#it’s cause I refused to give you Karna wasn’t it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daanshoor · 5 years ago

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It was an interesting life, certainly. Karna didn’t mind it, though some things could’ve been done better in hindsight.

“You shouldn’t cause so much trouble.” Radha chides as she attempted to arrange her child’s hair and clothes into something presentable, sighing over spatters of dirt and the odd blade of grass. “Your father is coming home today! What would he think if he saw you running about with the boys when you’ve only just finished your chores?”

Adhiratha would be disappointed, of course. Vasusena knew that but kept silent, bowing their head. It was not the first lecture they’d endured after being found out. Doubtful it would be the last.

“I wasn’t misbehaving.” Vasusena remarked sullenly. “I can clean up quickly. The chores are done, and father is not home just yet.”

“But you’ve made a mess of yourself.” Radha countered, exasperated; taking Vasusena by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “What if your father had needed to take you to the palace? You’re to work with him, Vasusena. If you arrived so dirty it would embarrass him.”

I would not embarrass him, he nearly says. But that would be the wrong answer and it would only upset his mother further.

“I am sorry.” They mumble instead. Not for playing with others. But for the worry on Radha’s brow and the tiredness Vasusena knows will be in Adhiratha’s eyes when he hears? They could be sorry for that. “I will conduct myself properly, from now on.”

“Thank you.” Radha deflates, most of her irritation gone. Vasusena says nothing more on the matter.

“I haven’t seen you before.” Duryodhana is tenacious with what catches his interest, disregarding propriety and even common sense at times to pursue it. Worryingly so. They distrust it immediately, all of the crown prince’s frowning concentration as they try to put more distance between themselves and the border of Drona’s hermitage.

“Princes are not supposed to notice servants.” Vasusena shoots back, ducking around the limbs of a fallen tree, wishing they could run and not face trouble for it later. “Go back. Your brothers will miss you.”

He doesn’t, continuing this pursuit like a hound on the scent of blood.

“You aren’t one of Drona’s disciples.” Duryodhana guessed. “Did he refuse you? Could you not pay?”

It’s not your business, the retort burns on the tip of Vasusena’s tongue and they swallow it back with bitterness. But the crown prince seems to think of them as harmless: just a boy, with their hair tied up and tucked under a plain turban, which is fortunate.

“He does not train sutas, your highness.” Vasusena reminds him instead, eager to leave this conversation behind. “Unless one is born a kshatriya or comes to him as a brahmin, they are denied. You should go back, highness. Your teacher will not be pleased that you've left without permission.”

“Dronacharya is rarely pleased with me.” Duryodhana doesn’t seem incredibly bothered by it, Vasusena notes. “Slow down at least. Why were you creeping around then? Trying to learn what he teaches us?”

Vasusena’s ears burn. It would be a lie to say no and they do not like to speak lies, even to someone as annoying as the crown prince. In a way he reminds them of the boys who like to run through the streets of town; the ones who tug on married women’s skirts and yell for sweets, eager to cause trouble.

“I was not creeping.” Vasusena counters, slowing down despite themselves. Duryodhana has followed them this far. It will be more trouble if he kept pace all the way back into town. Adhiratha would raise a fuss if he saw them with one of Drona’s disciples; especially if he recognized Duryodhana on sight. And if Drona himself found out it would more than likely mean a beating for both of them.

“Sneaking then.” Duryodhana dismisses their response immediately, peering at them with renewed interest. It makes the hairs on the back of Vasusena’s neck lift, but they stand their ground. “Have you been watching us for that long, then? How did you avoid Ashwatthama?”

It’s not as difficult as you might think, they don’t say.

“He has all of you to look after.” Vasusena reminds him coolly.

“Will you be back?” Duryodhana asks, taking their statement in stride amazingly well. Or perhaps he never cared for what they’d say to begin with; which is likely. “You must want to learn, if you are willing to come out so far. And you are a suta, you said?”

They shouldn’t come back, that much is obvious.

It had been curiosity, the first time. The legendary Dronacharya in the flesh, not a figure out of myth as he was made out to be. Vasusena hadn’t been the only one who had snuck from their chores to try and catch a glimpse of Hastinapur’s newest warrior-sage. It was easier than trying to glimpse Bhishma, who was perhaps even more famous; but shut himself away in the palace to attend the throne.

After that, they could only blame themselves and the hunger for knowledge; insistent and stubborn.

“What does it matter to you?” It came out as a challenge, too sharp for the politeness a prince is due.

“I could show you what he teaches us, if you do.” Duryodhana lifts his chin, dangerously imperious for a boy his age. “Or must I ask who your father is, suta; so that I might find you again once Drona sends us into town?”

Cold dread forms a tight knot in their stomach at the threat. Not that, Vasusena thinks; pulse skipping a beat. Of all the things to ask, don’t choose that you arrogant little chit.

“I might.” They hazard doubtfully, glancing past him towards the trees beyond. In case there might anyone else watching, just to further their poor luck. “Why go through the trouble? I’m a suta, as you so kindly point out.”

Duryodhana shrugs, smiling carelessly. “It pleases me to consider it. And you are not one of my cousins, so you must be loyal to my family. I can trust that you won’t turn on me with the knowledge I give you.”

I never promised that, Vasusena bites back the thought before it can get him in trouble; exasperated and faintly amused. They supposed it must be nice to have the privilege of tossing out a teacher’s lessons like scraps of food; blindly trusting that someone would feel some bit of obedient loyalty for his kindness.

“Perhaps.” They say, measuring the time and frowning. “You should go back. I have my own business to attend. It has nothing to do with entertaining you further.”

Their father has always warned that their tongue will bring nothing but trouble if Vasusena speaks as they normally would to everyone, but Duryodhana only laughs.

“Go, then.” He manages between snickers. “And if we see each other again we’ll revisit the deal.”

Spoilt princeling, Vasusena rolls their eyes as they leave; keeping the thought to themselves where it belongs. He does not follow them home, thankfully.

“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to.” A new voice breaks in, distracting Vasusena from their shot and interrupting Duryodhana’s petulant complaints about his teacher’s favoritism. Vasusena startles, almost loosing their arrow at the speaker instead. They manage not to, though Vasusena does wish they could disappear immediately as Ashwatthama jumps down from a tree.

He does not look pleased to say the least; but he only glances at them before his attention centers on Duryodhana. For that Vasusena is thankful.

“You weren’t given permission to leave today.” Ashwatthama groused.

“I finished my chores.” Duryodhana bristled, straightening up to stand at full height as though it would bring him level with Ashwatthama. “It’s no business of yours what I do afterwards, brahmin’s son.”

“Careful.” Ashwatthama’s scowl morphed into a shark’s smile. “You’re still not out of trouble from the last time you snuck off. In Hastinapur you might be a prince, but as long as you’re being taught by my father you’re just his student. Who’s this?” He jerked his chin crudely, focused on Vasusena.

They traded glares for a moment before Duryodhana responded.

“A friend. Vasusena.” Duryodhana’s tone dripped with pride. “His father served mine as charioteer. I’m teaching him, since Drona does not train those who aren’t kshatriya.”

Vasusena glanced at him, put off by the familiar use of the word friend. When exactly Duryodhana had decided that was the basis of their relationship was something he’d failed to mention; at least to them. Ashwatthama’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he did not appear to believe it either.

“That right?” Drona’s son drawled, looking Vasusena over with renewed suspicion. “And who said you could go around and play at being a teacher yourself?”

Duryodhana’s features hardened, lips pulling back for a second. “I need no permission from you to share what I know. It cannot be called stealing, if I charge my own price.”

“Shall I leave?” Vasusena lowered the bow, glancing between them. Getting caught in a spat was the last thing they needed. If Drona’s son wanted to start a fight, he could do it on his own time.

“No.” Ashwatthama barked. “You’ll stay where you are. I’ve seen you skulking by the river, watching my father’s students.”

“There is no crime in going to the river.” Vasusena snapped back, gripping their borrowed bow tight. “If it happened to be when the lot of you were about, pardon me for staring. You shout and throw yourselves around like elephants. One can’t help but marvel at the sight.”

Duryodhana let out a choked noise, turning to them with wide eyes just as Ashwatthama advanced; teeth bared.

“Your stance is terrible.” Ashwatthama grinds out later, his bottom lip split and stinging. His right eye was certain to bruise and match the blotch forming on his jaw. “Should’ve gone to someone else to be your teacher instead of a brainless twit like Duryodhana.”

The crown prince jerked his head up to glare, nursing his own minor wounds. “Bite your tongue. I’m better than you, at any rate.”

You aren’t, Vasusena checked themselves before they could say it. “Teach me better then,” they countered instead, “or learn to throw a decent punch.”

“Horse-fucker.” Ashwatthama spits, sounding more entertained than actually angry. “Show your face around the hermitage again and I’ll send you back to your mother in a jar.”

“The same jar your father was conceived from?” Vasusena goads, already sitting up. His ribs ached, but nothing was broken yet so there was no reason to lay down and take his remark at face value. “What, has it become a family heirloom?”

Duryodhana cackles, delighted, and Ashwatthama growled a curse before he kicked at them again.

“Wipe your face.” Vasusena says, lightly kicking Ashwatthama’s calf to get his attention. He glowers, face and ears dark red; but swipes at his eyes before they can discern whether he’s been crying or not.

“What?” His voice comes out as a croak, overly harsh before he clears his throat. “If you’ve come to laugh go ahead. Get it out of your system.”

Vasusena offers him a cup without comment, watching his brow furrow and his mouth twist resignedly before he accepts it. Once he’s looked inside Ashwatthama’s expression clouds with uncertainty and he stares up at them in confusion.

“I didn’t steal it.” Vasusena tells him. “But it’s yours if you want it.”

Ashwatthama hesitates, disbelieving; then slowly takes a careful sip. Vasusena had watched the merchant pour it themselves, certain it held nothing but milk. It wasn’t much, but it was more than what the other boys living with Drona could claim at the moment.

“Why?” He passed them the cup once its empty and they took it.

“Because the opportunity was there to buy it and you have not told your father about teaching me.” Vasusena tells him. And, they don’t add, the princes’ cruelty is not really about having milk or not and you know it; even if you do not say anything.

Ashwatthama snorted, but didn’t reply. Vasusena let him be.

“You’re leaving?” Duryodhana seemed more upset by the prospect than Vasusena thought he would be, which they suppose is notable. “Why?” He pressed, sitting up to catch them by the wrist. “When?”

“To find a teacher who doesn’t shy from training a suta.” Vasusena shakes him off with more gentleness than originally intended. “You can’t afford to keep sneaking around and neither can Ashwatthama. He’ll be his father’s chief disciple soon enough and you’ll be returning to the palace.”

After a pause they softly add, “I leave tomorrow, before the sun rises.”

“So soon?” His expression darkens, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth. Vasusena nods. “Who will you go to? Will they be far away? You’ll come back, right?”

“Parashurama.” Vasusena admits. “He does not care about gender. Only if one who approaches him is a kshatriya. If I can learn from him, then there will be no need to seek out anyone else.”

“But will you come back?” Duryodhana repeats, impatient.

Vasusena shrugs. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. My family is here, after all. If my return would not dishonor them then it’s likely that I will.” If my father can forgive my selfishness, yes.

Duryodhana continues to glare like they’ve betrayed him. Perhaps they have, by choosing to go abroad rather than stay in Hastinapur and wait to see what fate doles out to a charioteer’s child. Nothing especially good, Vasusena imagines. Nothing that would satisfy their want to learn and be something. Someone.

“I’ll wait for you, I suppose.” He says at last, petulant. “But I’ll be angry if you do not come back at all. At least write, if you can.”

Given Parashurama’s reputation for severe self-isolation, Vasusena honestly doubts they’ll have the chance. But it’s a small request. If it makes Duryodhana happy and less likely to turn into a nuisance then Vasusena can agree.

“I will try.”

It takes longer than they want to admit to come across Parashurama’s sanctuary. Like the god he worshiped, the sage made his home perilously high in the mountains; far away from civilization. Some part of them distantly wondered how Amba of Kashi might have found it in her own notorious attempt; if it had been her own determination, luck, or some nudge of a divine hand at play.

Parashurama is much older than Bhishma was said to be, hair stripped to grey and every inch of him worn hard and tough by years of harsh training. It was difficult to imagine him as ever having been young, or that he might have smiled even once in his long life.

“I’ve given up taking students.” He remarks, after hearing them speak. “I gave my weapons away, but for my axe. It was Shiva’s gift to me, and it would destroy you if you tried to use it. Go home, boy.”

“I am capable, Lord.” Vasusena replies. “And will give my full attention to the task you set. Be it washing your feet, gathering firewood, making your meals, obtaining offerings for your Lord Shiva.”

“And if I task you to return home,” Parashurama hardly misses a beat, “would you obey so faithfully?”

Vasusena frowns over his folded hands.

“No, my Lord.” They tell him honestly, because he would accept nothing less than the truth. And because they would not listen to an order like that even if he bodily threw them down the mountain himself. “That is something I cannot do.”

“We have no business with one another then.” Parashurama rumbles, turning away.

It is a little disheartening to watch him go. But he never specifically told them to leave, in hindsight. Vasusena stays, biding their time and gets to work. Parashurama never batted an eye at the things they did – not the pile of kindling set aside for his fire-ceremonies or offerings for his altar to Shiva.

By the end of the year Vasusena still lingers in his sanctuary and Parashurama has not tossed them out yet. It’s the oddest standoff Vasusena has ever been a part of. Now that they’ve grown used to it, Vasusena finds that they almost don’t mind.

“You are still here.” Parashurama remarks one night after sunset. It’s nearly impossible to spot him among the stones of his sanctuary when he keeps still, but his voice is unmistakable.

“I am, my Lord.” Vasusena agreed, washing their hands.

“I almost pity your parents.” He says, watching them move from task to menial task. “Who would you learn for, if I humored your request?”

Vasusena glanced at him as they finally settled down to sit, hands folded in their lap. “For myself, Lord. My parents didn’t want me to venture so far, but I wanted to master archery all the same. I have no other loves, none to pass on your knowledge to if you accepted me as a student.”

“Not even the ones your family serves? Kingdoms make demands at every point, child.” Parashurama’s tone darkened. “Any of them might ask for what you know in exchange for your life. What would you do then?”

“I will serve if I find their cause just and agreeable to me.” Vasusena picked their words carefully. “But I would not betray you, Lord, if that is what you think.”

He made a thoughtful sound. “So you say. But all the proof I have is in your words, and you’ve already betrayed those you claim to love by coming here against their wishes.”

Their neck and ears burned as he said that. Vasusena was glad ti was dark, if it meant Parashurama wouldn’t be able to see it. Several words came to mind for a reply, all of them bordering on an argument that they weren’t likely to win.

“Willfulness is not a sin on its own.” Their tongue got the better of them once more, though Vasusena tried to keep their tone level and respectful.

“No.” Parashurama agreed. “But it can open the way for worse, if not managed.” He paused, then stood up. “Go to bed. We’ll see in the morning how determined you truly are.”

“Good night, my Lord.” They replied, folding their hands.

“I’m destined to face betrayal from all my students, it would seem.” Parashurama’s disappointed gaze lingered on the wound and its trail of blood on Vasusena’s thigh. That hurt more than his curse, than the damage his anger might cause in their life. Than losing everything he’s taught them and the progress they’d made as a warrior.

“My Lord – “ Vasusena trailed off when Parashurama cut them off with a wave of his hand. They’d tried explaining and it hadn’t done any good. A lie was a lie. Parashurama wouldn’t see past that, even if they had come to him with no ill intentions.

“Be off with you.” He turned away; ignoring them. “I have no use for a liar. Do not show your face to me again.”

He wouldn’t listen if they tried to speak again. That much was more than obvious.

"I am sorry.” Vasusena told him anyway. Because it was true, and they would miss him.

The journey home was lonelier than it had any right to be.

Hastinapur had changed quickly, though maybe they shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Vasusena had been gone for fifteen years and initially couldn’t recognize the sprawl of buildings at all. The city had expanded out into the plains, grown further out from the river; and they slowly come to realize that there was a chance Adhiratha and his family may have needed to move as well.

Was their little brother grown now, Vasusena wondered; or was he still the over-eager boy he’d been when they left? Had he learned to drive a chariot yet or patch a wound? Was he tall, like their father, or stocky like their mother? Did he have a beard yet and had he learned to shave? Had he been married off?

Was Adhiratha older, his hair and beard gray; was he still so tired? And Radha, did she still smile or had she lost the ability?

They’d find the answers soon enough, picking their way along with the crowd moving through the city. Some event being held at the palace had everyone’s attention it seemed, and they had arrived just in time for it. Keeping their bow close Vasusena glanced over heads to see what was going on, stepping lightly around carts and guards; put off by so many voices after so long in the wilds.

Little wonder Parashurama stayed where he was, rather than endure it. They could see the merit of such a decision, now.

Still, misgivings aside, it was good to be home. And their dismay was replaced with wonder when the reason for the gathering came into view: a contest of arms between kshatriya; the colors of their families on display. The royal family had deigned to show themselves for the occasion: King Dhritarashtra and his wife Gandhari flanked by guards and maids; silver-armored Bhishma to their left. Other nobles sat lower, leaning forward eagerly as the lone figure in the center of the stadium’s ring raised a bow towards the sky and took aim.

Vasusena was too far away to see the string be released, but their eyes followed the bolt’s arc as it rose; watching it disappear behind a cloud and change into a searing flash of light. Petals tumbled back to the earth, teasing the crowd with sweet fragrance and softness. Even Bhishma seemed pleased, catching a few in a wide palm and confirming their realness to his king and queen.

A charming trick, fitting for an assembly like this.

“And who,” crowed a man in Hastinapur’s colors, riling the crowd. “Might try their hand against the greatest archer of the Bharat lineage?! Against Arjuna, the third son of Pandu?”

Many had been claimed as the greatest archer in the world. But it was a good goad: earning shouts and challenges from the crowd. Some who were closer to the ring pushed one another forward and were pulled back by their fellows.

Vasusena heard none of it, after the announcer had spoken; barely aware of their own feet moving.

“I will!” Their voice rose to answer the challenge. The announcer turned more slowly than Arjuna, both of them wide-eyed. “I will challenge him!”

“You are a fool.” Vasusena remarked, rejection from the royal family stinging in their ears. “I didn’t ask for your help, Duryodhana. You don’t have to do this and get mocked for it.” Blood pounded in his ears as he processed what had happened. Bhima’s fame might have been due to his talent with a mace, but his pointed sarcasm made for a decent secondary weapon nonetheless.

Sutaputra, he’d spat; Son of a charioteer. Hardly better than a dog.

Vasusena still wanted to put an arrow through Bhima’s throat for it, hands trembling faintly with rage. Then Duryodhana had spoken up in their defense, shocking everyone.

“I am doing this for us both.” Duryodhana muttered, low enough for them to hear before he turned back to his family. Beaming, just like the fool he was. Like the boy they remembered him being despite him being taller than them now, quick to impulse and anger.

“What am I to do with a kingdom?” Vasusena asks later; tending bruises and sore muscles from the stadium’s challenges. “I’m no politician. You know that, but you went through with your foolishness anyway.”

It turned their stomach to think about trying to manage a kingdom, when all they’d wanted was to test their skill against another’s. To see whether Arjuna was the better archer or if they could match – perhaps even surpass him. But there was no point in wishing to go back in time. A portion of Anga was now theirs and its welfare would be on their shoulders.

You should have kept silent, Adhiratha’s voice chided in their mind. Bowed your head and remembered your place. No one will celebrate the skills of a suta, not in Hastinapur.

“You were his equal, if not his better.” Duryodhana snapped. In a way it was amusing to watch him fume at his cousins and the ministers who refused him. “I only did what I could to make them see it. If it meant giving you a kingdom then it would be the least I could do, for a friend.”

“We have not seen each other in fifteen years and you still call me friend.” Vasusena shook his head. “What have I ever done for you to warranty such generosity?”

Duryodhana paused, fixing him with a baffled look as though they had just asked him to explain why water flowed down instead of up.

“We are friends.” He repeats like it were the simplest thing. “Was I supposed to stand there and watch as you were mocked? For a trick of birth you had no control over?”

“Just admit that you wished to spite your cousins,” Vasusena sighed, propping one arm on a folded knee. “And perhaps I will believe you more. I’ve done you no kindnesses that could justify what you have done for me. Now I face a debt that I can never repay in this life because of it. Be honest, if you are truly my friend; and I will listen.”

Duryodhana’s jaw worked for a moment before he abruptly sat beside them, close enough that anyone passing might believe them to be friends in truth. Shutting his eyes he sighed heavily through his nose before looking at Vasusena again.

“Spiting the Pandavas did have a hand in it.” He admitted, somewhat managing to not sound like a sulking child. “And I might have put my support behind nearly anyone who might be able to show them up. But, Vasusena, I consider you my friend. If a kingdom is the price to prove it, and make you equal to challenge those who otherwise look down on you; then it is hardly a choice.”

“And you are a fool to make that choice.” Vasusena offhandedly replied. “I stand by that, even now.”

Duryodhana smiled, sudden and bright. “But you are sitting. Should I take your word at half-truth then?”

And just like that Vasusena wanted to haul him down into the Ganga, to watch as Duryodhana flailed within its waves like no time had passed between them at all.

“Then at least let me attempt to even the scales, if I’m to be a king and your friend.” Vasusena hummed. “To repay your charity. If anyone comes to ask me for alms while I am at my prayers; they won’t leave empty handed. If it’s mine to give or something I can acquire by my own power, let them have it.”

“If that is what it takes to please you, my friend.” Duryodhana chuckled, tension bleeding from his frame. “I was beginning to think we would argue over it even longer before you accepted.”

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jishnc · 7 years ago

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