The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Page A
Authors: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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turned away, facing the dark garden. “You mean Karna could do it, too?”
“Yes. He plans to come to the swayamvar, along with Duryodhan. He plans to win you. We must not allow it.”
I wanted to ask: If he were, indeed, as wondrous a hero as Arjun, why should it matter if I married him instead of the Pandava prince? Wouldn't he be as great an ally for Panchaal? Why was Krishna so against him? Was it just that he favored his friend Arjun? There were other secrets here. But I sensed that my uncomplicatedbrother did not know them. So, instead, I asked, “How can you stop him? If he wins, aren't we honor-bound by Father's oath?”
“The honor of family is more important than other kinds of honor,” my brother said. He waited a moment, as though daring me to disagree. “I'll think of a way. Krishna will help me. You, too, must do your part.”
I didn't want to argue with Dhri, but I wasn't ready to turn against Karna, not even for the sake of family honor. Instead I asked, “Adhiratha said Karna had been gone for many years. Do you know where he'd been?”
Dhri nodded grimly. “The lost years of Karna's life: that's the most important part of the story, and the main reason I'm telling it to you.”
Early in life Karna demonstrates a passion for archery. At sixteen—still believing he is Adhiratha's son—he goes to Drona, the foremost teacher in the land. He confesses that he is lowborn and begs to be accepted as his student. But Drona is busy with princes . I will not teach a chariot-driver's son, he says. Disappointed, insulted, Karna vows he will learn from one who is greater than Drona. He leaves the city for the mountains and finally, through great effort and even greater luck—though whether the luck is good or bad is uncertain—he finds the ashram of Parasuram.
“Drona's own teacher,” I whispered. “Didn't he once erase the entire race of kshatriyas from the earth because they'd grown corrupt?”
Dhri nodded.
Since truth hasn't served him well, Karna does not risk it again. He tells Parasuram that he is a brahmin. Seeing his potential, the sage agrees to teach him. In time Karna becomes the best of his students,the most beloved, the only one to whom Parasuram imparts the invocation for the Brahmastra, the weapon that no one can withstand.
The day before he is to leave Parasuram's ashram, Karna accompanies his teacher on a walk through the forest. When a tired Parasuram wants to rest under a tree, Karna offers his lap as a pillow. As the old man sleeps, a mountain scorpion creeps from its hole and stings Karna repeatedly on the thigh, drawing blood. The pain is intense, but Karna does not want to disturb his teacher. He sits unmoving—but blood spurts from his wound onto Parasuram's face and wakes him. In rage Parasuram curses his favorite student.
Shock forced me to interrupt. “But why?”
Dhri said, “Parasuram realized that a brahmin could never have borne so much pain in silence. Only a kshatriya was capable of that. He accused Karna of having deceived him. And though Karna told him that he didn't belong to the warrior-caste but was merely a charioteer's son, Parasuram wouldn't forgive him. He said, Just as you've deceived me, so will your mind deceive you. When you need the Brahmastra the most, you'll forget the mantra needed to call it up. What you've stolen from me will be of no use to you in the hour of your death.”
I was outraged. “Didn't Karna's years of devoted service mean anything to Parasuram? What of his love for his teacher, because of which he bore the scorpion's sting? Wasn't that worth some forgiveness?”
“Ah, forgiveness,” Dhri said. “It's a virtue that eludes even the great. Isn't our own existence a proof of that?”
A disconsolate Karna makes his way back down the mountain, having gained and then lost that which he'd set his heart on. It is night. Resting in the woods outside a village, he hears a beast lumbering toward him. His mind in turmoil, he
“Yes. He plans to come to the swayamvar, along with Duryodhan. He plans to win you. We must not allow it.”
I wanted to ask: If he were, indeed, as wondrous a hero as Arjun, why should it matter if I married him instead of the Pandava prince? Wouldn't he be as great an ally for Panchaal? Why was Krishna so against him? Was it just that he favored his friend Arjun? There were other secrets here. But I sensed that my uncomplicatedbrother did not know them. So, instead, I asked, “How can you stop him? If he wins, aren't we honor-bound by Father's oath?”
“The honor of family is more important than other kinds of honor,” my brother said. He waited a moment, as though daring me to disagree. “I'll think of a way. Krishna will help me. You, too, must do your part.”
I didn't want to argue with Dhri, but I wasn't ready to turn against Karna, not even for the sake of family honor. Instead I asked, “Adhiratha said Karna had been gone for many years. Do you know where he'd been?”
Dhri nodded grimly. “The lost years of Karna's life: that's the most important part of the story, and the main reason I'm telling it to you.”
Early in life Karna demonstrates a passion for archery. At sixteen—still believing he is Adhiratha's son—he goes to Drona, the foremost teacher in the land. He confesses that he is lowborn and begs to be accepted as his student. But Drona is busy with princes . I will not teach a chariot-driver's son, he says. Disappointed, insulted, Karna vows he will learn from one who is greater than Drona. He leaves the city for the mountains and finally, through great effort and even greater luck—though whether the luck is good or bad is uncertain—he finds the ashram of Parasuram.
“Drona's own teacher,” I whispered. “Didn't he once erase the entire race of kshatriyas from the earth because they'd grown corrupt?”
Dhri nodded.
Since truth hasn't served him well, Karna does not risk it again. He tells Parasuram that he is a brahmin. Seeing his potential, the sage agrees to teach him. In time Karna becomes the best of his students,the most beloved, the only one to whom Parasuram imparts the invocation for the Brahmastra, the weapon that no one can withstand.
The day before he is to leave Parasuram's ashram, Karna accompanies his teacher on a walk through the forest. When a tired Parasuram wants to rest under a tree, Karna offers his lap as a pillow. As the old man sleeps, a mountain scorpion creeps from its hole and stings Karna repeatedly on the thigh, drawing blood. The pain is intense, but Karna does not want to disturb his teacher. He sits unmoving—but blood spurts from his wound onto Parasuram's face and wakes him. In rage Parasuram curses his favorite student.
Shock forced me to interrupt. “But why?”
Dhri said, “Parasuram realized that a brahmin could never have borne so much pain in silence. Only a kshatriya was capable of that. He accused Karna of having deceived him. And though Karna told him that he didn't belong to the warrior-caste but was merely a charioteer's son, Parasuram wouldn't forgive him. He said, Just as you've deceived me, so will your mind deceive you. When you need the Brahmastra the most, you'll forget the mantra needed to call it up. What you've stolen from me will be of no use to you in the hour of your death.”
I was outraged. “Didn't Karna's years of devoted service mean anything to Parasuram? What of his love for his teacher, because of which he bore the scorpion's sting? Wasn't that worth some forgiveness?”
“Ah, forgiveness,” Dhri said. “It's a virtue that eludes even the great. Isn't our own existence a proof of that?”
A disconsolate Karna makes his way back down the mountain, having gained and then lost that which he'd set his heart on. It is night. Resting in the woods outside a village, he hears a beast lumbering toward him. His mind in turmoil, he
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