War clouds were gathering swiftly. Even the gentle Yudhishthira had decided to leave his days of clemency behind, and preparations were in full swing. Dhrishtadyumna, Draupadi’s brother and King Drupad’s son, was chosen as the commander-in-chief of the Pandava army. All the troops, the scattered contingents, converged towards the great field of Kurukshetra—the battlefield for the warring cousins and kings. A moat was constructed around the Pandava camp, and soon, tents for all the kings dotted the camp.
The Kaurava forces, too, began their slow march towards the sacred battlefield. Duryodhana asked his great-uncle, Bhishma Pitamaha, to be the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava army but it was only after Duryodhana begged him that he agreed—on two conditions. He emphasized that he would not kill any of the Pandavas, even if it destroyed the Kaurava army. ‘The sons of Pandu and the sons of Dhritrashtra are both dear to me. I will not kill any of them. Only Arjuna is superior to me and may perhaps have the power to kill me. But I cannot slay him,’ said the grand veteran, who was blessed with the boon that he would be killed by no man and the boon of ichamaran or choosing the moment of his death.
The second condition was a peculiar one. He told his great-grandnephew that he would only fight for the Kauravas if Karna did not step on the battlefield of Kurukshetra.
‘I almost feel sorry for Duryodhana,’ rued Uruvi as she sat with her husband in a rare moment of peace. ‘No one seems to be unconditionally on his side; he seems to be surrounded by half-hearted, disinclined warriors. Guru Dronacharya has already said he will only capture, not kill the Pandavas, while King Salya is the maternal uncle of Nakul and Sahadeva and an ardent Pandava supporter who has reluctantly joined the Kaurava side. Bhishma Pitamaha declares that he shall not kill the Pandavas! Karna, you are Duryodhana’s sole trump card and his most fierce loyalist. But you have been crippled by the clever manipulations of Krishna. You have been emotionally blackmailed into not fighting against your own brothers. Is this war or a cruel hunting game?’
‘The consequences of this war have already been decided. Except for Duryodhana, all of us know how it is going to end,’ Karna cut in quietly. ‘And now, it seems I won’t be allowed to fight after all!’ he sighed.
Uruvi was surprised when she heard his words. How could Karna not fight? Was it possible that there was still hope? She listened eagerly as Karna went on, telling her about Bhishma Pitamaha’s second condition. ‘Duryodhana protested vehemently when the old man said that I should not enter the battlefield. Then Bhishma Pitamaha suddenly turned on me and said angrily, “I shall not consider having you, a sutaputra, under my leadership, Karna. I have no respect for you and we have never got along. You call yourself a warrior, but you are not even equal to a sixteenth part of the Pandavas. You are no maha-rathi—instead of being a great warrior, you are an ardha-rathi, who cannot measure up to even an ordinary soldier. You are the man who fled from the Gandharvas when they took Duryodhana prisoner. It was not you but Arjuna who drove back the Gandharvas. Again, it was Arjuna who defeated Duryodhana in the battle at King Virat’s capital and humbled both you and Duryodhana.’”
The grand sire’s unreasonable terms took everyone by surprise, even Uruvi, who had known the grand old patriarch for so long. Karna was Duryodhana’s right arm and the Kaurava army’s ace card,
so Bhishma Pitamaha’s insistence on keeping Karna out of the battlefield was suicidal. Shona was expectedly furious. ‘Radheya, if you are not permitted to fight, I shall not go to the battlefield either,’
he seethed. ‘If that is how war ethics go, I am a sutaputra too, am I not?’
‘No, brother, don’t take that stance,’ answered Karna levelly. ‘If you do that, it will be a sign of revolt. And we cannot afford to have any dissensions now. We have to be fully prepared for the war.
Get ready for it. Go!’ he urged, almost pushing his reluctant brother out of the room.
The more Uruvi thought of the patriarch’s harshness, the more she was convinced that it was not what it seemed. ‘No, there is something wrong somewhere. Karna, Bhishma Pitamaha is the most just and gentle man I have known!’ Uruvi protested earnestly. ‘I can’t believe that he could say such stinging words! There has to be another reason!’ she said agitatedly.
‘He may have his reasons,’ Karna sighed. ‘But I lost my temper too and called him a senile old fool who was clinging to power! I was hurt and so angry that I walked out of the room, but not before telling him: “The pleasure of killing Arjuna rests with me, not you, grand sire.”’
‘Which again is not true,’ Uruvi said quietly. ‘You may have vowed to kill him—but you won’t, will you? Now your vow has lost its force because you know that Arjuna is your own brother.’
Karna turned away. ‘It’s such a lost cause,’ he remarked wearily. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I am here; why was I born? They say there is a reason for your birth, your existence. I am confounded; I have still not found mine. I was born unwanted and lived a life feeling wholly unwelcome in society.
My life seems to be a series of unanswered questions, but whatever my lineage is, I have lived as a sutaputra. So what Bhishma Pitamaha said was not wrong. I am saddened, yes, not by his words, but that I cannot help my friend.’
Uruvi was secretly glad that Karna could not participate in the war, the sudden gleam in her eyes revealing her relief. She saw a new lease of life for her husband. There would be no duel between Karna and Arjuna! Karna did not miss the gleam and was a trifle amused. ‘Do you seriously think anyone can stop me from fighting this war?’ he smiled affectionately at her. ‘Silly girl, stop dreaming!’
Uruvi wondered why the soft-spoken patriarch had acted so uncharacteristically. Her childhood memories of the venerable old man were tender ones, of someone caring, with immense patience.
Even as a child, she had often seen him getting angry at Duryodhana and Shakuni, but he had never raised his voice or used hurtful language. He could not insult Karna but for a purpose, she kept telling herself. There had to be an explanation and she intended to seek it herself.
She decided to talk to Bhishma Pitamaha. No one dared to meet the grand sire because he was an intensely private man. Very few people could muster enough courage to talk to him, except perhaps Uruvi, who was not unnerved by his monumental stature.
She was not intimidated by his hard eyes that seldom lit up. He had an uncanny way of looking through the person in front of him, with an unwavering stare so devoid of expression that many found it discomfiting. But for Uruvi, he was the kindest man, even more than her father.
When she entered the hall where he sat, she noticed with a pang that he looked feeble. His face was pale, his eyes vacant. His powerful shoulders had the dejected droop of a defeated man. He was old, but he seemed to have aged rapidly in the last few months. She hesitated for a moment; was she being impulsive as usual? She suddenly felt reluctant to broach the topic and wondered how she could slip away. But he had seen her. He gave her a long, thoughtful look and said softly, ‘I hope you are not too angry with me, dear. I know I have hurt you.’
To hear the grand sire apologising to her was too much for Uruvi to take. She rushed to him and hugged him. ‘No, sir, please don’t humble yourself in front of me!’ she pleaded. ‘I know you would
never wound me. I am not hurt, I am confused. I want to know why you imposed the condition that Karna is to keep away from the war. As the commander-in-chief, are you not depriving the Kaurava army of its best warrior?’ she asked. ‘You deliberately insulted him so that he would be forced to withdraw from the battle.’
The veteran warrior gave a slight nod, appreciating her shrewdness. ‘No, as I have told you before, I don’t approve of Karna. He has been poisoning Duryodhana’s ears for a long time, and I am neither impressed by his empty boasts nor his show of valour. He is nothing but a sutaputra,’ he reiterated maliciously.
‘You can’t fool me, grand sire. You are too wise a person to label people with their caste and lineage,’ she answered coolly. ‘Otherwise, would you have accepted Queen Satyavati, a matsyagandha, the daughter of a fisherman, as the wife of your father, King Shantanu, and the mother of their sons, Vichitravirya and Chitragandha?’ she said. ‘And if Karna is a sutaputra, ironically, neither King Dhritrashtra nor King Pandu are pure-blooded royals as they claim to be. They were born to kshatriya princesses by a mixed-caste brahmin father—Rishi Vyasa, who himself was the illegitimate son of Rishi Parasher and Satyavati before she married your father. If you look at it this way, the Pandavas and the Kauravas are of mixed blood too, which you may call lowly?’ she taunted.
‘That’s an intelligent but an irreverent argument.’
‘But nevertheless true!’ she retorted. ‘It has never been publicly acknowledged, and therefore they did not suffer the stigma as Karna had to. You have always been liberal and I refuse to believe all those nasty words you threw at Karna! You are hiding something—and I want to know what it is!’
The old man ignored her plea and remained quiet. Uruvi would not give up; her stubborn streak would not allow it. ‘Are you not the same Bhishma Pitamaha who was the first to acknowledge publicly that Karna was a formidable archer, on par or even better than Arjuna? And yet you were also the one who did not utter a word of protest when, at the same event, Bhima insulted Karna by calling him a sutaputra. Why were you silent when you saw that injustice?’
Bhishma Pitamaha did not say a word. Angered by his silence, Uruvi went on relentlessly. ‘You did not intervene even when Draupadi was disrobed in your presence. How did you allow it as you presided over the Raj Sabha? You could have stopped the outrage, so why didn’t you?’ she demanded heatedly. ‘Sir, you have earned the respect of all who know you, but you have done things that I’m sure you’re not proud of! Right from how you kidnapped the three Kashi princesses, Amba, Ambika and Ambalika, for your brother, King Vichitravirya. They were forced to marry him. Were you not responsible for the suicide of Amba, who eventually killed herself because the man she was in love with refused to marry her, fearing the wrath of the great Bhishma? Kings were so petrified of you that you easily bought over their princesses and forced them to marry Kuru princes. You did it with Madri for King Pandu and with Gandhari for King Dhritrashtra. Their feelings were really never considered.
You refused to practise niyoga but you allowed it to be performed by King Vichitravirya’s widows with Rishi Vyasa, your half-brother.’
The old man watched her with a steadfast gaze, his face still. Uruvi pitilessly went on. ‘Later, you allowed a poisonous person like Shakuni to station himself at Hastinapur, knowing full well that he had never forgiven you. You knew he would strike back and seek his revenge some day, but you preferred to keep silent as usual!’ she lashed out. ‘You permitted him his cunning, his deceit, his constant plotting against the Pandavas. You knew he was poisoning Duryodhana’s young, impressionable mind, yet you did not bother to snatch the young prince away from his uncle’s evil influence. Instead, you were a passive witness even when little Bhima was poisoned by Shakuni. Nor did you protest when the Pandavas and Kunti were duped into staying in the lac palace, which was
eventually gutted in an attempt to kill the six of them. Again, you were the silent spectator as the kingdom was divided unwisely between the cousins. It was in your regal presence that a hideous crime like the gross cheating at the dice game was played out. You watched the disrobing of your granddaughter-in-law, Draupadi, by your great-grandsons, yet did nothing—how low could you allow your descendants to stoop, grand sire?’
Uruvi went on, trying to provoke the old man with her caustic words. ‘And how could you see what was happening and not say a single word of anger, of protest? You are the head of the family—
who would dare disobey you? Even now, at this moment, do you have it in you to stop the war between the cousins? Can you not stop the devastation that is going to happen?’ she cried in frustration. ‘For all your noble claims of wisdom and righteousness, you do not have the conviction to stand for the Pandavas. Instead, you side with the depraved Kauravas in the name of family loyalty.
And yet you assert that dharma demands that you shall not kill any Pandava. By personally degrading Karna, you divest your own army of its best warrior. What dharma, grand sire, is this that prevents you from fighting against vice?’
Uruvi stopped abruptly; her torrent of words dried up. Bhishma Pitamaha looked at her thoughtfully, impervious to the contempt in each word she had flung at him.
He had listened with an expressionless face, but the glacial austerity on his face had melted. His voice held a rasping finality in his tone as, at last, he spoke. ‘I fear my own dharma has let me down,’
he began stoically. ‘Like Kripacharya and Dronacharya, I, too, am bound to the Kauravas by servitude, by loyalty. I cannot switch sides as I have to protect the Kuru throne as its loyal servant who has been brought up on the benevolence of the Kuru king. Loyalty to the clan is supreme,’ he said slowly. ‘I have watched the dynasty crumble as young heirs like Prince Chitragandha, King Vichitravirya and King Pandu died premature deaths. I have seen queens like Satyavati, Ambika and Ambalika retire to the forests to escape the pain of watching their race die. It is my fate and my misfortune that I am alive today to see my dear ones eventually kill themselves in a mindless carnage.’
‘And yet your dharma does not tell you to stop this carnage? How can you support those who are in the wrong?’ Uruvi asked swiftly. ‘You are Bhishma, which means “he of the terrible oath”. And you are proving that your oath is terrible—it is your oath of lifelong celibacy and of devotion and loyalty to the king of Hastinapur, whoever he may be, even Duryodhana! How can you claim your oath is your dharma? Isn’t dharma about achieving salvation by facing the world, and being accountable for every action? Isn’t dharma about doing right and being right? Righteousness should rise above friends and relatives; it should not weaken because of love and affection. It has to be fair and, above all, moral. How moral is it to side with the Kauravas knowing they have wronged the Pandavas? How moral was it to be silent when Draupadi was stripped in public? And how moral is it to spurn Karna because he is a sutaputra and stop him from fighting with the Kauravas when they need him the most?’
Uruvi’s temper flared again. ‘How can you call Karna a sutaputra when the Pandavas are not the sons of King Pandu in the first place? They are Kunti’s and Madri’s sons from four different gods, not King Pandu’s! They have no Kuru blood in them at all! Or is it that you are trying to protect your favourite, Arjuna, because you are scared that Karna will kill him?’ she taunted. ‘Does your love for Arjuna make you so weak that you deprive another person of his rights, his self-respect?’
‘Silence!’ roared the patriarch, his face red with fury, his eyes blazing. “I have heard enough of your nonsense! What you are uttering is blasphemy! I am trying to be fair to both sides…they and Karna are all my great-grandnephews after all!’
There was a stunned silence. Uruvi gave a triumphant smile and Bhishma Pitamaha knew he had been tricked into blurting out the truth buried deep over the years. Uruvi looked up at him with renewed respect. ‘Oh, sir, you are trying to protect your great-grandnephews from certain death, isn’t it? But your pretence and your feigned anger cannot save Karna any more!’ she said sadly. ‘If you knew all along that Karna, too, was your great-grandnephew like Arjuna and Duryodhana, why did you not give him his due right as the oldest Kuru prince? Why, oh, why, did you again keep silent and when the grossest injustice was done to him? He was a prince, but your silence let him be cursed as a low-caste orphan! You recognized Karna as your great-grandnephew at the archery contest at Hastinapur years ago, but you did not announce his true credentials—that he was a royal-born man.
That he was the eldest Pandava, the eldest Kuru grandson, fit to be the scion of your royal family. If you had publicly declared that, we would not be facing the worst moments of our lives. Instead, you allowed Bhima to mock him as a sutaputra, forcing Karna to take the hand of Duryodhana in everlasting friendship. Now you talk about avoiding a confrontation between Karna and Arjuna when you had the power to do so from the very beginning.’
‘How could I declare the golden boy Karna was actually the eldest Pandava? For that, I would have to cast an aspersion on my daughter-in-law, Kunti,’ he said helplessly. ‘Yes, I knew about Karna’s true identity through Rishi Vyasa. So did Guru Parshurama and Krishna. All of us kept silent because it was up to the mother of the child to own up to the truth. We have no right to do so. It was
‘How could I declare the golden boy Karna was actually the eldest Pandava? For that, I would have to cast an aspersion on my daughter-in-law, Kunti,’ he said helplessly. ‘Yes, I knew about Karna’s true identity through Rishi Vyasa. So did Guru Parshurama and Krishna. All of us kept silent because it was up to the mother of the child to own up to the truth. We have no right to do so. It was