*Haven't read the first part? Tsk Tsk! Never mind.Here's the link
Rise of a new sun
I remember,
clearly, of those Gurukul days. Days of playful abandon –of running about the
lush green forest meadows, of climbing the trees in Guru’s orchard, of swimming
in the cool waters of the brook, of fighting and learning. Mostly of striving
to excel in studies so that Guru would pat on our back affectionately
murmuring, “Good work my boy, good work!”
Guru Drona was smitten by Arjuna, by
his skills with bow and arrows. Arjuna’s fingers were magical, they could coax
any arrow to find it’s mark and his sense of timing was unparalleled.
Grudgingly, I accept, I was in awe and secretly disappointed by the absence of
one like him on our side.Arjuna, for all his faults, is a
spectacle to watch when he stands poised with his strung bow, ready to pluck
the arrow – exuding raw power yet with the grace of a dancer. He shone like a
diamond, like a star, above all of us!
When Guru Drona arranged for a
graduation ceremony it was more of a martial exhibition rather than a
competition between the princes. Needless to say Arjuna turned out to be the
star pupil. I can still remember Kunti Ma, covered in the white of widowhood, her eyes sparkling with unspoken pride.Oh well, the rest of us mortals had to
be satisfied with obligatory claps and cheers from the crowd. As for me, I was
over joyed. I had defeated Bhima in the mace duel. It might have been an a
friendly match, but for me it was far from friendly. I am sure, for once, Bhima
and I felt the same about something. I had vanquished Vrikodhara – the wolf bellied one.
Period. Between, I gave that name, Vrikodhara, to Bhima in loving memory of his
insatiable hunger. No, I have no qualms about it – Vrikodhara that he is!
Arjuna had finished dazzling the crowds
with his unmatched skills at archery. A mesmerized crowd was still murmuring
adulations when through the western gates of the Royal Arena a chariot entered.
In the chariot stood a handsome young man adorned in simple white cotton and bright
golden armor. For a moment passing clouds overcast the sky but the arena was
lit by a glow – bright rays emanated from the young man’s radiant earrings.
There he was, a radiant sun, right in the middle of the ground, burning in all
his glory!
The young man stepped out of his
chariot and bowed deeply, palms folded in a Namaste, to the King, teachers,
nobles, elders and the crowd. He straightened, face tilted at an angle, defiant
eyes scanning the crowd, a small smile playing on his lips. In a resonant voice
he presented himself,
“I am Karna,
pupil of Saint Parashurama. Here, in front of this esteemed audience I
challenge myself to display skills at archery better than Savyasachi Arjuna!”
The crowd went silent, the tension in
the air palpable. People looked each other in disbelief and at this young
nobody of a warrior who claims he can do better than their Prince Arjuna!
“Prove it!” Dronacharya
thundered, eyes blazing in rage at this vagrant boy’s untimely appearance !
Well, prove
Karna did and he was not just better than Arjuna, in fact he was the best Hastinapura
had ever seen! Karna’s each move, each arrow, each pluck, each minute detail –
better and more precise than Arjuna’s. This guy was not an amateur – he was a
class apart. Arjuna’s skills simple paled in front of Karna’s. The Pandavas
looked crestfallen - Arjuna devastated and Bhima brimming with indignation.
The crowd
applauded, cheered and praised. Everyone wanted to know who this extraordinary
warrior was.
“That boy is simply too good! What did
he say his name was?”
“Better than Prince Arjuna”
“Better than all our Princes.”
“Did you notice his featured? Such
noble features! He does look like an elder brother to Arjuna!”
“Who is he? Who are his parents?”
“What? He is a prince from a minor
state of Kalinga?”
“I bet he is of royal blood!”
Karna bowed
again accepting with much humility all the appreciations coming his way. Before
anyone could ask anything came rushing Athiratha, chief of royal stables and
slapped Karna.
“How dare you?
You, you worthless ungrateful wretch! Whom do you think you are to match skills
with our beloved Princes!”
An anguished
Athiratha apologized to my blind father, the king “Forgive me and my son Karna,
Your Highness. Forgive us. I will see it that even his shadow does not fall on
the palace walls. Spare him Oh benevolent King for he is all I have!”
Murmurs
thickened!
“Soothaputra – son of a Sootha – son of
a charioteer!”
“Wasn’t it Athiratha the one who
rescued an infant who had come floating in the river in a wooden box ?”
Kripacharya
stood up silencing the crowd instantaneously. “Hey Sootha, Take your son away
from here. Ask him to learn about horses and stables, the trade of his forefathers.”
Throwing a smoldering look at Karna, Kripacharya continued, “ Boy, don’t bother
picking up weapons anymore. That is what Kshatriya’s are here for. Remember who
you are and act accordingly!”
Those words
struck like a lighting bolt. Voices barely registered. Everything just seemed
to be happening in a blur.
Athiratha
pulling Karna away.
Karna standing
rooted to his spot, head hanging in shame.
Bhima
screaming at the top of his voice, emboldened by Kripacharya’s
Accusations.
“Now a soothaputra wants to match skills with my brother. He should be
whipped!”
All I saw was
a fine warrior. I saw only Karna. I felt pity not for Karna but for the so-called
wise men who couldn’t see merit over social hierarchies. Here was a warrior who
just proved his worth. People claim he cannot be an archer because he was the
son of a charioteer. Which era are we living in?
“Silence!” I
commanded, “Karna is a gifted warrior. His bow and arrows have vouched for the
fact.”
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| Courtesy : Devdutt Pattnaik |
An unconvinced
Bhima countered,” Soothaputra, that is who he is! Hey Suyodhana, you don’t need to
blow his skills out of proportion.”
I continued,
never breaking eye contact with Bhima, “ Father, grant Karna the right to rule
Anga so that no dog can ever again question Karna’s right to be a warrior!”
In the
comfortable knowledge that my father would never disagree to my wishes I walked
up to Karna and straightened his slumped shoulders. Smiling at Karna, I
announced “ I, Suyodhana, Son of King Dhritharastra declare you, Karna, Son of
Athiratha the ruler of State of Anga so that you may rule Anga, her subjects
and all that there is as you deem fit!”
The day ended
prematurely with Kunti Ma fainting in the gallery because of the heat. In a way
that was good as I was about to beat up Bhima. I had done one act of impudence
with the coronation of Karna and beating up my cousins would have made my day!
That day I had
talked for Karna and my voice was heard. Karna had looked at me, his eyes
filled with gratitude and I knew I was the first one to ever have respected him
for who he is. Make no mistakes, I did not feel like some omnipotent God who had showered
blessings on a devotee. I simply felt happy. For the first time I had done
something good for someone and I had not done that to spite Pandavas.
And as a token
of his unpredictability, Karna hugged me. I knew I had found a true friend – a
kindred spirit!
Swinging back
to present day from the trip down the memory lane, Suyodhana stated, “No, I did
not expect anything from you Karna. I simply loved you more than I loved my family
or my own brothers of blood”
“Bhanu, did
you know that Karna is an eternal romantic? Behind this tough veneer is a
tender loving heart. I know you wouldn’t believe me. But that, my love, is the
truth. Look at him blush like a girl!” Suyodhana guffawed.
“Bhanumathi,
do you know who caught the fancy of this wild horse? Who else? The untamed
spirit of Panchal! Drupada putri Panchali! I was confidant Karna would come
home from the swayamavar with Panchali by his side. I was prepared to welcome
her as my own little sister, the wife of my dear friend!
“Karna, I can
read your mind as though it were a book! You loved Panchali. You’ve always
loved her. Pure untainted unrequited love that transcends all barriers."
(to be continued...)
Ma stands in the middle of our garden armed with her orange rimmed electric bat (akin to Goddess Shakti’s Trishul but has an uncanny resemblance to a tennis racquet with electricity pulsing through the cords). It looks harmless but can deliver fatal blows. Sparks fly each time one of them falls. Ma is running up and down the garden paths like a crazed all-court tennis player swinging her weapon in precise backhand and applaud-worthy forehand strokes. I have to give her the credit for changing her tactics every now and then.
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak