As Krishna walked out of the assembly hall, leaving everyone in a state of awe and suspense, he asked Satyaki to bring Radheya to him.
‘I must meet him before returning to Upaplavya,’ he said. ‘Since this meeting should remain secret, ask him to meet me at the entrance to the forest on the eastern fringe of the city.’
Intrigued by the purpose of this secret meeting, Satyaki immediately returned to the hall and saw Radheya standing alone near a pillar, still overawed by Krishna’s awesome manifestation. Quietly, Satyaki walked up to him and whispered into his ears: ‘I have an urgent message for you from Krishna.’ He then told him where Krishna wanted to meet him.
‘What is this about?’ Radheya asked, taken by surprise.
‘I don’t have the faintest idea,’ Satyaki replied. ‘But he sounded very insistent and impatient.’
‘I will go there immediately,’ Radheya said.
A little later, as Radheya reached the spot, he saw Krishna already waiting under a banyan tree.
His forehead knitted and anxiety writ large on his face, Radheya asked, ‘What is the matter? Why have you sought me out?’
‘I will let you know soon, dear Radheya,’ Krishna said, holding his hand in a fervent clasp. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I respect you even if you are very close to Duryodhana.’
But in spite of these words, Radheya remained nervous and perplexed. Krishna then led him deep into the forest. This mystified Radheya all the more. Krishna stopped when they reached a thick cluster of trees which had completely veiled the sun, even at noon. The place looked dark and eerie.
‘Dark secrets can be shared only in dark environs,’ quipped Krishna as he asked Radheya to sit on a rock beside him. ‘I could not return to Upaplavya without having a word with you, dear Radheya. Even though my peace mission has failed, I hope I’d be able to at least win you over.’
‘You mean you would like me to forsake Duryodhana?’ Radheya’s tone now turned acerbic. ‘Never, not even if the sun rises in the west, the seasons change their course and the seas go dry. I am committed to him till the last breath of my life. He befriended me during that tournament when I was humiliated by everyone as a low-born, a sutaputra.’
‘Yes, I have heard all that,’ Krishna said. Then, looking deep into his eyes, he asked, ‘Have you ever thought of the circumstances of your birth?’
‘Indeed, several times. I was told by my foster-parents, Atiratha and Radha, how they found me floating in a basket, down the Ganga, with a pair of gold earrings and a kavacha on my chest. I guess my real mother was some princess who must have felt constrained to abandon me. Indeed, I think of her whenever the blood in my veins surges, and my heart flutters.’
‘Yes, it must be the call of blood, the tug of your roots.’
‘But I have been more than amply compensated by the love and care showered on me by my foster-parents. I have been singularly fortunate in that respect. With these parents on one side and my friend Duryodhana on the other, I feel at peace with myself.’
A brief silence fell between the two. As two pairs of eyes now probed each other, Radheya asked, ‘But why are you leading me into the origin of my birth? Is that the only reason why you have called me here, to this dark spot where even the sun cannot reach?’
‘Because the sun would have interfered with our conversation.’
These words further deepened Radheya’s curiosity and anxiety.
‘Why are you talking to me in riddles, O Krishna? It seems that you are holding back some secret. Why don’t you come out of it?’
Krishna now held Radheya’s hands affectionately, looked into the deep, brown pools of his eyes and spoke in a voice that chimed like temple bells: ‘You are not Radheya, but Karna – and you are the son of Surya, the sun-god. Your mother is Kunti and the Pandavas are your brothers.’ Then he explained how he was born to Kunti when she was a maiden. ‘So, to shield herself from public censure, she had to abandon you. But she misses you with every heartbeat, thinks about you waking and dreaming. She must have shed rivers of tears.’
Stunned and dumbfounded, Radheya stared at Krishna’s face. Then, getting off the rock on which he was sitting, he put his head on Krishna’s lap and began to cry.
‘So I am a Kshatriya and not a sutaputra,’ he stuttered. ‘And the Pandavas are my brothers. Let me tell you, I too have dreamt of my mother several times in my sleep. I would often get up in the middle of the night and conjure up in my mind’s eye the image of my mother – tender and beautiful. I’d then imagine myself as an infant suckling at her breasts.’ He trailed off. ‘But why did you have to unveil the secret of my birth at this moment, when I had completely reconciled myself to being a sutaputra, with Atiratha as my father and Radha as my mother? Why have you now created this turmoil in my soul? O gracious heaven, I am torn between two selves, between the earth and the sky. Why did you not let me remain ensconced in my ignorance? You have disturbed a hive of stinging bees that will now pursue me all my life.’
Then, in the midst of his sobbing, he looked deep into Krishna’s eyes and asked, ‘Why did you choose this moment? Answer me, O Vasudeva! You owe this to me.’
Deeply touched by Radheya’s anguish, Krishna responded, ‘Because I want you to come home, to your mother and your brothers, at this critical juncture in the history of Bharatavarsha. How can a noble warrior like you fight on the side of evil? History will never forgive you for supporting injustice. If you come to Yudhishthira, he’d be delighted to see yourself crowned as the ruler of Indraprastha. You know very well that victory will side only with dharma. God will ensure that righteousness prevails.’
‘That I know quite well, O Vasudeva,’ Radheya said. ‘Yes, the Kauravas are doomed to perish. I can imagine Duryodhana bleeding on the battlefield, his thighs smashed – and Bheema drinking blood from Duhsasana’s chest. Not even Bheeshma and Drona would survive, because Arjuna’s arrows would tear their way through our ranks. I also, see myself, in my mind’s eye, going down to Arjuna’s lethal arrows. But that is what I now want – eternal peace on the lap of death, for I have suffered enough as a pariah, fatherless and motherless.’ He sighed. ‘But one thing I will never do – forsake Duryodhana, whom I love in spite of all his failings. This is because I earnestly believe that one has no right to sit in judgement over the actions of one’s friend, right or wrong. Friendship believes only in commitment – to love and loyalty. So our next meeting will be on the battlefield, not in the heart of a dark forest. Pray for my death and the victory of my brothers!’ He paused. ‘But may I ask a favour of you?’
‘What is it? Anything, dear Radheya.’
‘Let this secret of my birth remain sealed between us. I would still like to be known as Radheya and not Karna, because if Arjuna were to know who I am, his hands would falter when he trains his arrows at me on the battlefield. I would bless him for killing me, for I have no longer the desire to live. Of course, I’d meet my brothers in heaven and we’d talk there about life’s ironies – how destiny plays pranks with mortals!’
Downcast and heartbroken, Krishna returned to his chariot. He realized that he had lost on both counts – the failure of his peace mission and his inability to wean Karna away from the Kauravas.
As his chariot was now racing out of Hastinapur, a light drizzle came down.
‘Is it a bad omen?’ Krishna asked, turning to Satyaki.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Satyaki. ‘But I imagine it is nature’s way of shedding tears over the failure of our mission.’ Then, somewhat sombrely, he asked Krishna, ‘Isn’t there a veil of mystery that hangs between the two ends of a spectrum – between every arrival and departure, between birth and death, hope and despair?’
‘Absolutely,’ responded Krishna. ‘But one must continue to do one’s karma, regardless of any consequences.’