On this page
When Krishna came back through the assembly at Hastinapura, he did not walk straight to his chariot. As he was leaving he took the hand of Karna, the son of Radha, and with great honor seated him at his own side on his own car. The old Bhishma, Drona, and the other chief men of the Kuru line who had followed him out, he dismissed, and taking Satyaki with him, with Karna seated beside him, the delight of the Yadus rode out beyond the city. The car went slowly, and on that moving car Madhusudana began the thing that Karna had never once heard from any mouth. Behind him, in the assembly he had left, the Kurus said to one another, “Ignorance has caught the whole earth in the meshes of death. Through Duryodhana’s folly all this is bound for ruin.” And Krishna’s chariot, with Karna at his side, went on.
Krishna’s secret words on the chariot
Vasudeva spoke in a voice both sweet and grave. “Radheya, son of Radha, you have served many Brahmanas who know the Vedas to their depth. With a settled mind, free of envy, you have asked them again and again about the truth. And so, Karna, you know the eternal sayings of the Vedas, and you are skilled in the finest conclusions of the scriptures.
“Hear me now. Those who know the scriptures say that the two kinds of sons born of a maiden, the ones called Kanina and Sahoda, have for their father the man who later weds that maiden. You, Karna, were born in just this way. In the eye of dharma you are therefore a son of Pandu. Come, then, and be a king, as the scriptures direct. On your father’s side stand the sons of Pritha, your own blood; on your mother’s side stand the Vrishnis, your kin. Know, best of men, that both these houses are yours.”
A key to reading this (Kanina and Sahoda): a kanina is a son a woman bears before marriage, in her maidenhood; a sahoda is one she carries in the womb into the marriage she then makes. The old law-books count both as the son of the man who later weds her. Krishna leans on this rule to argue that because Kunti married Pandu, Karna stands, in the eye of dharma, as Pandu’s eldest son.
Krishna went on. “Come with me this very day, dear one, and let the Pandavas learn that you are Kunti’s son, born before Yudhishthira himself. Then those five brothers, the sons of Draupadi, and Subhadra’s unconquerable son Abhimanyu, will all touch your feet. Every king and prince gathered for the Pandava cause, and all the Andhakas and Vrishnis, will bow at your feet. Queens and princesses will bring jars of gold and silver and earth, filled with water, and fine herbs, and every kind of seed, and gems, and creepers, for your anointing. And on the sixth day Draupadi too will come to you as a wife.
“Brahmanas as great as Dhaumya, their souls held in check, will pour clarified butter on the sacred fire, and those who hold the four Vedas to be authority and serve as priests to the Pandavas will perform the rite of your crowning. The family priest of the Pandavas, the five sons of Pandu themselves, the five sons of Draupadi, the Panchalas, the Chedis, and I too will anoint you lord of the whole earth. Yudhishthira, the son of Dharma, will be your heir apparent, ruling the kingdom under you. He will hold the white chamara in his hand and ride the same car behind you. When the anointing is done, the strong Bhimasena, son of Kunti, will hold the white umbrella over your head. Arjuna will drive your car, the one hung with a hundred small bells, its sides covered with tiger skin, white horses yoked to it. Nakula and Sahadeva, the five sons of Draupadi, and the Panchalas with the great car-warrior Sikhandin will come behind you. I myself will walk behind you with all the Andhakas and Vrishnis.
“Enjoy the sovereignty of the earth, mighty-armed one, with your brothers the Pandavas, amid japa and homa and every kind of blessing-rite done in your honor. Let the Dravidas, the Kuntalas, the Andhras, and the other peoples walk before you. Let chanters and praise-singers hymn you with countless songs. Let the Pandavas cry out, ‘Victory to Vasusena.’ As the stars ring the moon, so ringed by the Pandavas, son of Kunti, rule your kingdom and make Kunti glad. Let your friends rejoice and your enemies grieve. Let there be, this very day, a brother’s meeting between you and your brothers, the sons of Pandu.”
A key to reading this (Vasusena): Vasusena is the name Karna’s foster father Adhiratha had the Brahmanas give him. Krishna chooses that very name on purpose, as if to remind Karna that whatever his father called him, by blood he is Kunti’s son and the elder brother of the Pandavas.
There was nothing half-hearted in the offer. Krishna was placing the empire of the whole earth in Karna’s hands, and with it the love of brothers, of a mother, of a whole house, all the belonging that had been kept from Karna his whole life. From Magadha down to the peoples of the south, all of it. And deeper than any of that, Yudhishthira himself was ready to sit on the car behind him and wave the white fan.
The gist: Krishna seats Karna on his car and, in private, opens the secret of his birth. He is born of Surya, Kunti’s firstborn, elder even than Yudhishthira, and so in dharma a son of Pandu. In return Krishna lays before him the kingdom of the whole earth, Yudhishthira as heir apparent under him, and the love of brothers and mother, all of it offered at once.
Karna’s answer: the bond of gratitude
Karna said, “There is no doubt, Kesava, that you have spoken these words to me out of love and affection and friendship, and out of your wish to do me good, son of the Vrishnis. All that you have said, I understand. In the eye of dharma, and by the rule of the scriptures too, I am a son of Pandu, just as you, Krishna, hold me to be. My mother carried me in her womb while she was still a maiden, Janardana, through her union with Surya. And at Surya’s own command, the moment I was born, she gave me up. That is how I came into this world, Krishna. So in dharma I am the son of Pandu. And Kunti gave me up without a thought for what might become of me.
“The Suta Adhiratha, the moment he saw me, carried me to his home, and out of the love he felt for me, Radha’s breasts filled with milk that same day. He cleansed me, Madhava, of my own filth. How could a man like me, who knows his duties and has spent his life listening to the scriptures, rob them of their Pinda? Adhiratha the Suta holds me for his son, and I, out of love, have always held him for my father. Out of a father’s love he had all the rites of my childhood performed by the scriptures’ own rule. It was he who had the Brahmanas give me the name Vasusena. When I came to my youth I married the wives he chose for me. Through them my sons and grandsons were born, Janardana. My heart, and every bond of love and affection, is fixed on them. In joy or in fear, Govinda, I would not dare to break those bonds, not for the whole earth, not for heaps of gold.
A key to reading this (Pinda): the pinda is the offering of food a child makes to the departed ancestors, so that their onward passage is secure. Karna is saying that to deny Adhiratha and Radha his pinda, that is, his son’s duty toward them, would be a grave wrong against the parents who raised him.
“Through my tie to Duryodhana of Dhritarashtra’s house, Krishna, I have enjoyed a kingdom for thirteen years, with nothing to prick me. I have performed many sacrifices, though always among people of the Suta caste. All my family rites and my marriage rites were done with Sutas. Having won me, son of the Vrishnis, Duryodhana made this whole preparation for war and took up his quarrel with the Pandavas. And it is for this, Achyuta, that in the coming battle I have been chosen as Arjuna’s rival, to go against him in single combat. Not for death, not for the ties of blood, not for fear or reward, would I dare to play false with the wise son of Dhritarashtra. If I hold back now from single combat with Arjuna, it will be a disgrace for us both, for me and for Partha.
“Beyond all doubt, Madhusudana, you have said this only to do me good. And the Pandavas, obedient to you, will surely do exactly as you have said. But I have one request, that you keep this talk of ours secret for now, Madhusudana. Our good lies in that, I believe, delight of the Yadus. If the true and self-ruled king Yudhishthira comes to know me as Kunti’s eldest son, he will never take the kingdom. And even if this vast empire were to come to me, I would hand it straight over to Duryodhana. Let the righteous Yudhishthira be king for all time. The man whose guide is Hrishikesa, whose warriors are Dhananjaya and the great Bhima, Nakula and Sahadeva and the sons of Draupadi, that is the man fit to rule the whole earth.”
A sub-tale: Karna reveals here a deep reading of Yudhishthira’s nature. He knows that Yudhishthira is so bound to dharma that if he learned Karna was his elder brother, the rule of the elder’s right would make him place the kingdom in Karna’s hands and step aside. And Karna would then give that kingdom to Duryodhana, since his loyalty was fixed there. In this single thought Karna sees, at once, his own fate and Yudhishthira’s, and that is why he begs that the secret be kept.
The gist: Karna accepts the truth, that he is the son of Surya and Kunti, and still turns down the kingdom. The debt he owes Radha and Adhiratha for the love that raised him, and thirteen years of gratitude to Duryodhana, hold him fast. He asks that the secret be kept, because the moment he learns it, the dharma-bound Yudhishthira would give him the throne, which he would only pass on to Duryodhana.
The sacrifice of weapons: Karna’s vision of war
Then Karna opened a strange figure, in which he saw the coming war itself as one great sacrifice. “Son of the Vrishnis, a great sacrifice of arms is about to be held by Dhritarashtra’s son. You, Janardana, will be the Upadrashtri, the overseeing witness, of that sacrifice. The office of Adhvaryu, the one who performs the rites, will also be yours, Krishna. The ape-bannered Vibhatsu, Arjuna in his armor, will be the Hotri, the chief officiant; Gandiva will be the sacrificial ladle; and the prowess of the warriors will be the clarified butter poured into the fire.
“The weapons Arjuna sends forth, the Aindra, the Pasupata, the Brahma, and the Sthunakarna, will be the mantras of this sacrifice, Madhava. Subhadra’s son Abhimanyu, the equal of his father or greater than him in prowess, will be the chief Vedic hymn. Bhima, destroyer of elephant ranks, roarer of terrible roars in battle, mightiest of the mighty, will be the Udgatri and the Prastotri of this sacrifice. Yudhishthira, the righteous soul forever at his japa and homa, will himself be the Brahma of the rite. The blast of conches, tabors, and drums, and the lion-roar rising into the sky, will be the calls that summon the guests to eat.
“The two sons of Madri, Nakula and Sahadeva, will be the slayers of the sacrificial animals. The rows of bright cars, dressed in banners of many colors, will be the stakes to which the victims are tied. Swords will be the Kapalas, the skull-bowls; the heads of slain warriors, the Purodasas, the sacrificial cakes; and the blood of warriors, the clarified butter. The disciples of Drona and of Kripa will be the Sadasyas, the assisting priests. Satyaki will be the chief helper of the Adhvaryu. The one who holds this sacrifice will be Dhritarashtra’s son, and this vast army will be his wife. When the night-rites of the sacrifice begin, the mighty Ghatotkacha will take the part of the slayer of victims. Dhrishtadyumna, the great one who sprang from the sacrificial fire, will be the Dakshina, the fee, of this sacrifice, Krishna.
“For those harsh words I once spoke to the Pandavas to please Dhritarashtra’s son, for that wrong conduct of mine, Krishna, regret is burning in me. When you see me slain by Arjuna, then the renewal of this sacrifice will begin. When Bhima, the second son of Pandu, drinks the blood of the roaring Dussasana, then the Soma-drinking of this sacrifice will be complete. When the two princes of Panchala, Dhrishtadyumna and Sikhandin, bring down Drona and Bhishma, then, Janardana, the sacrifice will halt for a while. And when the mighty Bhimasena kills Duryodhana, then, Madhava, this sacrifice of Dhritarashtra’s son will be finished. And when the wives of Dhritarashtra’s sons and grandsons, robbed of husbands and sons, without a protector, with Gandhari in their midst, weep on a field of battle crowded with dogs and vultures, then, Janardana, the final bath of this sacrifice will be taken.
A key to reading this (the final bath and the ritviks): a Brahmanical sacrifice has many offices, among them the Brahma who presides, the Adhvaryu who performs the acts, the Hotri who makes the invocations, the Udgatri who sings the Saman chants, the Prastotri, and the Sadasyas who assist. The purifying bath the sacrificer takes at the close is called the avabhritha. Karna sets all these offices on the figures and events of the war and so sees the whole great battle as one sacrifice of blood, whose final bath will be the weeping of the Kuru women.
“Bull of the Kshatriya race, I beg you, let not the Kshatriyas old in learning and old in years die a mean death for your sake. Let this swelling host of Kshatriyas be brought down by weapons on Kurukshetra, the most sacred spot in all the three worlds, Kesava, so that the whole order of Kshatriyas may reach heaven. As long as the hills and the rivers last, the fame of these deeds will last. The Brahmanas will sing this great war of the Bharatas. Kesava, bring Kunti’s son Arjuna before me for battle, and keep this talk of ours forever secret, tamer of foes.”
The gist: Karna sees the coming war as one vast sacrifice of arms, in which the warriors are the priests, the weapons the mantras, the blood the clarified butter, and the severed heads the sacrificial cakes. He foresees his own death, the blood of Dussasana, the fall of Bhishma and Drona, and the killing of Duryodhana, and he calls the weeping of the Kuru women the final bath of this sacrifice.
Krishna’s smile, and Karna’s omens
Hearing these words, Madhusudana said with a smile, “Do the means of winning an empire not appeal to you, Karna? Have you no wish to rule the whole earth that I offer you? Then the victory of the Pandavas is certain, there is no longer any doubt of it. That triumph-banner of Pandu’s son, with the terrible ape upon it, seems already planted. The divine craftsman Bhaumana has worked such celestial illusion into it that it stands as high as Indra’s own flag. Strange and dreadful shapes, all signs of victory, are seen on that standard. Reaching a yojana upward and on every side, radiant as fire, Arjuna’s beautiful banner, once raised, is stopped by no hill and no tree.
“When you see Arjuna in battle on his car of white horses, driven by Krishna, loosing the Aindra, the Agneya, and the Maruta weapons, and when you hear the twang of Gandiva splitting the sky like a thunderbolt, then all the marks of the Krita, the Treta, and the Dwapara ages will vanish, and Kali himself will stand present. When you see in battle the invincible Yudhishthira, sunk in his japa and homa and blazing like the sun, guarding his own army and burning the army of his foes, then those marks of the three ages will vanish. When you see Bhimasena drunk on the blood of Dussasana, dancing like a rutting elephant, then those marks will vanish. When you see the two sons of Madri in battle, churning the army of Dhritarashtra’s sons the moment weapons clash, like a pair of maddened elephants, then those marks will vanish.
“Go back, Karna, and tell Drona, and Santanu’s son Bhishma, and Kripa, that this month is a fair one, that food and water and firewood are plentiful now. Every plant and herb is green, every tree heavy with fruit, and there are no flies. The roads are free of mud, and the water is sweet. The weather is neither too hot nor too cold. Seven days from now is the day of the new moon. Let the battle begin on that day, for it is said to be presided over by Indra. And tell all the kings who have come to fight that I will grant them their desire, that every king and prince who obeys Duryodhana’s command will, meeting death by weapons, reach the highest state.”
Hearing these kind and blessing-laden words of Kesava, Karna paid his worship to Krishna, the slayer of Madhu, and said, “Knowing all of it, mighty-armed one, why do you try to lead me astray? The ruin of the whole earth is near, and its cause is Shakuni, and I, and Dussasana, and king Duryodhana. Beyond doubt, Krishna, a terrible war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas is near, one that will cover the earth in bloody mire. All the kings and princes who follow Duryodhana will burn in the fire of weapons and go to the house of Yama.
“Many fearful sights appear, Madhusudana, and many terrible omens. That planet of fierce light, Sanaischara, Saturn, is troubling the star Rohini, as if to bring great suffering on the creatures of the earth. Angaraka, Mars, wheeling toward Jeshtha, moves on toward Anuradha, which points to a savage slaughter of friends. The spot on the moon’s disc has shifted from its place, and Rahu too is closing on the sun. Meteors fall from the sky with loud noise and trembling flight. The elephants send up dreadful cries, and the horses are shedding tears, taking no pleasure in food or water. In Duryodhana’s army the elephants, horses, and men eat little and void much, and the wise call this a sign of defeat.
A sub-tale: Karna told a dream here as well. He had seen Yudhishthira and his brothers, in white robes and white turbans, climbing a palace of a thousand columns and taking their seats on white thrones. In the same dream Krishna was covering the blood-dyed earth with weapons. Yudhishthira, mounting a heap of bones, was eating buttered payasa from a golden bowl and swallowing the earth handed to him by Krishna, a sign that he would rule the earth. Bhima stood on a peak, mace in hand, as if devouring the earth. Nakula, Sahadeva, and Satyaki appeared in white ornaments, white armor, white garlands, and white robes, with umbrellas held over their heads. On the Kaurava side only three, Aswatthaman, Kripa, and Kritavarman, wore white turbans, while all the other kings wore turbans red as blood. And Bhishma and Drona, on a car drawn by camels, with Karna himself and Duryodhana, were going toward the quarter of Agastya, the south, the quarter of Yama, a sign that they would soon reach the house of Yama.
Krishna said, “Truly, Karna, the ruin of the earth is near, when my words find no welcome in your heart. Dear one, when the destruction of all creatures draws close, wrong puts on the face of right and will not leave the heart.”
Karna said, “If, Krishna, we come alive out of this ruinous great war of heroic Kshatriyas, then, mighty-armed one, we will meet here again. And if not, Krishna, we will surely meet in heaven. Sinless one, it seems to me now that only there is our meeting possible.” With these words Karna pressed Madhava hard to his heart. Taking his leave of Kesava, he stepped down from the car, and mounting his own car dressed in gold, sunk in dejection, he came back with us.
The gist: Krishna, with a smile, hints to Karna at the certain victory of the Pandavas and the coming of the age of Kali. Karna reads the sly turn in it, and yet, recounting many ill omens and his own dream, he holds that the Kuru house is bound for the house of Yama. Both take their leave knowing that their next meeting may come only in heaven.
Kunti’s resolve
Krishna’s plea for peace had failed, and as he set out for the Pandavas, Vidura, the Kshatta, came to Pritha, to Kunti, and said to her slowly, in grief, “Mother of living children, you know that my leaning has always been toward peace, and however I plead, Suyodhana will not heed me. Old Dhritarashtra too, drunk on love of his sons, walks a sinful road. Through the wickedness of Jayadratha, Karna, Dussasana, and Suvala’s son Shakuni, this house will break apart from within. When Kesava returns without a peace, the Pandavas will surely turn to war, and the sin of the Kurus will bring the ruin of heroes. Turning all this over, I get no sleep by day or by night.”
Hearing Vidura’s words, Kunti began to draw long breaths, and heavy with grief she thought within herself, “A curse on the wealth for whose sake this great slaughter of kinsmen is about to happen. In this war even those who are friends will be beaten. And yet if we do not fight, poverty and disgrace will be ours. The slaughter of one’s own kin is no victory. Bhishma, Drona, and Karna, these three, have taken Duryodhana’s side, and they have swelled my fears. Still, I think Drona will not fight his own pupils with a whole heart. And the grandsire Bhishma, why should he not keep some affection for the Pandavas? It is only this sinful Karna, who follows the wicked lead of Duryodhana and hates the Pandavas, and who is very strong besides. This is what burns me. This very day I will go to him, tell him the truth, and try to draw his heart toward the Pandavas.”
A sub-tale: Kunti remembered the mantra that had come to her in her maidenhood. When she lived in the inner rooms of her father Kuntibhoja’s palace, the sage Durvasa, pleased with her, had given her as a boon a mantra of invocation. Long she had turned over, with a trembling heart, the power of that mantra and the force of the Brahmana’s word, and being a woman by nature and a girl of unripe years, she had weighed again and again how to draw no reproach, how to keep her father’s honor, and how good fortune might come to her without any fault. Then, guarded by a trusted nurse and ringed by her maids, out of curiosity and the folly of a child, she had recited the mantra and called down the sun god. And the one held in her womb during her maidenhood, why should he not heed his mother’s words, spoken for the good of his brothers?
With this resolve made, Kunti went to the sacred bank of the Bhagirathi. Reaching the shore of the Ganga, Pritha heard her son, who was full of kindness and firmly set on truth, reciting the Vedic hymns. Karna stood with his face to the east and his arms raised. Then the helpless Kunti, for the sake of her errand, stood behind him and waited for his prayer to end. That daughter of the Vrishni house, that bride of the Kuru line, wilting in the heat of the sun, came to look like a faded garland of lotuses. At last she stood in the shade of Karna’s upper garment. Karna held to his vow and prayed until the sun’s rays had scorched his back. Then he turned and saw Kunti, and was filled with wonder. Joining his palms in proper form, that man of great energy and pride, Vrisha, the son of Vikartana, bowed to her and spoke.
A key to reading this (Vrisha, son of Vikartana): from one of the sun’s names, Vikartana, the one who scatters his rays, Karna is also called Vaikartana. Vrisha is another of his names, marking his firm vows and his hold on dharma. Here the story points to Karna as the son of the sun, at the very moment when the mother who bore him steps before him for the first time.
The gist: Vidura’s words of despair harden into a resolve in Kunti. She will tell Karna the truth and try to draw him to the Pandavas. Remembering how Durvasa’s mantra had summoned the sun, she goes to the bank of the Ganga, where Karna is at his worship, and stands in the shade of his upper garment, bearing the heat, waiting for his prayer to end.
The mother’s plea on the Ganga bank
Karna said, “I am Karna, son of Radha and Adhiratha. Why have you come here, lady? Tell me, what may I do for you?”
Kunti said, “You are Kunti’s son, not Radha’s. Adhiratha is not your father. You, Karna, were never born in the Suta order. Believe what I tell you. I brought you forth while I was still a maiden. It was I who first held you in my womb. You were born, my son, in the palace of Kuntiraja. That divine sun, Karna, who blazes in light and makes all things seen, it was he, best of all who bear weapons, who begot you upon me. Unconquerable son, in my father’s house you were born, decked with earrings that grew from your body and clad in a coat of mail that grew from your body, shining with beauty.
“That you should serve Dhritarashtra’s son in ignorance, not knowing your own brothers, is not right, my son, and least of all right for a man like you. To please one’s father, and above all one’s mother, who alone is the source of a child’s every tenderness, is called the highest of all human duties. The prosperity Arjuna once won for Yudhishthira has been seized by greedy and wicked men. Snatch it back from Dhritarashtra’s sons and enjoy it yourself. Let the Kurus see today the joining of Karna and Arjuna. Seeing the two of you bound in a brother’s love, let those wicked men bow before you. Let Karna and Arjuna be named in one breath, as Rama and Janardana are. If the two of you are made one, what in the world cannot be done?
“Ringed by your brothers, Karna, you will surely blaze like Brahma ringed by the gods on the ground of a great sacrifice. Rich in every virtue, you are the first of all my kin. Let the word ‘Suta’s son’ cling to you no longer. You are Partha, filled with great energy.”
As Kunti finished, Karna heard a voice full of affection come out of the disc of the sun. From far off it came, spoken by Surya himself with a father’s love. “What Pritha has said is true. Karna, act by your mother’s words. Tiger among men, if you follow those words to the full, great good will come to you.”
The gist: Kunti tells Karna the truth, that he is her maidenhood’s son, born of Surya, come into the world already wearing his armor and earrings. She begs him to join Arjuna and stand with the Pandavas, since to please a mother is the highest of duties. Surya himself, from the sky, says the same.
Karna’s refusal, and the pledge of safety to four brothers
Though his mother had spoken, and his father Surya as well, Karna’s heart did not move, for he was firmly set on truth. He said, “Kshatriya lady, I cannot accept what you say, that obedience to your command is my highest duty. Mother, you gave me up the moment I was born. That great wrong you did me, one that put my very life at risk, has ruined my deeds and my fame. If I am a Kshatriya, then because of you I have gone without all the rites of a Kshatriya. What enemy could have done me a greater harm? When you should have shown me mercy you showed none, and having left me stripped of all the rites owed to the order of my birth, today you lay your command on me. You never once sought my good as a mother should. And today you speak to me, and it is your own good you seek.
“Who would not fear Dhananjaya, with Krishna for his charioteer? If I go over to the Parthas now, who will not think I do it out of fear? No one has known me until now as their brother. If, on the very eve of battle, I go to the Pandavas announcing that I am their brother, what will all the Kshatriyas say? Dhritarashtra’s sons have furnished me with every object of my desire and honored me to keep me content. How can I let that friendship come to nothing? Taking on the enmity of others, they wait on me with respect, and bow to me as the Vasus bow to Vasava, to Indra. They believe that with my strength behind them they can face the foe. How can I break the hope they have nursed? They have made me their boat, meaning to cross the impassable sea of battle. Those who wish to reach the far shore, how can I abandon them, when there is no other landing?
“This is the hour when all who are kept by Dhritarashtra’s sons should strive for their masters. I will surely act for them, with no thought even for my life. Those wicked men of unsteady heart who, well-fed and well-furnished by their masters, waste the benefit when the time comes to repay it, are thieves of their master’s food, and for them there is neither this world nor the next. I will not speak to you with any guile. For the son of Dhritarashtra I will fight against your sons with all my strength and might. And I will not throw away courtesy and the conduct that befits good men. So your words, however kind, I cannot accept now.
“And yet your plea will not be wasted. Except for Arjuna, your other sons, Yudhishthira, Bhima, and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva, though I could hold them off in battle and could kill them, will not be killed by my hand. Of all the warriors in Yudhishthira’s army I will fight Arjuna alone. Killing Arjuna in battle, I will win great merit; or slain by Savyasachin, I will be covered in glory. Famed lady, the number of your sons will never fall below five. Five it will always be, either with me among them, or with Arjuna and myself slain.”
A key to reading this (the number five): this pledge of Karna’s is among the most moving moments in the Mahabharata. He gives his mother the assurance that four of the Pandavas, Yudhishthira, Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva, will never fall by his hand. Only Arjuna will meet him in single combat, since only one of the two is fated to live. So the count of Kunti’s sons will always stay at five, for if Arjuna lives then Karna does not, and if Karna lives then Arjuna does not, and the number five will hold unbroken.
Hearing these words, Kunti, shaking with grief, embraced the son who stayed unmoved through his own steadiness, and said, “Truly, Karna, even if what you say could come to pass, the Kauravas will surely be destroyed. Destiny is everything. And still, tamer of foes, you have given your four brothers the pledge of safety. Let that pledge stay in your memory in battle, when the weapons fly.” And having said all this, Pritha added, “May it go well with you, and may health be yours.” Karna answered, “So be it.” And then the two of them went off, each in a different direction.
The gist: Karna turns down his mother’s offer, held fast by the wound of his abandonment and his loyalty to Duryodhana, and yet he does not let her plea go for nothing. He gives his word to spare all four brothers but Arjuna, so that Kunti’s sons will always number five. Kunti, shaking with grief, embraces him, asks him to remember that pledge in the hour of war, and the two part with heavy hearts.
The man on the chariot, and what had stayed hidden until now
Sanjaya told Dhritarashtra that Krishna’s effort for peace at Hastinapura had already failed. Duryodhana had refused to give up even five villages, and Krishna was now turning back toward the Pandavas. As he left, he did one more thing that no eye had yet marked. He seated at his side, on his own car, the man called the Suta’s son, the man the whole assembly took to be Adhiratha’s boy: Karna.
Karna had just finished a long speech. He had likened the war to a fearful sacrifice, in which Gandiva, Arjuna’s bow, would be the sruva, the ladle for pouring the offering, the prowess of heroes the clarified butter, and the heads of slain warriors the purodasa, the sacrificial cakes. He had said this would be Duryodhana’s sacrifice of arms, and that its closing offering would come when Gandhari, among the widows of her slain sons and grandsons, wept on a field crowded with vultures and dogs. And at the end Karna had asked Krishna, “Kesava, keep this talk of ours secret for all time. Bring Arjuna before me for battle.”
A key to reading this (lineage): until now the world took Karna to be the son of a Suta named Adhiratha and his wife Radha, and so he was called Radheya and Suta-putra. The Suta caste was held to spring from a mixing of Kshatriya and Brahmana, and its men usually served as charioteers or as singers of praise. Karna lived his whole life holding this identity to be the truth.
Krishna heard out all that Karna said and answered with a smile. “Karna, does the way to an empire not please you? Have you no wish to rule the whole earth that I would give you? The victory of the Pandavas is certain, there is no doubt in it. That fierce ape-bannered flag of Pandu’s son seems already planted before us. The craftsman of the gods has worked such divine illusion into it that it stands high as Indra’s own banner. Reaching a yojana upward and on every side, that beautiful flag blazes like fire, and no hill, no tree, ever stops it.”
A key to reading this (a note on the measure): a yojana is reckoned at somewhere between 8 and 12 kilometers. The banner of Arjuna reaching a yojana into the sky is a poet’s overstatement, a way of pointing to its divine power, and is not a literal measure.
Krishna went on. “Karna, when you see Arjuna in battle on his car of white horses, driven by me, loosing the Aindra, the Agneya, and the Maruta weapons, and when you hear the thunderbolt twang of Gandiva splitting the sky, then all the marks of the Krita, the Treta, and the Dwapara ages will vanish, and the age of Kali will stand before you. When you see the invincible Yudhishthira, son of Kunti, sunk in his japa and homa and blazing like the sun, guarding his own army and burning to ash the army of his foes, then those same marks will vanish. When you see Bhimasena drunk on the blood of Dussasana, dancing like a rutting bull-elephant, then those same marks will vanish. When you see Arjuna hold off Drona, Bhishma, Kripa, Duryodhana, and Jayadratha the king of Sindhu all at once, and when you see the two heroic sons of Madri churning the enemy army like two maddened elephants, then too those same marks will vanish.”
Then Krishna handed Karna a message, as though only that last formality remained. “Karna, when you go back, tell Drona and Bhishma and Kripa that this month is very fair. Food, water, and firewood are plentiful now, every plant and herb is full-grown, the trees are heavy with fruit, and there are no flies. The roads are free of mud, and the water is sweet. The weather is neither too hot nor too cold, and so it is a great ease. Seven days from today will be the new moon. Let the battle begin on that day, for it is said to be presided over by Indra. And tell all the kings who have come for war that I will grant their desire. Every king and prince who obeys Duryodhana’s command will, meeting death by weapons, reach the highest state.”
The gist: Krishna offers Karna the kingdom, then paints the certain victory of the Pandavas, then hands over the message that the war should begin on the new moon seven days off. To this point the man on the car is still known only as the Suta’s son. Of the secret about to break open, Krishna gives no hint yet.
Karna’s dream, and stepping down from the chariot
Hearing these kind and blessing-laden words of Kesava, Karna paid his worship to Madhusudana and said, “Knowing everything, mighty-armed one, why do you still try to lead me astray? The cause of the ruin of this whole earth is Shakuni, and I, and Dussasana, and king Duryodhana. A terrible war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas has come to stand at the threshold, one that will cover the earth in bloody mire. All the kings and princes who follow Duryodhana will burn in the fire of weapons and go to the world of Yama.”
Then Karna counted off the omens he had seen. “Madhusudana, many fearful dreams and omens that raise the hairs of the body are appearing. That fierce, cruel planet Sanaischara, Saturn, is troubling the star Rohini, which will bring heavy suffering on the creatures of the earth. Angaraka, Mars, moving on a crooked path from Jeshtha toward Anuradha, points to a great slaughter of friends. A troubling planet is closing on the star Chitra. The spot on the moon’s disc has shifted from its place, and Rahu is closing on the sun. Meteors are falling from the sky, trembling, with a terrible noise.”
A key to reading this (the omens): all these ill conjunctions of planets and stars are, in the language of the old astrology, forewarnings of coming plague and slaughter. The Mahabharata sets down such omens so that the reader carries, in advance, the weight of the ruin the war will bring.
Karna counted off the signs among the armies too. “Kesava, the horses, elephants, and men of Duryodhana’s army eat little and void much, which the wise have called a sign of defeat. The elephants and horses of the Pandavas look glad, and all their animals wheel to the right, a sign of their victory. Those same animals pass on the left of Duryodhana’s army, and bodiless voices are heard without stop, a sign of defeat. Peacocks, swans, cranes, chatakas, and flocks of herons follow the Pandavas, while vultures, kites, hawks, rakshasas, wolves, and flies follow the Kauravas. The drums of Dhritarashtra’s son give no sound when struck, and the drums of the Pandavas sound without being struck. The wells in Duryodhana’s camp roar like bulls. The gods are raining flesh and blood on his army. In the sky, forts of smoke with high walls and deep trenches suddenly appear. A black circle rings the disc of the sun, and both twilights, at dawn and dusk, are full of terror. Strange birds with one wing, one eye, and one leg screech dreadfully. Cruel birds with black wings and red legs wheel over the Kaurava camp at dusk. Duryodhana’s soldiers have begun to hate the Brahmanas first, then their own teachers, then even the servants who love them.”
Then Karna told his dream, the most tender part of all he said. “Achyuta, in a dream I saw Yudhishthira with his brothers climbing a palace of a thousand columns. All were in white turbans and white robes, seated on white thrones. In the same dream I saw you, Janardana, covering the blood-red earth with weapons. Yudhishthira, mounting a heap of bones, was eating buttered payasa from a golden bowl, and swallowing the earth you handed him, which shows that he will rule the earth. I saw Bhima standing on a mountain peak, mace in hand, as if swallowing this earth, which shows that he will kill all of us in battle. Lord of the senses, I know that victory is there where dharma is. I saw Arjuna seated with you on the back of a white elephant, blazing with great beauty. I have no doubt that the two of you will kill all the kings, Duryodhana at their head.”
Karna spoke the last and, for himself, the hardest part of the dream. “I saw Nakula, Sahadeva, and the great car-warrior Satyaki in white bracelets, white armor, white garlands, and white robes, seated on fine vehicles borne on the shoulders of men, with umbrellas raised over all three. Among Dhritarashtra’s soldiers only three appeared in white turbans, and those were Aswatthaman, Kripa, and Kritavarman of the Satwata line. The turbans of all the other kings were red as blood. And I saw the great car-warriors Bhishma and Drona, mounted on a car drawn by camels, together with me and Duryodhana, going toward the quarter of Agastya. This means that we must soon go to the world of Yama. I have no doubt that I and the rest of the kings, the whole assembly of Kshatriyas, will enter that fire of Gandiva.”
A key to reading this (the direction): the quarter of Agastya means the south, since the star of the sage Agastya, Canopus, rises in the southern sky. The world of Yama, the god of death, is also held to lie in the south, so to go toward the quarter of Agastya is to move toward death.
Krishna said, “Truly, Karna, the ruin of the earth is near, since my words find no welcome in your heart. When the destruction of all creatures draws close, wrong puts on the face of right and will not leave the heart.”
Karna answered, “Krishna, if we come alive out of this ruinous great war of the Kshatriyas, then, mighty-armed one, we will meet here again. And if not, sinless one, we will surely meet in heaven. It seems to me now that only there is our meeting possible.”
With these words Karna pressed Madhava to his heart. Taking his leave of Kesava, he stepped down from the car, and mounting his own gold-plated car, cast down and heavy of mind, he came back with us.
The gist: Karna gently turns down Krishna’s offer, granting that the victory of the Pandavas is certain, and in his dream he sees himself going to the world of Yama. Even so, he cannot leave Duryodhana’s side. What deserves notice is that in this whole meeting Krishna never opened the secret of Karna’s birth, though he knew it. That burden he left for Kunti.
Vidura’s words, and a resolve waking in Kunti
Vaishampayana told Janamejaya that when Krishna’s effort for peace had failed, and he had set out from the Kurus toward the Pandavas, the Kshatta, Vidura, came to Kunti and spoke to her softly, in grief.
Vidura said, “Mother of living children, you know my leaning has always been toward peace. I cried out again and again, and Duryodhana would not heed me. King Yudhishthira, who has the Chedis, the Panchalas, and the Kekayas with him, and Bhima and Arjuna, Krishna, Yuyudhana, and the two twins, still waits at Upaplavya, and for all his great strength, out of love for his kin he looks only to dharma, like a weak man. Here king Dhritarashtra, old as he is, will not make peace, drunk on love of his children, and walks the road of sin. Through the wickedness of Jayadratha, Karna, Dussasana, and Suvala’s son Shakuni, this house will now split from within. When men do wrong to the righteous, that sin of theirs soon bears its fruit. Who would not fill with grief to see the Kurus torment dharma this way? When Kesava returns without a peace, the Pandavas will surely make ready for war, and the sin of the Kurus will lead to the ruin of heroes. Turning all this over, I get no sleep by day or by night.”
Hearing these words of Vidura, who always wished her sons well, Kunti grew heavy with grief and drew long breaths, and began to think within herself. “A curse on the wealth for whose sake this great slaughter of our own is about to happen. In this war the very friends will be beaten. What greater grief than this, that the Pandavas, the Chedis, the Panchalas, and the Yadavas, all joined together, will fight the Bharatas? Truly I see the wrong in war. And yet if we do not fight, poverty and disgrace will be our lot. For a man who is poor, even death is a mercy. And on the other side, the slaughter of one’s kin is no victory. Thinking of it, my heart fills with grief.”
The heaviest weight in Kunti’s mind had its root in Karna. She thought, “Bhishma, son of Ganga, the teacher Drona, and Karna, these three have caught hold of Duryodhana’s side, and it is they who swell my fears. Yet I think the teacher Drona will never fight his own pupils with a whole heart. And the grandsire Bhishma, why should he not show the Pandavas some affection? It is only this sinful Karna, who follows the wicked Duryodhana with a dull mind and hates the Pandavas. Bent on the harm of the Pandavas, this Karna is very strong besides, and that is what burns me. I will go to him, and this very day I will tell him the truth and try to draw his heart toward the Pandavas.”
A sub-tale: Kunti called to mind the boon that had given Karna his birth. When she was living inside the palace of her father Kuntibhoja, the sage Durvasa, pleased with her, had given her a boon in the form of an invocation of mantras. Long she had weighed, with a trembling heart, the power of those mantras and the force of the Brahmana’s word, and being a woman by nature and a girl of unripe years, she had turned over again and again how to draw no reproach, how to keep her father’s honor, and how good fortune might come to her without any fault. In the end, guarded by a trusted nurse and ringed by her maids, seized by curiosity and a child’s folly, she had remembered that Brahmana, bowed to him, and with those mantras called down the sun god in her maidenhood. The one who came into her womb in her maidenhood was Karna. Kunti thought, “Why should he not heed my words, spoken for the good of his brothers?”
Having made this good resolve, Kunti went to the sacred bank of the Bhagirathi, the Ganga. Reaching it, Pritha heard her son, who was full of kindness and firmly set on truth, reciting the Vedic hymns. Karna stood with his face to the east and his arms raised. The helpless Kunti stood behind him, for the sake of her errand, waiting for his prayer to end. That daughter of the Vrishni house, that bride of the Kuru line, wilting in the heat of the sun, came to look like a faded garland of lotuses. At last she stood in the shade of Karna’s upper garment. Karna held to his vow and prayed until the sun’s rays had scorched his back. Then he turned and saw Kunti, and was filled with wonder. That most righteous man, rich in energy and pride, Vrisha, the son of Vikartana, the sun, joined his palms and bowed to her in proper form.
A key to reading this (the names): Karna is called here Vrisha and the son of Vikartana. Vikartana is a name of the sun, the one who cuts and scatters his rays. Pritha is the birth-name of Kunti, given to her by her birth-father Surasena; the name Kunti came to her from her foster father Kuntibhoja.
The gist: Vidura’s grieving words woke in Kunti a resolve she had held down for years. The truth of her first son, born in her maidenhood by Durvasa’s mantra, she now went to set before Karna himself on the bank of the Ganga, and in the shade of his own prayer she stood, in silent waiting.
The mother’s plea: “You are Kunti’s son, not Radha’s”
Karna said, “I am Karna, son of Radha and Adhiratha. Why have you come here, lady? Tell me, what may I do for you?”
Kunti answered, “You are Kunti’s son, not Radha’s. Adhiratha is not your father. You, Karna, were never born in the Suta order. Believe what I say. I gave you birth while I was still a maiden. I held you first in my womb. You came into the world, my son, in the palace of Kuntiraja. Best of all who bear weapons, that shining sun god who makes all things seen, it was he who begot you upon me. Unconquerable son, in my father’s house you were born, decked with earrings that grew from your body, clad in a coat of mail that grew from your body, and shining with beauty.
“That you should serve the son of Dhritarashtra in ignorance, not knowing your own brothers, is not right. It is least of all right for you, my son. To please one’s father, and the mother who alone gives a child its every tenderness, is called, in the reckoning of human duties, the highest dharma. The prosperity Arjuna once won for Yudhishthira has been seized by wicked men in the grip of greed. Snatch it back from the sons of Dhritarashtra and enjoy it. Let the Kurus see today the meeting of Karna and Arjuna. Seeing the two brothers bound in a brother’s love, let those wicked men bow before you. Let Karna and Arjuna be named in one breath, as Rama and Janardana are. If the two of you are made one, what in the world cannot be done?
A key to reading this (the names): Rama and Janardana here mean Balarama and Krishna, brothers whose oneness was famous. Kunti measures the imagined oneness of Karna and Arjuna against that unbreakable pair of brothers.
Kunti said, “Karna, ringed by your brothers you will surely blaze as Brahma blazes ringed by the gods on the ground of a great sacrifice. Rich in every virtue, you are the first of all my kin. Let the by-name Suta’s son cling to you no longer. You are Partha, the son of Pritha, filled with great energy.”
The gist: Kunti opens the truth that had stayed hidden all her life. Karna is no child of the Suta order at all. He is her own firstborn, born of Surya in her maidenhood. She tries to draw him to the Pandavas with the lure of kingship and of oneness with Arjuna. Here the tale reaches its deepest moral knot: a mother, on the eve of war, begs her abandoned son not to fight his brothers.
The voice of Surya, and Karna’s unshakable answer
Vaishampayana said that when Kunti had spoken, Karna heard a voice full of affection come out of the disc of the sun. From very far off it came, the voice of Surya himself, full of a father’s love. It said, “What Pritha has said is true. Karna, act by your mother’s words. Best of men, if you follow those words to the full, great good will come to you.”
Spoken to thus by his mother, and by his father Surya as well, Karna’s heart still did not move, for he was firmly set on truth. He said, “Kshatriya lady, I cannot accept that obedience to your command is my highest dharma. Mother, you gave me up the moment I was born. That great wrong, one that put my very life at risk, has ruined my deeds and my fame. If I am a Kshatriya, then because of you I have gone without all the rites of a Kshatriya. What enemy would have done me a greater harm? When you should have shown mercy you showed none, and having left me stripped of all the rites owed to the order of my birth, today you lay your command on me. You never once sought my good the way a mother should. Today you speak to me, and it is your own good you seek.
A key to reading this (the moral knot): here the moral difficulty of the Mahabharata stands fully in the open. There is truth in Kunti’s plea, and there is truth in Karna’s reproach as well. The wound of his abandonment and the dharma of loyalty to his master are both real at once. The tale does not set one of them right and the other wrong, and that is its depth.
Karna set out his own reasoning. “Now, on the eve of battle, if I go over to the Pandavas, who will not think I do it out of fear? Who would not fear Dhananjaya, whose charioteer is Krishna? Until now no one knew that I am their brother. If, on the eve of battle, I go to the Pandavas announcing that I am their brother, what will all the Kshatriyas say? The sons of Dhritarashtra have furnished me with every object of desire, and have honored me with a mind to keep me happy. How can I let that friendship come to nothing? Taking on the enmity of others, they stand in my service with respect, and bow to me as the Vasus bow to Indra. They believe that with my strength they can face the foe. How can I break the hope they have nursed? They have made me their boat, meaning to cross the fathomless sea of battle. Those men, straining to cross a sea that has no other landing, how can I forsake them?
Karna spoke his creed of loyalty to his master. “This is the very hour when all who are kept by the sons of Dhritarashtra should strive for their masters. I will surely act for them, with no thought even for my own life. Those wicked men of unsteady heart who, well-fed and well-furnished by their masters, undo the benefit when the time comes to repay it, are thieves of their master’s food, and for them there is neither this world nor the next. I will not speak to you with guile: for the son of Dhritarashtra I will fight against your sons with all my strength and might. And still I will not throw away goodness and the conduct that befits good men. So your words, however kind, cannot be accepted by me now.
Then Karna gave the pledge that is the heart of this whole meeting. “And yet your plea will not go wholly for nothing. Except for Arjuna, your other sons, Yudhishthira, Bhima, and the two twins, though they are fit to be held off and killed by me in battle, will not be killed by my hand. Of all Yudhishthira’s army I will fight Arjuna alone. Killing Arjuna in battle, I will win great merit; or slain by Savyasachin, I will be crowned with glory. Famed lady, the number of your sons will never fall below five. Five it will stay, either with me among them, or with Arjuna and myself slain.”
A key to reading this (Savyasachi): Savyasachi is a name of Arjuna, meaning one who can loose arrows with the left hand as well as the right. Karna’s saying that the five sons will always remain, whether with him among them or with Arjuna and himself slain, is a tender riddle of counting: whether they win or die, Kunti’s sons will be numbered five, for Karna too is a son of hers, and the eldest of them all.
Hearing these words, Kunti, shaking with grief, took into her arms the son who had not wavered through his own steadiness. She said, “Karna, even if what you say should prove possible, the Kauravas will surely be destroyed. Fate is all. And still, crusher of foes, you have given your four brothers the pledge of safety. Let that pledge stay in your memory as you loose your weapons in battle.” And Pritha said to him also, “May it go well with you, and may health be yours.” Karna answered, “So be it.” And then the two of them went from that place, each in a different direction.
The gist: neither the voice of Surya nor his mother’s plea could move Karna. Holding to the wound of his abandonment and the dharma of loyalty to his master, he would not leave Duryodhana’s side, and yet he gave one tender pledge: he would spare all four brothers but Arjuna, so that Kunti’s sons would always number five. His mother, shaking, embraced him, asked him to keep that pledge in war, and the two parted in different directions, both knowing that their next meeting would likely come on the field of battle or beyond it.
Source: The Mahabharata (Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa), Udyoga Parva; in the tradition of Gita Press, Gorakhpur.
Based on: The Mahabharata, Vyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)