Suryaputra

‘Why should this happen to me?’
The sound of dancing waves answered him with clatter. A saffron hue from the west tried to soothe his tumultuous mind, but in vain. He was angry, angry with the world, angry with himself.
“You have befriended your misfortune.” Krishna’s words eerily echoed the dark corners of his mind. “Who is he to desecrate our pristine friendship? Krishna, the destroyer of evil, the living miracle? Yes, the one who has miraculously revealed the secret of my birth, that too at the crucial stage like this? Why did he have to disclose the cruel fact when I am quintessentially needed by the Kauravas?” He shouted facing the saffron sky. A flock of birds responded with their tweets. He was alone on the bank dealing with his newly revealed identity. No matter how divine and majestic it was, it only gave him pain. He thought of his friend Duryodhana, the only one who stood by his side when the world opposed him for being a warrior. He was the one who appreciated his fine archery skills when rest of the world criticized him for holding an arrow with the hands which were supposed to bridle the horses. He had created the king of Anga out of the talented son of poor charioteer.
He loved his friend and their friendship meant life to him. Never in his scariest dreams had he thought that his birth secret would change the terms of their friendship forever. Never had he thought that the people he had hated the most would turn out to be his own siblings. A long abused, exploited son of a suta had never imagined that he would turn out to be a son of a divine warrior, a Kshatriya.
“Karna” an affectionate voice broke his chain of thoughts. He turned to find a woman draped in white saree standing right behind him, looking straight into his eyes.
………..
“Kunti, the mother of Pandavas, in fact is the one who brought you to this world. She bore you before her marriage. You know our society. It would never have let an unmarried mother and her son survive. Hence, curbing all her motherly instincts, she sacrificed her own son into the waters of Ganga. She kept you in a box and set you afloat. One fine morning, your foster father, charioteer Athiratha found you on the banks of Ganga. He adopted you, gave you his name, his caste. Your shimmering identity was concealed by a tag of Suta, a low caste. So far you had been struggling with your own identity. So far you had been calling yourself a Suta, shedding your blood for those evil Kauravas. The fact is that you were unaware of your divine father, unaware of your relation with Pandavas.”, the striking revelation of Lord Krishna started dancing back before his eyes. He would never stand that woman, the one who claimed to have given him birth, even for a second. ‘She will never understand my pain’, he thought, ‘She, In fact, is the only reason for my pain…’
……….
She had pictured this moment in her imagination a million of times. This was the moment she had been eagerly waiting for, building the stone wall of patience around the turbulence of her love, her affection. Her sunken eyes refused to avert a gaze from his vigorously robust body. She clenched her fists, her old wrinkled hands dying for his touch. This was the same infant she set afloat in the lap of mother Ganga, praying for his survival, his well being. This was her own blood that she had been longing for, all her life. He was that unfortunate son of hers, whom she couldn’t even hug properly before their incessant separation. She had always regretted that helpless moment when she had to sacrifice a tiny part of her own heart, her own infant son. She wanted to make it for all the hardships he had faced all his life. She wanted to take her child in her arms to never let him go. When Krishna suggested about revealing this secret to Karna, she found her heart pounding with the joy of finally being able to meet him as his mother. She wanted to take him home, reveal his identity to the world, explain her sons the futility of war. Everything was going to be fine now. The darkness of their lives was soon to fade…
“Devi Kunti, Please allow this Suta to pass. Don’t let my touch pollute you” Karna said, rage pondering from within.
“Son…” she tried to react, taken aback by his sarcasm.
“I am a low caste charioteer. I don’t deserve being addressed as son from a royal like you. Tell me what you want, O mother of the great Pandavas. Do you want me to bridle the horses for your chariot? I can only do that. Your wish is my command.”
“You know who you are son, what you can do and where you belong. Hasn’t Krishna revealed the secret of your birth before you?”
“He did. Your nephew, Krishna has told me that it was you who brought me to this world. Ironically, you are also the one who left me to die soon after my birth. Queen Kunti, it is my mother Radha who raised me, nurtured me, loved me all her life, despite knowing that I was not her blood. No one can replace her.” His eyes were red, tears of anger rolling down his cheeks.
She intently looked into his eyes, wanting to wipe his tears. She knew his anger was obvious and she will make him forget it. No son can be angry with his mother for long.
“Karna” she held his face in her hands, trying to wipe the moisture off his cheeks. She was taken aback by the heat of his rage. She immediately took her hands away.
“I have been insulted all my life and now I realize that I never deserved that insult. Where were you when the royals almost threw me out of the palace only for wishing to compete with your son, Arjuna? Where were you when I was forbidden from taking part in a Swayamvara by your beloved daughter in law? Where were you when your mighty Bheema insulted me for being born to a charioteer? Where were you when the whole Hastinapura laughed at my ambitions? If you really knew about my divine origin, why did you keep your mouth shut when the royals of Hastinapura lashed their tongues against this bloody Suta?
It was my mother Radha, who caressed me, helped me through all my sorrows. She was the one who motivated me to be the best. It was my father Athiratha, who worked hard to raise me, fulfill all my wishes. It was my friend Duryodhana, who stayed by me when whole world had turned against me. You never contributed in raising me and will never hold any position in my life. I used to have an immense respect for you, O mother of Pandavas, but you lost that the moment you got this ugly truth revealed.”
“Your harshness is fatally hurting me son. Kill me if you want to, but don’t raise a doubt on my love. I have spent sleepless nights, worrying about my first child’s well being. I have refrained from killing myself a million times for leaving my son when he needed me the most. I have led an incomplete life all these years without you.
Revealing my secret back then would only have caused more pain. I have lived all through the torture only looking forward to the day when I will have you by my side. The evil Duryodhana and his brothers have always been manipulating you for their own interest. They are using you as a ladder to reach the crown. It is you, who deserves the throne, son. You are not only the eldest of all the Kuru brothers, but also the most eminent. I don’t want to witness my own sons killing each other. I promise that Yudhishthira will happily handover the throne to you. Your brothers will stay at your feet all their life. Pandavas are righteous and they deserve the leadership of the eminent warrior like you. Only you can stop this war.”
“No matter how righteous your side is, I can never leave my friend alone. I want neither the throne, nor the worldly pleasures. I just want to be respected for keeping my word. I can never betray my own people for those who left me dying, who made my life hell. May you triumph with your morals and righteousness, O mother of Pandavas. Please let me go.”
“I know you always keep your word. You never refuse any offering to poor. I have come to you as a beggar to seek the alms, my son. Please stop this war.”
“The war will only stop with the death of your 5 sons.”
“Please don’t kill them. They are your brothers. I beg of you. Bless me with offering of lives of my 5 sons.”
“I get it. This was the reason you had come here for. I should’ve judged the political side of this rendezvous earlier.”
She turned her gaze down to his feet. The sense of loss throbbed inside her aching heart shaking her into smithereens. She had already lost her son. The person she was talking to was just a great warrior, an ideal friend, a noble foe. She had already sacrificed their relation in the waves of Ganga.
“Karna, Please don’t commit a sin of killing your own brothers.” She begged
She looked old and weary. Karna deliberately wanted to hate her, but experienced only her weariness. He looked at the western horizon. The sun was about to set. The cries from distant battlefield stirred his conscience. It was too late to stop the war. He thought of Duryodhana. He should never come to know about my origin, my relation with Pandavas. He looked again at Kunti. The old woman was still crying, sinking her face in her arms. The wrinkles on her skin highlighted her fragility.
“Devi Kunti, He said, trying to maintain a considerable distance from her. “I assure you that 5 of your sons will be alive when the war ends. I will not kill any of your sons except Arjuna. If I succeed killing him, you will have 5 sons including me. If I get killed, you will still have the 5 sons including Arjuna. This is only I can do for you. The mistake you made by bearing me before your marriage can never be mended. You are a great mother, the one who has raised her children well despite all the hardships. I apologize for being harsh.” He folded his hands as an apology. “Devi Kunti, Please don’t let your sons know that I am their brother. Please let this secret stay a secret forever.”
She stood still, dumbstruck, not knowing how to react. Karna touched her feet and headed towards his camp. She stood there, fixing her gaze towards the west. She looked at the setting sun; the great lord Surya was leaving her behind, just like he did decades ago, after handing over their son to her. Her son and his father both had left, leaving her alone to suffer.

© Aditee Joshi