The Palace of Illusions (40 page)

“Anyhow, things didn't turn out as badly as I feared. Because what does Krishna do next but announce that he isn't going to actually fight in the war. Some kind of vow he'd taken, I don't remember the details. He won't even carry weapons. Then he makes us this offer: we can either choose him, or we can choose his Narayanis (that, as you know, was the main reason I'd gone there). I was certain that Arjun would choose the soldiers, but the fool got all sentimental, saying how he wanted nothing but his dear friend's guidance and blessings, and that no army could equal that. I had to use all my powers to keep from snorting with laughter. Anyhow, the upshot is that I got myself the Narayanis—they'll be on their way to Hastinapur in a day or so—and Arjun got himself a charioteer—because that's what Krishna's going to do during the war, drive his horses, though why he agreed to it I don't know. He is a king after all, even if his lands aren't much compared to ours. Impractical fools, both of them. They deserve each other!

“Balaram? Oh yes, I went to see him right afterward. He's been a good friend ever since I took those mace-fighting lessons from him and then sent him a cartload of my best sura as thanks. Yes, it was a shrewd move. He loves his drink, does Balaram! But I did it mostly because it's a pleasure to give something fine to a connoisseur. He's always claimed I have better technique than Bheem—which of course I do. That man wields his mace like it was a giant cucumber. I thought it would be easy to persuade Balaram to join our forces, but he said he couldn't go against his brother. However, because of his love for me, he'd stay out of the battle altogether. Then he said something strange. He said, Where Krishna is, victory lies there. And he looked at me with such sadness in his eyes—as though I were already dead! I tell you, it gave me quite a turn. Made me wonder for a moment whether I'd made the wrong choice.

“I'm sure you're right: he thinks too highly of his brother's
prowess. Can't blame him—they've been inseparable all through their lives, like Dussasan and myself. In any case, we've made our choice, and I never was one for regretting my decisions.

“I agree! Of course we're going to win! What was it at last count, the size of our army? Eleven akshauhini? I doubt that the Pandavas will be able to muster half that many soldiers, to say nothing of horses, chariots, elephants, and astras. The most seasoned warriors are on our side—Bheeshma, Drona, and especially Karna, a friend like no other! Did you know he's taken a vow of abstinence? He isn't going to touch meat, wine, or women until the battle is done. He's taken to bathing in the Ganga each day for purification, and if a beggar or a brahmin comes up to him at that time, he'll give them whatever they want! He believes that such acts of charity will push his powers to their peak so that he can destroy Arjun. With a fighter like him on our side, how can we lose?

“But just in case we don't win, I plan on dying with full glory on the battlefield. That would be far better than sharing my kingdom with those cursed Pandavas. For whatever my shortcomings—no, no, uncle, you flatter me by calling me faultless; I know myself better than that—I thank the god of war and death that cowardice isn't one of them.”

Even bedchambers are not safe from efficient spies, and our spies were efficient indeed. Thus we knew that folks in Hastinapur were not sleeping well. The blind king started from his slumber with nightmares of mountains built of his sons' skulls. Dussasan awoke clutching his chest and screaming Bheem's name. Duryodhan drank himself into a stupor to keep from wearing out his floors with pacing. I cannot say I felt pity for any of them.

Only Karna, our informants reported, slept soundly and awoke
clear-eyed to perform his daily ablutions by the river, where each day more people gathered to ask him for alms. Rumor had it that he'd given away half his wealth already. If this continued, he'd be a pauper by the time the fighting began. My husbands exclaimed at this folly, and Arjun said, scoffingly, “He always was a show-off!”

But I knew Karna wasn't showing off—he had never cared to do so. Instead, by giving to the poor, he was atoning for his misdeeds and securing a place in heaven. No matter what he said to bolster Duryodhan's confidence, I could see that he didn't expect to live past the war. Nor—my heart constricted when I realized this—did he seem to want to do so.

People love to believe that virtue is rapidly rewarded, and that agitation is the fruit of unrighteousness. But things are not so simple. For instance: Bheeshma (whom the Kauravas had chosen as their commander-in-chief) was found sitting on the white stones by the Ganga at dawn, his shawl wet with night dew. Dhri (who was to lead the Pandava army) dueled with the captain of the guard each day until he was bruised and exhausted—and still he could not sleep. Kunti had borne our years of exile stoically in Vidur's home, but now she fell ill and could eat nothing. When Yudhisthir asked her to join us in Virat's palace, she made implausible excuses. Even the blessing she sent as my husbands prepared for war was ambiguously worded. She prayed for their victory and wished that they wouldn't have to spill the blood of their brothers. (“Brothers!” Bheem cried when he heard her message. “Since when have those Kaurava vermin been our brothers?” while Sahadev wondered if Duryodhan hadn't used Gandhari to brainwash their mother.) Half-moons of dark bloomed under my husbands' eyes. Arjun (who currently shared my bed) flailed out in his dreams, speaking harshly in a language I didn't recognize, calling Abhimanyu's name. Walking out into the corridor one night, I found Yudhisthir at a window,
staring at the moon-bleached grass. He, too, had dreamed of a skull mountain. But there was more to his dream: on top of the mountain was a great, glittery throne, and on it were seated the five Pandavas, goblets of victory wine in their hands. When they raised them to their lips, the drink turned to blood.

For my part, I dreamed of beasts. Riderless horses screamed their terror through my nights, the whites of their eyes gleaming in firelight. Elephants fell to their knees, trumpeting bloodily. Jackals slunk through smoke, torn human limbs gripped in their teeth. And always, a great gray owl flew through the heavy air, its wings obliterating the sky, terrifying me for no reason that I could name.

I should have tried to understand what the dreams foretold. I should have discussed them with my husbands and cautioned them accordingly. I should have urged them to step carefully on this road that would soon be strewn with death. But I didn't want to heed anything that might keep me from the revenge I'd waited for so long. When my husbands hesitantly mentioned their nightmares, I laughed.

“I didn't expect such superstition from the foremost heroes of Bharat!” I taunted them. “Of course there will be blood. Of course there will be death. As kshatriyas, isn't that what you've trained for all your lives? And are you afraid now?”

What could they do in response except commit themselves more deeply to the preparations of war?

Not to be outdone by humans, the gods were busy with their own preparations. Perhaps they were impressed by Karna's vows. Perhaps his determination worried them. In any case, they chose him for their machinations. The result became the stuff of song long before the armies assembled in Kurukshetra. Sitting in Sudeshna's
balcony, winding my matted hair around my fingers, I heard it with a conflicted heart.

This is how the song went: The sun god, Karna's chosen deity, appeared in Karna's dream. “Tomorrow,” Surya warned, “the king of the gods will come to you at noon, disguised as a brahmin, to beg for your gold armor and earrings. But you must not relinquish them. They alone protect you from the twin curses that follow you like beasts tracking their prey. Without them you cannot hope to defeat Arjun, or to survive the war. That is why Indra wants them.”

If Karna was disturbed by this news, he did not show it. “O great one,” he said, “tell me first, how did I get these amulets?”

Did the god hesitate? He said, “Your father gave them to you.”

“Tell me then,” Karna asked, “who is my father?” In a subdued voice, he added, “And my mother.”

“Forgive me,” the sun god said. “I am not allowed to speak their names. You will know them soon enough, though the knowledge may not bring you joy.” At the look on Karna's face, he added, “Do not fear. You are nobly born. Your mother is a queen and your father a god. But listen carefully: tomorrow, before Indra speaks, forestall him by saying that you will give him anything but your armor. In this way, you will not break your promise.”

Karna stood silent, weighing vengeance against his good name. Finally he said, “I'm triply blessed that you, Lord of my heart, have chosen to warn me. But by following your advice, I'd still break the spirit of my vow. People would say that when Karna was threatened with loss of life, he couldn't keep his word. And this I can't tolerate.”

When Surya realized that Karna would not change his mind, he spoke with regret and admiration. “Do this at least: tell Indra that you know his plan. In chagrin, he will offer you a boon. Ask for his Shakti, the weapon that even his son Arjun cannot withstand. Then you might still have a chance of achieving your heart's desire.”

Karna said nothing. Perhaps he wondered if Surya truly knew what his heart's desire was. So many yearnings clashed against each other inside him, he himself was no longer sure.

The next day, all went as Surya had prophesied except this: when Karna had cut the amulets from his body, Indra said, “Karna! Even I could not have done what you did. I give you my Shakti— and one other boon. As long as the land of Bharat floats on the ocean, you will be known as the greatest of givers. In this your fame will surpass Arjun's.”

The song ended there. But I imagined more: as Karna walked to the palace, blood dripped from his self-inflicted wounds. But on his face there was a victorious smile, for the god had given him a boon to negate the curse the Pandava queen had laid on him a long time ago, declaring that posterity would remember only his shameful deeds.

I should have been angered at being foiled. Why then did I, too, find myself smiling?

Warriors gathered around us with their armies: Satyaki and Dhristaketu, Jayatsena, the Kekaya brothers, the kings of Pandya and Mahishmati, my father, accompanied by Sikhandi and my sons. The air smelled of molten metal, for every smithy in the land was busy forging armor. Our forces totaled seven akshauhini, and the dust from their marching obscured the sun. But our numbers were nowhere close to Duryodhan's.

At this time I had another dream.

A woman wrapped in a shawl stood beside a river, her back to me. Dawn mist rose from the river's calm skin. She started as though she'd heard something.

I realized that in my dream there were no sounds: the river ran silently, and the birds were mute.

Now I could see a man. Even before I saw his face, I knew him to be Karna. How did I know? He had none of the scars I'd expected from the cutting away of his armor. Was it the way he held himself, the way he walked? Or did some strange bond connect us even in this dream world?

The woman moved toward him, her face still hidden. I could tell that she wasn't young. She raised her hand in a regal gesture. Could it be Gandhari? But what would she want to say to her son's best friend that couldn't be spoken in the palace? Perhaps she wanted Karna to persuade her son to peace. If so, she was wasting her time!