AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (42 page)

“What is happening?”Iravan asked, but the rising crescendo of holy chants drowned out his voice. In some corner of his mind he felt a sense of pride; everyone was bowing to him. But his instincts screamed danger as he struggled to understand what was happening. Why were they dragging him like a goat? Oh no! He was to be sacrificed like a goat! Iravan tried wriggling away but too many people pushed him towards the fierce idol of Kali and strong hands held him down at the sacrificial altar. The stone was slippery with blood. The severed heads of goats mocked him. The smell of blood and goat urine almost made him gag. Iravan felt dizzy and his limbs grew weak. ‘Ma Kali, what wrong have I done to these people?’ he asked from the depths of his desperation.

“What is happening here?” Iravan’s heart missed a beat. He had heard that voice in his dreams. His father had come at last. Iravan struggled to get up and look at Arjuna, but he was shoved down.

“To ensure our victory, this brave man has volunteered to sacrifice himself.” Dhaumya’s voice seemed to come from a distance, slurred and strained. They were going to sacrifice him! Iravan struggled to free himself. He did not want to die. He was too young to die.

“A human sacrifice? He is just a boy,” Arjuna said to Guru Dhaumya.

“He volunteered. Our tradition respects all customs. We are a tolerant people,” Dhaumya intoned unctuously and threw saffron powder on Iravan’s face. The boy coughed. His tears mixed with the powder, looking like blood.

“Only barbarians such as the Nagas follow such customs.”

His father’s words hurt Iravan more than the vice-like grip of his captor. His ceased to struggle and went limp. ‘He trapped me,’ Iravan wanted to scream but the words died in his throat as flowers and rice were pushed into his mouth.

“He is trying to say something,” Arjuna said.

Dhaumya placed his ear to Iravan’s mouth. “Oh, he is saying his last wish is for us to raise his severed head on a stake. Rather a strange request. The poor fellow believes his head will then witness the great war of
dharma.”

‘No! I do not want to die. I came to help my father.’ Iravan spat out the rice and flowers. “Father, help me!” The
mantras
were deafening. The coldness of a sword touched the back of his neck, marking its striking spot. ‘My Guru Ekalavya only sacrificed a thumb. I should be proud to sacrifice myself,’ thought Iravan as he shut his eyes tight.

“Wait! I know this boy, I know his face,” Arjuna said, but the sword had already fallen. The decapitated head of his son rolled towards his feet, its eyes staring at him in innocent surprise.

“Guru... it is my son, my son...” Arjuna jumped away from Iravan’s head as if it was a viper ready to strike.

“A great sacrifice in the name of
dharma!”
declared the priest.

“Krishna! They have killed my son! Is this
dharma?”
shouted Arjuna, his voice and body trembling.

Krishna ran to where Arjuna stood gazing in shocked horror at his son’s decapitated body. He looked at Dhaumya, his eyes glowing like coals in his dark and handsome face.

“It was the Supreme Sacrifice, Lord.” Dhaumya bowed.

Krishna did not miss the implication. The wily Guru was alluding to Ekalavya’s death. Things were getting out of hand. Dhaumya’s fanaticism was frightening. Krishna yearned for a stable society, but looking at the priest’s glittering eyes, he wondered what the future would bring.

Arjuna freed himself from Krishna’s grip. “I am sick of this. I will not fight anymore.”

“Arjuna, listen to me, I will explain.” Krishna hurried after his friend, trying to talk Arjuna out of his depression.

Dhaumya picked up the lifeless head of Iravan by its hair. “Raise this thing on a pole and plant it in the middle of the battlefield. May it strike terror in the minds of all low-castes who forget their
dharma.”

Soon, Kurukshetra had a stake pierced into its heart. The lifeless eyes of Iravan bored into the conscience of the warriors on both sides for the next eighteen days. The temple of
dharma
had sacrified its first blood.

*****

52
   
K
SHATRIYA

“CASTE! CASTE! CASTE!”
Karna kicked a stone into the water. His toe hurt but it was nothing compared to what he felt inside. He had never expected Bhishma to stoop so low. Years before, Karna had tried to drown himself in the waters of this holy river. It would have been far, far better had Kripa left him to die that day. He had suffered enough for many lifetimes. What pained him the most was the hesitation he had seen in Suyodhana’s eyes. His defeat at Arjuna’s hands at Virata had shaken the belief of even his closest friend. Arjuna was a lucky bastard. He had everything – caste, lineage, fame; he even had the woman Karna had once loved deeply. ‘Draupadi, why do I still yearn for you?’ he thought in agony. Could a Suta even lift his eyes to such a woman?

A shadow fell on the water and Karna’s warrior instincts became taut and alert. Someone stood behind him. In one fluid movement he had turned, his sword in his hand.

“Krishna!” Karna could not hide his surprise. “Have you come to do to me what you did to Ekalavya?”

Krishna smiled his most charming smile. “Karna, my friend, you are like my brother. Why would I harm you?”

“I am in no mood for small talk, Krishna, leave me alone.” Karna sheathed his sword. Krishna was the last person he wanted to talk to. He stepped into the water, his back to the Yadava. The river was turning saffron in the west.

Krishna scooped up some water and washed his face. “I understand your pain, Karna, but like the waters of the holy Ganga, what I say will cleanse your soul.”

“Krishna, leave me alone.”

“Do you know who you are?”

“The whole world knows who this Suta is.”

“What is it that you have always wished for, Karna?”

When Karna remained silent, Krishna said, “To be a Kshatriya.”

“I know I am only a lowly Suta. Now go.”

“All Bharatavarsha could be yours before you can blink, Karna.”

“Krishna, the peddler of impossible dreams. But even Sutas run out of patience sometimes.”

“Karna, I met your mother today.”

Karna’s heart skipped a beat. When had he last been home to see his parents, Athiratha and Radha? Why had Krishna cared to visit a stable-keeper’s hut?

“She wants you to be King of Hastinapura.”

“All mothers want their sons to be Kings.”

“Ah, but
your
mother can make you King of Bharatavarsha. If you agree, no one can stop you. You will be the greatest of all Kshatriyas, the King of Kings.”

“If you are done with mocking a poor Suta woman, please go.”

“I am not talking about your Suta mother, Karna.”

“So even mothers have castes now?”

“Karna, you are not a Suta, but the greatest of Kshatriyas.”

“Do not tell me that caste is based only on character and not on birth. I am tired of that excuse. All the high-castes parrot it but I can no longer accept their smug smiles and platitudes, as though their high status was the result of their exalted character and not a mere accident of birth. To them it is just a philosophy, but to us at the bottom, it is life.”

“Karna, listen to what I am saying. Radha and Athiratha are your foster parents. You are a Kshatriya by birth.”

Karna stared at Krishna in complete bewilderment. What was the Yadava trying to tell him? It did not make any sense. In the distance he could see Vidhura. Beside him stood a veiled woman. She looked oddly familiar. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be...?

“Karna, you are the son of a
Suryavamsha,
a Prince of the exalted Sun dynasty, the same as Lord Rama. And your mother is Devi Kunti.”

The world spun around Karna. He felt dizzy. He was the son of Kunti, the mother of the Pandavas? Arjuna, his most hated enemy, was his brother? His heart felt like it would burst through his chest.

“Karna, do not blame your mother. She was unmarried when she had you. You know how it is. An unmarried woman giving birth to...”

“So she decided to throw me away! Mother… is she not ashamed to call herself that?” Anger was a strong shield to hide behind. His emotions threatened to overwhelm Karna. Nothing made sense. “Where did my parents find me? In the garbage?”

“They found you in the lap of Mother Ganga.”

Karna quickly pulled his legs out of the river and began climbing the steps of the ghat.

“Karna, I have not finished.”

Karna halted. “I must see my mother.”

“You are a great man. Devi Kunti will be delighted.”

“I meant my real mother, Krishna. I must see her. “

“Patience, brother. It is admirable that you love your foster parents, but remember, you are going to be Emperor of Bharatavarsha.”

Karna paused. The ache in his heart felt like a physical pain. His head was aflame. He yearned to reach Radha’s safe embrace, away from a world gone mad.

“Karna, Yudhishtra would have no objection to handing over the kingdom to an elder brother. Now that you are a Kshatriya, Dhaumya and the other priests too, will have no objection.”

“Krishna, there is already an heir to the throne.”

“Karna, you are the eldest; the throne is rightfully yours.”

“You think Suyodhana would agree with you?”

“If he does not, we will fight him.
Dharma...”

“Is this the advice of a divine
avatar?
To betray the man who has made me what I am? Is this your
dharma?”

“The Pandavas are your own blood. Kunti is your mother, Karna.”

“I have only a few friends, those who stood by me when the whole world jeered at my caste. No Kshatriya other than Suyodhana came to my rescue; no Brahmin other than Aswathama stepped forward to shield me. Even if you offer me the whole world, I will never betray them.”

“You can avoid a war that will kill thousands.”

“Accept Suyodhana as King and there will be no war.”

“For your mother’s sake, if not your own, accept the throne, Karna.”

“Radha is my mother, Krishna. I am a Sutaputra.”

“Then I will offer you something you will not be able to refuse.”

“Do not say another word. Leave me alone, Krishna.” Karna guessed what was coming and he did not trust himself.

“Kunti will persuade Draupadi to be your wife, too. As the eldest, you will...”

“Enough! The Pandavas would do anything for power – gamble, cheat and even sell their wife to the enemy.”

“Karna, you are throwing away a great destiny.”

“Leave this Suta alone!”

“Karna, you will regret it.”

“Let
dharma
win, Krishna.”

Karna hurried away from the river, his mind in turmoil. Everything he had always believed in had come tumbling down. He felt ashamed that he had almost been tempted by Krishna’s offer, particularly the last one. ‘Draupadi, you almost made me into a devil.’ He hated and loved her with equal ferocity; how was that even possible? But as Karna neared his childhood home, his feelings towards Draupadi turned to pity. How could she bear to live with such husbands?

The hut looked the same. There was the toy bow he had played with, it still hung on a nail on the mud wall of the veranda. The
rangoli
his mother had painted in the courtyard brought a flood of memories rushing back. It was here that he had waited impatiently for his charioteer father to take him to Guru Drona; it was in this hut that Athiratha had comforted him when the Guru had rejected him. He was the luckiest son alive to have had such love.

“Ma!” Karna called. His heart thumped against his ribcage when he heard the familiar rustle of her saree. The door creaked open and the aroma of his mother’s cooking wafted out. A stooped figure with greying hair stared at him, her gaze lingering on his dazzling earrings. Radha burst into tears of happiness.

“Who is that?” Karna heard his father ask.

Before his mother could say anything, Karna embraced her and said, “I am hungry.”

Radha showered him with kisses and Karna melted in shame, guilt and love. He had returned to where he belonged. Radha hurried off to prepare his favourite dishes. Adhiratha looked up as Karna’s tall frame filled the doorway but he did not say a word. Karna smelt the musty sweetness of his home. He would stay here until his friend needed him again. Karna knew in his heart that such ruthless enemies would not fight fairly. His friend would lose, but he, Karna, would ensure it was a glorious defeat and far better than a shame-filled victory. It was the least a Suta could do for his Kshatriya friend.

*****