Karna: The Tragic Hero of the Mahabharata

Disclaimer: Though the Mahabharata is generally seen as myth, there are some who believe it to be history. I therefor do not pledge complete historical accuracy, as much of it is conjecture and proof of the great war is scant, if present. Take this simply as my rendition of the myth, with dialogues created by me or interpreted from a religious comic on Karn. I remained true to what source material I had, and I compiled this story over the course of a few days. Please enjoy, and remember that this is but one man view of the story.

In the kingdom of Hastinapur [Hus-thin-ah-poor], a great realm of India, there had come a great priest to stay in the city's halls, a priest who's wrath was legend, and who's power was likewise. The king lay the burden of his care upon Kunti [Koonth-ee(soft "th" & short "oo")], a fair maiden of the royal court, and instructed that not one of the priest's wishes should be left unfulfilled, and Kunti bowed and took this to heart. For three years she attended to the priest's every need, and towards the end of his stay in Hastinapur, Kunti remarked to herself that she truly had taken the best care of him as was in her power. The priest acknowledged this as well, and upon leaving gave her a mantra which he said would give her the power of siring a son from any god she wished, and that any such son would be born with the gifts of that god.

Now, though that priest was greatly respected and his knowledge sought after by many people, Kunti had trouble believing in the mantra, and decided to test it shortly after the priest had left, desiring a child of the Lord of the Sun. To her utter incredulity, the god appeared before her, and while she said that she could not take in a child at the time, as she was unmarried and it was not custom for an unmarried person to have a child, the mantra could not be undone, and the Lord of the Sun gave her a child with a set of chainmail so strong that nothing could pierce it, and so light that a child could wear it, which would grow with him as he aged, as well as a pair of earrings which held great power for the wearer.

As aforementioned, Kunti could not keep the child, and upon naming him Karn [Kuhrn] after the manner in which his earrings seemed to glow, put him in a basket and floated him down the river, and she could but pray for his well being. She was sorrowful at this most unjust parting, but Kunti herself held great strength of will, and she was able to return to her court with normality, not outwardly displaying her loss. For many years no one in Hastinapur, nor anywhere in India save in the realm of the gods, knew of Karn's true lineage. Not even Karn himself.

So the basket containing the infant Karn floated down the river some way, not completely out of Hastinapur, but far from the royal center of the city. There a charioteer found him and was struck by this chance.

"Such a beautiful child," exclaimed he, "What mother would leave such a blessing to the winds of fate?" As he did not have a child himself, and had wanted one dearly for some time, he picked up the basket and brought it home to his wife, who was likewise grateful for the baby boy, and they took it upon themselves to care for him, and he had a happy childhood with them.

***

The story now moves back to Kunti, who had taken a husband in Pandu, a king in Hastinapur, and had left with him for the mountains. There he revealed to her in shame that he once had a curse put on him by a priest such that he could not sire children. To any other woman, this would have been a truly devastating piece of news, but Kunti remembered the mantra given to her by the priest in Hastinapur, and said to her dear husband:

"Worry not, for I have a solution to this problem," and Pandu looked at her with a cautious curiosity, convinced that his curse was his fate and the end of his line. Kunti continued, "I have a mantra which will allow me to get a son from any god that I wish, and these will be your children, and they will have the gifts of those very gods imbued in them."

Pandu was most pleased at this news, and Kunti set about using the mantra on different gods. First she received Udhistar [ü-DHish-tar] from the god of justice and morality, then Bheem [BHeem] from the god of wind, Arjun from Indra, the Lord of thunder and the leader of the gods, and finally Nukool [Nuh-ckool] and Sehdev [SeH-dev (soft d)], twins from two lesser gods. These five children were raised for a few years by Pandu and Kunti, who were both very content.

However their peaceful life was not to last, as when the children were around five or seven years old, Pandu died, and Kunti was forced to take them back to Hastinapur, where the king ordained that these children, which he named the Pandav's, would be treated as the young princes they were, and Kunti was happy, for her kids deserved no less. However, there was another king who was not so happy with this introduction, as his sons, the Korav's [Koa-ruv] were to now receive less idyllic treatment.

And indeed such came to pass, for there swiftly came a rift between the Pandav's and the Korav's, as they would prank each other in their youth, and the latter would always be outshone in their classes by the former, and it was well known by all that no one could beat Arjun at the art of bowman-ship. Their weapons and war teacher, Dhronyachari [DHron-achaar-i] took the Pandav's to be his favorites, and it was apparent to the Korav's that he did so.

Now Karn watched the Pandav's and Korav's train in combat from afar, hidden behind trees or in bushes, unaware that he was witnessing his kin learn. But a great thirst for knowledge of weaponry was within him as well, and he wished to master the arts for himself. However, upon asking the teacher if he could learn the most advanced techniques in bowman-ship from him, the teacher replied, in a somewhat irked fashion:

"From me you will not learn this trade unless you are from a warrior or brahmin caste, and as you are the son of a charioteer, you are clearly neither. Indeed from most you will not learn this without being of a brahmin class only, as it is a most precarious technique, requiring just as much strength of mind as in body."

Karn, resolved to learn this skill, went to a different teacher, who told him he would only teach it to someone of the brahmin caste. Karn then lied to this great priest, which was very much against societal rules, and said that he was indeed of brahmin caste. The priest, with no reason to doubt Karn, took him as his pupil, and for some years taught him all the arts of weaponry which could be hoped for, even the great advanced techniques he hoped for, and Karn was happily under his study.

But one day, the master and the pupil were walking when the former decided that a rest was in order, and he commanded the latter to sit so that he may rest his head on the pupil's lap. Thus did Karn wait for his teacher to wake, when an insect came and bit him upon the arm, where the mail of his father did not protect. Great was the pain, and blood soon leaked from the wound, but Karn, who wished only for the comfort of his teacher, did not stir, and let the insect continue to bite him, and blood to flow freely into his lap, staining his pants.

Now when the teacher woke from his rest, he saw the blood coming from Karn's arm and soaking his pants and surmised that an insect must have bitten him. He knew then that Karn was not of Brahmin caste, for a Brahmin would not have had the strength of body to sustain a bite of that magnitude for so long, nor the strength of will of stay still throughout it. He demanded to know Karn's true caste, to which Karn responded in a fearful, yet clear tone.

"Please forgive me, teacher," he said with his hands folded in prayer and a deep bow, "I deceived you only to learn what you had to teach; you are a master in the arts of war and weaponry. In truth, I am the son of a charioteer, and not in the warrior or Brahmin class."

The sky turned with the rage of this great priest, and the wind rose as his anger was unleashed, and it was terrible to behold. With a visage as sharp as a sword and spoke, "For your deception you are cursed, Karn son of a charioteer! For though this knowledge you have stolen from me, it will fail you when you need it most! Hear me now and know that when the hour comes of your greatest desperation, you will not be availed by anything you have learned of me!" Thus was the curse upon Karn laid, and in those days, a curse was binding, unable to be lifted by any man, priest, or god.

So Karn walked in the jungle listlessly for some time, unable to bear the gravity of his actions. His treachery had been in good nature, as a student and not an enemy, but it was taken as deception nonetheless, and he knew that he must now bear the ramifications of his blunder. Thus was he meandering and pondering in the jungle when he head a rustle in the brush to his side, out of sight. In his rarefied state, he turned sharply and shot an arrow through the woods, and heard it strike it's mark, as well as a howl from a man in that direction. He hastened over to the spot where his arrow fell, and found to his dismay that he had struck a cow grazing in a small field, in which it's owner now stood and lamented the loss of his animal. The owner was a priest as well, and he asked Karn:

"Why have you slain my beast so?" He cried, "What wrong had it done to you, that you smote it with an arrow from afar?" Karn could not answer, as he had no justification save his own rashness, and so the priests sorrow turned to anger in a heartbeat. His face morphed and he said, "Very well then! I lay this curse upon you; that for slaying an innocent creature, defenseless as it was, you shall be killed in a likewise manner! Your end will be the same as my cow's!"

Karn, now in total distress, returned home to his mother, who rejoiced on seeing her son after so many years, and while Karn put on a face of happiness and contentment, he could barely mask his dismay at his recent misfortunes. But for a long time Karn did not venture near Hastinapur save on errands for his house, and while he kept up his practice of weaponry, he did not believe it would ever come in useful.

***

But a few years later news reached Karn that a great competition of archery was to take place in the city, and that all would be invited to compete. Karn was delighted at this, and he told his mother that he would be leaving for the competition, and she was happy for him. Once the day of the contest was made public, many archers from the wide lands of Hastinapur came forth to display their strength, but all fell to Arjun, who reigned atop the leaderboard. But one more contender remained, and that was Karn, and from the first task he proved himself to be as good, if not better than Arjun, and the crowd was very much on his side, though they knew not who he was. Karn completed all the tasks perfectly, and his mail and earrings shone as he then challenged Arjun himself to a contest between just the two of them, so confident was he in his skill.

Now there was a great leader of the Korav's named Dhuryodhan [DHoor-yoh-DHun], and he had long sought someone to rival Karn in battle, for he was farsighted and saw that war was perhaps not long away. So when Karn displayed his prowess at the contest, he immediately took his side as a friend.

The holder of the contest came forth with Arjun and said, "To what right do you claim to challenge this prince? Are you of noble enough blood to partake in such a contest?" At that time, it was custom that only one of similar caste could even posit the idea of challenging one of the royal house. Karn, unwilling to reveal his bloodline in front of the crowd, panicked and thought to turn away.

But then Dhuryodhan said loudly, "Of noble blood he is now, for I make him the king of the lands Aang [Uhng]." And it was in his power to do so, for those lands were a small fiefdom in his own. Shock followed these words, and through the crowd, Karn's father the charioteer came forth and embraced his adopted son.

"My son!" He exclaimed, "Bless you,-"

But he was cut off by the Pandav Bheem, who cried, "What foolishness is this? The man is the son of a charioteer and yet he wears now a crown? Idiocy! He should be driving the chariot of the master of that crown which he now holds!" This was a grave mistake on the part of the Pandav's, for Karn, already indebted to Dhuryodhan for saving his shame in front of all of Hastinapur, was now also enraged against the Pandav's for mocking him so.

***

Some years passed and the tidings of war grew ever louder. There was no longer a rift between the Pandav's and the Korav's; rather it was a great canyon, and one day there was a game of gambling being played in the royal house, and the Korav's won over the Pandav's only by use of deceit and cheating tactics, and then Dhuryodhan was triumphant.

"For this game I demand all of your kingdoms to be handed over, as that is what you have wagered!" He proclaimed, "And that you will live in the jungle for thirteen years, and for the last year you will live nameless, and no man should know who, or what, you are!"

The Pandav's, bound by their honor, did as he asked, and they pass out of this story for a short while.

***

Now Dhuryodhan may have believed himself the victor of the game, and he did not believe that war could be waged now, as the Pandav's were humiliated, but the gods knew different. There was still battle on the horizon, and it was to be the most vicious, deadly battle in the history of India. Not much could be done now to prevent it, though that counsel they kept to themselves in the heavens, and so they simply sought that their own interests be protected.

Indra, lord of the gods and of thunder, thought, "If a battle is waged then Karn will surely kill my son Arjun, for it is with him that it he has the greatest rivalry. My son does not have the mail or earrings which Karn possesses, which make him invulnerable, and therefor make my Arjun's death inevitable. I must then take these things from him, and thus win my son's life."

Karn's own father, the Lord of the Sun, knew that Indra was thinking such, as concern for his own son's life was also in his mind. But because Indra was the leader of all the gods, he could not go directly against him, lest he risk a war in the heavens as tragic as the one which was about to be waged on Earth. So he had but one option: To visit his son in secret and warn him against Indra taking his mail or his earrings, which was to go against Karn's nature of generosity and giving, but which was necessary if Karn was to have a sure chance of surviving the upcoming war.

So the Lord of the Sun came to Karn in a dream and said, "Your mail and earrings are at risk! Do not deal them to Indra, should he come to you in disguise! Go against that rules which from birth has been in you, and hold on to these things!"

A short while later Karn was walking in a courtyard of the palace, and Indra came before him, disguised as a Brahmin, and said, "It is said that you are of the most generous spirit in Hastinapur! Pray, prove that to be the case, and give me your mail and earrings!" Indra's scheme was well thought out, as it was not custom to refuse a Brahmin of anything, and it was also not in Karn's nature to refuse anyone of anything.

So Karn turned to the Brahmin, not deceived by the guise, and said with a bow, "Lord, I know who you are in truth, as I was forewarned of your coming to me as you did, but I will not refuse such a god, nor is it in my power to do so; my nature forbids it. Take then these earrings and this mail which I have had since birth. I know also of the war which is looming, and that by dealing these things to you I am sacrificing my life. Take it then, as a sacrifice of my life to you, Lord Indra, to whom all gods hearken."

Indra, moved incredibly by Karn, that he would willingly lay down his life rather than refuse him, decided on giving Karn a gift which could perhaps change his fate in the war. "You are brave, Karn," said Indra kindly, "And for that I give you a trident of my own design, imbued with the powers which I hold under my domain. This will slay any who are struck with it from your hand, but be wary! A power such as this can only be used once!" And with that he left Karn, pleased with the man that he'd become.

***

After some years had passed since the Pandav's had returned to Hastinapur, now bereft of all their lordship yet still with many loyal men at their side, the war was truly near, though the Pandav's thought still that they could achieve peace. So they implored Lord Krishna, a god on Earth who was sided with the Pandav's, to make peace with the Korav's.

Krishna knew that if Karn could see reason and avoid the war, or even better ally himself with the Pandav's, then the Korav's would be forced to surrender, so fierce a warrior was he. So he went to Karn, who paid the utmost respect to Krishna, and listened to every word he said with rapt attention.

"O Karn, greatest of the warriors in the Korav allegiance," said Lord Krishna, "I come with counsel which will perhaps change your view on this war, and if it is indeed worth fighting, if you will but lend me your ear!"

Karn bowed and said, "Lord Krishna, you humble me simply by your presence. What more gift could I ask for than to stand before so great a god? Please speak, and worry not, for you speak to my open heart, and I will hear your counsel clearly, without the cloud of war or alliances bearing over over it."

"Very well. As you know, you were merely fostered by the charioteer and his wife whom you call parents. You were born elsewhere, found in a basket floating down the river by the former, but you know not where you are from, nor who your true parents are. You are no servant caste, Karn! Indeed, you are the son of Kunti and the Lord of the Sun, and the brother of the Pandav's. To go to war against them and risk either of your lives would be a most unwise endeavor, and it would pain your mother dearly if any of her sons were harmed by another! Reconsider your part in this war, and if you will not join your brothers, at least raise no arm against them."

Karn was shocked by this news, though his face remained stoic as he replied, "For this information you have my eternal gratitude, Lord Krishna, though it is with great regret that I must inform you that your coming here was in folly. For as indebted as I am to my brothers, so too am I indebted to Dhuryodhan, who saved my honor once, and has guarded me from scrutiny since. For him I must fight, but it is only with Arjun that I feel a hurt from the past, and so I swear to you this: No Pandav save him that I mentioned will come to deadly harm from me."

"There is a tone of finality in your voice," remarked Krishna sadly, "So then there is no hope of saving you from this war? Or of saving Hastinapur?"

"While it is Dhuryodhan's wish to fight, it is mine as well, so it will only be by a change of his heart that mine should sway. Please, could I ask of you one favor, before you depart?"

Krishna was surprised, but smiled as he said, "Of course, Karn."

Karn squared his shoulders and stared into Krishna's eyes, and the fire of his will was revealed, for not many could gaze at such ethereal perfection for so long, and said, "Though I am thankful that you revealed this information to me, do not repeat it to anyone, especially my brothers. If indeed war is come, then it would be detrimental to both sides to have my lineage brought to light."

And Krishna agreed, and the two parted amiably. But Kunti, on hearing that her son had not changed in mind, was distraught, and came to him herself, knowing not that he knew her to be his mother. She implored him as Krishna had, to hold his hand and join with his brothers, so that all ill will could be mended. But Karn told Kunti also as he had told Krishna; his part in the conflict would be at Dhuryodhan's side, to whatever end, and they parted on good terms, though Kunti was grieved to see her sons split like this. He likewise made her promise not to divulge the secret of his true parentage to anyone.

***

Some time now passes in the story of Karn, and in that time the war known as the Mahabharata began. There are many stories of the great battles, though as this tale concerns only Karn, it is the to him that we now return.

Karn had attained the status of general of the Korav army through the death of two previous generals, and was the most feared and fierce soldier of the Korav's. He led them in battle with unwavering courage, and laid waste to the Pandav armies, even going so far as to defeat the eldest Pandav, Udhistar, in combat, sending an arrow to break Udhistar's bow asunder. But he kept his promise, and did not kill his brother, merely defeating him and his army and sending them back to the Pandav encampments with their heads low. Now after many days of this conflict had passed with the only victories coming to the Korav's from the bow of Karn, Bheem second of the Pandav's knew that drastic measures must be employed to destroy Karn, so he sent out his son Ghatotchkutch [GHah-tohch=kuch], half man half demon, at night to disrupt the Korav army.

And Ghatotchkutch did that. So tall was he that he appeared as a giant among men, and He wielded a golden club in battle and smote much of the Korav army during the twilight, when his vision was great and theirs was failing. Karn knew that this battle would end with a Korav defeat unless Ghatotchkutch was slain, so he quickly grabbed the trident which Lord Indra had bestowed upon him, and threw it at the great demon, hitting him in the chest and killing him where he stood.

The Pandav army retreated, and while the Korav's had sustained many losses, they did not consider this a great defeat, and praised Karn for bringing down such a beastly adversary. But Karn's mind was tumultuous, for he realized that he'd used the very weapon he was intended to slay Arjun with, and that it would now be an infinitely harder task.

In the coming battles and skirmishes, Karn defeated every Pandav brother save Arjun, whom he had yet to face. And though he could have killed any of the Pandav's, he did not, and he allowed them all to live, much to the surprise of the Pandav's, and the dismay of Dhuryodhan. But the time was soon that Arjun would command the Pandav legions in battle, and for that Karn waited restlessly, knowing that only one man would survive the encounter.

And it came to pass that Karn did soon meet Arjun in battle, and as their armies fought their strength of wills was tested. Much blood was spilled that day, and both Arjun and Karn wreaked havoc on their opposing armies, both appearing to be of equal skill. But as they fought, the two could not slay each other, and there seemed to be a stalemate in the conflict.

It was then that by mere chance, or perhaps fate, Karn's chariot was caught in a crag in the dirt, and was stuck. His charioteer slain, Karn knew that if he was to stay here, it would be almost impossible to survive, so he leapt out from the chariot, and attempted to free it himself. It was here that he realized he could no longer recollect what his master had taught him, all those years ago, and the curse of that great priest was fulfilled, for this indeed was Karn's zenith of desperation, and as he struggled to free his chariot, Arjun saw that his back was turned, and told his own charioteer, Lord Krishna, to move in closer.

And Krishna deftly steered the chariot in the direction of the struggling Karn, and because his prowess for battle had completely left him, he did not feel the attack coming, and Arjun fired an arrow from his great bow, a gift from Shiva the destroyer himself, and slew Karn while his back was turned, and thus the curse of the other priest was fulfilled as well, as Karn perished innocently, with his back turned, from an arrow. Just as the cow he'd killed so long had died, so too did Karn meet his end.

***

It is possible that Karn's death directly led to the Pandav's victory in the Mahabharata, though that is purely conjecture, but regardless, the Pandav's came out of the greatest war ever waged in India the victors. But while they were all merry, Kunti grieved for her child, though she too displayed an outward happiness at her other sons winning over the Korav's.

Soon after the fighting had stopped, the five Pandav brothers were solemnly paying their respects to all who had fallen on their side during the war, and were lighting little fires for them and sending them down the river, with a prayer that they may find peace in the afterlife. Kunti watched from afar, and shed no tears, though she was distraught that no one should grieve for her lost son but herself, for the Korav's were destroyed, and Karn would likely pass out of memory if he were not remembered by the Pandav's. She could not risk her son, so mighty and noble a man as he was, to be smeared by history, nor could she bear that he should go coldly into the afterlife, while the Pandav's lamented so many others.

So she came upon her sons as they were finishing the prayer, and said, "Though you do a great deed by remembering your fallen soldiers thus, there is one whom you forgot to respect."

Udhistar was surprised, and asked, "Who have we forgotten, mother?"

She hung her head, as tears began to fall from her face quietly, and said, "You've forgotten to respect Karn."

And Udhistar was stunned, and spoke out in anger, "Karn? He that was not only a Korav, but the fiercest among them? He that laid waste to our armies and slaughtered our men? Why should we respect him? He should be remembered for the malice in his heart, and nothing else!"

But Kunti could stand it now longer, and she broke her promise to Karn as she said, "Karn was not your enemy! Though he owed a debt to Dhuryodhan and fought against you, he was actually my son, sired from the Lord of the Sun himself, before I married Pandu! He was your brother!"

A stillness followed these words, such that could only be brought on by a great tumult of emotions, chief among them shock. The sun itself then changed to a redder hue, and increased in brightness, and the Pandav's knew then that Kunti was telling the truth; they had slain their brother, and rejoiced at his death. Remorse swept over them, and they now knew why Karn had spared each of their lives in turn, save Arjun's, and they wept for his loss. Kunti watched from afar, as the Pandav brothers built a great pyre and set it ablaze, knowing that it was just and solemnly pleased that her eldest son would now be counted as a great man, and a tragic hero in the epic that is The Mahabharata. Thus is Karn now remembered, as a man whose misfortunes led to an early death, and who was perhaps the greatest warrior to take part in the war.