RADHEYA(KARNA)
I held the" Mahabharatha" in my hand--it felt unnaturally light. It had been ages since I had seen the book. There was a time when I had to stand on the one-foot wall beside the wash-basin to peer into the mirror above and brush my teeth; a time when the book required two hands to be carried around on my head--not unlike coolies carrying heavy suitcases; a time when I would read it on a daily basis--picking out random pages and savouring every word of the master-epic. But, that day, I knew I wouldn’t open the book and start from just any page--I turned to page 649, to a chapter called "Radheya was my son". Every time I read that chapter, I would almost cry, my throat would cringe and my mind would feel exhausted. It was my favourite chapter--a beautiful but most painful one.
The Mahabharatha, for me, had only one hero. He was the only reason that, as a kid, I was heavily critical of the televised series of the epic. The first time I saw him come on screen, I was aghast. Firstly, there was the background music which made you wonder if he would say, "Mugambo Khush hua". And when he walked and patted his dear friend Duryodhana on his back, they both faced the camera and broke into wicked grins that broke my heart. My Radheya, the one that had been in my head ever since I had read the book, even when at his most displeasing, never had a face so contorted and cruel-looking as this. I ran away from the room, returning only after making sure that it was at least a good 15 minutes after the show.
If someone asked me to represent Radheya's life on piece a of paper, I would probably give sheet to a three-year-old and ask him to scribble--for that's how messy it is. The uncomfortable circumstances of his birth lay a somewhat shaky platform for a very painful life--his seemingly absurd craving to take up archery as a boy of sixteen, when everyone(including himself) thinks he is a sutaputra--a lower caste.; the shattering disappointment, the first of many, over the fact that he finds no willing teacher to teach him, a son of a charioteer--And when he does find one, the great Bhagawan Bhargava, he not only defeats him in battle(a feat that no one other than Bhishma had achieved before), but gets cursed--a curse that eventually leads to his death in battlefield. Such is his life, where brief periods of sunshine are overshadowed by massive grey clouds that eventually suck all the light out of his life like weeds sucking out the very existence of a flower-bed.
But, Radheya was a fighter--a true Kshatriya. A man, for whom adversity, as the cliché rides, was only a stepping stone to success--a path to making name, fame and earning respect. But, what appeals most to a reader is his love for giving; a trait that was exploited by Indra. When he gave his Kavacha and Kundala, knowing very well who the beggar in disguise was, he knew he had given away a part of himself. Here was a trade-off wherein he stood to loose and yet he took part with a smile on his face as blood dripped of his chest and shoulders. All that came naturally to him--just as his artistry with the bow punctuated with grace, flamboyance and characteristic poise; just as his unwavering loyalty to his king, Duryodhana, who had stolen his heart away for life with one act of supreme generosity; just as his love for his adopted mother in whose honour he had refused to be called by any other name, irrespective of the amount of insult it brought to him; just as his promise to Kunti, which heavily influenced the outcome of war.
No doubt, his character is stained. There is an obvious question-mark on his actions--the humiliation of Draupadi is a case in point. But, you cant expect a man to lead a blemish free life if he were to be put through such turmoil and controversy. In fact, his life could have been far worse--that he lived the way he did is nothing short of a miracle--something that speakes volumes of his ability and strong character. Long before the war commenced, he had realised he was on the wrong side, fighting a losing battle. But, he wasn't a man who would go back on his word--his unconditional love for his master and King called for him to be by his side until death drew them apart. For Duryodhana gave him what he always wanted--trust, fame and respect.
And as I read, slowly, every word of the chapter, I felt the old surge of mixed emotions flowing back--the shot of pride when Kunti tells Yudhishtra that Radheya was not a suta and asks him to perform his funeral rites, the excitement when the Pandavas exclaim "Not a suta!" and she relates the tale of his birth, the bitter pleasure when the Pandavas sit shocked, hand on heads, failing to come to terms with reality(Arjuna goes, "I killed my own brother") and finally, the immense agony when Bhima remembers the words of Duryodhana who had uttered, on that fateful day in the tournament, " Cant you see he is a Kshatriya. Dont you realise a deer can never have the imperial gait of a lion?"--those lines, for me, make the Mahabharatha truly magnificent--for even the greatest and the most humble of men,Yudhistra, couldn’t see what the scheming, jealous teenager could in a suta with a bow--A master and a hero. And fate's least favourite child.
I held the" Mahabharatha" in my hand--it felt unnaturally light. It had been ages since I had seen the book. There was a time when I had to stand on the one-foot wall beside the wash-basin to peer into the mirror above and brush my teeth; a time when the book required two hands to be carried around on my head--not unlike coolies carrying heavy suitcases; a time when I would read it on a daily basis--picking out random pages and savouring every word of the master-epic. But, that day, I knew I wouldn’t open the book and start from just any page--I turned to page 649, to a chapter called "Radheya was my son". Every time I read that chapter, I would almost cry, my throat would cringe and my mind would feel exhausted. It was my favourite chapter--a beautiful but most painful one.
The Mahabharatha, for me, had only one hero. He was the only reason that, as a kid, I was heavily critical of the televised series of the epic. The first time I saw him come on screen, I was aghast. Firstly, there was the background music which made you wonder if he would say, "Mugambo Khush hua". And when he walked and patted his dear friend Duryodhana on his back, they both faced the camera and broke into wicked grins that broke my heart. My Radheya, the one that had been in my head ever since I had read the book, even when at his most displeasing, never had a face so contorted and cruel-looking as this. I ran away from the room, returning only after making sure that it was at least a good 15 minutes after the show.
If someone asked me to represent Radheya's life on piece a of paper, I would probably give sheet to a three-year-old and ask him to scribble--for that's how messy it is. The uncomfortable circumstances of his birth lay a somewhat shaky platform for a very painful life--his seemingly absurd craving to take up archery as a boy of sixteen, when everyone(including himself) thinks he is a sutaputra--a lower caste.; the shattering disappointment, the first of many, over the fact that he finds no willing teacher to teach him, a son of a charioteer--And when he does find one, the great Bhagawan Bhargava, he not only defeats him in battle(a feat that no one other than Bhishma had achieved before), but gets cursed--a curse that eventually leads to his death in battlefield. Such is his life, where brief periods of sunshine are overshadowed by massive grey clouds that eventually suck all the light out of his life like weeds sucking out the very existence of a flower-bed.
But, Radheya was a fighter--a true Kshatriya. A man, for whom adversity, as the cliché rides, was only a stepping stone to success--a path to making name, fame and earning respect. But, what appeals most to a reader is his love for giving; a trait that was exploited by Indra. When he gave his Kavacha and Kundala, knowing very well who the beggar in disguise was, he knew he had given away a part of himself. Here was a trade-off wherein he stood to loose and yet he took part with a smile on his face as blood dripped of his chest and shoulders. All that came naturally to him--just as his artistry with the bow punctuated with grace, flamboyance and characteristic poise; just as his unwavering loyalty to his king, Duryodhana, who had stolen his heart away for life with one act of supreme generosity; just as his love for his adopted mother in whose honour he had refused to be called by any other name, irrespective of the amount of insult it brought to him; just as his promise to Kunti, which heavily influenced the outcome of war.
No doubt, his character is stained. There is an obvious question-mark on his actions--the humiliation of Draupadi is a case in point. But, you cant expect a man to lead a blemish free life if he were to be put through such turmoil and controversy. In fact, his life could have been far worse--that he lived the way he did is nothing short of a miracle--something that speakes volumes of his ability and strong character. Long before the war commenced, he had realised he was on the wrong side, fighting a losing battle. But, he wasn't a man who would go back on his word--his unconditional love for his master and King called for him to be by his side until death drew them apart. For Duryodhana gave him what he always wanted--trust, fame and respect.
And as I read, slowly, every word of the chapter, I felt the old surge of mixed emotions flowing back--the shot of pride when Kunti tells Yudhishtra that Radheya was not a suta and asks him to perform his funeral rites, the excitement when the Pandavas exclaim "Not a suta!" and she relates the tale of his birth, the bitter pleasure when the Pandavas sit shocked, hand on heads, failing to come to terms with reality(Arjuna goes, "I killed my own brother") and finally, the immense agony when Bhima remembers the words of Duryodhana who had uttered, on that fateful day in the tournament, " Cant you see he is a Kshatriya. Dont you realise a deer can never have the imperial gait of a lion?"--those lines, for me, make the Mahabharatha truly magnificent--for even the greatest and the most humble of men,Yudhistra, couldn’t see what the scheming, jealous teenager could in a suta with a bow--A master and a hero. And fate's least favourite child.
