novelraw Arc 1 - Karna-senāpati-nirmāṇa Parva - Chapter 12 - Karna’s Rebuke to Śalya
Arc 1 - Karna-senāpati-nirmāṇa Parva - Chapter 12 - Karna’s Rebuke to Śalya
Sañjaya said—“Unmoved by Śalya’s parable, the high-souled son of Adhiratha answered his charioteer, fire held within iron:
‘What Kṛṣṇa is—and what Arjuna is—I know full well. The Sātvata’s art with reins and wheel; the Pāṇḍava’s might and heaven-born weapons—these I have measured in my mind’s own scales. Thou, O Śalya, hast not seen with thine eyes as I have. Therefore I go, fearless, against the two Kṛṣṇas, foremost among wielders of arms.
Yet one thing gnaws me sore—the curse of Rāma, best of the twice-born. Once, in a brāhmaṇa’s guise, I dwelt with him to win celestial weapons. Then the Lord of gods, wishing fortune for Phālguna, made hindrance in the shape of a worm that burrowed in my thigh. My preceptor slept with his head on that very place. Blood pooled like dark honey, but I stirred not, lest his rest be shaken. He woke, beheld my endurance, and said, “Thou art no brāhmaṇa. Speak thy truth.” I told my lineage. His heart grew wroth, and he pronounced: “By guile hast thou won knowledge; therefore, when death’s hour nears, the weapon sought shall not return to mind. Brahman abides not where brahmanhood is not.”’
‘That mighty astra I cannot summon in this dread hour. And he among the Bhāratas who is accomplisher, sure-striker, universal destroyer—Arjuna—will, I deem, consume many a foremost kṣatriya. Even so, Śalya, I swear to slay that fierce bowman, that fulfiller of vows, Dhanañjaya. At least one weapon remains in my command whereby hosts may be shattered; with it I shall quell that flame of foes.’
“Ocean he is of surging shafts—
I, earth that dams his foaming drafts;
Let wave on wave assault my strand—
This day my shore of steel shall stand.”
‘He will pour arrows without number—barbed, fleet, unfailing, winged with goodly plumes. I shall hold, continent to ocean, while he floods the field like a storm-swollen sea. Proud is the son of Pāṇḍu; with superhuman arms he will advance. I, baffling his with mine, will cast him down with my own keen shafts. Like clouds that choke a world-eating blaze, I will shroud Arjuna with showers; like broad-edged steel upon a serpent’s crest, I will still that venomous, fire-hot foe. I shall bear the gale of his wrath as Himavat bears the crushing god of wind. Who, loving life, would face Savyasācī single-carred? I alone. Though he conquered earth entire, though in Khāṇḍava he broke gods and creatures alike, yet will I strike his head from his trunk today.’
‘Death or victory before me, I go to meet Dhanañjaya. Speak not to me of his prowess, Śalya. Thou cuttest where thou shouldst bind. I could slay a hundred like thee, yet forgive for friendship’s sake and the need of the hour. Know what true friendship is—one who gladdens, guards, honours, rejoices in another’s joy. I am such to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son; therefore do I strive.’
‘Witness today my weapons—brahmāstra and all celestial means, and those of men. Like an enraged tusker felling his maddened match, I will bring Phālguna low. By mind alone I shall launch that immeasurable brahmāstra—and he shall not escape, if only the wheels of my car sink not into earth.’
‘Nor Yama with rod, nor Varuṇa with noose, nor Kubera with mace, nor Vāsava with thunder can unman me—how then Pārtha or Janārdana? Yet hear this other thorn upon my soul. Once, practising with Vijaya, I recklessly struck and slew a brāhmaṇa’s homa-calf in a lonely wood. He cursed me: “At battle-time thy chariot-wheel shall sink, and fear shall enter thy heart.” Kings of the Lunar race would have ransomed that sin with herds and wealth beyond count, but the brāhmaṇa would not bend his word. “What I have spoken must be,” he said. “Falsehood slays the world. Let this atone.” Therefore is dread upon me for that wheel, and for that hour that cannot be unwound.’
‘Thus have I opened my heart to thee, though thy tongue has scourged me. Be silent now, and hear what more I vow.’”
“If fate would yoke my wheel to clay,
My vow shall yoke my soul to fray;
Let earth take wheel and curse take aim—
My arrow yet shall cleave their fame.”
Sañjaya said—“So spake Karṇa, oath and omen mingled on his breath. Then, striking his bow, he nodded to Śalya and said but two words, firm as iron: ‘Drive on.’ And the white steeds leapt like daylight toward the ape-bannered car.”
Sañjaya said—“Thus did the son of Rādhā, that chastiser of foes, silence the ruler of the Madras with words that blazed like fire. Then once more, O monarch, he addressed him proudly, saying—”
Karna said:
‘O Śalya, thy parable and thy threats move me not. I am not one to tremble at the noise of words. Were all the gods themselves, with Vāsava at their head, to array against me in battle, I would not feel a tremor of fear—what need to speak then of Kṛṣṇa and Pṛthā’s son?
Words are weapons for the weak; they wound not one born for valour. Thou hast spoken bitterly, O Madraka, because thou canst not speak of my worth. Thy tongue is sharp, but thy heart is hollow. Know that Karṇa was never born to fear, but to fight—to carve his glory in the tempest of war.
For the sake of friendship once sworn, for old affection, and because thou ridest as my ally—these three reasons shield thee, O Śalya, from my wrath. Otherwise thy words had long since met their answer.
The hour is heavy with purpose, the duty of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son hangs upon my bowstring. For that cause alone thou livest this moment more. Remember the compact we made—that whatever harshness thy tongue might speak, I would forgive for the battle’s sake. That vow I keep. Therefore, O ruler of Madra, thy breath endures.
Even without a thousand Śalyas I could crush my foes. Yet I bear with thee, for he who slays a friend commits sin, and I will not stain my cause with such a deed. Live, then, while my patience holds—but speak no more!’
“The brave are deaf to taunting word,
Their hearts by thunder’s own beat stirred;
The storm may roar, the flame may roll—
Fear findeth never in such a soul.”
Sañjaya said—“Having uttered these proud and wrathful words, the son of Rādhā, glowing like a fire fed by wind, grasped his bow once more. Śalya, though humbled, kept silence, and urged on the steeds whose whiteness rivalled the snows of Himavat. Then, O king, the car of Karṇa rolled forward, thunder-like, toward Arjuna and Keśava, as destiny drew the veil of doom tighter around the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra.”
Sañjaya said — “Then the ruler of Madra, his face stern and his words barbed, replied to Karṇa, saying:
‘These are but ravings, O son of a Sūta. With a thousand Karnas such as thee I could crush the foe in battle.’
At this, Karṇa, his eyes kindled with wrath, answered him once more — words twice as bitter, spoken like arrows tipped with venom.”
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Karna said:
‘Listen well, O Śalya, to a tale I once heard in Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s hall — words spoken by aged Brāhmaṇas versed in the histories of ancient kings and regions. There, a venerable sage, snow-haired and holy, recited an account condemning the people of the north-west — the Vāhikas and the Madras — impure and fallen beyond the pale of virtue.
That Brāhmaṇa said: “Shun the Vāhikas — those unclean tribes who dwell far from the Himavat, from Gaṅgā and Yamunā, from Sarasvatī and Kurukṣetra, and from Sindhu with her five sacred streams. I, who once lived among them on secret errand, know their ways. At every gate of their towns stand slaughter-grounds for kine and stalls for spirituous drink. In their city called Sākala, on the river Āpagā, among the clan of Jārṭikas, I saw their revels — men and women eating fried barley with Gauda liquor, feasting on beef with garlic, rice bought from strangers, and cakes of meat and flour. Their women, drunken and bare, dance outside their doors to the beating of drums and the bray of asses, singing obscene songs with laughter wild and coarse. Intoxicated, they embrace strangers in the streets and know no restraint even on holy days.”’
‘The sage continued: “One among them, longing for his home, cried thus from the land of Kuru:
‘When shall I cross again the Sutlej and the Irāvatī,
To behold the thick-browed maidens of Sākala,
Their foreheads blazing with red arsenic,
Their eyes blackened with collyrium, their laughter loud with wine?’
And he longed for their drunken music —
‘the drums and conches, the bleat of camels and mules,
the cakes of barley mixed with milk and meat,
the merry plunder on the highways.’
Such, O Śalya, are thy people’s ways — shameless and wild, delighting in the flesh of beasts and in the wine that poisons virtue.’
“Where sacred streams refuse to flow,
There vice and folly root and grow;
Where virtue’s fire no altar warms,
Men dance to drink and laugh at norms.”
‘Again that Brāhmaṇa said in the Kuru court:
“There where the five rivers—Śatadru, Vipāśā, Irāvatī, Candrabhāgā, and Vitastā—flow to meet Sindhu, lies the land of the Ārattas, bare of religion and void of sacrifice. The gods and the Pitṛs accept no gift from them, nor from those born of Śūdras on alien women. They eat from vessels licked by dogs, from wood and clay unclean. They drink the milk of camels, sheep, and asses, and feed on every forbidden thing. Bastards are many among them; learning none; and their Brāhmaṇas are fallen from the Veda.”
Another sage spoke of Yugandhara and Acyutasthala, and warned:
“He who drinks of their milk or bathes in their rivers wins not heaven. For two Piśācas—Vāhi and Hika—haunt the Vipāśā; and the Vāhikas are their spawn, not of divine creation. The gods abhor them. They know not sacrifice nor sacred word. They dwell with the Karashakas, Mahīṣakas, Keralas, and other impious tribes.”
Thus have the wise spoken, O king of Madra. From the Gandhāras to the Sauviras, from Prasthalas to Vasatis, the stain is one. Religion has fled those lands; truth and purity are not their guests. And a sixth part of that taint, O Śalya, rests in thee.’
“Born where the rivers lose their song,
Thou boastest loud yet servest wrong;
The tongue may mock, the heart may rage—
But birth betrays the tainted stage.”
Sañjaya said — “Thus, O king, Karṇa hurled his words, cruel as iron, upon Śalya’s pride. The Madra lord, his face darkened, yet bridled his wrath, for the charioteer’s reins were in his hands. Then the two, bound by hate and destiny, rode onward—one speaking venom, the other silent as stone—toward the field where the fate of the Kurus waited to unfold.”
Sañjaya said:
“The son of Rādhā, scorning the words of the ruler of Madra, once more addressed him in tones fierce as thunder rolling through storm-clouds:”
Karna said:
‘Know this, O Śalya, for I shall tell thee what I once heard from the lips of wise men and Brāhmaṇas in Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s court.
Once a holy Brāhmaṇa came to our home as a guest. Beholding our conduct and our reverence for dharma, he was gladdened, and spoke thus:
“I dwelt long upon the peaks of Himavat, wandering through many lands and seeing men of many faiths. Yet in all my travels I found no nation wholly wicked. Everywhere men admit the authority of the Vedas and of those who know them—save among the Vāhikas.
In that land, strange customs reign: there a man may be Brāhmaṇa one day, Kṣatriya the next, then Vaiśya, then Śūdra, and end a barber or a slave. One family breeds all orders, virtue falling away like bark from a dead tree. Such are the Gandhāras, the Madrakas, and the Vāhikas of little understanding.”’
“Where dharma wanes and folly thrives,
The castes are masks, not sacred lives;
The fire burns low, the altar cold—
And virtue bartered there for gold.”
‘Hear again, O Śalya, another tale told by that sage: In ancient time a chaste woman, seized by robbers of Āraṭṭa, was foully wronged. In wrath she cursed them, saying—
“Because ye have sinned against the helpless,
Your women shall all be unchaste,
And your heirs shall come not from your loins
But from the sisters’ sons.”
Hence, O king of Madra, do the Arattas reckon the nephew, not the son, as heir. Such is the fruit of sin unatoned.
The noble Kauravas and Pāñcālas, the Śālvas, Matsyas, Naimiṣas, Kosalas, Kāśis, Kalingas, Magadhas, and Cedis—all these peoples, even the humblest among them, know the eternal law. But the Vāhikas know it not. Beginning with the Kurus and Pāñcālas, all virtuous folk are versed in dharma; not so the crooked-hearted men of the Five Rivers.
Hold thy peace, therefore, O Śalya—be as one tongueless in matters of righteousness. Thou art their lord and guardian, and thus sharer of their sixth—aye, their sins more than their merits, for thou protectest them not. A true king partakes of his people’s virtue; thou, of their vice. Even in the Kṛta Age the Grandsire himself, beholding the practices of that land, cried out, “Fie upon them!” How much more would he reproach them now, when dharma wanes!’
“The Grandsire’s curse still haunts that ground,
Where vice like poison seeps profound;
The rivers five may wash their sand,
But never cleanse that tainted land.”
‘Hear also the tale of the Rākṣasa Kalmāṣapāda, who while drowning cried:
“Almsgiving is a Kṣatriya’s filth,
Neglect of vows a Brāhmaṇa’s sin;
The Vāhikas are the filth of earth,
The Madra women—filth of all womankind.”
Rescued by a king, the demon revealed this charm for exorcising evil spirits:
“Mlecchas are the filth of men,
Oilmen the filth of Mlecchas,
Eunuchs the filth of oilmen,
And those who let Kṣatriyas act as priests are filth of eunuchs.
Their sin, and the sin of the Madrakas,
Shall cling to him who shelters them.”
Such words, O Śalya, are recorded by the sages. The Pāñcālas keep the Vedic vows; the Kurus cherish truth; the Matsyas and Sūrasenas perform sacrifice. The Easterners follow Śūdra ways; the Southerners are fallen; the Vāhikas are thieves; the Saurāṣṭras are bastards.
All sins dwell there—ingratitude, theft, drunkenness, adultery with the teacher’s wife, cruelty, slaughter of kine, wandering by night to seduce, and wearing another’s jewels. Fie upon the Āraṭṭas and the folk of the Five Rivers!
The pious in the north, the Angas and Magadhas in the east, the Kosalas and Kurus in the centre—all these follow the righteous path. The gods dwell in the east, the Pitṛs in the south, Varuṇa guards the west, Soma and the Brāhmaṇas guard the north, and Vishnu protects all creatures. But no god claims the Vāhikas for his own.
The Magadhas are skilled in signs, the Kosalas perceive by sight, the Kurus and Pāñcālas understand half a word, the Śālvas grasp only when all is said. The mountaineers are dull, the Yavanas are wise, the Sūras more so, but the Mlecchas dwell in fancy. The Vāhikas despise good counsel, and among the Madras there is none to comprehend it. Such art thou, O Śalya—filth of nations, stain of womankind! Those who drink strong drink, violate their preceptors’ beds, destroy unborn life, and rob others’ wealth—there is no sin they leave untried. Knowing this, be silent, and cross not my purpose. Let me not be driven to slay thee before I slay Keśava and Arjuna!’
Śalya said:
‘O Karṇa, thy speech is madness born of rage. The Angas, whose king thou art, are themselves defiled—where wives and children are sold, where the afflicted are abandoned. Remember what Bhīṣma once said of thy worth among Rathas and Atirathas, and govern thy wrath.
Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, Vaiśyas, and Śūdras dwell in every land, as do women of chastity and noble vow. Everywhere men jest, wound with words, and sin through desire. Every man can speak ill of others, yet none sees his own fault. In every land dwell righteous kings and holy men. It cannot be that all the people of a country are wicked. Even among the lowly, virtue finds her refuge.’
Sañjaya said:
“Then, O king, Duryodhana himself restrained them, seeing his foremost warriors wasting breath in quarrel. With joined hands he pacified Śalya, and spoke to Karṇa as to a friend. Quieted by thy son’s entreaty, O monarch, the son of Rādhā held his peace. Śalya, too, faced the foe, and Karṇa, smiling grimly, said only this—”
“Enough of words—let deeds be done;
Drive on, O king, the day’s begun.”
Sañjaya said:
“Thus urged, Śalya grasped the reins, and the white steeds of Karṇa sprang forward like rays of the morning sun—toward Arjuna’s car that bore the banner of the great ape, toward the hour destined by Time itself.”