A Week in Translations: Karna

an excerpt from…

The vast expanse of the Kurukshetra battlefield had never looked more desolate. The earth, despite the blazing sun above, seemed to have lost its vigour. After a pyrrhic battle, it was time for the funeral pyres to be lit. The mighty warriors, who had fought without a care for their own lives, now had their heads bowed, searching for the dead bodies of their valiant companions. At the end of it, victory and defeat had lost meaning. The very chariots whose wheels had rutted the earth now lay in shambles on the field. The war trumpets, whose sounds were enough to energize even the dead, now were conspicuous by their silence. The conch shells, whose solemn sounds had announced a victory lay carelessly on the earth littered with broken arrows. The shadows of the hungry vultures circling overhead threatened to darken the battlefield. The mighty Pandavas and other warriors like Dhaumya, Vidur and Yuyutsu, with the help of their servants, continued to perform the last rites. One after the other, the pyres were being lit. Dark, dense clouds darkened the skies over the pious land of Kurukshetra, where a golden hull had once ploughed the earth.

The warriors, having completed their task, walked towards the banks of the Ganga as the sun descended towards the western horizon. The sight of the sacred river did not help to soothe their hearts burdened by the loss of their dear ones. Indifferent to the hot sand scorching their feet, they looked around with vacant eyes. The raging funeral pyres had subsumed the ecstasy of victory as well as the agony of defeat.

A small tent had been erected on the sandy banks of the river where the women from the royal household waited for the men. Seeing the men walk towards the river with their heads bowed, they stood up to join them.

Yudhishthira stood in the midst of the flowing stream, the waters lapping at his knees while Rajmata Kunti sat on a patch of green grass with Draupadi standing near her. Behind them stood Krishna, calm as always. The other Pandava brothers—Bheema, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva—sat on the banks, their hearts overcome with sorrow. The arrogance of having vanquished the enemy, the zeal of having fulfilled a vow, or the joy of having emerged victorious had all lost their meaning. The time for a display of might was over. What remained were the memories of those who had lost their lives to achieve a victory, tragic at best.

Yudhishthira offered oblations to each of the dead. The very mention of each name triggered memories, and the tears continued to flow unabated. Soon, all the dead had been honoured. Yudhishthira asked, without turning back, ‘Have I forgotten anyone by any chance?’

Those on the banks looked at each other askance. They could not recall anyone.

Yudhishthira’s words pierced Rajmata Kunti’s heart and she started shivering, her lips turning dry. Her tear-filled eyes looked at Krishna beseechingly.

Krishna, staring blankly at the flowing waters of the Ganga, could not hold back his tears.

Yudhishthira was about to turn when Kunti, finally finding her voice, screamed, ‘Krishna!’ Krishna looked at her as she implored, ‘Krishna, won’t you?’ She could not speak further. Everyone turned to Krishna, curious about what he would do.

Letting out a deep sigh and adjusting the angavastram on his shoulders, Krishna walked towards the river. ‘Wait! Dharma, wait!’

Yudhishthira was surprised. ‘I have performed the oblations for all …’

Krishna shook his head. ‘No. There is one left.’

‘Impossible! Krishna, the defeated may forget their dead, but the victorious never do. I realize the futility of the victory when I perform oblations, but I would not forget those who have sacrificed their lives for us.’

Krishna, for once, struggled with words. ‘Dharma, he was the one who accepted death to make you victorious. A warrior you considered an enemy, but one who never forgot the ties of blood. There was only one such …’

Dharma was agonized listening to Krishna. ‘Pitamah Bhishmacharya? But that’s impossible! He is waiting for Uttarayan. He has a boon to shed his body when he wishes to, and there is time for Uttarayan yet. Are you saying he …’

‘No, Dharma. I am talking of Maharathi Karna …’

‘What! Karna? Radheya?’ Yudhishthira erupted angrily. ‘Krishna, there is a limit to my patience. I am true to my dharma, but I won’t give offerings to one I consider my enemy.’

‘Even if he were family?’

‘Krishna, I may choose to give offerings to the Kauravas for once but … Karna?’

‘Listen to me before you say another word!’ Krishna interrupted. ‘Maharathi Karna is your eldest brother.’

‘Krishna!’

‘He was not Radheya. He was Kaunteya—Kuntiputra.’

‘Lies!’ Yudhishthira covered his ears with his palms, not wanting to hear any more.

Krishna could not hold his tears as they flowed freely down his cheeks.

Dharma threw a questioning glance at his mother only to find her looking down, her chin resting on her palms, her elbows on her knees as she sat on the grass. Her silence conveyed everything.

The other Pandavas stood up, unable to believe what they had just heard.

‘Yudhishthira, control yourself! No one can stop what fate had in store. Karna was the son of Surya and a boon Mata Kunti received when she was not yet married. Karna was the eldest and the best amongst Kunti’s sons. It is your duty to offer your oblations to him. I am telling the truth. Yudhishthira, I urge you—offer your prayers to Karna in respect for his being a Kaunteya, in humility for him being the eldest of you lot and in gratitude for his exemplary charity.’

Yudhishthira, the very essence of self-restraint, was shaken by Krishna’s words. With great difficulty, he cupped his hands with the waters of the Ganga and said, ‘In the arrogance of victory and my ignorance of who you are, I had always wished you dead. O Karna, my eldest brother and the best amongst Kunti’s sons, I, Yudhishthira …’ he faltered. The water slipped out of his fingers and fell, making a small dent in the flow of the river for a fleeting moment before merging into the stream. Yudhishthira collapsed into the waters.