Of love, hate, pity, envy and worship

Yajnaseni,

That letter that I will never send to you. But would love to believe that you know about it, all of it, nevertheless. That you know how much I feel for you, and what. 

That day when a social networking site asked me to choose my "relationship status", it took me aback. Really, can this ever be that simple, just a drop-down? Is it really so easy to answer - soul-search, find and confide? Which relationship is that, one that defines me, that spells out my identity, my self? Is it that wife, who is dutiful enough to play a wife and sensitive enough to not demand a husband of me, or that mother who loves me so or the one who leaves me so, or, you? Really, is it you who define me most? I'm afraid it's you. And I swear, "it's complicated!"

Coming back to ourselves, we have some uncanny similarities, don't we, you and me? For one, our families are the same. The Pandavas. And that neither of us ever belonged to it, in a real sense. But again, how different we are in that. I have always yearned to live a life at that place, where my heart always belonged since the day I came to know of that, with the worthiest of the brothers that a man can ever have. And for you, how much you had to give up, in your heart and your soul, to live there, to kill your sensibilities, to play wife to five brothers, to surrender and to not say a word.

They call me a true Kshatriya. Just because I bore a pain of an insect drilling in to me, and did not move. They do not know what a true Kshatriya means. They do now what what courage it takes to not tell that father that you are not a trophy to be won in an archery contest. To not tell a mother-in-law that you're no property to be distributed to avoid sibling rivalry. That to get you is not to own you. That you cannot be given away, only your company can be earned. And that they have no idea what that means. So you oblige. So you cook, and dress-up and entertain. And so you mate. With whoever they ask you to mate with. To tell them you do not care enough to disobey. To not tell them that they are wrong, and to not tell them that you gave up fury for forgiveness.

I heard somewhere that as God could not be everywhere and so He made mothers. Is that why He got Radha for me, and saved me from the wrath of Kunti? I'll spare you an account of what Kunti could be and what she could do, to me, and to you, and I know you know better. Only if that woman knew that the biggest mistake she ever made was not to give birth to me, but to have chosen to come herself to me to make a deal than to send you to win me back to her. She told me she can get you to belong to me, that I can lay my claim on you being the eldest of her sons. She would never know how I have always belonged to you, all my life.  And that she would never know that it is the only way to ever be with you, for anyone, and that you never really belonged to any of hers sons in a way she presumed.

I want you to know this. That I love you. For being yourself. For forgiving them, for they do not know what they have done to you. For letting the world chant hymns in praise the stalwarts of Hastinapur, as you'd never tell them they're actually not worth a dime. For loving Arjuna, the worthiest enemy I could ever have. And so I love you all the more.

But I hate you too, Yajnaseni. For all the same reasons. For wasting your life. For compromising. For giving up, all so easily. For giving your virginity, first, to the very cowardest of the lot. For dedicating all your youth and your beauty to the grim of the Indraprastha kitchen. For not giving a damn in being used, in being raped. For not caring to seek what you were worthy of. And finally, for sacrificing your sons to the unworthiest of the causes, and without a sigh. How could you be so indifferent, Yajnaseni? How could you not feel a thing?

And I pity you. For a life like yours that goes so ill spent. While it's your grace that you forgave, it's a disgrace that you did not find your equal. That you married five but did not find one single man for a husband who you could belong to, who you could both trust and love at the same time. I pity you that you could never stop loving Arjuna. Knowing well that neither did he love you back, nor did he deserve your love. And I pity you that you could never get yourself to love Bhima, the only brother I stand proud of, till today. It's a shame that there was not one single man who stood up and killed Duhshashon for touching you, or the unpardonable Yudhisthira, even before that. Bhima, who was close to it, could not as well. I pity you that you could not, at that point, throw everything aside and come to me. Alone and fearless. Because I knew, all along, that you've known me deep inside. Known that you could come to me. Anytime.

And at this moment of confession, let me also tell you how I always envied you. Because you lived your life where I could not. Because you could touch Bhishma's feet and seek his blessings, whenever you needed to. Because you always had a shoulder to weep on, that most dependable friend one can ever seek, Krishna. You got everything that I could also have had, if luck was on my side. And what I can never have. And just how much I could give up to have them, I know I cannot imagine what it takes you to live with that.

Well, I told you, it's complicated!

I'm glad I have not met you enough. In fact, it's funny that we saw each other just twice in our lives. Once when you humiliated me at the Swayamvar, enough for me to wish to die. And once when I gave that right back to you. Not moving an inch but watch you be raped. Watch you look at me for help. That glance that only I understood, and knew that you know that too. I'm glad you didn't consider me to marry. I could not bear living a life with you, to discover the reflection of each and every of my vices and virtues in another body, another soul. "You are more myself than I am!" Because I do not love myself, let me love you. And let the distance be. Stay away, my goddess.

I can never be yours, truly!

Karna

Voice of a shadow

The setting sun is glowing red, with shades of darkness tinging it. It is reminiscent of a father's face who is ashamed of his son's failure, reddened with angst, anger, disgrace and distress. The father who knew that his son studied well for the exam, but failed for some strange reason. Darkness has already set-in in that house on the banks of Ganga.  Two shadows sit there still, in that corner room. A slow voice echoes out of a shadow, with a slight tremble in it.

****

Oh dear Mother! How can I thank you for letting my head lie on your lap. It is this lap that protects me, more than this kavach that I was born with! Like the Sun who goes down into the Western hill to rest, I come to your lap for solace. The love you showered on me, all my life, is immeasurable. Wasn't it you who fought with father to send me to Drona's school. I pestered you night and day about learning archery! I don't know why, but I wasn't ever satisfied with just driving chariots, the chariots of someone else. I wanted to have my own chariot, lots of chariots, and become Maha Rathi! It is you who constantly encouraged me all along, keeping all the bruises caused by arrow sharp whispers of our neighbors, to yourself. Oh Mother, how come you love me so much!

Even today, when I came back home, it is you who recognized my grief. Neither father nor my dearest friend Duryodhan could see it! You asked me why my face looked like the Sun in the clutches of Rahu. Mother, I'll tell you why. I'll tell you all the questions that are piercing my heart in spite of this kavach covering me. I'll let loose the fire burning inside me, hidden, like the oceanic fire. I know, you can bear it for my sake. 

As you know, I went to Parasuram to obtain Brahmastra, the astra that Drona denied me giving because of his favoritism towards Arjun. That obsessive partiality of Drona, right from the school days, made me burn with jealousy. He used to teach him many new techniques for many extra hours. Is it fair of Guru? And that Arjun! His eyes drooled with haughtiness as he looked me down as an insect. Oh, how much I hate that big black pig! It is that pique which drove me, to somehow get that astra possessed by Arjuna. But alas, I returned empty handed today! But mother, that is not what makes me distressed. I went there with deceit and that didn't pay off, as simple as that.

But do you know why I failed? I did manage to obtain the Brahmastra from Parasuram, posing as a Brahmin. But yesterday the fatal thing happened. He was taking a nap on my lap, under the shade of a tree. At that time, a bloody damn demon insect came from nowhere and started biting my thigh. I resisted the pain. I couldn't move, as that might disturb my teacher. I've heard enough stories of rishis getting disturbed by slightest of things and giving curses! So I sat there still, like a statue. Blood oozed from my thigh. It slowly started trickling down and touched Parasuram. He woke up. "Oh, I'm in soup!", I thought. It was a soup indeed, but with a completely new recipe! I said that I endured the pain lest his sleep gets disturbed. And that, O mother, enraged him! He spoke some strange things to me. He said that such an endurance, such a valor, are the traits of a Kshatriy, and a Brahmin cannot have them. He said he was convinced that I am not a Brahmin, but a Kshatriya. Holy Cow! What was he saying? I was damn confused! I fell on his feet and revealed the truth. I told him I'm not a Kshatriy, but a Suta! He didn't care to hear thereafter. Boom came out the curse! The Brahmastra which I got with deceit, will come to no use for me. 

Mother, do you see the paradox, the contradiction here? Today, solely based on my traits, my Gunas, I was declared a Kshatriy! These very traits, did not come to any help when I challenged Arjun for a dual that other day. The day when princes were showcasing their skills. That time, it was my birth which took the upper hand. What an irony! In both the cases, I was at the losing end. Does this happen to me alone? - this strange mixture, of being someone by birth, and someone else by their characteristics?  Are the characteristics according to one's birth varna, or is the varna according to one's characteristics and deeds? Is a thing named after its characteristics, or does it inherit them from its name?

Mother, my head is bursting and heart is burning with such questions! Let me tell you one more thing, something which I didn't tell anyone, even to you. From the childhood, I had a deep desire inside me, to become a king and rule a country.  That desire grew with my age. Why should I have such a desire? Is it my dharma? I don't know. But I had the required qualities too, didn't I? Then why this discrimination based on birth? Shouldn't every one get the same opportunities to learn? Shouldn't jobs be given solely based on skills and talents? Mother, tell me, who will answer these questions for me? My aspiration remained unfulfilled, till that moment when Duryodhan appointed me as the King of Anga rajya. Oh Mother, Mother! That was the happiest moment of my whole life! It was like a re-birth to me. At that moment, I felt, I became the twice-born! And so, that new life that I got from Duryodhan, I decided to dedicate it to him. Whatever is good for him, is good for me. Whatever he asks me to do, I'll do. Now, the only wish I have is to kill my one and only enemy, that middle fiddle of Pandavas, the Arujun. I don't even care about the other four guys. To my mind, they are not even Kshatriyas. Arjun is the real guy. The real warrior. One should either kill him or get killed by him. There lies the ultimate meaning for my life. 

So you see, nothing is left in my life except revenge! Dear mother, the only love that remains, is you. Please let me rest in your lap till my life's wish comes true. 

***

The voice went mute. The two shadows dissolved into the darkness of night.