The Book of Karna

The Book of Karna
A lamp glimmered dimly in his marquee. I went to tell him that everything is ready for tomorrow.
“Ah, it is you!” – A smile flashed across his tired face.  “Come in, I’m very glad to see you.”
“Do our horses do well?” He poured some drink from his pitcher, “Want any?”
I nodded and accepted the goblet from his hands. Actually I would take everything he gave me, poison even.
“Take a seat. You must be tired today?”
So I should not be tired but, in his presence, I always felt myself quite so. He meant everything to me; a father and a mother, a friend and a brother, a preceptor and a master. He was my very breath and I loved him so much. Was it mutual or not? Brahmins say that love reveals to each in its own aspects. That’s why I think he loved me too, in his own way, certainly.
I met him some years ago, when he arrived at our lord’s council. There were rumours whispered about him and our chief equerry often used to say, “A coachman’s son, yet he became a prince. He couldn’t avoid the fact that others may be envious.”  As a kid I was taken into the residence and then sent to work in the stables. Thus I joined the horses and began to understand them. They have language as we humans do.  Later, when the king’s eldest son decided to present him with a gift, I helped him to pick and choose horses for the royal chariots. It was here that he caught sight of me and took me away to the ruler’s stables, along with the horses. 
“Karna!”  Someone was looking for him somewhere in the field camp. I jumped up.
“Sit,” he said, “I will go out.”
Now, I’m sitting in his tent. It is more than two weeks since we are stuck at this field, losing people and all hope. I certainly have nothing against our rulers but it is stupid to annihilate hundreds of thousands of warriors for the sake of some senseless dispute over a legacy. All the more so kinsmen argue. The laws exist and it is so simple to follow them. I do not assert that our kings are impeccable but, to my mind, the Pandavas are the same indeed! 
 Voices were heard outside the tent. Karna was returning with King Shalya who was assigned to my master’s charioteer. If I could, I would strongly oppose the decision, or even steer horses tomorrow by myself. Despite being a charioteer myself, I could not.
“Well, my friend,” so Shalya was saying, “think about it…  Your enemy is a great warrior and it is not you who vie with him.”
“But who should he vie with if not with me?” Smiling wryly, Karna responded, walking through the tent curtain. A gap remained open in the curtain, through which I saw a king. He appeared astonished to see me.
“What does the brat do here?” He asked disdainfully.
“The young man is taking a rest here,” Karna answered dispassionately, “by my own invitation.”
Shalya hummed and went away.
Karna drew a canopy. “Would you help me with it?”, he asked  and pointed to the armour in the corner.
We had been reassembling; braiding ropes, checking arrows and spare bow strings. Karna assembled his weapon whilst I told him stories. Later on, I became quiet and he asked me why. Sighing, I ventured ”My lord shouldn’t give up wearing his golden armour and earrings. If we languish here...“ I felt that he would interrupt me. He just began to laugh and tousled my hair.
“What do you know about it?” He demanded.
“Whether I do or not, King Shalya, your charioteer tomorrow is an untrustworthy man. That, I do understand clearly.”
He became silent, then smiled sheepishly and said, “Don’t tell this to anyone else.”
I didn’t repeat this to anyone. I wrote about it. I wrote about this and many others things. I am an author of the Eighth Book – The Book of Karna.
However, this was to happen later but right then he asked, “Could you bring me some water? “
Joyously, I ran at top speed towards springs in a grove, near where we were camping, skidding on slippery roots of trees, soaked in rain, and when I returned, I found him weeping... That night he told me everything... He cried burying his head in my shoulders. Soaked through and confused, I kneeled facing him, trying awkwardly to calm him.  As he fell asleep, later, I covered him with a blanket and kept his weapon and armour.  How would he be going to combat tomorrow?
I execrate women who leave their children. 
* * *
In the morning, whilst I was harnessing the horses to the chariots, he came to me, taking a ring from his finger and placed it into my palm.
“If I don’t return, remember me”. He then gave me a parcel.  “Documents are in here. Hand it to my father.”  With a warm hug for me, he went to our commanders.
* * *
Shalya didn’t rescue him. When I saw their chariot had stopped, I dashed across the field, jumping over the dead bodies of animals and humans. I knew it, I just knew it! They had set him up, double crossed him again and he couldn’t avoid it! Slayers! Traitors! A hundred steps away I tumbled down behind the chariot stuck in the mud and crept, avoiding the celestial weapon behind corpses and stones. Shalya was tinkering with the wheel, but Karna, my lord Karna, he was fighting back his tears; or was it just the rainfall?
I don’t think anyone shouted louder than me. Brushing off raindrops with a grimy hand, I darted out of the chariot, pushed away Shalya and rushed to intercept them mounting the other chariot, trying to reach their horses’ reins. The one sitting in front wondered what was happening and waved a hand slightly. Several arrows, flying askew, far and wide over the battle field pierced my body.  I lurched forward with a sudden savage pain and toppled down at my horses’ feet, right at the wheel spindle.
Feeling dazed, I saw my lord fall to the ground, slayed by the arrow of a Thunderer.  His head rolling, a brilliant splendour emanated from his body. The radiance lit up the whole dome of heaven.
Then He came. Whilst the murderer was feasting his own glory, His charioteer bowed down to me and, with His head shaking, withdrew all the arrows carefully. Being flaked out, I heard His voice sadly uttering, “Karna was the best among all the humans ever born to earth. Also he was your senior brother. What makes you merry, Arjuna?”
* * *
As Karna had requested, I took the documents to his parents. Afterwards, I stayed to live with them. Sometimes we went with his father to the shore of a flowing river, watching the waves that once brought a basket with a baby. Adhiratha told me much about his son.
Wounds of mine have healed, so I assumed to write down the life story of Karna. I worked on the book for more than one year, gathering information, thinking to be specific.  During this time I felt I restored him to life within my memories and there wasn’t a single day when he was not with me. 
Towards the end of the second year as I settled down in his manor, a herald came from the capital. Rulers assembled chronicles of the kingdom. I was ordered to arrive at the court. So I fitted myself out and went. The road was long and cold. 
* * *
“Come in.  You will be called soon.” A guard said as he let us pass one by one into the enclosed courtyard of the palace.
We looked around. About twenty persons stood under the gallery, escaping the scorching sun.  A small piscine sparkled by golden patches in the centre of the room. Beautiful…as even nothing had changed since then. But each new step was harder than the previous. Was it a sensation of fine chest-picking needles that reminded me spikes which made tunnels in my body a pair of years ago? Or just everything here carries imprints of the past?
“You are awaited.” A courtier led us to the rooms of the palace. He might not endeavour just as well. Almost everyone of the present company therein knew the placement in-and-out. True these last two years became an eternity; and during the eternity many things could be forgotten but I do remember...
Here now a turn left, then straight. Four doors, past a secret passage behind the pink marble pillar (It would be interesting to know if any one of the current servants knows about its existence), one more inner gallery and we are in place.
“Gentlemen,” Our guide spoke to us… (Well-well... Somehow at Kurukshetra you were not as courteous, yeah...Though what to do...). ”You enter an audience chamber together, bow and then after you have been addressed, you come forward to the thrones.”
Damn the courtesy! I totally ignored it. To bow before a murder of my master! I must get grip of myself. I don’t take that on. I just not look at anyone and do not think such a thing.  Just to bow blindly and step aside.
The fretwork gates, that I liked so much to view in my childhood, were thrown open, leading the way to the throne room.  Five thrones, no, there are six, and on the sixth…
I bowed to him. I thanked Heavens for their grace upon me, that being in the public eye I have bowed down inwardly to the one only, whose throne stood above all others. A charioteer of my lord’s enemy sat there, surrounded by glory and honour, worthy of his standing. Let it be: I’m bowing down to you, oh Lord of the Universe, but not your servant, even though thou have served him by yourself. 
Something pushed me from within. That’s the limit. I made efforts to stay steady on my feet, while we came to thrones by turn. So it is: I am the seventeenth as if that day is imprinted forever on my destiny. At the seventeenth day was killed the one, whose murder mounts the throne leftward of Krishna. I was then seventeen...  I gave my book to a ceremony master and for a moment it seemed to me that the time died somehow away and then left its steeds stamping inside my body in a full gallop again.  I struggled to drag my feet to reach my place and sit. A fellow one – an author of the ninth book looked at me depressed and said: “They’ll edit all the same.” Nodding, I tried to concentrate on the breath, to sit out somehow until the end of an audience. 
At last they gifted us some trinkets and we left.
* * *
Vyasa, responsible for compiling of kingdom chronicles called once or twice during the next week. At the time of his first visit he brought my script back to me and pointed at some text fragments where they should be rectified, by my own hands.
Later on he sent clean sheets. Do they check an allegiance to a regime or something? It is much better, though, then to participate in a horse sacrifice they were going to arrange. All the next kingdoms were passed round and all the rulers of those lands didn’t resist. Imagine if they did... It’s better to deprive a crown then a whole life. I rewrote a text all over again, and Ramesh who was sent here at my service, carried it to bookbinders. A good person is he, smart. Afterwards Vyasa called again as well but I reported sick. Though, it was not difficult. A body was pierced by small fire arrows ever and anon, as if old wounds began to open but there wasn’t anything to show on the skin. There are phantom pains probably. Should pay a visit to doctor’s. Tomorrow a copy of a whole book must be sent and I have to hand it over to our prince. So at this point my mission could be considered as fulfilled.
* * *
“Do you need something else, Sir?”
What else do I need?  Peace, just peace.
“No, thank you. You can go now, take your rest.”
Ramesh bowed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
I paced up and down the room – my room at present. My master occupied it staying with Kauravas and nowadays the whole palace is occupied by their kinsfolk. Who knows what is for the best.
There was a low knock on and then an opening door creak. Did he forget anything?
“Ramesh, is that you?” Turning sharply round, I saw a figure, almost hidden in the gloom at the entrance. 
“Will you let me in?” asked a fascinating voice. It was impossible not to recognize him. Krishna. What is He doing here?
“Yes, my lord.” Words of address nearly stuck in my throat. I didn’t utter these words for a long time. But when it happened to say, an image of the person they were always addressed to shaped them fully concrete. “Should you ask permission to come in?”   
Everything has no matter for me. A script was lying on the table. The original one.
Krishna passed into my apartments.
“Is our guest satisfied here everything?”  He asked, with a caring voice, quite sincerely, giving the room a once over glance, I noted.  What does he want here? I have nothing to give. He deprived me of everything that could be. The book even – and it was edited. “Yes, my lord.” I repeated as quite as I could.
Krishna stopped at the balcony window, looked out, then turned round and looked at me attentively and gently. We looked at one another. I knew that I should greet him somehow but fatigue and exhaustion surpassed all the decorum and I couldn’t concern myself with what I must do in such a situation. There was a total indifference to what was going on. 
“Do you miss him?” Krishna asked pensively, maybe, not expecting an answer.
I stood in embarrassment at the wall – exactly in the same way like it was then, on Kurukshetra, when I was hiding behind my chariot. What should I answer? Everything was clear. 
“You do.” My guest nodded slightly, turned away and opened a balcony curtain.  A fresh night wind gushed into the room, disarranging hangings but bringing a welcome cool.  At night it is always good. It is something to help breathe here. I closed my eyes slightly and drew in the fragrance of the night. A sharp string of pain thrust in the rib. Evidently not every wound can be healed...
Krishna went out onto the balcony under the full moon shining high in the sky above us.   April and the full moon...I do forgot all about my birthday today. Actually I have not celebrated it for a long time, apart from occasionally, when anyone remembered. Later, after I began to serve Karna, it was only he who greeted me. Remembering him, I smiled with an almost forgotten smile. The stirring somewhere within the body pain abated. A night visitor stood leaning his elbows on railings and looked at me. What does he need indeed, to ask a question?  Maybe not.  If he came, this means there was a reason. He will speak for himself. So it is. He is dressed casually, without ceremony, as if in clothes worn about the house even, with ruffled hair, just as if he dropped in to say good night before going to bed. The wind is blowing about his scarf. In the night sky the stars are twinkling, the moon shining brightly. It seems that the palace is already asleep.
You know, Charioteer,” He said it so suddenly that it startled me as it was, indeed unexpected, “once a long time ago, in my younger days,” he went on, I loved one girl. She lived in a neighbouring settlement, not far from the Brindavan.” I stood silently, listening, as he continued,   “I played the flute for her.”
Krishna stared thoughtfully into the distance, somewhere beyond the trees in the palace park.  “After I left, she waited for me a long time on the river shore. She was waiting for my return. But I couldn’t. At least people say so.” He smiled mirthlessly. “She knew that I wouldn’t return but she waited nevertheless and... she loved to the utmost.”
A feeling of weakness came over me and I lowered myself onto the cold slab marble, straight on the threshold between the balcony and the room, leaning against the doorpost and so able to listen to him. But he stopped speaking. He stood, looking so sad like there, on the field....
“What was happened to her, my lord?”   I asked without realizing fully with whom I spoke.
“She died. She felt that she must pass away soon but when facing death she wanted to listen to my voice singing the flute... Afterwards I promised myself never to play but you came and I evade my word. All dues to you, Charioteer.”
I lingered on and then, embracing my head, asked:
“What have I done to you, my lord?”
“You could not forget him.”
“Must I?” I responded, slightly irritating and a bit ironically (with some emotions finally), but I decided to specify.
“You misunderstand.”  Krishna mildly remarked.
I caught myself at the thought that some years before I would began to protest but now there was no matter for me, so I told him, “It doesn’t matter.” and averted my face, looking through a balcony grating. The pain pulsed again somewhere in the right side. 
“It didn’t heal?” observed my guest compassionately.
“Is my lord a clairvoyant?”  I asked, wearily.
 “You writhed.” He answered calmly and suddenly sat down by me, gently touching my chest. Something inside pushed on again. I began to swim. Then all passed over. I covered eyes with my hand because if I was a child I would weep. So I just shielded my eyes to prevent me seeing his face so close to me. – A shining face of the truth – dispassionate and absolutely real. What does he do here? What does he need here from all of us? If he is a god himself as it is said in this palace, then he justifies his title fully. He plays with people for his own purposes. What for are we necessary for him?  The pain stabbed again, this time strongly. Just not to look at.
“I am a human too.”  I heard the voice suddenly.  It was such an unexpected statement that I took my palm off my head and looked at Krishna. He sat a little to my side to me and unwrapped an object like a stick. It was the flute. What, is he going to play here? 
“What are you doing, my lord?” I asked him, amazed.
Instead of answering he smiled at me and put the instrument to his lips. For a moment it seemed to me that he will change his mind but simultaneously a flute tune arose in the void of my heart as if it poured out of the anguish which flooded it there, on the day when I must be dying but didn’t. The flute was singing and I saw every moment since I met Karna, his smile and tears, gladness and despair. I was his Charioteer, his shadow again. And so I wept...
* * *
The next morning Ramesh found my body leaning to a balcony door. Before the sunrise when a wood bonfire was laid out on the shore and the first beams of the rising sun at dawn pierced a skyline with exultation, a man covered in a dark cloak threw a torch in a fire. After a prescribed while Brahmins intoned all their hymns and began to pack up. The man picked up some ashes in a cloth and made a small knot.
“Take it to his father.” He said, handing it to Ramesh.
“Yes, my lord.” Ramesh bowed.
I don’t know even if I glanced back or just imagined it but I know for certain, such a familiar golden radiance beside me was looking uninterruptedly following the man in a dark cloth, like biding something. At last he turned towards us, waved his hand and we descended to him. But what more did we need? 

Cherepovets – March, 21st , 2010