by Unknown
Unknown to him, four soldiers left Dwaraka after him. Their mission was clear: capture the Suta or kill him. A messenger also left for Hastinapura. He was the first of a galloping relay, carrying an urgent message to the Priest Dhaumya, who would receive it much before Karna's arrival; if Karna managed to reach at all. Someone was taking no chances. In similar fashion, other messengers travelled to the important cities of the Southern Confederate. All the messages were identical: The fly is caught in the trap.
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17 WANTED
HASTINAPURA WAS GETTING READY for the big event. It was the culmination of twelve years of training. The hundred sons of King Dhritarashtra and the five sons of his brother Pandu would show the world they had grown into fine warriors under Guru Drona. Invitations had gone out to the many kingdoms of India - from Gandhara in the West, to Kamarupa in the East, to Kashimira in the North, and Lanka in the South. Many of the invitees were vassal Kings and the invitation constituted an order from the Grand Regent, couched in polite language, to attend the event. Others were friendly States, like Dwaraka and Vanga, and their rulers were present at the grand event as a gesture of goodwill.
It was midnight when Bhishma summoned Vidhura to his chamber. "I am worried about the Southern Confederate. They should not be made to feel insecure by our open display of warriors and arms. Is there any basis for the rumours about Parashurama?" Bhishma did not take his eyes from the pile of palm leaves in front of him.
"The spies say he has yet to regain consciousness. If this is untrue and he is well, it would be risky to invite the wrath of the Confederate." Vidhura waited for Bhishma to lift his gaze from the palm leaves.
"Vidhura, do you imagine I am afraid of war with anyone? The only thing that stops me is my reluctance to break two decades of peace. The Southern Confederate is far away, but Khandiva is nearby. Takshaka has already deposed the last Indra and made him into a puppet. We can expect an attack from his ragtag mob any time." Bhishma placed another palm leaf to his left after reading it.
"Sir, a bigger threat is the worsening law and order situation in the city. Should I flush out that rat, Durjaya? He is using the Gandhara market as a cover for his nefarious activities. It is high time we demolish the market." Vidhura fidgeted, stopping himself from uttering the Gandhara Prince's name.
Bhishma wearily put down the palm leaf he was reading and rubbed his tired eyes. "Vidhura, I have always tried to project a tolerant image towards different races and faiths. I do not want to become a northern version of the Confederate. Demolishing the Gandhara market will be stomping on the rights of the minorities. Durjaya is a petty crook. We can finish him whenever we want. Concentrate on the Nagas and keep a strict watch on the Confederate."
Vidhura wanted to retort that the majority of people like himself, the Shudras and the Untouchables, did not have any rights in Bhishma's tolerant land. But he did not say it aloud and so escaped the wrath of the old man. It would have been an unfair accusation. The Grand Regent had personally vetoed Dhaumya's proposal to reserve all Government posts for Brahmins, only that morning. It was late. Vidhura longed to go home, hug his children, and sleep like a log. He looked outside the window. A lustrous moon bathed the earth in silver light. The peace of the night was misleading.
"What the hell is this?"
Bhishma's question shook Vidhura from his musings. He took the palm leaf from Bhishma's hand and moved to read it in the dim light. The colour drained from his face. "Sir, this is explosive," he said as he handed the message back with a trembling hand.
"Hmm... not yet, but it could very well turn out to be. We have to stop him," Bhishma said gravely. He read the message one more time. It was from the Maharaja of Vatapi, a powerful King of the Southern Confederate. A Shudra boy from Hastinapura had betrayed and insulted the Kings of the Southern Confederate by becoming the Dharmaveera. The Confederate demanded that Hastinapura capture and hand over the scoundrel to them; failing which, the peace treaty would be considered invalid. It was almost an open declaration of war.
"Watch out for him. Send a few capable men to search. Seal all the roads leading to the city. He must be caught at any cost." Bhishma stood up from his seat and began pacing up and down.
"That would be impossible Sir, with the thousands flowing into the city from all over India to watch the grand ceremony. There will be more than 20,000 people in the arena on the day and many more thousands milling around the mela grounds nearby. Nothing like this has happened in two decades and everyone is excited. How can we stop a single man from entering?" Vidhura asked, as he took the message to read.
His hands trembled. Anything untoward happening at the Graduation ceremony was unthinkable. The responsibility was his. "Besides, security arrangements have been beefed up to prevent a possible Naga strike. We do not have the workforce to start a manhunt now. This is apart from the policemen needed to prevent petty mischief like chain snatching and theft, from Durjaya's gang. We are overstretched as it is, Sir." Vidhura was almost pleading now. As an afterthought he added, "Besides, we do not know what he looks like, where he is from, or anything else."
"Vidhura, do not panic. Think with a clear head. If my memory serves, you once took the same boy to Drona, a few years ago. You remember that charioteer... what was his name? His boy wanted to be a warrior and our Guru refused him since he was a Suta."
"Vasusena Karna, Athiratha's son?" Vidhura asked in shock. He had fond memories of the bright and enthusiastic son of the charioteer and still smarted from the insult he had suffered at Drona's hands.
"I believe it is the same boy. I admire his grit and determination. Alas, we live in a petty world. We will have to sacrifice him to avoid a bloody war and loss of life. Capture him alive. I do not want his blood on our hands. His only fault was to be born into the wrong caste. Deliver him to the fanatics of the Southern Confederate and be done with it. I am confident you will find a way to capture him. Just see to it that he does not end up as another Naga rebel. And, of course, keep him away from that crazy Kripa at any cost. We cannot afford any of his pranks right now. Good night, son. Meet me in my chambers early in the morning." The Grand Regent vanished into his private chambers, leaving a worried Vidhura alone.
Vidhura stood in the pale, flickering light of torches that threw haphazardly moving shadows in the corridor, and pushed his tired mind to think clearly. The boy would have grown into a young man by now. How could anyone identify him amongst the thousands who would flock to the city for the ceremony? Vidhura began walking towards his quarters, immersed in thought. Karna would certainly visit his parents. Yes! That was it. He would place guards in disguise near Athiratha's house. But what if Karna thought it better to visit the arena before seeing his parents? No, surveillance of the charioteer's house would not be enough. It would be far better to capture him in the outskirts and send him packing to the South without any fuss. A meeting between Takshaka's men and Karna could prove disastrous.
'Tomorrow I will visit the charioteer's hut along with the Court artist,' Vidhura thought. Perhaps the boy resembled his father. The artist could make a rough portrait of Karna using the father as a model - a younger Athiratha, with more muscle and a well-built body, as they said the young man was a great warrior. He could then send his spies to every nook and corner of the city with copies of the portrait and perhaps they would find him. Better, he would announce a reward for capturing Karna alive and post the pictures around the city. He would merely say Karna was a wanted criminal, and an award of 10,000 gold coins would be sufficient to tempt many to keep a lookout for him. It might just work. Vidhura entered his spartan chamber and gently closed the door. 'Tonight, my family will sleep without me again,' he thought ruefully. It was almost dawn before sleep blessed the harassed Prime Minister of Hastinapura.
***
Another soul was wide-awake with excitement in a distant wing of the palace. Purochana knocked on Shakuni's door a few minutes after Bhishma retired to his cham
bers. After some time, the bureaucrat left the Gandhara Prince's room, disgruntled. The foreign Prince had not shown much enthusiasm for the news he had brought.
"What good will it do Gandhara if a Suta cocks a snook at the fundamentalists of the Southern Confederate?" he asked Purochana. He grudgingly put a few silver coins into the open palm of the bureaucrat for this bit of useless information.
Purochana left cursing the entire lineage of Gandhara under his breath.
But when he had closed the door securely behind Purochana, Shakuni smiled, wanting to yell with joy. He fished out the dice from his waistband and threw them onto the marble table crying out, "Twelve!" When the dice spun and settled on the same number, he rubbed his hands in glee. Looking at the dice he had chiselled from his slain father's thighbone, he chuckled. "Father, things are moving as you would have wished. I can see blood. I can smell death. India... you are finished... war... the BIG WAR... Bhishma, you bastard... I will show you what a Gandharan can do to your country." Shakuni laughed. He dropped to the ground, bowing to the West, again and again.
After a while, his trance broke and he rushed to his writing table. He had urgent work to do. He hurriedly scribbled a note to Durjaya. If the underworld lord could catch the stupid Suta, he could be held hostage while the tension mounted between Hastinapura and the Confederate. Perhaps he could be smuggled to Gandhara and hidden in one of the caves in the mountains while the Indians fought and destroyed each other in a bloody war. The only thing he had to do was plant a rumour that Hastinapura was shielding Karna - who had insulted all those egoistical fools of the South. Things were moving his way sooner than he had expected.
***
"I have done whatever that bloody foreigner has asked. I have made the city unsafe, ensured no one sleeps peacefully, arranged for plunder and arson. Hell, I have even given instructions to my minions to pray facing West, towards his frigid country. Though I do not care one way or the other about that. But what more does he want?" Durjaya glared at Purochana.
"Durjaya, you have done a good job and the Prince is happy with you. But he asks you to expand your activities to other cities as well, even to those of the Southern Confederate. Can you make every city and town in India unsafe?" Purochana took a sip of the expensive wine he had brought as a gift for the underworld king.
"You want Bhishma on my back again? For the pittance your Prince throws at me, I have delivered well."
"Money is not a constraint. Do you have the capability or should I try some of your rival gangs in the city?"
"Are you threatening me, Purochana?"
"Are you feeling threatened, my friend?"
Durjaya glared at the Inspector of Hygiene with distaste. Purochana took another sip and smiled. "Let me hear what he is offering," Durjaya said finally.
Purochana nodded. After much haggling, the price for bleeding India through a thousand cuts was fixed. As an afterthought, Purochana said, "Is catching a Suta too much to ask of you?"
"Stop talking in riddles and tell me the price. What Suta?"
Purochana took the cloth drawing Vidhura had pasted all over the city and placed it on the table in front of Durjaya.
"Bah! For 10,000 coins, you want to me do this? Are you insulting me with petty change now?"
"Fool!" Durjaya winced at the insult. Purochana chuckled to himself. How the equation had changed from his first visit. "Catch him and hold him. If instructions come, smuggle him to Gandhara. You will be rich beyond your wildest dreams."
"Who is this man? Why is he wanted so badly?" asked Durjaya suspiciously.
"He is someone who will change the entire history of this country."
Durjaya stared at Purochana, then at the drawing. Finally, he said, "Tell me the amount."
***
By the next evening, the entire city of Hastinapura was swarming with men looking for Karna. Vidhura's spies and Durjaya's henchmen roamed the streets, scrutinizing the face of every stranger. All prominent corners and junctions had cloth posters with a portrait that resembled the poor charioteer Athiratha in his younger days. The huge bounty on Karna's head was sufficient for many to forget eating and sleeping and join in the hunt for the fugitive instead.
Jara's sleep was disturbed twice. When the night was still young, two police constables came and kicked Dharma the dog into the gutter. They beat the beggar awake and thrust the crude picture of the wanted man in his face. It looked vaguely familiar to Jara, but he shrugged his shoulders and smiled at them, showing his crooked teeth. They cursed him and left, asking him to inform them if he happened to see the man. Jara went back to sleep. The blind dog crawled back to him. In the dead of the night, Durjaya's men woke him again, with a sharp kick to his ribs; showed him the same picture and asked him the same questions. Jara realised something serious was happening.
The thugs went away, giving Jara the same warning the police had. Jara realized who the man was now. It was the charioteer Athiratha, but looking much younger. He and Ekalavya had once visited his house many years ago on the day they had seen Takshaka attacking the Hastinapura fort. His wife had fed them well that night. Jara forgot many things but never acts of kindness, for they were few and far between in his life. He owed the charioteer's family for the food they had given him long ago. They were probably not looking for the charioteer himself but his son, thought Jara. Who would pay so much for a charioteer? If the life of the son was in danger, he ought to do something.
Jara stood up from the footpath he had slept on and began walking towards a tavern on the southern outskirts of the city. There were many paths leading to the city but Jara trusted his instincts. He was sure the fugitive would choose this way. Jara would await his arrival and warn him if possible.
Initially, the tavern owner tried to chase him off, but when he discovered the beggar could sing beautifully about the glories of God, and that travellers stopped to listen to him, he decided to tolerate Jara's presence. It was good for business and the songs the beggar sung were about a compassionate Krishna, and moved tired travellers to tears. Moreover, Jara paid for his food with the coins he earned by singing. The tavern owner could afford that kind of charity. So the beggar sat waiting for his man, singing about his God, with Dharma the blind dog, for company.
***
Unaware of the peril that awaited him, Karna galloped towards Hastinapura. It had been a long and arduous journey. A merchant he met had advised him to travel through the drying bed of the river Saraswati to save time. As Karna rode through the dying river with its ankle-deep water and huge patches of barren sand, he could not help but remember the grand civilizations, which had flourished on its banks thousands of years ago. The history of the grand Asura civilization, with its sprawling cities; and the awe-inspiring stories of the First Indra, who smashed those cities and brought Deva rule to India, flashed through his mind. 'This is where the Vedas were born,' he thought. 'These are the banks upon which the ancient sages sat and pondered upon the Universe and the riddle of life.' Where had the heroes gone? Where were Rama, Ravana, Mahabali, Indra, and Bali - the heroes of the Devas, Asuras, Nagas, and the tribes who had inhabited this holy land? Why did such people no longer exist? 'Perhaps I am being harsh about our modern times, since history has a tendency to scatter gold dust over mundane things. Who knows what those heroes were really like in real life? Some may have been tyrants or despots. Myths acquire colour over time. Perhaps Balarama, or even Krishna, will become a hero, or even a God, as time goes by.'
Karna smiled at the thought. Krishna was already considered a God. He was carefully cultivating his image as an avatar of Lord Vishnu and everything he did was projected as a miracle. Already, among the cattle herders and lower classes, he was thought a God and they prayed to him. The Krishna path was easy. He asked only for people to believe in him and promised miracles would happen in his devotees' lives. He was an easy God to follow. Balarama offered no miracles other than hard work; no heaven other than the here and now; and no sanctuary other than self-belief.
He was a wise man leading a country of fools. 'My country does not deserve Balarama,' Karna thought ruefully.
The clang of an arrow hitting his armour jolted him abruptly from his reverie. He looked around surprised, trying to see where the attack had come from. He stared into the thick shrubs on the left bank of the river and steered his horse towards them. He had whipped out his bow and an arrow gleamed between his rock-steady fingers. He waited for a single move by his unknown enemy to identify his hiding place to finish him off. Not a leaf stirred. But Karna knew enemies were close by. He could sense their presence and feel their eyes watching his every move. He was out in the open and vulnerable - easy prey. His armour had saved him but Karna knew it would just be a matter of time before they aimed at his face and got a lucky hit. Another arrow swished by, perilously close to his ear. It had come from a different angle to the first. It was foolish to wait around for an arrow to pierce his throat.
