The Mahabharata of Palmira

6 The first bow

6 The first bow

Karna soon had a little brother, called Sangra-majit; and Radha went on to have two more boys, Pra-sena and Vrisha-sena.

Karna was very fond of them and was almost always kind and helpful to them. In fact both his parents wondered at how well-behaved Karna was. Not from sheer obedience, they observed, but because from a very early age he realised when his parents needed help, or when they were just too tired to give him attention.

Karna had grown into a quiet and serious boy. By the time he was five or six, the neighbours and friends of the family would often remark on this.

‘Not a very cheerful boy, is he?’

‘Doesn’t play much with other children, does he?’

‘Is he all right, your Karna?’

But although Adhi saw what they meant, and was a little concerned himself, he stood loyally by his son, and praised his maturity.

It has to be said that Karna, even at that age, often made grown men and women feel uncomfortable when he looked at them. There was something about his gaze which, though not quite a stare, made people avoid contact with his eyes. It was certainly not any hostility on Karna’s part. It was perhaps that he seemed to see more than it was polite to see. If someone was worried about being too fat, or too thin, or too tall, or too short, Karna’s eyes seemed to see their worry as clearly as their physical appearance. And so people understandably avoided seeing their own unsought reflection in his little face. Only Radha never tired of looking at him.

It is true also that Karna did not mix very much with other children. There was a time when the local children would make fun of his reserve; or laugh at his ear-rings, which certainly made a peculiar contrast with his character; or ridicule the fact that he always wore something over his chest even when it was very hot. And of course they tried provoking him physically; throwing things at him, pushing him about; or trying, usually unsuccessfully, to start a fight with him. But only much bigger children ever dared attempt to overpower him.

This taunting stopped after Karna was about four or five, mainly because the others came to accept that it was almost impossible to make him cry or show any pain. Not even when the larger boys would pin him down, sitting on his chest, and pull his hair or ears; or pull up his shirt, uncover his armour and laugh wildly at it.

‘Look at this great warrior in armour!’ they had taunted.

‘Been in any good battles lately? Where’s your bow, then?’

But Karna would not shed any tears, nor show even a grimace of pain, whatever they had tried.

Karna always covered his armour under a cotton shirt. Most male children, and most adult males as well, did not wear a shirt but just a dhoti. This was a long, usually cotton, cloth which would be wound around the hips and then round the back between the legs to tuck up in front at the waist. Children normally used quite a narrow strip of cloth, so that the garment was little more than a loincloth. But many men wore dhotis made of a wide strip coming down to the knees or below, which, with the tuck underneath, gave the appearance of baggy trousers. Even warriors sometimes appeared in just a dhoti. Though more usually, especially when fully armed, they wore light coats which came down to the knees over loose-fitting trousers. Many warriors wore armour round their chests, usually a breastplate or a corselet of metal strips. But generally they wore these over their clothes, not, like Karna, under them.

By the time he was six Karna had earned a certain grudging respect from other children. Partly because of his toughness, but mainly for the great skill with which he was learning to handle his father’s horses. The horses did not strictly belong to Karna’s father, since Adhi was only a driver. They belonged to a pair of kshatriyas whom Adhi regularly worked for. But Adhi looked after the horses most of the time, and Karna took great interest in them.

In spite of Karna’s skill, however, the general opinion was that he was not cut out to follow in his father’s footsteps.

‘That boy will never make a driver,’ Adhi’s friends would tell him. Adhi would insist that Karna was doing all right. But privately he was worried.

‘Radha, do you think it’s time I took Karna to see that rishi?’ Adhi asked his wife one day.

‘But he’s only just seven, Adhi! Remember that Narada said to wait until he was nine or ten.’

‘But look how advanced he is. And he...’

But Adhi did not need to explain. Radha too felt the same doubts and concerns about her eldest son’s future.

‘If he is too young, the rishi will surely tell us,’ said Adhi.

‘Too young for what?’ asked Radha.

‘For... for whatever the rishi thinks we... Karna should do.’

Perhaps they would have left things for a while, were it not for Karna’s growing obsession with archery.

He would watch the kshatriyas practise whenever he could. And of course, like many of the other children, he was fascinated by the tournaments and archery exhibitions which were sometimes held in Nagakaksha.

Karna had begged his father to try to get him a bow from one of the kshatriyas. Of course, Karna was much too small even to hold one of these great bows, which often stood as tall, horn to horn, as a man. So Adhi, who was surprised at the urgency of his son’s pleas, promised to get him a small one which he could learn on.

Adhi was very apprehensive about this. Not because of the note of caution he remembered in Narada’s words. For if Karna were able to choose to become a warrior it was inevitable that, as a warrior, he would face danger. No, Adhi was more immediately concerned by the reaction of his neighbours, on seeing a suta’s son playing with a bow; and the effect this would have on his already unusual son. And also, more importantly, he did not want to build up Karna’s hopes that someone could be found who would be prepared to teach him archery. Let alone that Karna might be taken on to train as a warrior. So his promise slept uneasily.

Then one day Adhi found his son practising with a little bow he must have made for himself, out of a branch, using a dozen carefully cut little canes for arrows. In his anger and shame with himself at not having delivered his promise, Adhi lost his temper. He shouted angrily at Karna.

But Karna, ignoring his father’s turmoil, and smiling proudly, showed his father how well he could use his makeshift bow. Adhi watched, in silence. What impressed him was not the accuracy with which Karna shot the arrows, but the faithfulness with which his son had captured the correct kshatriya style. Most young children, given a small bow, would pull the bowstring back with the arrow half across their chest, from where they could still see all of the arrow if they looked down, and all of the target if they looked up. But Karna had noticed why the warriors all used helmets which were shaped at the sides to leave their ears exposed. He drew his little bowstring back past the side of his face, so that the end of the arrow just brushed his ear; in his vision the point of the arrow and the target were one.

Adhi left his son practising.

‘Radha,’ said Adhi when he got home, ‘I must take Karna to that rishi, now.’

‘Already?’ Radha was trembling slightly, on the verge of tears.

◊

The journey to Varanasi took three days. Adhi wanted his son to be fresh and rested when they met the rishi, so he was reluctant to let Karna hold the reins. Nevertheless, Karna managed to persuade his father to let him drive the chariot for most of the second day.

It was very easy to find Charvaka’s home. The rishi was evidently quite well-known in that region. Adhi was a little nervous, rehearsing in his mind what he would say. He was clutching tightly the red sack, which on this occasion contained only Karna’s things. Karna himself carried in his arms the offerings they had brought for the rishi: a large elephant tusk and some clarified butter.

‘Remember to bow when you meet him,’ advised Adhi. ‘You should always bow when addressed by a brahmana or kshatriya.’

And when they were ushered into Charvaka’s workshop, both father and son bowed low.

But when there was no response to their act of deference they both looked up. At first they could see only the clutter which filled the room. There were parts of chariots, wheels, axles, weapons, pieces of armour, agricultural implements and other devices and contraptions without name. Carefully they advanced further into the room, avoiding these obstacles. Then they caught sight of him.

They could just see the rishi’s head of grey hair, nodding slowly from behind the skeleton of what perhaps had been a donkey or a small mule. The bones had been wired up to allow the skeleton to stand by itself. Through the rib cage they saw the rishi’s brown cloak. He was sitting on a stool at a bench in the centre of the room. Cautiously they approached. He appeared to be writing on a dried palm leaf spread out on the untidy surface. Karna’s attention was drawn immediately to an elegant weighing balance further along the bench. Beside the scales stood a little statuette, perhaps of a goddess.

Then Karna noticed an open doorway into an adjoining room. Still carrying his offerings, he moved to get a better view into this room. He saw neat piles of different types of wood, of bone, ivory, metal. And beyond them Karna caught sight of a number of beautiful bows, leaning unstrung against a wall, in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

As Adhi went to restrain Karna’s curiosity, Charvaka at last noticed their presence. His two visitors immediately bowed again.

‘Oh please! Please!’ Charvaka waved them up. He stayed on his stool looking at them.

‘I imagine you have come to see me for some reason?’ he asked.

‘Sire... I’ve brought my son to see... We have come from Anga...’

‘Your son? I see... This is your son here. Very good. To see me?’

Karna came forwards now and presented the rishi with the elephant tusk and the jar of clarified butter. Charvaka bowed his head in acknowledgement and put the gifts to one side. Adhi took a deep breath, and put down the sack on the floor. He began his story.

‘My name, sire, is Adhi-ratha. My son ―’

‘Very well, my friend, you may leave us,’ interrupted Charvaka.

‘But sire, do you not wish to know why I have brought him?’

‘Not necessarily. The boy will answer for himself. He speaks, eh?’

‘But sire, there are things he... he is too young to know...’

‘Naturally. But there are things that you are too old to know. I will certainly speak with you afterwards.’ Charvaka got up off his stool. ‘Relax, my friend... If you could wait outside... Ah! Here we are...’ Charvaka shuffled towards a shelf and picked up some rice cakes which were resting there among some similar gifts. He thrust them into Adhi’s hand. ‘They are quite fresh — given to me only yesterday.’ He directed Adhi to the door. Adhi absently picked up the red sack and threaded his way carefully back through the clutter of the rishi’s room.

‘Good,’ called the rishi after him. ‘I will converse with your son. We will see you later.’