by Unknown
Ekalavya shuddered. Finally, the man was showing his true colours. He felt strangely comforted that the expected pattern of behaviour from a social superior had reasserted itself. "We are Nishadas; we were sheltering in the jungle nearby. We saw Takshaka and his gang riding towards the fort." The moment he said it, Ekalavya knew he had made a terrible mistake.
"How do you know his name is Takshaka?" The Prime Minister's immobile face appeared to be carved in stone.
"Oh, everybody in the forest knows," Jara told him. "He comes to the forest and gives us food sometimes. He said he is going to kill all of you one day and then this palace will be for Nishadas and other forest dwellers like the Nagas and Kiratas."
Ekalavya shuddered at Jara's casual words, sure this was the end of their lives. Vidhura remained silent for a while as Ekalavya's legs started trembling.
Finally Vidhura spoke. "If you keep watch on what Takshaka is doing and report back to me, you will be rewarded."
"Will we get food?" Jara asked, his eyes gleaming.
"You will get food and more. For now, keep this." Vidhura threw two copper coins at them.
"What are these?" Jara asked, never having seen or used money.
"Ask your brother. He will tell you how to exchange them for food. There will be more if you report to me about Takshaka."
Ekalavya averted his gaze as Vidhura's dark eyes bored into him. He wished Jara would keep his mouth shut but that did not happen.
"We saw a man like you... in fine dress... he threw down a rope for Takshaka to enter the palace..." Jara stopped when he saw Ekalavya glaring at him.
"Who? Who was it? Tell me!" Vidhura's eyes flashed with anger.
"We do not know his name, Swami. But if we saw him again, we could identify him," Ekalavya quickly added before Jara could say something that would land them in trouble. He tried to keep calm and wondered when this man would let them go.
"Hmm... you may go now," said Vidhura quietly.
Ekalavya grabbed Jara's hand and walked towards the palace gates. He could feel Vidhura's eyes on his back. The guards stopped them to ask whether they were really the Prime Minister's relatives. Before Ekalavya could open his mouth, Jara denied it. Once the guards were sure they were out of Vidhura's sight, they searched the boys and found the copper coin in Jara's fist, and took it. When Jara protested saying the Swami had given it to him, they thrashed him. Ekalavya did not wait for a beating. He threw the other coin down in contempt at their feet and got some satisfaction in seeing the guard bending low, almost touching his feet, to get at it. The other guard saw the derisive smile and slapped Ekalavya across the face.
***
Vidhura was a worried man. He could arrange an identity parade and have the boys point out the traitor but that would alert the spy that his cover had been blown. If it were someone important, it would be hard to nail him on the testimony of two Nishada boys. It was better to wait. He had to find the traitor before he could do any more damage. As he turned, Vidhura saw the profile of a tall man standing on one of the balconies of the first floor of the palace. He was facing West, his head bowed as if in prayer. In a land where everyone worshipped facing the rising sun in the East, it seemed strange that someone was praying facing West. Vidhura waited to see who it was. The man took a long time but when he turned, the rays of the morning sun fell on his face. Vidhura shuddered; it was Shakuni, the Prince of Gandhara. Their eyes met and Vidhura could feel the malevolent energy of those black eyes even from a distance. 'I think I have found the man,' thought Vidhura. But there was no proof. He would have to wait.
***
In the balcony above, Prince Shakuni reiterated the promise he had made to himself when he was barely five years old and Lord Bhishma had laid claim to his ancient land, Gandhara, and crushed it; and then carried off his sister like some common chattel, to be married off to a blind fool who was but a puppet king. Shakuni looked longingly towards the west, where his beloved country lay. Like every other day, he bowed his head and reiterated his vow to destroy India. Yesterday's operation had failed but he would try again. Despite her crooked and confusing caste system, India had her strengths. It was difficult for an outsider to conquer and destroy her. This task had to be carried out by the people of the country itself. Takshaka was only one piece in this game of dice. There were others he was in the process of meticulously placing. The most important one was inside the palace. Shakuni smiled to himself as he moved towards Prince Suyodhana's chamber. It was time for class.
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4 THE CHARIOTER'S SON
KARNA HAD ONCE EXPRESSED HIS SECRET DESIRE to become an archer, to his parents. His father had been silent for many days after. His mother had broached the subject to his father several times in the next few weeks but this had elicited only grunts in reply. Karna had waited, his heart thumping in his chest, praying to Lord Shiva that his father would consent. Then one day, Athiratha asked him to accompany him to the temple. They were not permitted to enter the inner sanctum of the temple as they belonged to one of the lower castes, but were fortunate enough to be allowed access to the outer compound to pray. Acharya Kripa was sitting on an elevated platform under a huge Banyan tree, arguing with his friends. A game of dice was in full flow and the Acharya was on the verge of beating one of his friends when father and son approached him.
Athiratha had taken off his angavastra from his shoulder and tied it around his waist as a mark of respect. He stood a few feet from the Acharya, his eyes fixed to the ground in the deferential manner of a Suta who wished to speak to a Brahmin. Karna waited anxiously behind his father. Kripa stopped his arguments and looked at Athiratha in surprise. What was a charioteer doing here?
"Swami, I have a humble request..."
"I am broke as an earthen pot. I do not have any money to lend you. If I had, I would have enjoyed a few more mugs of wine in the tavern." The Acharya broke into boisterous laughter.
Karna knew Kripa was a maverick Brahmin, who did not care for social and ethical norms. Now that Acharya Drona had come, there were murmurs in the palace that Kripa, for all his learning and skill with arms, would be fired as the Princes' tutor. Kripa behaved as if he had not a care in the world. He could be seen in the tavern from early morning, laughing with his cronies, when other members of his caste were busy with prayers and ablution. The conservative Brahmin community viewed his genius as a threat to their cloistered existence. The other problem was that he was far better versed in the scriptures than any of them; and he was always looking for an argument or fight, with anyone who dared to challenge him. They had no answers to his questions about the scriptures and he deliberately mocked the rigid caste rules by openly flouting them and then quoting the Vedas and Upanishads to justify his actions. Karna knew his father nursed the faint hope that this maverick would help them.
"Swami, I do not seek alms. This is my son, Karna. He desires to be a warrior and learn from you."
"Aha! He wants to be a warrior." Kripa jumped down from the platform he had been perched on and rushed towards Karna. He stopped inches short of Karna's face and peered into his eyes. Karna recoiled instinctively and retreated a few feet. He was afraid of accidentally touching the Brahmin and breaking the caste taboos. Karna could see his father's shocked face. Kripa had already broken the caste rules by coming so near. The Priest at the temple was watching the scene from the gate, a deepening frown on his face. Kripa pushed the boy and Karna staggered back. Then he grabbed Karna by his long hair and lifted him with one hand. He slapped Karna across the face and punched him in the stomach with his strong left hand. Karna winced in pain but refused to cry out.
"Swami... Swami... do not beat him," Athiratha implored.
"Fool! You think this is a beating? Your boy has courage. With proper training, he can be a good warrior. He can withstand pain." Kripa dropped Karna; then swiftly and gracefully jumped back onto the platform. He sat down, his fingers caressing his flowing black beard.
"Will you teach
him, Swami?" Athiratha could barely hold back his tears of joy.
"Why not?" A mischievous smile played on Kripa's thick lips.
"He is a Suta... I mean we are of the Shudra varna, Swami."
"He may be Naga, Nishada, or Mlecha. Why should that concern me? He will be a good warrior." Kripa looked at Karna, who was beaming with pride and joy.
"When should he come, Swami?" asked Athiratha, his head bowed over his folded hands.
"As soon as you can arrange 1000 gold coins," Kripa replied, his face impassive.
"Swami..." Athiratha could not believe his ears! Even if he served the Hastinapura government until he was 60 years old, he would not earn 1000 gold coins. "We are poor, Swami..."
"That is not my fault, dear friend. I do not care what caste your son is. I care for money. Wine is expensive and so are all the other good things in life. My gambling skills are inferior to my skill in arms. When you can pay, send your son and I shall make him the best warrior in India. Otherwise, he can learn to be a charioteer like you."
"But Swami..."
"Fool! I do not have the whole day to waste in speaking to you. My friends are getting impatient. Come with the money and we shall talk." Kripa turned his back to them and resumed his game of dice.
Father and son stood in silence. Not a word passed between them. The sun had climbed high in the sky and dust swirled in the hot wind from the plains. The Priest had gone into the temple with a rich merchant who had come with offerings. Karna could not face his father. The slap and punch he had received from Kripa had begun to hurt. It would have been better if he had refused to teach a Shudra. Karna turned away in shame.
Athiratha put a hand on Karna's shoulder. When the boy looked up, he saw his father's eyes glistening with unshed tears. At that moment, Karna hated himself. Why could he not be like the other boys of his caste and age? A warrior! And he the son of a charioteer. Karna vowed to learn his caste job and try to become the best charioteer in the land, and make his father proud.
"Karna, do not worry. We will find a way. At least he did not refuse to teach you saying you are of inferior caste. I can sell the chariot and our hut may fetch a few hundred coins. I will find some other work. We will find a way."
"I do not want to be a warrior, father. Let us forget about it. It was but a stupid dream."
"Karna... listen to me..."
"I no longer wish to be a warrior, father. Teach me how to drive the chariot. Do not say you will sell the chariot and house for my sake." Karna trembled with anger and shame.
Passing pedestrians stopped to look at them. Hearing the commotion, Kripa turned. Karna's heart missed a beat. Perhaps it had been one of the Acharya's practical jokes and he would now call them and say he had asked for the 1000 gold coins in jest and that Karna could join his classes the next day.
"Go away, you scoundrels. What a ruckus you make! By Nandi, one cannot even play a game of dice without being distracted by idiots screaming their heads off." Kripa threw in a few choice expletives for good measure.
The temple bell clanged as father and son started back towards their hut. The occasional cawing of the crows and the laughter and shouts from Kripa's group, was carried to them on the oppressive air as they walked forlornly through the dusty streets. Once they reached home, Karna went to the well in the backyard without a word. He looked at the wavering reflection of his handsome face in the dark waters deep below. For a moment he was tempted to jump in and finish everything. Then he heard his mother's sobs and his father's broken voice, and he gritted his teeth. 'I have a duty to serve my parents,' he thought. It broke his heart to think he would be nothing but a common charioteer all his life. If not for the love he bore his parents, he would have taken refuge in the dark waters of the well that day.
***
Until Vidhura said he would recommend Karna to Acharya Drona, father and son had never again spoken of the incident with Kripa. Karna had lost all hope of ever becoming a warrior and reconciled himself to a life of servitude. Now, fresh hope sprouted a tiny shoot in his mind. Finally, Lord Shiva had shown mercy towards a poor Suta boy.
Karna was up well before dawn to complete his morning ablutions. He could hardly contain his excitement. He paced up and down in the small mud verandah, waiting for his father to emerge. Even the harsh cawing of crows was like music to his ears. A few early risers were hurrying to the river ghat and the breeze carried the fragrance of jasmine and the faint tinkling of temple bells in the distance. Radha came out first and handed Karna a cup of milk. He drank it impatiently and put down the brass tumbler with a clang on the floor. Then she fussed with his hair and earrings.
"Where is my father?" Karna asked, trying to get away from the affectionate attentions of his mother. He saw his mother smile and knew she would be running to tell the neighbours about their good fortune the moment they had stepped out of the hut. At last his father emerged from his prayer room. Karna jumped down from the veranda and ran into the street.
"Karna, do not be so impatient. Have you prayed?"
Karna felt irritated. He had done all that early in the morning but the last thing he wanted right now was an argument with his father. He stopped and looked up at the sky turning saffron in the east. A glorious sun shone down benevolently. Karna closed his eyes as if to capture the beautiful sight and hold it firmly in his mind. No words of prayer came to him. His emotions were so intense that he was thankful for the absence of words. He felt one with the shining sun. It caressed him with its all-pervading touch and he felt soothed, contented and happy. When Athiratha's hand fell on his shoulder, Karna reluctantly came out of his trance. He smiled and began walking quickly towards the palace. Athiratha looked back at his wife standing in front of their hut, with tears in her eyes. He turned away lest she see the tears brimming in his own. Karna was already many paces ahead and Athiratha walked quickly to catch up with his energetic son. They went past the temple and the Banyan tree, where once again Kripa and his friends were absorbed in their game of dice. Acharya Kripa called out to Athiratha, but the charioteer and his son did not have time to listen as they hurried past - the loud laughter of the decadent Brahmin ringing in their ears.
The guards stopped them at the inner gate of the fort. They stated their purpose. The captain of the guards looked at them suspiciously before sending a soldier to the palace with a message. After a while, the messenger returned to say Vidhura was in conference with Lord Bhishma. They were asked to wait. They waited outside the gate until the sun grew impossibly hot and their shadows shortened into dark pools around their feet. Each passing moment filled them with anxiety. Every time a soldier came from the palace, their hearts beat faster. When they had almost given up hope, thinking the Prime Minister had forgotten his words, the call came. The guard pointed to Vidhura, standing in a corner of the palace gardens. They could hear the faint clash of swords, with Drona barking instructions.
Vidhura smiled at them, apologising for the delay. Karna could not decide whether he was a phony or a truly great man, to be so humble. They crossed the inner and outer fort gates together and entered the palace orchards. As they neared the training grounds, Karna saw that Prince Suyodhana and his brother Sushasana were on their knees in a corner, their heads hanging in shame. Drona was occupied in correcting the stance and aim of Arjuna, the middle Pandava Prince. A small Brahmin boy, who resembled Drona, was collecting the arrows shot by the Princes, while a hefty boy practiced with a mace. The other boys watched Arjuna as he drew his bowstring. The arrow missed the target by a whisker and Drona shook his head in irritation. But Karna was impressed by the boy's proficiency. He shot like a seasoned warrior and it had only been a few weeks since Drona had started his training. 'Perhaps I will be able to shoot like that one day,' thought the son of the charioteer.
"Guru-," Vidhura called out to Drona respectfully.
For a long minute, the Guru did not acknowledge their presence. When he turned, Karna flinched at his expression. Instinctively he knew what was comin
g.
"Yes, Prime Minister. What can I do for you?" Drona silenced his students with a gesture.
"This is Karna." Vidhura pulled the boy from behind his father. "Son of my friend, Athiratha."
"I am in the middle of a class, Prime Minister."
"Guru, Karna wishes to learn from you..."
Karna could sense the lack of confidence in the Prime Minister's voice. Drona remained silent for a long time and Karna's heart almost stopped beating. He clenched his fists.
"I train the Royal Family, Prime Minister," Drona said finally.
"Yesterday, this boy did a great service to our kingdom. I promised..."
"Prime Minister, I have to reiterate that these classes are only for the Princes." Drona looked away, crossing his hands over his chest.
"I have spoken to His Excellency Bhishma. He has said that if you agree, he does not have any problem with this boy's inclusion. In fact, he said Hastinapura needs all the warriors it can get."
