novelraw Arc 1 - Karna-senāpati-nirmāṇa Parva - Chapter 11 - Śalya’s Derision and Karna’s Wrath
Arc 1 - Karna-senāpati-nirmāṇa Parva - Chapter 11 - Śalya’s Derision and Karna’s Wrath
Sañjaya continued—
“While the Madra king thus mocked and praised Arjuna, Karna, blazing with anger, said sternly:
‘So be it! Praise him then, O King, to thy heart’s content. But soon a battle shall decide between us. If he vanquish me, thy words will ring true.’
Śalya answered quietly, ‘Let it be so,’ and spoke no more.
Then Karna, his wrath rising like flame, cried, ‘Proceed!’ And Śalya, master of steeds, urged forward the white coursers, swift as wind.
Like the sun scattering darkness, the son of Radha rode forth—his car wrapped in tiger-skin, its wheels thundering, its banners flashing—slaying along his path countless warriors. The Kurus shouted in delight; the heavens trembled as he advanced toward the Pāṇḍava host, crying aloud:
‘Where is Dhanañjaya?’”
“White steeds flew on like rays of morn,
Through dust and cry and battle’s horn;
The Sun-son sought the lightning’s flame—
And Arjuna waited, bow in aim.”
Sañjaya said—
“After Karṇa, having gladdened the Kaurava host, set out in splendour for battle, he rode through the lines like a blazing comet and proclaimed in a voice deep as thunder:
‘Hear me, ye warriors! Whosoever shall this day point out unto me the high-souled Dhanañjaya, that rider of white steeds, to him will I give whatever wealth he desires. Should that gift not content him, I will heap before him a cartload of jewels and gems.
If still unsatisfied, I will grant him a hundred kine with shining brass vessels for their milk. I will bestow upon him a hundred fair villages, fruitful and adorned with groves. I will give him black-eyed maidens with long tresses, trained in song and dance, and a car drawn by white mules.
If that content him not, I shall give another car of gold, yoked with six bulls mighty as elephants, and a hundred more damsels decked in gold and gems.
If yet unsatisfied, I shall grant him a hundred elephants and a hundred villages and ten thousand steeds of the finest breed—fleet, gentle, and adorned with golden trappings. I shall give him four hundred kine with golden horns and calves beside them.
If still he crave, I shall bestow five hundred steeds jewelled and eighteen steeds of great docility besides; a bright golden chariot with Kamboja horses yoked thereto.
If even that suffice not, I shall add six hundred elephants, with chains of gold around their necks and housings of golden cloth, born by the western ocean.
If he yet desireth more, I will give fourteen Vaishya villages—teeming with people, rich in grain, watered by rivers, safe from harm, and worthy of royal enjoyment.
To him who reveals Arjuna, I shall also give a hundred youthful Magadha maidens with golden collars.
And if even these content him not, I shall give him all he himself may name—my sons, my wives, my pleasures, my treasures. All shall be his, if only he reveal to me Keśava and Arjuna, that I may slay them and take their wealth for my lord.’
“Thus cried the Sūta’s son in pride,
His voice like storm from mountain side;
The air itself with challenge rang,
As conch and drum and trumpet sang.”
Then Karṇa, his eyes blazing, blew his conch—sea-born, bright as moonlight, pouring forth a sound sweet yet dreadful.
Hearing his words, Duryodhana and the assembled Kauravas shouted with joy. Cymbals clashed, kettledrums rolled, conches blared; elephants trumpeted; the war horns roared like thunder among the hills. The Kaurava ranks, filled with exultation, surged forward with leonine cries.
“Conches called and banners swayed,
Earth and heaven alike were brayed;
Warriors shouted, mad with glee—
‘Victory to Karṇa! Victory!’”
Then, amid the tumult, the ruler of the Madras laughed aloud in scorn. Gazing upon Karṇa, that lion among men, who stood burning to plunge into battle while boasting like a tempest, Śalya said with biting wit and calm disdain:
‘O son of Radha, thou speakest as one drunk with pride; thy words are loud as the drums of fools. Listen, and I shall speak what is meet for a warrior to hear...’”
Sañjaya said—
“Then the ruler of Madra, his laughter edged with scorn, addressed Karṇa with words of irony and truth mingled together, saying:
‘O son of the Sūta, hold thy gifts! Give not away golden chariots yoked with bulls of elephantine size, for this very day thou shalt behold Dhanañjaya with thine own eyes. Foolish art thou, O Karṇa, to squander riches as though thou wert Kubera himself. That which thou seekest shall come unsought — thou needest not purchase it with boastful promises.
Why lavish treasures upon the unworthy? Knowest thou not that gifts to undeserving men bring sin rather than merit? With this wealth thou couldst perform a thousand sacrifices, gaining heaven by dharma, not vain pride. But blinded by folly, thou reachest forth to grasp the impossible.
We have not heard, O Karṇa, that lions fall before foxes. Thou wouldst fight the son of Pṛthā as if a moth should strive with fire. Surely thy reason is clouded, thy time fulfilled, for thy speech runs wild like a drunkard’s dream. Who that loves life speaks thus, rushing upon ruin with his eyes open?
Thy act is like one who would cross the ocean with bare arms, binding a stone about his neck; or like a madman leaping from a mountain’s height.
If thou wouldst live, then fight wisely—within the shelter of thy army, supported by thy kings, protected by ranks and elephants. Do not cast away thy life like a fool. I speak not in malice, O Karṇa, but for the good of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son and for thine own.’
Then Karṇa, his eyes flashing like burning copper, replied:
‘Relying on the might of my own arms I seek Arjuna in battle. Thou, with a foe’s heart and a friend’s face, wouldst frighten me with thy tongue. Neither god nor man shall turn me back — no, not even Śakra himself thundering in wrath! What then of thee, O mortal king?’
Sañjaya continued—
“At these words, Śalya, the ruler of Madra, seeking to pierce Karṇa’s pride, spoke again, his voice like the ring of iron upon stone:
‘When the sharp shafts of Pārtha, winged with kaṅka feathers, come singing upon thee like lightning from a storm, then shalt thou recall this day, and lament thy challenge. When the ambidextrous son of Pāṇḍu, grasping his celestial bow, shall darken the sky with arrows and scorch the Kuru host, then shalt thou repent thy folly, O son of a charioteer.
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A child that reaches from its mother’s lap to clutch the moon — such art thou, Karṇa, stretching forth thy hand toward Arjuna.
Thy challenge is as a small deer calling to battle the lion, or a fox barking at the lord of the forest. Thou rubbest thy tender limbs against the edges of a trident!
Think not to fight Arjuna, O fool; thou art like a hare defying a maddened elephant, or a frog croaking beneath the thundercloud of Parjanya. Thou art the house-dog that barks from safety at the tiger in the wood.
Thou art a jackal that deemeth himself a lion until he heareth the true lion’s roar. So long as thou hearest not the twang of Gāṇḍīva, thou canst strut and boast; but when its thunder splits the sky, thy courage shall melt like wax before the sun.
The two Kṛṣṇas, standing together on their car, are as Sūrya and Candra joined; before their light thy shadow shall fade.
Thou art the mouse and he the lion; thou the falsehood, he the truth; thou poison, and he nectar. In all the world, O Karṇa, so are ye known by your deeds.’
“A jackal yelps till lions wake,
A moth flies close till wings shall break;
A snake that strikes at Garuḍa’s flight—
So art thou, Karṇa, in thy spite.”
Sañjaya concluded—
“Thus did Śalya, the Madra king, lash the pride of Vaikartana with words keen as arrows, yet Karṇa, his mind bound by fate, heeded not the warning. Inflamed with wrath and destiny alike, he urged his steeds toward Arjuna, as a moth rushes into flame.”
Sañjaya said—
“Thus rebuked with cutting words by Śalya of immeasurable energy, the son of Rādhā, stung to the quick, felt the sharpness of his rebuker’s name—for truly, Śalya’s words were barbed like darts. Burning with rage, Karṇa answered him, his eyes crimson like the rising sun.”
‘O Śalya, the merits of the noble are known only to the noble, not to men devoid of worth. How canst thou, being destitute of all virtue, judge of merit and demerit? Thou speakest much, but wisdom dwelleth not upon thy tongue.
Well do I know, O Śalya, the might of Arjuna—the strength of his arms, the bite of his arrows, the sound of his bow, and the fierce fire of his wrath. I know also the greatness of Keśava, the lord among men. I know their splendour and their fame; I know too my own power. Therefore, I challenge them both.
Think not that I am a moth rushing into fire. Behold—within this quiver lieth one shaft, keen-mouthed and blood-drinking, winged with steel and steeped in oil, adored by me for years in sandal dust and sacred fire. It hath the form and fury of a serpent, poisonous and fierce. It can pierce armor and bone, and shatter the peaks of Meru itself if I so will it.
That arrow I keep for none save the two Kṛṣṇas—Vāsudeva and Dhanañjaya. Before them alone shall it fly, for such is my vow.’
“Steeped in oil and serpent’s breath,
My shaft shall seek the lords of death;
Two pearls upon one string shall be—
Arjuna and Vāsudeva—slain by me.”
‘Among the Vṛṣṇis, Fortune ever abides with Kṛṣṇa; among the sons of Pāṇḍu, Victory rests with Pārtha. Those two, joined in one chariot, will come against me this day. Then, O Śalya, shalt thou behold the worth of my birth and my vow.
The banner of the ape, the discus of Hari, the conch and the thunder of Gāṇḍīva—these inspire fear only in the hearts of cowards. To me, they are joys that quicken the blood.
But thou, fool and faithless, praisest my foes to unman me. Thou art of crooked nature, thy heart the heart of an enemy disguised as friend. Born in a sinful land, thou art mean among kṣatriyas. Dost thou think to frighten me with thy babble of the two Kṛṣṇas?
Hear now, O Madraka, what the world says of thy race—men, women, and sages alike repeat these proverbs of old.’
‘The Madraka ever hateth his friend. He is crooked of speech and false of heart. His soul is unclean, his manners base, his truth like smoke upon the wind. The men are treacherous, the women unchaste. They drink, they brawl, they laugh and weep in drunken folly; they feast on fish and flesh, they dance unclad and speak without shame.
Among them, father and son, mother and daughter, friend and stranger, master and slave—mingle without restraint. How can virtue dwell among such? Their women, it is said, would give husband or child for a jar of vinegar! Gluttonous, hairy, and shameless, they are foul in word and deed.
He who befriends a Madraka falleth like one stung by a scorpion; he who allies with him sinks in sin like a Brāhmaṇa serving a Śūdra’s rite. The wise compare the poison of a scorpion to the touch of a Madraka—both destroy purity alike.
Such is thy people, O Śalya—base and impure. How then, child of such women, canst thou judge dharma or speak of honour?’
“Foul is the stream where filth doth breed,
And poisoned root bears poisoned seed;
So from the Madraka’s darkened clay,
No flower of truth can bloom today.”
‘Know, O Śalya, that a kṣatriya’s highest duty is to die upon the field, his body pierced, his name untainted. That is my desire—to fall fighting for Duryodhana’s cause and win heaven through death. For him I live; for him will I die.
As for thee—thou hast been won over by the sons of Pāṇḍu, for thy words smell of treachery. Thou canst not turn me back, O fool, though hundreds like thee should speak. I go to battle as the lion to the hunt. Thy tongue is idle wind.
My teacher Rāma foretold this day—the day when heroes, lion-hearted, should lay down their lives. I go now to fulfill that destiny, to follow the path of the mighty. None in the three worlds can dissuade me.
Be silent, therefore, and tremble not. Were it not for friendship, for the sake of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son, and to avoid blame, I would strike thee down and feed thy flesh to the beasts. But for these three reasons thou livest still.
Yet beware—speak not such words again! If thou dost, I will crush thy head with this mace hard as Indra’s thunder. Today men shall behold whether the two Kṛṣṇas slay Karṇa, or Karṇa slays the two Kṛṣṇas.’
“So spake the son of Rādhā, proud and dire,
His words like steel, his eyes like fire;
Fate stood behind him, dark and vast—
And Śalya, silent, drove at last.”
Sañjaya concluded—
“Having thus spoken, O King, the mighty son of Rādhā turned once more to Śalya and said fearlessly, ‘Proceed, proceed!’ And the Madra ruler, subduing his wrath, urged forward the white steeds into the blazing field of war.”
Sañjaya said—“Hearing, O sire, those fierce words of Rādhā’s son—whose heart delights in battle—Śalya again addressed Karṇa, offering counsel through an example.”
“Born am I,” said Śalya, “in a line of kings whose locks have felt the sacrificial bath; we turned not from battle, nor strayed from virtue. I speak now as thy charioteer and friend—to steady a mind I judge to be storm-tossed. A driver must know the lay of the land and the secret weight of wheels; the failing breath of steeds and warrior; the right counter to a wounding shaft; the omen in bird and beast; the art of drawing out the arrow and binding up the hurt; the burden that breaks a team and the whisper that saves it. I speak for the good of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son, and—since I hold thy reins—for thine.”
“Beyond the ocean dwelt a wealthy Vaiśya—liberal, pure of habit, gentle to all. His sons, well-mannered and mild, daily cast to a crow the leavings of their dishes—milk and curds and honeyed rice. Fed so, the crow grew arrogant, despising his peers and betters.
It happened that swans arrived from Mānasa—swift of wing, ranging space like Garuḍa. The boys, simple-hearted, flattered the crow: ‘Thou art the best of birds.’ Drunk on children’s praise and kitchen leavings, the crow flew among the swans and cried, ‘Who leads you? Let us contend in flight!’
The swans laughed, yet answered gently: ‘We are lake-born and earth-ranging; how wilt thou, a crow, challenge the sky’s far-runners? By what motion wilt thou fly?’ The crow, vaunting, proclaimed a hundred-and-one devices: rising and swooping, wheeling and darting, gentle glide and furious rush—‘Name the style and I will fly it!’
A swan replied, ‘I know but one: the steady course that all birds know. Fly thou as thou list—keep thou thy hundred; I shall keep one.’
Both rose. The crow capered through his hundred measures; the swan held to one unwavering line. For a moment the watchers thought the swan outdone. Then, westward with calm velocity, the swan took the way of ocean.
Soon fear entered the crow’s heart. He found no tree nor isle to perch upon, only the immeasurable water—home of Makara and monsters—vast as space. The swan, compassionate, slowed and looked back.
Beating the sea with wing and beak, spent and sinking, the crow croaked: ‘We caw and wander—save me! Bear me to shore upon thy back!’ The swan, remembering the mercy of the good, lifted him lightly with his feet, set him upon his own back, and bore him to the island whence they rose. There the swan departed, and the crow, his pride turned to peace, left off boasting.”
“The steady course outlasts the show,
Calm wings the vaster distance go;
Who boasts on scraps and borrowed might
Will drown at sea for lack of flight.”
Śalya said, “Even so, O Karṇa. Fed by the favour of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons, thou hast come to despise thy equals and thy betters. Why didst thou not slay Pārtha at Virāṭa when Droṇa and Kṛpa and Bhīṣma stood at thy back? Where was thy vaunted might when, like jackals before a lion, ye were driven in rout by the diadem-decked Arjuna? Thou thyself didst first take flight when Savyasācin struck down thy brother in the sight of all; at the Dvaita lake, when the Gandharvas smote thee, thou fleddest, and it was Arjuna who freed Duryodhana and his queen.
Paraśurāma, in the Kuru court, proclaimed the prowess of Keśava and Pārtha; thou didst hear Droṇa and Bhīṣma say the two Kṛṣṇas are unslayable. I have told thee but a little of the measure in which Dhanañjaya surpasses thee—as the Brāhmaṇa surpasses creatures in sacred lore.
Therefore I say: as the crow took refuge with the swan, so do thou seek the shelter of the Vṛṣṇi and of Kuntī’s son. When thou shalt behold those two of great might standing together upon one car, thou wilt not speak as now. When Pārtha quells thy pride with a hundred keen shafts, thou wilt perceive the difference between thee and Dhanañjaya. Those two are renowned among gods and Asuras and men. Think not, being a firefly, to despise sun and moon.”
“Twin lights they rise—Keśava, Pārtha—
Their splendour blinds the battle’s eye;
Buzz not, O spark, against such orbs—
A breath—and thou art ash and sky.”
Sañjaya said—“Thus spoke Śalya, couching rebuke in parable and praise, his hands steady upon the reins. But Karṇa, fate-driven and aflame with wrath, only cried again, ‘Proceed! Proceed!’ And the white steeds, obedient to the driver’s art, bore the hero onward to the place where the ape-banner waited and Gāṇḍīva’s thunder filled the sky.”