Chapter 2: Karna 2
The stranger was rescued from unexpected quarters. 'We all know this young archer
outmatches Arjuna in skills. If the combat cannot take place merely because he is not a
prince, I shall remedy it easily,' thundered Prince Duryodhana. 'I proclaim this youth
King of Anga!' And with that, Duryodhana performed the required rituals to crown
Karna the King of Anga on the spot. 'Now you are a king, a royal personage who can
fight any duel or challenge any kshatriya,' proclaimed Duryodhana, handing the new king
his crown, his jewels and the royal emblem.
Uruvi found herself smiling. Kunti, too, seemed happy that the situation had turned in
favour of the stranger. 'That young man is certainly charming', Uruvi chuckled softly to
herself. 'He has two women admirers already.'
Suddenly, the royal proceedings were interrupted. She saw an emaciated old man
pushing through the heaving crowds towards Karna and, with a small cry, clasp the
newly crowned king to his bosom.
'My son, my son!' the old man repeated over and over again, with tears coursing
down his raddled face. Karna looked surprised and slightly uneasy for a moment before
hugging the elderly man and touching his feet in solemn reverence.
The crowd gasped. Uruvi caught her breath; the sheer nobility of the act had stirred
her. The Pandavas jeered with contemptuous laughter while the crowd grew restive.
Uruvi heard Bhima give a snort of derisive laughter. 'King of Anga indeed! You are
but a son of our charioteer!' he sneered. 'Your father is Adhiratha, a charioteer in my
uncle King Dhritrashtra's army. You are no prince, you are no warrior! You don't need a
royal insignia or a bow. All you need is a whip to drive the horses! Or it would seem
more appropriate if you had a brush in hand to clean the horses. You are fit to rule the
stables, not the kingdom of Anga!'
Bhima's caustic words came like a whip, lashing the young Karna to steely silence.
He seemed frozen, gazing intently at the sinking sun, his eyes twin dark pools of despair.
Taking Karna's sudden silence as a sign of weakness, Bhima pushed mercilessly
further. 'You are no warrior, young man! You were strutting about so proudly a while ago
—where has all that arrogance gone? You don't deserve the crown, or the kingdom given
to you so undeservedly by my cousin here. Take your father's whip instead and help him
out,' Bhima mocked cruelly.
The tide turned. The cheering spectators had gone mute, now that the great warrior
had turned out to be no kshatriya at all but a lowly charioteer's son. But Uruvi reacted
strongly to these hurtful words. 'Bhima is downright mean!' she turned furiously to
Kunti, the mother of the tormentor. 'How can he ridicule the humble and the helpless?
Does that pride and pettiness befit a prince? And why are the elders keeping quiet about
this gross insult being heaped upon a defenceless person? Why does Bhishma Pitamaha
remain quiet when Bhima is so brutally ridiculing the warrior? Did he not proclaim a
moment ago that Karna was a great archer, better than even Arjuna?'
Below, Prince Duryodhana spoke up for the hapless Karna as well. 'Such speech is
not worthy of you, Bhima! It is valour which defines a kshatriya, a kshatriya does not
define valour. You are known by the deeds done; merit has no pedigree. Tracing one's
lineage is pointless. I can give you hundreds of instances of great men of humble birth.
The bloodline of heroes—like the source of a mighty river—is never known. Those born
in the kshatriya clan have even become brahmins. Vishwamitra, born a kshatriya, became
the greatest sage, obtaining the title of Brahmarishi from Lord Brahma himself. Our guru,
Dronacharya, was born in a water pot—a drona—and Kripacharya of the Gotama race
was born from a clump of grass. Let's not talk about parentage as the finger might point
apply to you too...'
Uruvi saw Kunti flinch and she felt a frisson of anger against Duryodhana for his
irreverent insinuation. It was an acknowledged fact that the Pandavas were the five sons
of Queen Kunti and Queen Madri from five different gods. They were not fathered by
King Pandu, who was forced into celibacy because of an ancient curse. King Pandu had
requested his wife Kunti to make use of the boon Rishi Durvasa had once given her—
that she could invoke any god and he would bless her with a son. That is how Kunti had
conceived three of the Pandavas—Yudhishthira from Lord Yama, the god of dharma and
death; Bhima from Vayu the god of the wind, and Arjuna from Lord Indra, the king of the
gods.
'Awkward questions may be asked about your own origin,' Duryodhana continued
derisively. 'Can a doe give birth to a tiger? Look at Karna—his golden armour, his
shining earrings, his build, his confidence and the way he carries himself. He must be of
royal blood. I am certain he is of celestial ancestry. We are talking about merit and
skills, and Karna has more than proved that he is a worthy warrior. Unworthy of ruling
Anga, did you say, Bhima? I consider that he is worthy of ruling this whole world!'
And with those contemptuous words, the Kuru prince took Karna by the arm, leading
him to his chariot, and drove away into the dusk.
'What on earth is happening?' asked the blindfolded Queen Gandhari, mother of the
hundred Kauravas, in rising bewilderment.
Uruvi answered cheekily, 'I think Duryodhana has got himself a new friend!'
She turned to look back at the departing chariot on the dusty road, carrying the man
she had just fallen in love with away from her.
'And that was the first and the last I actually saw of him,' sighed Uruvi, her lips
curling in an unhappy curve. Usually she wore a lovely, infectious smile. Either it was a
flashing one which lit up her oval face, or a slow one suffused with an elfin charm. At
the moment, she was grim, with a bitter ache in her heart for he was still a stranger to her
and she wondered if her love was destined to remain unrequited. Her swayamwara,
when she would follow the custom of choosing the prince she wished to marry, was
being planned for the coming month of marghashirsha, in winter, and here she was
dreaming about a man she had only seen, but never met.
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