novelraw Arc 9 - Pativratā Mahātmyam and Āraṇya Parva Chapter 3 - Indra Beguiles Karṇa
Arc 9 - Pativratā Mahātmyam and Āraṇya Parva Chapter 3 - Indra Beguiles Karṇa
Vaisampāyana said:
“Thus it was, O Janamejaya, that the maiden Prithā, daughter of Kuntibhoja, became overwhelmed by the unyielding will of the Sun. Though she pleaded with gentle words, though she trembled between shame and fear of his curse, yet Surya, the thousand-rayed, would not depart unsatisfied.
She weighed long within herself the two paths before her—on one side the dishonour of yielding, on the other the fiery doom of a god’s wrath consuming her father, her family, and the sage who had entrusted her with the mantra. Hemmed in by fate, she bowed her head at last, uttering with a trembling voice:
‘If thou, O radiant one, must fulfil thy will, then grant me this: that my father and the Brahmana be unharmed, that I myself remain untouched in maidenhood, and that the son I gain through thee be virtuous, mighty, and adorned with celestial armour and ear-rings wrought of amṛta. Only thus may I submit without sin.’
Hearing these words, Surya shone yet brighter, and replied:
‘Fair one, fear not. Thou shalt remain a virgin even after I plant within thee my seed of splendour. Thy son shall be born radiant as I, clad in natural armour and ear-rings that no weapon can pierce. The boon I bestow cannot be undone. He shall be mighty of arm, irresistible in battle, and his fame shall fill the three worlds.’
So saying, the Sun-god, lord of life and light, entered by yogic power into her being. He touched her with the heat of his essence, and the princess, overcome by his energy, swooned upon her couch as a young creeper droops beneath a sudden storm. Surya did not defile her; rather by divine mystery he kindled life within her womb, leaving her body untouched in outward form, her virginity unbroken.
Then, comforting her, the Sun spoke once more:
‘Thou shalt bring forth a son of unrivalled prowess, foremost among warriors, yet still thou shalt be counted ever a maiden. This is my boon and my decree. Farewell, gentle one, until thy time is ripe.’
With these words, the resplendent god departed into the heavens, leaving the chamber filled with lingering radiance. Slowly Kuntī awoke from her trance, bewildered, her heart heavy with the burden of destiny, knowing that a divine seed now lay within her.”
Vaisampāyana said:
“It was, O lord of earth, on the first day of the waxing fortnight of the tenth month, beneath the gaze of the gods, that Kuntī conceived by the Sun a son radiant as the starry lords of heaven. From fear of reproach, the maiden concealed her state, so that none in the palace knew save her faithful nurse.
In due season, by the grace of destiny, she brought forth a child resplendent as a young god—broad-shouldered like a lion, eyes gleaming like burnished copper, and wondrous to behold, for he was born clad in a celestial coat of mail and adorned with golden ear-rings fashioned of amṛta. The splendour of his limbs filled the chamber like the dawn.
Yet sorrow seized the maiden’s heart. For she was unmarried, and the fear of her kin pressed upon her like a mountain. With her nurse she fashioned a smooth wicker basket, lined it with soft cloths, spread it with wax, and placed within it a costly pillow. Upon this bed she laid her divine son, her eyes streaming with tears. At dead of night, trembling, she bore the basket to the dark waters of the river Asva.
There, standing on the bank with grief tearing her breast, she uttered these words, her voice broken with weeping:
‘O child, may good befall thee from those who dwell on earth, in the waters, in the sky, and in the radiant realms of the celestials. May every path be made smooth for thee, with none to obstruct thy way. May Varuṇa guard thee in the rivers, and the lords of the heavens shield thee in the sky. May thy sire, the Sun of blazing glory, watch over thee wherever thou roamest. May the Ādityas, Vasus, Rudras, Sādhyas, Viśvedevas, and the mighty Maruts keep thee safe. May Indra and the regents of the quarters protect thee in all directions. Even in lands unknown to me, I shall know thee by this armour that clings to thy body! O son of Surya, blessed indeed is he who will behold thee floating down the stream, and blessed the mother whose breast shall nurse thee. Fortunate is she who shall hear thy first laughter, and see thee crawl, your tender body covered with dust, uttering sweet sounds. Fortunate is she who shall behold thee in youth, fierce as a lion from Himālaya forests, strong and radiant as thy sire!’
Thus lamenting, the lotus-eyed maiden set the basket afloat upon the dark waters. Long did she gaze after it, torn between love and dread, before stealing back with her nurse to the palace, hiding her grief in silence.
Borne by the river Asva, the basket drifted into the Charmanvatī, thence into the Yamunā, and so into the sacred Gaṅgā herself. Protected by the divine armour and ear-rings that were his birthright, and by the decree of fate itself, the child floated unharmed until the current bore him to the city of Champā, where destiny had prepared his second birth amongst the household of a noble Sūta.”
Vaisampāyana said:
“At that very time, O king, destiny fulfilled its course. A noble Sūta named Adhiratha, close to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and skilled as a royal charioteer, came with his wife Rādhā to the banks of the sacred Gaṅgā. She, Rādhā, was famed throughout the land for her beauty, yet despite all vows, prayers, and offerings, she had long remained barren, her heart heavy with the longing for a child.
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As they stood by the holy stream, they beheld a wondrous sight: a sealed wicker box, borne by the waves, decked with perfumes, unguents, and wrappings of costly cloth. Drawn by curiosity and a strange inner call, Rādhā caused it to be lifted from the waters and set before her husband. Adhiratha broke it open—and there lay a radiant infant, glorious as the newborn sun, his tiny frame clad in a coat of celestial mail and his ears adorned with earrings that shone like molten gold.
The sight overwhelmed them both with wonder, their eyes widened, their hearts leaping between awe and joy. Taking the child on his lap, Adhiratha exclaimed to his wife:
‘Never in my life, O gentle one, have I beheld such marvel. Surely this child, fallen into our hands, is of heavenly origin. The gods, taking pity upon my sonless state, have sent him to us. Let us accept this divine gift as our own!’
So saying, he placed the babe in the arms of Rādhā. Her heart, long barren, blossomed with motherly love. She adopted him according to the sacred ordinance, nursing him, rearing him, and naming him Vasusena—for he was born with the wealth of shining mail (vasu) upon his body. And because of his steadfast nature, the people also called him Vṛṣa, the bull among men.
Under Rādhā’s care, the boy grew like a flame fed by ghee—broad-shouldered, strong-limbed, leonine in gaze, and ever radiant with his divine ornaments. Later, Adhiratha begot other sons, yet Vasusena was ever the eldest in their house.
Meanwhile, word reached Prithā through secret messengers: her hidden son, clad in celestial armour and earrings, was being raised in the household of a Sūta at Campā, known to the world as the child of Adhiratha and Rādhā. Her heart wept in silence, torn by grief and fear of scandal, but bound by fate to conceal her truth.
When the youth grew strong, Adhiratha sent him to Hastināpura, the city of the elephant, to learn the science of arms. There he studied under Droṇa, under Kṛpa, and even under the fiery Rāma of the Bhṛgu race, mastering every weapon. Proud, fearless, and mighty of arm, he shone forth as a warrior second to none.
It was then, O monarch, that fate drew him into the orbit of Duryodhana, son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Their hearts clasped in instant friendship, a bond of iron was forged. From that day Karṇa stood as Duryodhana’s chosen ally, intent ever upon humbling the sons of Pṛthā. His spirit burned to confront Arjuna in battle, and Arjuna, meeting his gaze, burned likewise. Thus from their first encounter, rivalry was born between them—two flames destined to clash until one was extinguished.
This, O king, was the hidden secret known to the Sun: that Karṇa, begotten by himself on Kuntī, was reared in the race of charioteers, while yet bearing the celestial armour and earrings that made him unconquerable. And this was the secret that lay heavy in the heart of Yudhiṣṭhira, for beholding Karṇa’s splendour, he feared him unslayable in battle.
And each day, when the sun stood at his zenith, Karṇa would rise from his ablutions and with folded hands worship the blazing orb, his true father, with unwavering devotion. At such times, Brāhmaṇas came to seek wealth, and never did he deny them. To one he gave gold, to another land, to another cattle, to yet another ornaments. There was nothing Karṇa would not grant when asked.
It was then, O Bhārata, that Śakra, the slayer of Vṛtra, schemed to break him. Disguised in the form of a Brāhmaṇa, he came before Karṇa at that sacred hour and spoke a single word of request:
‘Give me!’
And Karṇa, son of Rādhā, answered without hesitation, ‘Thou art welcome!’”
Vaisampāyana said:
“When the wielder of the thunderbolt, disguised as a Brāhmaṇa, stood before him, Karṇa—ever generous—welcomed him with the words, ‘Welcome, holy one! What wilt thou have? Golden ornaments? Fair damsels? Herds of kine? Lands rich in harvest?’
But the disguised Indra replied softly, ‘I ask not for gold, nor for damsels, nor kine. Of such gifts thou art already famed. If thou art steadfast in thy vow of truth and charity, then give unto me thy natural armour and earrings—those divine gifts with which thou wert born. This alone I desire, O hero, and nothing else!’
Hearing this, Karṇa was troubled, yet smiled with unshaken resolve. He said, ‘O Brāhmaṇa, my coat of mail is part of my very body, and these earrings are sprung of nectar itself. They are my protection in battle, and without them I shall be vulnerable to foes. Ask me for anything else—land, wealth, villages, or even the sovereignty of the earth—but not these, O holy one!’
Yet the Brāhmaṇa stood firm, unmoved by Karṇa’s entreaties. At last Karṇa, recognising in him the lord of the gods himself, said with reverence:
‘O Indra, I knew thee from the first! It is not meet that I should grant an unprofitable boon unto one who is the granter of boons to all beings. If I part with these, I meet certain death, and men will mock thee for begging of me what strips me of life. Therefore, let there be exchange. Take from me my mail and earrings—but bestow on me some weapon in return!’
Then the king of the celestials revealed himself and said, ‘So be it, son of Rādhā! Ask any boon but the thunderbolt. What desirest thou in return?’
And Karṇa, with folded hands, answered, ‘Grant me, O lord of Śacī, a single dart, irresistible and infallible, capable of destroying even the mightiest foe!’
Śakra spoke gravely: ‘This dart, hurled from my own hand, slays hundreds and returns unsullied. In thy hand it shall slay but one great enemy, and then return to me. Choose well, O Karṇa.’
Karṇa replied without hesitation, ‘Be it so. To slay even one fierce foe who roareth like fire is enough for me. I accept!’
Indra warned him: ‘Know that the foe thou seekest to slay is guarded by none other than Nārāyaṇa, the eternal boar, the incomprehensible Lord. Even Kṛṣṇa himself protecteth him.’
But Karṇa answered, firm as a mountain:
‘Even if he be so guarded, still give me the dart. Let me win it at the price of my mail and earrings. Only grant that, when I cut them from my flesh, my body be not disfigured, nor lose its beauty.’
And Indra said: ‘So shall it be. Thy form shall remain flawless, radiant like thy sire the Sun. But if thou usest this dart in wrath when not in peril, it shall fall upon thyself. Swear that thou wilt hurl it only in direst need!’
Karṇa swore: ‘As thou commandest, so shall I do!’
Then, O king, in sight of gods and men, Karṇa drew his blade across his own body. Smiling, unflinching, he peeled away the divine mail born with his flesh. From his ears he cut the golden rings. The heavens roared with wonder, celestial drums resounded, and blossoms rained from the sky. The hosts of gods, Dānavas, and men beheld him in awe.
Dripping with his life’s blood, yet radiant as ever, Karṇa placed the armour and earrings in Indra’s hands. And Indra, gratified, gave him the blazing Vāsavi dart.
From that day forth, the son of Rādhā was known by all as Karna—the one who cut from his own flesh.
Śakra, having thus beguiled him, smiled, knowing the Pāṇḍavas’ path to victory was assured, and returned to heaven. The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, hearing of this, were struck with grief and their pride was humbled. But the sons of Pṛthā, learning that Karṇa was stripped of his divine mail, rejoiced greatly.