Authors: Kavita Kane
Karna could still feel the agony of that moment. The humiliation still seared his pride, setting him aflame with anger. The memory remained a raw lesion that festered. It was not the first time that Karna had been taunted about his birth, yet Draupadi’s words wounded him as nothing else had ever done. It stung him even now. Suddenly, the ringing tone of trumpets sounded and Karna was thrust into the present once more.
A grand procession of the princely guests from Srnjaya, Kamboja, Kuru, Kosala and many other kingdoms—with their different flags and gorgeously decorated elephants, chariots and horses, their soldiers in glittering uniforms—passed by slowly, with King Vahusha in the forefront. It was time for the princess to arrive for the ceremony and all her suitors took their seats, waiting eagerly. When at last, the princess dismounted from her elephant, conch shells, bugles, mrdangas and kettledrums blared. The ankle bells of dancing girls tinkled merrily to the music of vinas, flutes, gongs and cymbals, all rising to a crescendo.
Princess Uruvi entered the hall and for one electric moment, there was an awed hush. King Vahusha knew that no one could keep their eyes off her exquisite beauty, now enhanced by the bridal finery she wore. Confident and self-assured, Arjuna gazed at the princess he thought was his future bride, while Krishna looked pensive and Duryodhana leered. The observant Ashwatthama noticed that his friend Karna was mesmerized by the princess standing quietly, with her head elegantly bowed—he didn’t seem as uninterested as he had pretended to be a few moments back, he thought. God forbid that this swayamwara erupts in violence like Draupadi’s swayamwara, he shuddered involuntarily. If Karna was spurned by this haughty princess as well, Ashwatthama knew his friend wouldn’t be able to take such an insult. Fearing a repeat of the previous fiasco, Ashwatthama’s hand instinctively clenched his sword as he fervently wished he could whisk Karna away.
The bride looked ethereal, her face radiant like her flowing silks. Her dark eyes sparkled as brilliantly as the glittering jewels adorning her. With a magnificent garland in her bejewelled hands, her eyes downcast, she did not look up at the valiant princes in front of her. The priests solemnly chanted mantras invoking peace and blessings as King Vahusha led his most prized possession by the hand to the centre of the suddenly quiet hall.
‘Hear all, O princes seated in this assembly,’ he pronounced in a loud, clear voice. ‘This is but an ordinary swayamwara of an extraordinary princess. There are no tests of valour, of bravery or skills. It is but the honest desire of the princess to garland a young man present here whom she wishes to marry. That man has won my daughter’s heart and shall win her hand in marriage. Her decision will be undisputed and fulfilled with my blessings.’ He turned to Uruvi and said firmly, ‘Proceed, my child. May God bless you.’
Standing with her hands clasping the garland, Uruvi felt acutely vulnerable as she felt hundreds of eyes boring into her, observing her slightest movement. The princes were seated in a semi-circle. On her right, sat the Pandavas with Krishna; to her extreme left was Karna, seated between Duryodhana and Ashwatthama. She wondered how she could approach the man she wanted to garland. She could either head straight for Karna or walk the entire semicircle to garland him. Either way, she would be humiliating the Pandavas. She faltered as she took her first steps, feeling a moment’s panic, her heart thudding hard. And in that moment it flashed upon her that she would indeed have to be brave to get Karna. For to have him, she would deeply wound many whose affection she cherished—her parents, Krishna, Bhishma Pitamaha and above all, Kunti, to whom she had divulged her heart’s secret. She was burdened with guilt and pain instead of the joy she had anticipated feeling. She hung her head, a stab of self-deprecation knifing through her. Could she ever be happy by making those whom she loved most, so unhappy? She despaired, wondering why she had to lose so much to gain what she desired the most.
Now, she wanted to end this misery quickly. She found herself moving in Karna’s direction and felt his eyes piercing hard at her as though into her very soul. Her feet seemed to have a will of their own, gliding towards the golden-armoured warrior. She lifted her head to look at him and her eyes remained riveted on him as she approached him, her steps slow but sure. As she walked towards him, he seemed to draw tantalisingly close and she could see the gold flecks in his tawny eyes. He had beautiful sunset—or were they sunrise—eyes. They were a molten gold, blazing with inner fire. Dark and brooding, they were shaded with long, thick lashes under well-marked eyebrows, while below them was an aquiline nose and a full mouth. She had not noticed all this before…oh, he was beautiful! There was a refinement and a strange spiritual quality in his face that was almost poignant. Surprise dawned in his eyes the moment she paused in front of him, proud and bold, but a quivering mass of nerves within. He sat still in his chair, looking at her with rising perplexity. The thick rose garland in her hand suddenly seemed incredibly heavy and her arms ached. She steeled herself, looked straight into his amazed eyes and leaned forward. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and saw him instinctively lower his beautiful head so that she could place the garland around his neck. Then, at last, he was hers!
A stunned hush enveloped the gathering; the silence was almost palpable. And the uproar that swiftly followed was riotous. Boiling rage and insults erupted from every corner.
‘This is a public insult!’ shouted Bhima, his disbelief curdling into a bitter wrath.
The assembly broke into pandemonium. ‘A swayamwara means choosing a bridegroom from the same social class—a kshatriya bride cannot marry beneath her!’ the princes raged.
‘She has to choose one amongst us, a kshatriya,’ Arjuna interjected pointedly.
‘If she does not care to marry a prince, she should either remain a virgin or jump into a pyre.’
‘It is vital that the social status of a woman is not lowered.’
‘The princess cannot marry a man of a lower caste!’ barked another incensed king. ‘Pratiloma is prohibited by the shastras.’
‘King Vahusha, how could you allow this outrage? How dare your daughter choose a sutaputra?’
‘We cannot sanction this marriage—it’s blasphemy!’
‘And it’s a sacrilege of the practice of swayamwara as well. We shall fight to protect it!’
A violent battle seemed about to erupt. In a quick movement, Karna pulled his sword out of its scabbard and held it up, the naked blade glinting in the noon sun. He was ready to take on the warring princes single-handedly. Duryodhana and Ashwatthama promptly unsheathed their swords too and stood by the side of their friend.
Duryodhana shouted menacingly, ‘Not a drop of blood will go wasted!’
Arjuna and Bhima brandished their swords too, but were restrained by the warning hand of their mother, who shook her head in silent censure. ‘It is her choice. Respect it,’ she chided them softly.
Arjuna detected the reprimand in his mother’s voice and wondered what he had done wrong. He knew that his mother was aware he had loved Uruvi with open devotion since she was a bratty little girl with wild, cascading hair and laughing eyes. As the besotted young boy, he was elated when his mother assured him that this teasing child would be his wife one day. Uruvi was meant to be his bride and he would fight for her as honour demanded. He felt a cold fury crystallise inside him and he swept a look of contemptuous dislike at Karna. ‘Is that her choice? A lowly upstart, a pariah, an unwelcome outsider?’ His voice was glacial.
‘As Kunti rightly says, it is Uruvi who has selected her life partner and it’s her choice,’ Krishna’s calm voice interrupted him. ‘What she decides to do is going to determine her life. She has the freedom to choose whom she wants to marry. She chooses Karna—just as Draupadi selected you over Karna,’ murmured Krishna.
Arjuna fumed. Was Krishna gently reminding him of Draupadi’s swayamwara where the situation had been reversed? Then, it was he who had won Draupadi and Karna had been rebuffed. This time, it was he who had been set aside and Karna had won the fair bride. For an instant, Arjuna, drowning in the waves of humiliation and dishonour, recognised what Karna must have suffered when Draupadi had turned him down. Uruvi might not have been as maliciously explicit as Draupadi, but her unspoken rejection of Arjuna was just as devastating. Arjuna had never experienced rejection and wondered if he could live through this moment of utter shame. Mortification washed over him and icy rage froze in his veins. Uruvi could have spared him this public indignity, Arjuna swore, as he watched her stand close to Karna.
He felt another familiar emotion welling inside him. Arjuna recognised it as hatred, that single emotion he felt for this contemptible man, undiluted hate for this rival who was standing belligerently amidst the screaming crowd of angry princes. In the haze of hate, Arjuna did not see a noble warrior before him. He saw instead the charioteer’s son who had, long ago, turned up uninvited and disrupted the contest at Hastinapur, performing better than him in each of his feats. This stranger was inflicting the same indignity on him now as well, snatching away what was rightfully his. Arjuna saw in him an insolent villain who had insinuated himself in the life of his cousin Duryodhana’s, who, in turn, flaunted Karna’s abilities in the royal court, annoying people like Guru Dronacharya and Bhishma Pitamaha, the two gurus revered by Arjuna. He saw him as an upstart suitor who had dared to think of marrying Draupadi. And now again, this usurper had dared to steal Uruvi—who was supposed to be
his
bride-to-be. Arjuna saw Karna as his sole enemy—an intruder who had marched brazenly into his life to mock him and divest him of his pride.
Arjuna recalled the moment he had first heard Karna’s name—mentioned by Ashwatthama at Guru Dronacharya’s ashram. Ashwatthama had described Karna as the best archer ever born. Even at that time, Arjuna had resented this unexpected praise. A few months later, that same wretched archer had publicly trounced him at the Hastinapur archery contest where Arjuna had been the favourite all along. This pariah had stolen his moment of glory. Then Arjuna’s fury had swiftly turned into contempt when he learnt that Karna was but a lowly charioteer’s son.
Jealousy had poisoned Arjuna. He burned with rage each time he caught sight of the sutaputra entering the royal court as the King of Anga, and resentment consumed him every time he was hailed as a master archer. He recoiled when people praised the friendship between his cousin and this commoner. Friend and cousin, both were despicable in his eyes; an enemy’s friend was an enemy as well. But if he disliked his cousin, Arjuna loathed Karna violently, openly contemptuous of this low-born, self-proclaimed warrior. And right now, in the middle of the swayamwara hall, Arjuna felt the acrid taste of hate as he stood defeated this time too. He had lost, once again, to this man.
Feeling his eyes on her, Uruvi glanced at Arjuna, her childhood friend and the suitor she had publicly spurned. She sensed rather than saw the raw loathing in his eyes. She felt as if she’d been poisoned. She wrenched her eyes away from his venomous glare and turned to the scene unfolding before her. Uruvi appeared composed, but inside she was screaming at the world to let her be with her beloved. To just let them be. Although Karna’s arm around her shoulders assured her of his protection, she was only too aware that her father and Kunti were right to warn her of the consequences of her action. Could she brave the terrible hostilities she had triggered?
She saw her father, Bhishma Pitamaha, Krishna and Balarama trying to mollify the infuriated princes. The Pandavas stood still, searing her with their collective anger. Kunti stood silently with them, her eyes appealing for peace.
‘My daughter’s decision is her own and I, as her father, stand by it completely,’ King Vahusha declared loudly, his hands folded, his head bowed. ‘She has selected Karna, the King of Anga, and he has won her hand in marriage. I appeal to everyone to respect the choice made at the swayamwara.’
But Duryodhana was not one to remain discreetly quiet. ‘If a woman can get married to five husbands, can’t a princess select a man of her choice as her husband?’ he sneered, looking pointedly at the Pandavas. Others soon joined in the heckling. Arjuna drew out his sword, its sharp edge glinting in the sun. At this ominous moment, Krishna got up and asked the guests to hear him out. He said, ‘King Vahusha invited all those he thought were deserving of the honour of winning his daughter’s hand. And no one doubts Karna’s valour and uprightness. This is a swayamwara and the bride-to-be has the final say. She has the right to reject any of the suitors for any reason; she has the right to choose whomever she wants. I am requesting all of you to let the wedding proceed.’
Though Krishna, the King of Dwarka, believed by many to be the avatar of Vishnu the Preserver, the supreme god, was not too well liked by some, he was unanimously feared.
‘There have been instances of pratiloma marriages in the past, which had been resorted to in exceptional cases,’ arbitrated Krishna, in a conciliatory tone. ‘Emperor Yayati, one of the ancestors of the Pandavas and the Kauravas, married Devyani, the daughter of Sage Sukracharya, and this is only one example of a brahmin girl marrying a kshatriya prince. The shastras declare what is right and what is forbidden. They also say that once a marriage has been agreed upon in public, it cannot be annulled. Uruvi, by garlanding Karna, has chosen him as her husband—and I declare them married!’
His words worked their magic. Grudgingly, the suitors gave their consent for the marriage proceedings to continue. Uruvi flashed Krishna a grateful glance. He nodded his head elegantly. ‘You were always a wilful child,’ Krishna whispered as she bent down to touch his feet, bestowing her with his knowing smile and his blessings.
The marriage was celebrated with renewed aplomb and the city of Pukeya rejoiced with great fervour. It was decided that Princess Uruvi would accompany her husband, Karna, to his home early next morning, so the festivities continued late into the night, almost until the sun slowly lit up the sky to herald the beginning of her new life.