you that makes peace and my dying fruitful.”

Karna’s face is ashen. “Pitama, you are the last of the Kurus, the end of a noble line. None of us is your blood. Perhaps, that is why this house is at war against itself: because the last of the Kurus had no sons. And because the kali yuga is upon us. Pitama, how I wish I could do as you ask, but it is too late for that. We cannot fight fate: the destiny of the very earth. The age grows dark and I do not have the strength to stand against time; or the strength to betray Duryodhana, no, not for the noblest cause.

I love him more than a brother. Once, I said to him, ‘I will do anything to please you: even what seems impossible. I will give my life for you, for that is how you have loved me.’

Pitama, I have never broken my word to anyone. How can I betray my only friend? When the Gods decide to destroy a man, who can save him? I love the Pandavas now, more than I ever hated them. But I must fight them on cursed Kurukshetra and die on this field. I have no doubt I will die and Duryodhana will lose this war. Every omen cries out that Dhritarashtra’s sons and all those who fight for them will perish. Isn’t it enough that Krishna is with my brothers: what force on earth can withstand them? I know who the Dark One is and he has already decided all our fates.”

He pauses. Bheeshma sighs, but still keeps Karna’s hand in his own. Karna resumes, “The world thinks of me as a sutaputra. But you know who I am and now I do as well. A kshatriya must die on the field of battle and I mean to die on Kurukshetra. My life has been full of shame. Bless me, Pitama, that at least I die an honorable death!”

Bheeshma draws Karna down and embraces him again. Karna says, “Forgive me for all the harsh things I ever said to you.”

“My child, my child, how can a grandfather hold anything against his grandson? There is nothing to forgive. You are a great kshatriya. You are Arjuna’s equal, his superior. Your mind is also noble, my son, as noble as Yudhishtira’s. I see now that the kali yuga has indeed entered the world. The old ways must pass on and vileness and evil replace them. Not you or I are responsible, not Duryodhana or Yudhishtira. Fate herself conspires to darken the age. Who are we to fathom her purposes, or to oppose her?”

He lays his aged hands on Karna’s head, as the Suryaputra kneels before him. “I bless you, child, with all my heart I bless you. Few men have suffered as you have and so alone. I bless you to die like a kshatriya on the field of war and find heaven for yourself. Do your dharma as a warrior; die for your friend if you must, there is no shame in it. And your name will be remembered and your fame last as long as the stars shine down on the world. For no fault of your own, you have been tormented to your very end. And I fear you will find death even before I leave this broken body. But I will see you in swarga soon, my prince! As soon as it is uttarayana again.”

Karna folds his hands to his grandsire. He says, “I have a boon to ask you, Pitama.”

“Ask me for anything I can still give you.”

“Let my secret die with me. I fear you may be tempted to tell Duryodhana or Yudhishtira who I am, to stop the war. I beg you not to.”

Bheeshma smiles; love for this grandchild of his fills his heart. “When you are dead I must tell Duryodhana and no one else, who you really were. He must know how much you loved him. But I will make him swear the Pandavas don’t learn of it.”

Karna’s tears fall on his Pitama. Bheeshma clasps him, kissing him repeatedly, whispering, “Noble, noble child! There is no kshatriya like you on earth. Of all my grandsons, I am proudest of my Karna.”

Kissing his grandfather’s hand one last time, his own heart full, Karna rises and walks away. His eyes streaming yet, he finds his tent in the Kaurava camp. He sees Duryodhana as he left him an hour go, curled in sleep. Karna caresses his friend’s face lightly with his fingers, then lies down beside him. Through an opening in the tent-flap he can see a lone, bright star in the sky from which the moon has sunk. He is at peace after seeing Bheeshma. The sight of that solitary star fills Karna with quiet joy. Unaware that this is the first night of the kali yuga, he falls asleep beside Duryodhana.

BOOK SEVEN
DRONA PARVA 

AUM, I bow down to Narayana, the most exalted Nara and to the Devi Saraswathi and say
Jaya
!

ONE
DRONA, SENAPATI 

The eleventh morning of the war dawns, cold and clear and despair grips the Kaurava army. As long as Bheeshma had led them, they could always win the war. Now he lay on his strange deathbed, waiting for the sun to return to his northern path. As Sanjaya said to his stricken king, blind Dhritarash-tra, the Kaurava army is like the sky without a sun, the earth without its verdure, speech without refinement, a woman who has lost her husband, a dry river in summer, like a mountain-cave empty of its lion and his roar!

As naturally as seasons change, when their times come, the Kauravas turn to Karna for assurance. On that eleventh morning of the war of dharma, the army of Hastinapura resounds not with blasting conches or drumrolls, but a single name cried out by a million throats.

“Karna!” they roar. “Karna to beat the Pandavas!”

In his tent, Karna hears them with a grim smile. He is putting on mail, readying himself for battle.

Duryodhana and his brothers arrive in Karna’s tent. Duryodhana puts his arms around him and begins to cry again, as do all Dhritarashtra’s sons. Karna comforts them like an older brother.

“Nothing is certain in this fleeting world; not when we live, or die. Bheeshma has fallen when all of you guarded him with your lives: when Drona and Aswatthama, Duryodhana, Kripa, Dusasana, Shalya and a thousand others watched over him. His time had come and no power on earth could save the Pitama. Yet, it is easier for you to imagine the sun fallen out of the sky.”

He puts his hands on Duryodhana’s shoulders, “I know why you have come to me this morning. Look, I have put on armor. Duryodhana here I am, ready to die for you. The enemy is powerful: righteous Yudhishtira, tameless Bheema, brilliant Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva who fight like Devas. They have Satyaki, who is hardly less of an archer than Arjuna himself. Then, the most formidable, if the youngest: Abhimanyu who has both Krishna and Arjuna’s blood in his veins. We must not forget Drupada and the fire-prince Dhrishtadyumna, whose valor no one has fathomed. And their fierce, loyal legions.

This is the enemy. We would be fools if we deceived ourselves that they will be easy to vanquish. We must do our best and if we win, the world shall be yours. If we lose, we will still have earned immortal fame for ourselves. Let us not be anxious about how the war will end, but take courage in both hands and leave the rest to fate. Let us go and fight!”

How his dark eyes shine. Duryodhana thinks Arjuna will not live much longer and he is consoled. Of ambition and mercy, ambition will always rule the Kaurava’s heart. Duryodhana returns to his own tent. Karna goes again to his dying grandsire. Now he comes as a warrior, in his chariot, wearing mail and armed. He alights and approaches Bheeshma. Folding his hands, he says quietly, “I mean to follow you, Pitama. You have laid your life down for Duryodhana and so will I. Bless me again.”

He kneels beside Bheeshma. Bheeshma takes his hand, “You are Duryodhana’s only hope. Fight as well as you can: that you must do in kshatriya dharma. Karna, I have thought long about you and I have no doubt you are the greatest of all my grandsons.” He lowers his voice, “Let your death be as noble as you are. I bless you that your fame will live forever, after you die and it shall be blemishless; and when you fall, Kurukshetra will be like a mother’s lap to you. Men of generations too distant to dream of, men in the heart of the kali yuga will name their sons after you. I bless you that you will die with a smile on your lips and joy in your heart. Noble Karna, after everything you have endured, you will never be born again into this world of sorrow. You will have moksha, my child.”

Bheeshma lays a loving palm on Karna’s head. Karna takes the dust from his Pitama’s feet and walks back to his chariot. Splendid as his father, Karna rides up to the Kaurava army. They see him like a sun risen for them, after the fractured night. A huge cheer goes up, echoing over Kurukshetra, “Karna! Great Karna for victory!”

“Karna is with us now, how long will the Pandavas live?”

A smile on his drawn face, Duryodhana welcomes his friend, taking his hands. “You tell me what we should do next. My mind is dark with grief and I cannot reason clearly. We must have a Senapati for our army, but I can’t think who it must be.”

Adroitly, he leaves the decision to Karna. Karna says, “All these kshatriyas are fit for the charge; each is the others’ peer. But if you choose one, the others will feel slighted. Yet, is there a warrior among us who towers over the rest in both age and experience; only he can command respect from us all. Duryodhana, let Drona be your Senapati.”

Duryodhana goes to his master. “Acharya, you have been as close to us as our Pitama. It is only just that his mantle passes to you. I beg you, assume command of the army of Hastinapura.”