Parashurama hugged his protege on the stage and led the cheers of Dharmaveera Karna. Thousands of voices echoed it in jubilation. The Brahmins were dancing with joy. Here at last was a warrior to challenge the arrogance of the Asura Princes. After Kripa and Drona, who had won the coveted title years ago, no other Brahmin warrior had come close to winning. It was a day for celebration, proving that Brahmins excelled not only in learning and rituals but also in the science of arms. They hugged each other in a delirium of joy, their chests swelling with pride.
***
The Brahmin messenger from Hastinapura was desperate to get inside and meet the King or Parashurama but the guards refused to budge. He waited outside the arena, determined to catch either as they emerged, not knowing that the nobles would be taking a separate route to the palace. The gateway he stood in was for the common populace. The messenger thus waited for many hours and finally decided to remind the guards about his permission to meet the ruler. They had completely forgotten him. They advised him to go to the palace, so the Brahmin walked on. Once again, he was denied permission to enter as the King was holding a banquet. Instead, the messenger was taken to the royal guesthouse to rest. All his protests were in vain. It would be the next morning before Prince Uthayan received the fateful message.
***
The nobles and Kings of the Southern Confederate showered gifts on the new Dharmaveera. Slowly the arena emptied. Jubilant Brahmins carried the Guru and his disciple to the palace where the King was holding a banquet in honour of the new Dharmaveera. Karna spent a glorious night celebrating with the dignitaries of the Southern Confederate. The Chera King was gracious enough to hide his disappointment at his son's failure and bestowed gifts and titles on Karna. Though the silent Chera Prince excused himself from the banquet at midnight, the party continued into the early hours of the morning. Karna was bone weary by the time he reached his Guru's residence, but willingly obliged when the Guru expressed his desire to sleep in the open air of the garden. Parashurama slept with his head resting on the thighs of the charioteer's son, deeply content at having trained the best Brahmin warrior in the world.
By the time the sun turned the tips of the palm fronds golden, Karna's legs had gone numb. But he would not have dreamed of moving and disturbing the Guru's slumber. He looked at the serene face and wondered why this man carried so much hatred for non-Brahmins. In the last eight years, Karna had come to love and respect Parashurama. He had been overwhelmed by the affection shown to him by the old man and come to know him as a kind-hearted and generous person. Once he was sure the caste rules were being followed, Parashurama ensured that the Kings of the Southern Confederate ruled justly. The man owned no personal wealth and lived like a hermit. He had inherited a palace but he offered it to every destitute Brahmin who crossed his path, while he himself occupied a string cot in a small room. The palace was filled with Brahmins from all across India, who had come to learn from him.
Compared to Hastinapura, the people in the lands that had accepted Parashurama as Guru were far more disciplined. The public utilities of these kingdoms worked better and the level of corruption was low. While the low-castes were treated worse than animals and lived inhuman lives, the administration ensured there were no famines and no one died of hunger. All the important posts were reserved for Brahmins but Parashurama ensured there was no nepotism or corruption. Women were treated like slaves but the streets were safe for them even at night; and the law and order machinery worked. It was a strange mix of ugly and desirable. The initial disgust Karna had felt when he had landed in Muzaris as a teenager, had given way to a grudging respect about many things and a sense of despair over others. Parashurama himself remained an enigma. He was mean, fanatical, conservative, bloodthirsty, dogmatic, generous, scholarly, brave, skilled, kind-hearted, principled, dedicated, and determined - all in one. Even after eight years of close association, Karna was sure of only one thing about the man - that the fanatic Brahmin leader loved him like a son.
Karna looked at the serene face of his Guru and sighed. He was feeling extremely drowsy from the exertions of the previous day's competition, a night of partying, and no sleep. The exhilaration of winning had worn off and dread filled his heart over the deception he had successfully carried out for eight years. Now that he was famous, the probability of his cover being blown was high. He wanted to get out of the Chera kingdom and the South before that happened. He did not know how his Guru would react to the truth.
The birds had started chirping in the trees and Karna wished his Guru would awaken. An overwhelming desire to blurt out the truth possessed him. He could not continue the deception with a man who had treated him like a son. No one, other than his parents, had shown him such kindness. Parashurama had been like a father to him. 'What if I told him the truth?' Karna debated. His Guru would certainly be angry but surely, he would calm down again, Karna reassured himself. 'After all, Parashurama loves me as a person, not for being a Brahmin. Will my being a Suta alter his love for me? How can I hide the truth now that I have decided to leave?'
Karna's mind was in turmoil and he did not notice a wasp enter the folds of his dhoti. He became aware of a tickling sensation on his thigh but ignored it, immersed in his worries. When he realized it was a wasp, he tried to capture it in his hands. Suddenly pain shot through his thigh. The wasp had bitten him. Karna gritted his teeth. The pain spread quickly, becoming acute. A low moan escaped his lips but he covered his mouth with his hands and bit his fingers and then his tongue as pain wracked his body. His muscles twitched as he struggled to remain still. He could not disturb his Guru's sleep. His fingers buried themselves in the soil. Karna looked at the sun slowly rising over the distant Blue Mountains and prayed for strength. With every ounce of determination he could muster, the son of the charioteer remained still so his Guru could sleep on. However, his tears were beyond his control.
Parashurama awoke when Karna's tears of pain fell on his face. He sat up and placed his palm on Karna's forehead to check for fever. "What has happened, my son?"
Karna put a hand into the folds of his dhoti and grabbed the wasp. He pulled it out, crushing it between his fingers. Then he looked up at his Guru through his tears. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Karna had expected his Guru to acknowledge his sacrifice, so he was shocked to see the expression on Parashurama's face.
"Who are you?" Parashurama's voice had a dangerous edge.
At that moment, Karna knew his deception had blown up in his face. "I... I..." Karna stammered, not knowing how to tell the truth. Words failed him. The enormity of his deception choked his throat.
"You are not a Brahmin. I am sure of that. No Brahmin could withstand so much pain. You must be a Kshatriya... you scoundrel... you cunning rascal... you have deceived me! You do not belong to our caste. You gained knowledge through deception. You belong to the caste I am a sworn enemy of! Sixty-four times my family has fought the Kshatriyas, and now a Kshatriya dares to steal knowledge from me?" Parashurama thundered.
Karna fell at his Guru's feet. "Swami... forgive me... forgive me... I am not a Kshatriya..." Karna wept, holding onto his Guru's feet.
"Liar! You say you are not a Kshatriya? Who else could bear a wasp's sting for hours without uttering a cry of pain... a Brahmin? You want me to believe that? You think I am a fool? I curse you." Parashurama kicked away Karna's hands.
Karna remained kneeling. "Swami... I am your son... do not curse me... I am not a Kshatriya..."
"Scoundrel! You pile lie upon lie. I curse you - you will forget whatever you have learnt through your deception and lies, at the most critical moment of your life. The knowledge you have cheated from me will be of no use when you need it the most. Be gone from my sight." Parashurama turned away in abhorrence.
"Swami... I am not a Kshatriya. I will go, but I have served you like a son... do not curse me, Swami."
"He is telling the truth. He is not a Kshatriya." Both Parashurama and Karna turned their heads in surprise. The Chera King,
Prince Uthayan, and a Brahmin, stood watching them. There was a smile of derision on Uthayan's lips.
Karna closed his eyes in despair. He recognized the Brahmin as a Priest from Hastinapura, one who had objected to Kripa teaching him the scriptures. He knew what was coming. Death beckoned. He stood deep within the Southern Confederate where caste ruled supreme and people died for religion. He had made a fool of the proud Asura Kings by becoming the Dharmaveera. A Shudra Dharmaveera? All of India would be laughing at the Confederate and at Parashurama, when the news leaked out.
"I know a Kshatriya when I see one," Parashurama said.
The Chera King smiled smugly as the Brahmin messenger moved forward and bowed to Parashurama. "Sir, I am from Hastinapura. I know this young man from his boyhood. I have come to convey the message that this is Vasusena Karna, son of Athiratha and Radha of Hastinapura." The Brahmin paused for effect and Karna hung his head in shame, fearing the next words the Brahmin would utter.
Parashurama's face flushed in anger. "And his caste?"
The Brahmin looked at the Chera King, who nodded impatiently. "Swami, he is a Suta, the son of a lowly charioteer... a Shudra."
Parashurama stood still. Then his eyes disappeared into their sockets as he fell backwards onto the ground. They all rushed to tend the Guru. Karna knew he would be hunted down like a wild dog. The armies of the conservative Southern Confederate were all in Muzaris. He could choose to die fighting but he was young and Kripa's initial training in common sense took hold. Karna ran for his life.
With everyone's attention on the prostrate Parashurama, no one saw Karna slip away. By the time the Chera Prince noticed his absence, Karna had already reached the docks. Uthayan shouted for his guards, barking instructions to bring the fugitive back to him, dead or alive. Karna saw soldiers rushing towards him from the palace. A ship was unfurling its sail in the harbour. The gangway was being lifted as it started moving. Karna leapt across the widening gap, just managing to scramble aboard.
"Hey! Who the devil are you?" a voice cried out.
Karna saw a tall barbarian with dirty yellow hair, standing at the bow of the ship. His skin was as pale as a ghost's. 'Mlecha,' thought Karna. From his accent, Karna guessed the barbarian was from Yavana Desha. The big man looked at Karna closely. "Hey, aren't you that champion from yesterday's competition? Dhama... something...?" he asked in broken Tamil.
"Sir... where is this ship going?" Karna responded in fluent Greek.
"You speak my language? Are you from our lands... no.... You are too dark for that. I am the Captain of this ship. We are carrying pepper and spices." The Captain waved away the sailors who had appeared to confront the intruder.
Karna watched the Chera soldiers assembling on the beach and Prince Uthayan positioning his archers. The ship was gaining speed in the steady wind. Karna wondered why they had not launched any boats to chase him. Onshore, the Asura soldiers were confused. The young Prince wished to launch the hundred-foot-long snake boats to hunt down the imposter. The snake boats were swift war machines with a hundred men rowing each one. It would have been child's play for a snake boat to overtake a sluggish ship, but Parashurama had decreed the sea could only be crossed at the cost of losing caste. No one was willing to live the life of an Untouchable for the sake of catching a Shudra. The only person who could give them exemption was Parashurama himself and he lay in a coma. Frustrated, the Prince ordered his archers to shoot at the foreign ship. Karna watched the arrows fall well behind and let out a sigh of relief.
"What the hell! Why are they shooting at us? Are they chasing you?" the Captain asked.
Karna took off one of the gold chains he had been given the previous day and he put it into the Greek's hands. "Sir... I am from Hastinapura, and I am of low caste. Please set me down in Prabhasa or Dwaraka, and I will find my way back to my native city from there. Please help me, my life is at stake."
The Captain looked at the tall young man in confusion. Yesterday he had been the local hero and now the same people were shooting at him? Finally, he said, "I can drop you at Dwaraka. We will stop there to pick up cotton. Why would they want to kill you of all people? You were terrific yesterday. You are their champion."
"I am a Shudra, a low-born, and I am not supposed to learn the science of arms. They want to kill me for the crime of learning."
"What! Is learning a crime in your country? You people are so uncivilized!
Young man, I will make you an offer. Come to my country and show half the talent you displayed yesterday. You are a master archer! Come with me and see how you will be honoured for your skill. You can even become Governor of a province if you show talent. Your compatriots want to kill you. Come with me instead."
Karna looked back at the men of the Southern Confederate baying for his blood, from the enchantingly beautiful shores of the Chera kingdom. Blinded by rage and prejudice, they wanted him dead for having learnt a skill, for showing talent and beating them at their own game, merely because he had been born into a low caste. 'This is my India, my land. See how they treat a poor charioteer's son, who dared to dream,' Karna thought bitterly, his eyes blinded by tears. He may have escaped the fanatics of the Confederate for now but what awaited him at home? The news of his deception would soon reach there and people would make fun of the Suta who wanted to be a Kshatriya. What use was knowledge and skill if one did not have the luck to be born to the right parents? It was doubtful whether he would even be employed as a charioteer now. The future looked bleak. 'My country considers me an outcast. All the mighty Kings of south India want me dead.' And now a foreigner, whom he thought of as an uncultured barbarian, was offering him greatness on a platter.
The Captain saw the tears in the young warrior's eyes and gently touched Karna's forearm. "Are you alright, young man?"
Karna turned towards the Greek. "Thank you for your offer. Sir, this is my country, my culture, my religion. For every mad man like those on the beach, there are many noble men in this holy land. Your offer is tempting and my country has treated millions like me unfairly, but I cannot leave her for anything in this world. Among all the Kings who cannot think beyond the narrow confines of caste, there have to be some who recognize talent, do not bother about caste, and treat people as human beings. If not, I will die like the many that have been crushed under the tyranny of a cruel system. But whatever the cost, I will not leave India. My destiny lies here."
Karna looked away towards the shining sun, ashamed of the tears that had started flowing down his handsome face. The Greek Captain shook his head and wondered how such a backward country could produce young men such as this one. And the ship sailed its course towards the shining new city of hope, which Balarama had created with pain and dreams - Dwaraka.
*
*
*
14 GURUDAKSHINA
EKALAVYA SURVIVED THE FALL, though it took him two long months to heal. After his fortuitous escape from the Naga camp, he was careful not to stray too deep into the forest again. Instead, he perched in a tree bordering the training ground of the Royals and from this vantage point watched Guru Drona train his students. Once the Guru left with his disciples for the day, Ekalavya would descend and begin practicing what he had seen. Gradually his skills improved and he became a good hunter. Hunger became a thing of the past for his aunt and the children.
The evening he took a deer to his aunt, they had spoken of many things while the meat roasted over the fire under a star-sprinkled sky. His cousins were growing up and Ekalavya was happy teaching them some of the skills he had acquired. They talked of the lost boy, Jara, and wondered where the idiot could have gone. Ekalavya had already decided to search for Jara and bring him back to the family. They were still poor, but now they could afford to feed one more. Ekalavya's full stomach prompted him to be generous.
With single-minded dedication, the Nishada acquired skills to rival any archer's in the country. He heard rumours about the upcoming passing-out-day competition for the Princes and desperatel
y wished he could participate. He burned to pit his skills against Arjuna. Perhaps he could surprise Drona by beating Arjuna at his own game. The Nishada boy dreamt of the day the Guru would embrace him and say he had made a mistake in not recognizing his talent earlier.
Ekalavya made a statue of Drona in clay and placed it in a small clearing. He began each day by doing obeisance to the statue and then practicing for three hours before going to watch the training at the grounds. In Ekalavya's mind, Drona became the father he had never known. Though he resented the way the Guru had treated him, his admiration for the great warrior bordered on devotion. He was jealous of Arjuna, who seemed to have cornered all his hero's love. Drona fawned on the middle Pandava. The only other person he seemed to care about was his own son, Aswathama. However, of the two, it was evident Arjuna was his favourite. Ekalavya saw that Aswathama lacked Arjuna's confidence and arrogance and his father often belittled him, making unfavourable comparisons when he competed against Arjuna. Aswathama craved his father's praise, but it was given sparingly.
AJAYA I -- Roll of the Dice Page 20
