AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

by Anand Neelakantan

  Karna knew he had heard that voice before. He looked at the stooping figure with suspicion. Who was that standing behind the mendicant in the dark, almost hidden by the bushes?

  “Promise you will give me what I ask.”

  “I know you from somewhere, Swami,” Karna replied, peering at the figure before him.

  “No one knows me. I am a nonentity. Give me your word and keep your reputation as the man who never denies anyone anything.”

  Karna sensed a trap. The man standing before him was no ordinary Brahmin. Feeling helpless in the face of a request for alms, he said, “Ask and it shall be yours.”

  “Give me your armour, forged by the great smiths of the Surya temple.”

  Karna was shocked. “What does a Brahmin want with a warrior’s armour?”

  “Karna, deny me and I will go away without complaint. I understand. It is your only protection against Arjuna’s arrows. Without it, you will not last for more than a few minutes before my son.”

  “What did you say? Your son? Who are you? Indra? Has the Lord of the Devas stooped to this level to protect his son?”

  How dared Indra even suggest he could not face Arjuna without his armour? Karna undid the armour and waited for the Brahmin to extend his hand. “Take it. Know that my dharma is my protection. If your son thinks he has to strip me to beat me, then go and tell him that Karna stands naked. With or without armour, this Suta will defeat him.”

  Indra looked at Karna with admiration in his old eyes. “Son, I have no words for your chivalry and bravery. If there is any fairness left in this world, you will win. We are both cast-offs – you by your mother and I by my son. But I am still his father and this my gift to him.”

  “Every moment I feel I am betraying Suyodhana. Sir, you have got what you came for. Now please leave me alone.”

  “Karna, I am a fair man. Allow me to repay your generosity. Else, I will not be able to sleep with a clear conscience.”

  Karna looked at the old man in surprise. Was he trying to pull another trick? Indra turned and signalled. A dark figure emerged from behind a bush. In the dull moonlight, the man’s eyes glittered liked diamonds in his dark face.

  “Karna, this is my son, Mayasura, the greatest sculptor to have walked this earth – the man who created Indraprastha, the city named after me. Yes, life is full of irony is it not? Maya, bow to the great Karna. You will see none like him in this world or the next.”

  Karna looked at the coal-black Asura in surprise.

  “Give it to him,” Indra ordered and Mayasura placed a thick arrow in Karna’s hands. It was sharp, sturdy and beautifully forged.

  “Yantra muktha?” Karna asked, running his fingers along the smooth contours of the missile.

  “Yes, with the power of the vajra. It is called Shakti, after the Mother Goddess. Truthfully, I was planning to give it to Arjuna. I was cynical about your reputation and wanted to test it. But now, how I wish you were my son, Karna. This is my gift to you. It can only be used once, but it has unimaginable power. Perhaps you will use it against my son. No one can accuse Indra of being unfair. I may be poor and broken today, but I am still King of the Devas.”

  “I humbly accept your offering, Lord Indra,” Karna said, placing the missile in his quiver. Then he took Mayasura’s coarse hands in his. “If we win this war, be assured that these hands will once again build beautiful gardens and temples. I am honoured to have met you.”

  “My son has not been of sound mind since we were evicted from Indraprastha. Forgive him if he has not treated you with proper respect.” Indra took Mayasura’s arm and walked away with Karna’s priceless armour.

  Karna looked at the disappearing figures, pondering over life’s ironies. He scanned the battleground and saw the silhouette of Iravan’s head. A wasted life, he thought. Why did the Nagas and Rakshasas even bother to fight this war? This was a Kshatriya war. The knowledge that he too was a Kshatriya was more of a relief than he would admit. He would prove that he was a better Kshatriya than anyone who fought on either side. He would be generous in his gifts and noble in abiding by the laws of warfare. That was the Kshatriya code of honour. That was what set them apart from other men.

  But in the dead of the night, when silence reigned, except for the moans of dying men and beasts, a sense of deep guilt assaulted Karna. Aswathama’s words came to haunt him. By keeping his word to Kunti and giving his armour to Indra, he might earn eternal fame, but was it not a betrayal of the trust Suyodhana had placed in him? He had no answer. The time had come to fight Arjuna, man to man, without the protection of his armour. Let destiny decide who the better warrior was and who the better man.

  *****

  69 RAKSHASA

  KHATOTKACHA WAS GETTING IMPATIENT. “Mother, Lord Krishna himself sent a messenger to fetch me. He says only I can save my father from that Suta warrior.”

  “You are just a boy, Khatotkacha. If your father cannot stop Karna, how can you?”

  “The messenger says my father is asking for me. I am his only hope.”

  “You are the only one I have, my son. It is not our war.”

  “My father needs me, Mother. I must go.”

  “Father! Now he remembers his son? The last time we saw him, he would not even look at me. You are a Rakshasa, a forest dweller, the son of a Rakshasi.”

  There was no point arguing with her. Khatotkacha touched her feet but Hidumbi did not move. He turned to go.

  “Go and die! You know how they treated Iravan. Oh Shiva, I will have no one to care for me in my old age.”

  Khatotkacha stopped at the door and turned back. “Is this your final blessing, mother? Maybe you will only see my dead face.”

  “Oh, no, no…I did not mean it, son. Don’t go!” Hidumbi came running after him, but her son did not look back.

  An owl flew past Khatotkacha. An owl in the daytime? A bad omen. A strange fear gripped the superstitious Rakshasa. Then he shrugged and picked up his stone mace from the corner of the mud veranda. A few of his Nishada and Naga friends were waiting for him, armed with bows, poisoned arrows, spears, crude swords and stone maces. Khatotkacha nodded to them. “Come, let us go to Kurukshetra and teach that Suta a lesson!”

  Shrieking and screaming, the Rakshasa and his savage friends started running. They had to save the Pandavas from a humiliating defeat at the hands of Karna. The owl that had perched on the roof hooted ominously thrice and then flew away into the jungle.

  ***

  “Son, no rules apply to you. Rakshasas are experts in night warfare. Wreak havoc in the Kaurava ranks,” Krishna instructed.

  Khatotkacha sneaked a peek at his impassive father. Bhima sat polishing his huge mace. He had not spoken to his son since his arrival at the Pandava camp.

  “Go talk to your father.” Krishna patted Khatotkacha’s shoulder.

  The Rakshasa moved towards his father with hesitant steps, afraid he would be snubbed. He just stood there, awkward and tongue-tied. Finally, Bhima looked up and smiled at his son. Khatotkacha dropped to the ground and bowed his head. Would his touch pollute the Kshatriya?

  Bhima’s strong arms lifted him up. “How you have grown!” he said and abruptly walked away.

  Was that all? Khatotkacha had imagined this reunion so many times. Bhima had not even inquired about his mother.

  ***

  The next morning was colder than usual. Kurukshetra stretched far and wide. Khatotkacha felt a shiver of anticipation. He was going to fight Kshatriyas. In doing so, his father was bestowing a great honour on his Rakshasa son. Soon, he would face mighty warriors like Karna, Suyodhana, Kripa, Aswathama, and others. Katotkacha was nervous. He had to make his father proud. He looked again at the vast battlefield and shuddered. This time it was not the chill that made him shiver. The gory face of Iravan stared back at him. The Rakshasa gripped his stone mace and prayed, “Oh Shiva, give me the courage to face the mighty.”

  ***

  The war took an ugly turn after the Nishadas and Rakshasas under
Khatotkacha joined the Pandava side. The forest dwellers jumped from elephant to elephant and darted through the cavalry. Their wild cries made the beasts run wild. They climbed chariots with monkey-like agility, shot their poison-tipped arrows and vanished like magic. Their recklessness shattered Karna’s classical war formations.

  Seeing Shakuni once again near his friend, Aswathama rushed to Suyodhana. “It seems your friend is not fighting with his heart,” the Gandharan was saying.

  “If Karna does not fight for me, no one ever will,” Suyodhana retorted with complete conviction.

  Shakuni eyed Aswathama and suppressed a smile. “Your trust in the Suta is touching but he is not worried about you; he is after glory.”

  Suyodhana turned to his uncle in irritation. “Can you not see how Karna is struggling to save us from that Rakshasa?”

  “Oh certainly, but ask him why he spared Yudhishtra and Bhima today. He cut off their bows and mace, yet he didn’t kill them.”

  Aswathama saw a frown crease Suyodhana’s face as he prodded his charioteer towards Karna. Aswathama was shocked to learn that the Pandavas had been spared. Could there be a greater traitor than Karna? He had to warn Suyodhana. When he reached his friends, they were arguing.

  “No more arguments, Karna. I want the Rakshasa dead,” Suyodhana said, finishing his tirade.

  “Suyodhana, I will not lie. I spared Yudhishtra and Bhima’s lives today. My fight is with Arjuna, and I will kill him.”

  Karna’s charioteer howled with laughter. “The Suta had the chance to kill the twins too, but he did not. What a fool I carry in my chariot!”

  Suyodhana ignored Shalya and turned to Karna. “This war is not about your personal vendetta. We are fighting for a cause. Why did you give your armour away? Why are you not using the so-called magical weapon Indra gave you?”

  “Suyodhana, I have kept the Shakti for Arjuna.”

  Shalya smirked. “This Suta will die still hugging that stupid astra. No one has even heard of it. I am afraid it will burst behind my back at any moment. Dream on, Suta, but if you want to win this war, use the ageneya astra and finish off all the Pandavas. Throw away that stupid thing given to you by that Asura.”

  “Sir, I must ask for your silence,” Suyodhana said to Shalya.

  “Alright, if you do not value my advice, I will not give it. Once a Suta, always a Suta.” Shalya cracked his whip and laughed.

  Suyodhana felt like smashing his mace on Shalya’s head but controlled himself. He said to Karna, “That Rakshasa will have finished us all long before you reach Arjuna. I am disappointed in you, Karna.”

  Suyodhana moved away in his chariot, leaving behind a devastated Karna. Did Suyodhana suspect his loyalty after all he had done?

  Aswathama watched Karna lift the Shakti and put it into the yantra to launch. “Traitor!” he hissed.

  “The Brahmin said it right. You are a coward and a traitor.” Shalya whipped the horses and the chariot hurtled towards Khatotkacha at breakneck speed. Karna cranked the yantra, tightening it to launch the Shakti astra.

  “Watch out Suta, it is going to burst in your face,” Shalya shouted into the wind over the rattle of the chariot.

  Karna looked for Khatotkacha and pointed the yantra at him. He was throwing flaming torches at the Kaurava cavalry with both hands. The Rakshasa would never know what hit him, thought Karna, tightening the tension another notch.

  Khatotkacha saw a ball of fire coming towards him at great speed. People screamed and ran in all directions but he stood paralyzed as the astra whistled through the air towards him. He knew this was the end and his mind was strangely calm. The earth shook with a loud explosion and he was thrown into the air.

  When Khatotkacha opened his eyes, the severed limbs of men and beasts were still raining down around him. He did not feel any pain. He tried to get up, but it felt as if he had no body. When the soot and smoke cleared, he saw many faces peering down at him. They all appeared to be standing at a great height. Where the Shakti had touched the ground, a huge crater had formed and Khatotkacha was lying in it. The look of horror in their eyes confirmed his worst fears. He saw Bhima staring down at him from the edge of the crater and tried to get up to greet his father, but he could not feel his arms.

  “He has no limbs left,” someone said. Khatotkacha blinked and waited for his father to come down and talk to him. He could hear the Kauravas celebrating his fall. He heard other voices and saw his uncles join his father. They looked somehow relieved.

  “Karna used the Shakti on Khatotkacha. Now he has nothing, Arjuna,” remarked Yudhishtra.

  “All Rakshasas have to be killed one day or the other, Bhima. It is good he is dying for dharma,” Krishna said and Bhima blinked.

  ‘You would have killed me because I am a Rakshasa, Father? I don’t know what dharma is, I am just a forest dweller. I did my best for you.’ Gradually, Bhima’s face faded away. The sounds of celebrations died. His mother had been right – this was not their war.

  As the celebrations continued on both sides of the great field of Kurukshetra, darkness cloaked the Rakshasa in silence.

  ***

  Suyodhana lay awake in his tent, wondering if Karna had betrayed him. What right had he to give away his armour, to make promises that could lose them the war? Was not his friendship enough? Suyodhana felt bitter for having placed all his trust and hope in Karna. Bhanumati had been right, the Suta had ditched him when it mattered the most. His mother was right; he had been a fool. Who else would cheat him? He wondered if he should order Karna’s arrest and try him for treason. No... surely his Karna could never betray him? Had he not used the Shakti on the Rakshasa boy? Was he not inviting his own death by giving away his armour? There had to be some reason for Karna’s strange behaviour.

  Battered on all sides by accusations of evil doing, Suyodhana had for some time wondered about their truth, following the madness of trying to disrobe Draupadi. He had often drawn strength from his own noble action of making a Suta a King. It had defined him. It had convinced him that he was not the evil man hungry for power that his opponents made him out to be. Suyodhana needed to believe in Karna’s sincerity in order to find meaning in his life. No, he could not believe Karna did anything for selfish reasons. He would win the war for them. They all shared a common dream of a better tomorrow for Bharatavarsha – he, Aswathama and Karna. If one of them betrayed another, life would not be worth living anymore. He had to bury all doubts. If Karna proved to be a self-serving man, what then was the point of winning?

  *****

  70 DEATH OF A MLECHA

  THE NIGHT WAS DAMP WITH THE PROMISE of much awaited rain. It was the seventeenth day of carnage in the temple of dharma. Among the thousands crying over the loss of loved ones, one heart-wrenching cry stood apart in its poignancy. Krishna, four of the Pandavas and Draupadi, stood huddled near the fire, too numb to speak, while Bhima sat in the darkness, his howls of grief rising above the howling wind, almost primeval in their intensity.

  “Bhima, please understand that he was a Rakshasa. This is a war and warriors die. It is hard, but that is how life is,” Krishna said. Bhima let out another howl.

  Bhima had been silent until they brought up Khatotkacha’s inert body from the crater. But all hell had broken loose when he was asked to light his son’s funeral pyre. Since then, the second Pandava had not ceased his wordless crying, an agonised howling that went on and on. With words, they tried to reason with him. With pain, he answered them back.

  “It is useless to talk to him,” Krishna said in a tired voice, sitting down near Arjuna.

  “Watching him before, one would never have thought he cared for his Rakshasa son. He did not even speak two words to the boy. But the agony of a silent man is the most painful to watch,” Arjuna said. Bhima’s wails rose again and they all shuddered. “Krishna, is the war worth all this? Dharma has given us only misery. I am not even sure who is righteous and who is evil.” Arjuna shook his head. Far away, smoke from the funeral pyres sna
ked towards heaven.

  “I explained everything to you before the war. If you do not have the answers even now, I have nothing more to say,” Krishna replied.

  “Krishna, I admire your wisdom. Great men will praise those words. Alas, men like Bhima and I do not possess the intelligence to understand your meaning. We are neither rishis nor scholars. I wish I could have cried as he is doing, when I lost Abhimanyu. It is hard to be detached about what I do, Krishna. Why should we fight our own cousins and lose everything?”

  “It is your duty to fight, Arjuna. Don’t worry about the results.”

  “The outcome scares me, Krishna. When all that gives meaning to life is lost, what use is victory? Tomorrow will be terrible. I am not afraid Krishna, but Karna will be a tough opponent, with or without his armour.”

  “Arjuna, just do your duty, the rest will take care of itself. You must take advantage of the slightest opportunity that presents itself.”

  “Karna may be a Suta, but he is a great warrior. Krishna, I wish to win fairly against him, unlike what we did to Pitamaha or Guru...”

  “How naive you still are, Arjuna my friend,” Krishna said with a smile. “Once you win, everything will be considered fair.”

  ***

  Suyodhana had instructed the Brahmin never to leave Karna alone, even for a moment, and to support him in finding Arjuna. But he had other plans. Karna was capable of looking after himself. There was a bigger enemy Aswathama had to take on – one within their own ranks. He should have done it long ago.

  Aswathama rode towards Shakuni. The Gandharan was watching something with unwavering concentration. He had to get the wily foreigner alone. Aswathama assessed his chances of shooting Shakuni, as if by accident. No, Suyodhana would see through it. Besides, the Gandharan wore heavy armour and was a formidable warrior. He ruled out special astras since the casualties on his own side would be huge. That was something the Kauravas could not afford. No, he would not shed the blood of innocents for the sake of one Mlecha.