DISCLAIMER
I am writing an OS for a second time on Mahabharat, and somehow, yet again, Karna happens to be a central character. 😆 However, there is a twist here. The story is narrated by Karna's daughter. I know, in the epic, no such daughter is mentioned. But it really baffles me that all these people only had sons, and no daughters. Anyway, I have created a fictional daughter of Karna, who is sixteen years old, and at the verge of getting married. This story is less about Karna, and more about the family, he left behind after his death. This is purely a work of fiction. I have altered certain facts regarding Karna's sons, and even their deaths to fit into my story. I have taken creative liberty, but have tried my best to stick to the basic plot of the epic. I hope no one has written an OS like this before. Please overlook the overtly simple language and grammatical errors, as I have written this OS in a very short time.I have used the name Padmavati for Karna's wife. Since not much is mentioned about her, I have portrayed her in my own way. Yet, if the portrayal of any character hurts anyone's sentiments, I sincerely apologize. Copyrights are reserved in my name. Please share your views...😊
As a side note, I wanted to mention that I am greatly inspired by Michael Madhusudan Dutta's masterpiece 'Bangabhumir Proti'. It is a legendary poem by a legendary poet in Bengal, and the concept of immortality is inspired from there.
When We Were Together
The sixteenth day of the war finally came to an end. Much to our solace, the setting sun put a halt to the day-long slaughter, and finally the men returned to their camps, bruised and injured; probably contemplating what would happen when the sun would rise again to another bloody day. Being the daughter of a warrior, I had grown up hearing stories of battles from childhood, but the actual sight was far more barbaric than what it had appeared in the tales. Blood and carcasses were all over the place. Sickening stench of mutilated bodies and deafening cries of mortally injured men filled the air. I stood outside our tent amidst all this, waiting anxiously for the last man alive in our family to come back. The long wait made me feel numb, and my mind unconsciously drifted away to the memories of the past few days.
My mother and I had travelled to the place, where the soldiers had camped during the war. Being the family of King Duryodhan's best friend, we were given the privilege of staying close to our loved ones, and special arrangements were made for our stay. My father had tried to convince her to stay back at home, but mother was adamant. A very poor decision, which she realized soon enough.
One by one, with the passage of time, my brothers rode out to war, only to come back as mangled bodies. There is no greater misfortune for a parent than to outlive his or her children. My mother stood watching, aghast as each day the corpses of my brothers were carried back by my father. In my sixteen years of life, I had never seen him weep, but who can bear the pain of losing one's offspring silently?
My mother was a strong woman. She cried much but spoke little, tucking away her pain and insecurities at some secret corner of her heart. But I could see through her sombre silence, how a part of her died each time with each of her sons. Indeed, how strange are the rules of this world!! It took her nine months of patience and labour to give Life to each of her children, but Death did not even take nine days to snatch away all of them from her.
By the time, Vrishasena's turn came, our tears had dried up. Or maybe, we had cried so much by then, that there were no tears left in us to shed anymore. Father and another man, whom I could not recognize, carried his body back to our tent, wrapped in white cloth, so that my mother and I don't get to witness how badly his body was butchered. Slowly my father put down his corpse on the floor with affection, and looked up at my mother with red eyes.
My mother sat there, numb and silent. Not a word came out of her mouth.
'Padmavati,' my father spoke to her in a choked voice. 'Say something. This is the last time, you are seeing him. Say something Padmavati. Pour your heart out.'
'This
is the consequence of that boy's death isn't it, Radheya? What was his name?' My
mother's eyes were still shockingly dry.
'Abhimanyu,' my father spoke out, tears oozing out of his eyes.
'You all kill their children and they kill ours. How long will this go on, Radheya?' Her face had a stoic expression, and her eyes still dry.
My father had no answer to this. The truth is, it would go on forever. I wondered, why did people fight? Why did people kill? Were harmony and peace so expensive and troublesome that in the end, men resorted to killing in the name of glory and revenge? I had heard rumours of the war being declared for the Empress' dignity. Huh!! Her husbands couldn't fight hundred cousins at the time she needed them the most, and were they compensating by killing millions of innocents now? I refused to believe in such rumours. They seemed to be an excuse to cover up for their real motive in the name of the Empress.
I looked down at the bundle of white cloth that was once my living brother. When I was a child, I had heard of how Kshatriya princesses had their own Swamvars to choose their groom. I too had fancied one for myself.
'Mother...I will dress up like a princess, and choose my prince when I grow up...isn't it Mother?' my innocent, younger self had asked back then.
'No dear...Kshatriyas have such marriages...'
'What is a Kshatriya, Mother?' I had asked, unaware of the nuances of life.
'You will know when you grow up,' my mother had said sternly. Something had told me, that maybe I would not have the privilege of having the Swamvar ever. Seeing my disheartened face, Vrishasena had assured, Don't worry sister, I will organize a Swamvar for you when I become a King. You will have the greatest Swamvar ever.'
His promise echoed in my ears, as I looked down upon his wrapped, tattered body. Kneeling next to him, I caressed his corpse lightly.' Why did you break your promise Vrishasena? Who will organize my Swamvar now?' Tears started trickling down my eyes after a long time. Why did you leave me and mother alone? Do you miss your brothers so much that you forgot us and went to them? Will you not fight about whom mother loves more?'
How strange is Death!! In the morning before riding out to war, in a rare light moment, he was fighting with me for mother's love, and now at twilight, he was gone forever, leaving all affection for me alone. 'I don't want Mother's affection alone...You come back, you come back. Why did you leave us?' My voice felt chocked, as if someone was strangling me. But he gave no reply. Maybe, he would, in some other lifetime, where we would meet again as siblings.
Since that day, my mother sat in front of the idol of her God, all day long, praying to Him, or should I say, begging Him to let her husband stay alive for this one day, just one more day. Her sons were gone, if only God would atleast let her husband live. Some commotion outside brought me back to the present, and I looked up again at the people gathered in front of our tent. For one last time, God had granted my mother's wish. I saw my father emerge out of the bloodied crowd. He had finally come back. Alive.
He was bleeding profusely, but surprisingly indifferent about it. Warriors were accustomed to such physical injuries, but somehow his distraction bothered me. I hugged him carefully so as not to touch his bruises, relief and happiness gushing through every vein of mine and he returned the embrace lightly. 'Where is your mother?' he asked impatiently, and I realized the reason for his distraction.
'She's inside...praying.' He broke our embrace softly and went inside. I followed him closely.
'Padmavati,' he called her out, love evident in his tone. My mother turned around from her praying position in a swift movement, as if she was waiting for ages for this one call. 'Radheya!!!!' she called out in broken voice, and stood up to greet him with teary eyes.
'You may eat now. And drink water in
plenty. You look parched,' my father said lovingly to my mother, caressing
her wet cheeks. I was amazed to see how much understanding they had amongst themselves.
Ever since Vrishasena's death, my mother had vowed to fast all day without food
and water, till my father returned safe and sound. She had never told him about
this vow, but he just knew. My mother and I made him sit down, and started
tending to his injuries. There were in total, thirty bruises on his bodies, along
with thirteen cuts, which I counted painfully. It really amazed me to see how
strong warriors were supposed to be. So much of physical pain and yet no qualms about it!!
'Father?' I asked him after sometime, unable to control anymore.
'Yes dear,' he said with affection in his tone. I wonder how he managed to be so calm, after everything he had seen.
'Will you come back alive tomorrow too?' I don't know why I asked such an inauspicious question at such a sensitive hour, but it certainly changed the ambiance of the tent.
'Don't ask such questions,' my mother started scolding me, but Father stopped her.
'No Padmavati,' he calmed her down. Some questions need to be answered.' I looked at him with teary eyes.
'Dear...', he said wiping off my tears, 'Death is inevitable. Can we stop it ever?' I looked down. For a moment, I felt intense hatred for those five men, who had declared the war. It was because of them, that my brothers had died, it was because of them my father too was standing at the edge. But the next moment, my parents' words echoed in my ears. 'What was that boy's name? ...Abhimanyu.' I realized, we were all sailing in the same boat of eternal misery.
My father cupped my face in his bruised hands and continued, 'If I die tomorrow, always remember with pride, that your father fought like a true warrior, and earned eternal glory.'
I didn't understand his ideals.' Of what use is this glory, if you are not there to see it?' I asked him, refusing to accept his explanations.
'I may not see it, but you will. Your mother will. Your children and grandchildren will.'
'But father,' I protested.
'Dear...', he interrupted me gently, We fight so that we can live. We fight for our rights, for what we think is right. We fight and die today, so that our children and grandchildren can LIVE with peace in the future. And always remember, Immortality is only a metaphor. We cannot be immortals physically, but when people remember us, for our good deeds, our virtues, and take our name with pride long after we are gone, that is called true immortality.'
I could say no more to this. Though I still had disagreements, I did not show it further. I was not a warrior and hence my ideals were different. For me, Life meant living with my family with love and affection. But maybe, it held a different meaning for warriors and Kings.
'Today, we will eat together. Who knows, tomorrow...,'
'Please,' my mother stopped him. 'Please don't. We shall see what comes tomorrow, but today, let us eat together in peace.' After Vrishasena's death, my parents had gradually gained the strength to behave normally.
After tending to his injuries, we sat down together after what seemed like ages, as a family, as my brothers' widows joined us too. Once, our dining hall used to be full with over twenty happy members chatting and laughing, but now it was a silent dinner of only five broken souls. I remained quiet and seeing my discomfort, my father took my hands gently in his.
'Dear,' he said, One day, you will understand my words.'
I stopped fighting back the tears that were struggling to come out for a long time, and let them flow down. My mother too burst out into unrelenting tears and we both hugged him together, as my sisters-in -law looked on with wet eyes. Together, all of us had our dinner and felt the joy of being a family. For one last time.
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