Karṅa’s Choice

A tragic figure of the Mahābhārata had to decide between Kṛṣṅa's pleasure and his own prestige.

By Ūrmilā Devī Dāsī

WHY DID MY FATHER have me serve sage Durvāsā?” Princess Kuntī wondered as she prepared to put her firstborn son into a basket in the river.

Durvāsā had been a difficult guest to host. He would ask for a meal to be ready at 2:00, but then he wouldn’t arrive until midnight. Or he’d ask for something and then refuse it. Always unpredictable and irritable, he had stayed with Kuntī’s family for a year. He had great powers, and if even slightly displeased, he might curse his host. The stories of his curses were legendary. But Princess Kuntī, her heart full of love for the Supreme Lord, Kṛṣṅa, was able to peacefully tolerate the sage’s moods and earned his gratitude.

“What gift would you like?” asked Durvāsā, who had extraordinary powers to bless.

“I am content,” Kuntī replied, “but maybe in the future I’ll need something. Please give me something that will benefit me.”

The sage gave her a mantra and told her, “The celestial controllers will be forced to come to you when you chant this.”

Sometime later, as she sat alone, Princess Kuntī thought, “Let’s see.”

She recited the mantra while thinking of the sun. To her surprise its deity appeared, his radiance filling the room. To her greater surprise he told her that the mantra obliged him to have a child with her.

Now, remembering all this as her baby floated down the river, the young Kuntī cried.

The sun-god had transformed her back into a maiden and arranged for the child to be born with mystical armor and earrings as part of his body. He would be known as Karṅa.

After her marriage to Emperor Pāṅḍu, Kuntī used her mantra again. Pāṅḍu was cursed to die if he attempted to have a child. So he requested Kuntī to have children by devas (demigods) on his behalf, and she agreed.

When King Pāṅḍu died, Kuntī lived with their five young sons under the care of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Pāṅḍu’s older brother, who was blind. Dhṛtarāṣṭra was acting regent until Pāṅḍu’s oldest son, Yudhiṣṭhira, would come of age. But Dhṛtarāṣṭra had his own sons, and the oldest, Duryodhana, felt that he, not Yudhiṣṭhira, should get the throne.

The cousins—Pāṅḍu’s and Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons—had as their graduation exercise a public display of their skill with weapons, including mystic, subtle ones unknown to our modern, supposedly more advanced, technology. Kuntī’s son Arjuna showed such extraordinary skill that the people were entranced.

Then Karṅa, his bodily luster noticeable even in the bright sunlight, sauntered into the arena, proclaiming that he could show skill greater than Arjuna’s.

“Who are you?” the teachers asked. “Who is your family?”

Karṅa looked down. He would not be permitted to show his skills unless he was royalty, but he had been raised as the son of a charioteer.

Karṅa’s distinctive natural armor and earrings shocked his mother, who had been watching her other five sons in their glory.

“My son!” she thought. “Oh, he is alive—a young man asking to be recognized as royalty!”

But out of shame, she couldn’t bring herself to say, “He is my son, conceived by the deity of the sun before my marriage.”

Then Karṅa’s fortunes changed.

Duryodhana came into the arena and declared, “As the acting king’s oldest son, I award this son of a charioteer kingship over the province Anga.”

Kuntī ached to know the story of her son, now a king. He didn’t know how much she pined for him. But, then, he didn’t know her at all. The parents he knew lived by the Ganges and had found him floating in a basket. His natural armor, earrings, and luster were unusual. Yet the childless couple raised him as their own with affection. His adoptive father was a servant to warriors, a chariot driver. But Karṅa wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be a warrior, or even a king.

But a chariot driver couldn’t dream of governing. Although the sacred Vedas and their corollaries state that inclination and training, not birth and family, should determine one’s occupation and social status, the cycle of ages was shifting into our present time of materialism and ignorance, and superficial bodily considerations were replacing knowledge of the inner self. Society would dictate that Karṅa, like the man everyone thought was his father, was to be a servant, at best a warrior’s servant.

But Karṅa’s nature was stronger than circumstances, and his adoptive father had found a teacher to impart military and political skills to the boy. Karṅa had learned those arts well. But he often thought of those born into royalty. How lucky they were! How the public adored them! When Karṅa had finished his training, he had heard of the graduation of the famous Pāṅḍava princes.

“Let me go there,” he had thought, “and I will show the public that I am as qualified as these much-praised princes.”

Now Karṅa was royalty by decree!

His voice quavering and his eyes moist, Karṅa turned to Duryodhana, confident that now all his desires would be fulfilled. He placed his massive, muscular arms around his benefactor and swore lifelong devotion.

Unfortunately, Duryodhana wasn’t a benefactor in the true sense. He gave to get in return. He wanted Kuntī’s sons to have no chance to rule, and he thought that Karṅa could help him win a military coup if necessary. Karṅa had promised loyalty without knowing the nature of his new friend.

Meanwhile, Kuntī felt trapped. If she had revealed Karṅa’s identity, he’d not have sworn allegiance to Duryodhana. What kind of a man would Duryodhana be when even as a child he had attempted to poison her children to secure his own position? What joy to see her lost child, now a king! But what sorrow to have him in such company.

“Why was my son so eager for a kingdom that he would make friends with whoever would give it to him? A noble person cares more for pleasing Lord Kṛṣṅa than for personal reputation.”

Seeking Kṛṣṅa's guidance and protection, and wishing the best for Karṅa, Kuntī returned with her other sons to the palace.

Duryodhana’s Treachery

As the many years passed, Duryodhana tried to kill his cousins and Kuntī. He had a flammable palace built for them, and arranged to burn it when they slept. But they escaped, and with the help of a powerful king, they returned for the kingdom.

Karṅa stood by his friend Duryodhana and suggested that the returning princes be given some useless land to rule. But Kuntī’s sons turned that land into a place like heaven, because they were friends of the Supreme Lord, Śrī Kṛṣṅa, who had incarnated to establish governments of righteous people. Duryodhana could burn a palace and give the pious, rightful rulers a desert to govern, because the Lord does not interfere with our freedom. Yet Kṛṣṅa's desire always triumphs, regardless of our actions. Yudhiṣṭhira not only became king of a paradise, but later received the recognition of all kings as world emperor.

Then Duryodhana, Karṅa beside him, challenged Yudhiṣṭhira to gamble. The warriors’ code forbade refusing a challenge. And because Yudhiṣṭhira’s uncle Dhṛtarāṣṭra invited him, playing meant obeying an elder. Duryodhana was obviously cheating, and Yudhiṣṭhira gambled away all—his empire, his brothers, and his wife, Draupadī. Gloating, Duryodhana and Karṅa mocked Draupadī as their slave. Yudhiṣṭhira then won back his family, but they were obliged to go into exile for thirteen years.

Karṅa and Duryodhana took over Yudhiṣṭhira’s palaces, including the famous hall of illusions. They usurped his kingdom and wealth. Kuntī, who stayed at the palace, would hear how they would laugh and tell each other, “When they finish their exile, let’s arrange to send them back to the forest for thirteen more years!”

Lord Kṛṣṅa helped Kuntī’s sons many times during their exile, and then Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers returned, asking for their kingdom. Kṛṣṅa was their messenger for peace, humbly begging Duryodhana for at least five villages, one for each of the brothers to rule.

“Not enough land for them to stick a pin into!” Duryodhana replied. “Let them fight for it if they want it! With fighters such as Karṅa on my side, who can defeat me?”

If Karṅa could be induced to break his bond with Duryodhana, then perhaps the usurper’s confidence would be eroded. So Kṛṣṅa showed Duryodhana and his court, including Karṅa, His form as the universe, encompassing all time and space and blazing with searing light. But Duryodhana remained unmoved. Let the Lord of all give support to his enemies! He would conquer through strength and cleverness.

Then Kṛṣṅa privately approached Karṅa.

“Do you know who you are?”

Karṅa stood straight and looked at the Lord.

“A chariot driver’s son,” he replied. “The king of Anga, and the friend of Duryodhana.”

“Do you know your real family?” Kṛṣṅa asked.

Karṅa shifted and looked down.

“You are the elder brother of Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers, whom Duryodhana has envied and cheated. You were born to their mother before her marriage.”

His lifelong enemies—enemies because they were Duryodhana’s rivals—were his younger brothers? His mother was a queen? No. But Kṛṣṅa is God; He’s all-knowing...

“And my father?” Karṅa finally asked.

“Your father is the celestial being who rules the sun. You may know that the devas fathered Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers on Pāṅḍu’s behalf. Out of curiosity, when Kuntī was still quite young she called for the sun’s deity. Your luster and natural armor are signs of your celestial origin.”

“They abandoned me,” said Karṅa, “and now that they are threatened they want my allegiance? I will stick to Duryodhana, who gave me wealth and power.”

“Your considerations are selfish, Karṅa,” Kṛṣṅa said. “You think you deserve acclaim and honor, and whoever gives you those is your friend. Don’t you see that Yudhiṣṭhira has always been truthful, wise, and concerned for the people’s welfare, whereas Duryodhana has cared only for his own position? Disregard your own pleasure and go to the side of truth.”

“Duryodhana gave me a kingdom,” Karṅa replied. “Pāṅḍu’s sons have given me nothing but scorn. They consider me a servant’s son only. Why should I now embrace them as brothers?”

Kṛṣṅa wanted to give Karṅa spiritual life, the highest pleasure, but He doesn’t interfere with our will. He then offered Karṅa a lower reward.

“Karṅa, as the oldest of Pāṅḍu’s sons you will have the first right to world rule if Yudhiṣṭhira regains his empire. As soon as he knows your true identity, he will give you the world and serve you obediently.”

“I will honor my pledge of loyalty to my friend Duryodhana,” Karṅa said, “even if it means I die in battle and fight against the true emperor and against Your wishes.”

Kṛṣṅa lets us get the results of our choices. He left Karṅa to his thoughts and returned to Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers.

A Mother’s Request

Meanwhile, Kuntī also thought, like Kṛṣṅa, to bring Karṅa to his blood family. Karṅa had vowed that anyone who came with a request during his worship would get their desire granted if it was within his power. Kuntī came at that time, without fanfare or royal dress.

“Beggar,” he asked her, “what do you want?”

“I am your mother,” she said, telling him her story and taking his head in her lap.

How Kuntī cried to hold her son for the first time since his birth!

“Come,” she said, making the same offer as had Kṛṣṅa. “Your brothers will recognize you as the elder and give you the empire of the earth.”

“Ask for something else, mother who abandoned me at birth,” said Karṅa. “You cannot ask me to join you now.”

“Then do not kill your younger brothers in the upcoming war,” she pleaded.

“I cannot agree to that, either,” Karṅa replied. “I have pledged to fight for Duryodhana. But I promise that I won’t kill more than one of my brothers. If I live and one of my brothers dies, you’ll still have five sons. It is as the mother of five sons that the world knows you.”

The war came, a great war that involved most of the world’s armies.

Karṅa came before Arjuna on the battlefield. Facing Arjuna meant also facing his chariot driver, the Supreme Lord. Kṛṣṅa had asked Karṅa to join the side of truth, and now Kṛṣṅa was opposing him directly. Even now, if Karṅa accepted Kṛṣṅa's will the Lord would give him all protection. But Karṅa stuck to his vow of loyalty.

“Stand and fight!” Arjuna called.

The two opponents were so evenly matched that neither could gain the advantage. Karṅa, however, was burdened. Before the battle, the celestial king Indra, Arjuna’s father, had asked Karṅa for his armor during the time of Karṅa’s worship. Cutting it off his body, Karṅa deprived himself of protection. Earlier in life, to gain an education as a warrior, he had deceived his teacher about his parentage. When his teacher discovered the lie, he cursed Karṅa to forget his military knowledge at the most crucial moment.

When Karṅa’s chariot ran into a rut and he got down to free it, Kṛṣṅa told Arjuna to kill his foe.

“But when he’s not fighting, the code forbids it,” Arjuna countered.

“Didn’t Karṅa support Duryodhana when he burned your house, insulted your wife, and cheated you of your kingdom?” Kṛṣṅa replied. “Didn’t he break the code to kill your son? A cheater should be cheated. Kill him!”

Seeing Arjuna reach for his weapons, Karṅa left aside the wheel and tried to invoke divine missiles, but he couldn’t remember the method. A moment later, he lay dead.

Kṛṣṅa teaches that one who dies re-membering Him attains his own original, divine nature. Karṅa, dying while seeing the face of God, got such a benediction. Still, he had caused much suffering to himself and society by blindly following a promise of faithfulness to an evil man for the sake of his own prestige. As Kuntī openly mourned him at the end of the day, her other sons lamented that their brother had unnecessarily become their enemy.

Ūrmilā Devī Dāsī and her family run a school in North Carolina. She is a frequent contributor to BTG and the major author and compiler of Vaikuṅtha Children, a guide to Kṛṣṅa conscious education for children.

To Lord Krsna

(during the fight between Karṅa and Arjuna)

The bowstrings twang Flash! Arrows sang Your glory as the fight’s begun— Arjuna fights the sun-god’s son. The weapons blaze upon the sky As soldiers, stunned, are standing by And cowards flee away from fear While You, Kṛṣṅa, are sitting near. No one’s plans can conquer You Or anyone who serves You true For what You want will come to pass While plans of demons cannot last. Your face far brighter than the moon Shines benediction on Arjuna But also graces Kuntī’s son Who is not known to anyone. As wheels rumble the dusty ground Hardly anyone is found Who cannot help but stop and stare As divine weapons clash in air. Who will You save and who defeat? Both conquer fear with no retreat. Then! Ground bites Karṅa’s chariot wheel, Knowledge of war his guru does steal. Arjuna remembers the death of his son— For dharma another battle is won.

—Ūrmilā Devī Dāsī

Mysteries of Karṅa’s Life and Death

KARṄA IS AN enigmatic figure in the Mahābhārata, the ancient world history. An illegitimate child abandoned at birth and scorned for his supposed lower-caste status, he seems an innocent victim. He is sometimes praised for his loyalty to Duryodhana, which continued even after he understood that his mentor was an envious, ruthless murderer who would lose everything. Karṅa’s spiritually glorious death in Kṛṣṅa's presence seems a vindication of his life’s choices, but it is a further mystery: Why would Kṛṣṅa grant salvation to such an evil man?

First, no one is truly a victim. Our birth and circumstances result from our own actions in previous lives. If one commits a crime and is put in jail, the bad atmosphere there is no excuse to continue or worsen one’s behavior. Yes, it is harder to be virtuous in jail, but the hardship is self-imposed.

Next, no praiseworthy quality can be judged independently of circumstances. Karṅa pledged fealty to Duryodhana not because he thought he had found a worthy master, but because Duryodhana granted him the honor and respect he craved. Here is a lesson to those throughout history who have blindly sworn allegiance to a leader for personal gain, or perhaps thinking they would benefit their society. “I was following orders” or “I swore to obey” are not proper defenses against criminal charges. Better to break one’s vow than to continue to serve evil in the name of truthfulness.

Finally, Kṛṣṅa's liberation of Karṅa operates on a platform of spiritual logic. Salvation is not the result of having done good or evil deeds. Rather, both good and evil deeds lead to further rebirth, not freedom. Freedom from rebirth and attainment of one’s original spiritual form result from having Kṛṣṅa as the focus of one’s attention and love. Generally, only one who gives up evil can have such a focus. In fact, we could define evil as that which turns one away from Kṛṣṅa. But in rare cases a person concentrates on the Lord in spite of his or her demonic actions. Absorption in Kṛṣṅa is so powerfully purifying—especially at death—that it can turn to love of God in a moment and nullify all previous evil. One must not intentionally live a bad life with the hope of remembering Kṛṣṅa at the end; such a plan is an offense to the Lord and will be unsuccessful. But Kṛṣṅa's greatness is revealed by the examples of those who became perfect in their last moments when their ill-motivated attention on Him suddenly turned to devotion.

In Karṅa’s case, the pure devotee Kuntī always wanted his spiritual welfare. Kṛṣṅa reciprocates with the love of His devotees by giving mercy to those for whom they pray. While some may interpret such actions as partiality, they are in fact simply reciprocation: to those who give all to Kṛṣṅa, He gives all in return. Kṛṣṅa also showed His impartiality by giving salvation to all who died seeing Him, whether friends or enemies.

In many ways, Karṅa represents the rebellious, conditioned souls. We are Kṛṣṅa's spiritual children, heirs to a life of eternal, always-increasing pleasure and knowledge in His kingdom. But we think ourselves permanent members of families in this world. We give our loyalty and service here, and we think ourselves good because of that. When Kṛṣṅa asks for our obedience and love, we refuse, citing our many responsibilities. Although our material plans and loyalties have no lasting value, we cling to them rather than re-join our real home and family. But if, like Karṅa, we can get the blessings and mercy of a pure devotee of Kṛṣṅa such as Kuntī, we can come to our real life even before death, and see that the Lord is with us always.