On the appointed day when the princes of the Kuru race were to display their martial skill, every arrangement was made with regal care. King Dhritarashtra, attended by Gandhari and her maidens, walked to the vast arena, escorted by his royal entourage. The field was arranged in pure traditional fashion, demanding strength, focus, and steady practice. Heads of lions, tigers, elephants, deer, and other wild beasts were suspended at varied heights, swinging in calculated intervals to test the precision and endurance of the contestants. Beside Gandhari sat Kunti, her wide eyes alert with maternal pride and concealed anxiety.
The foremost Brahmins and elders—Kripacharya, Salya, Shakuni, Bhishma, Vidura, and Somadatta—occupied the honored seats in the front row. Around them gathered vassal kings, nobles, dancers, singers, and musicians, ready for their part in the grand spectacle. The crowd roared with anticipation as Bhima, mighty as a mountain, and Duryodhana, skilled and relentless, raised their massive maces. They clashed like two raging elephants in rut, their blows striking fire, while the dust they raised rolled like storm clouds. The tumult resounded like the breaking of mountains, striking terror in the hearts of the spectators. Their relentless combat foreshadowed the inevitable war of cousins, each striving to overpower the other with unyielding stamina.
The crowd split into factions, some cheering for Bhima, others for Duryodhana, urging their champions with cries of “Strike! Push! Crush!” The frenzy verged on disorder until Drona commanded Ashwatthama to intervene. With a swift shot between the duelists, he broke the contest, while drums thundered like the roar of ocean waves. Silence fell as Drona proclaimed that Arjuna would now display his mastery of archery.
At his word, Arjuna advanced to the appointed place, bow in hand and quiver brimming with arrows. His very presence stirred the multitude; murmurs rose that here stood the true heir of Bharata’s lineage, the light of Kunti’s house. Kunti’s eyes brimmed with tears as the people hailed her son with cries of admiration. Dhritarashtra, hearing the tumult, asked Vidura the cause, and upon learning it was Arjuna’s display, he declared with pride that the sons of Kunti would indeed bring glory and strength to the Kuru dynasty.
Then Arjuna lost shafts with unrivaled dexterity. He kindled fire with the Agneyastra, summoned floods with the Varunastra, sent forth tempests with the Vayavastra, and called clouds with the Meghastra. He displayed the Bhouma and Shailastra, deploying and withdrawing each with flawless command. His arrows struck the swinging heads of lion, tiger, and elephant, never missing their mark. The people gazed in awe, convinced they beheld the true guardian of Hastinapura, the protector against all foes. Their applause shook the air, reverberating far beyond the arena.
Amid this triumph, a new figure entered the ground—a man of towering form, with natural armor upon his body and bow in hand. This was Karna. His bearing astonished the multitude. Approaching with folded hands, he saluted Drona and Kripa, then turned with a thunderous voice to Arjuna: “I too have learned these arts and can match your skill.” Without effort he repeated every feat Arjuna had performed, drawing gasps from the assembly. Duryodhana, elated, embraced him and declared, “From this day, you are my dearest friend and companion.” Karna, his eyes blazing, demanded a duel with Arjuna.
Arjuna retorted that Karna had intruded with arrogance, but Karna answered, “The arena is equal to all. Why grant you special privilege?” To prove his claim, he lost the Meghastra, and clouds enveloped the field in darkness. At once, Dhritarashtra’s sons ranged themselves behind Karna, a foretaste of the division to come. Arjuna dispelled the gloom with the Vayavastra, yet the sight of Karna’s natural armor stirred a hidden memory in Kunti. Overcome with shock, she fainted, recalling the divine boon once granted her by Surya, the Sun-God. Revived by Vidura, she gazed with mingled pride and anguish, torn between the truth of two sons facing each other as rivals.
Kripa then interposed, declaring that combat is proper only between equals. “Arjuna’s lineage is known. Declare your parentage, O warrior.” Karna stood silent, unable to reveal his origin. At this, Bhima scoffed, taunting him as a mere charioteer’s son unfit to bear arms. Duryodhana, indignant, proclaimed: “Valor, not birth, makes a king. If lineage be lacking, I shall bestow it. Today I anoint Karna ruler of Anga!” With Bhishma’s reluctant consent and Dhritarashtra’s approval, scholars performed the rites, and Duryodhana crowned Karna king of Anga. Karna, overcome with gratitude, vowed eternal loyalty.
Bhima mocked anew, but Duryodhana rebuked him: “Warriors of divine or uncertain birth have ever graced this earth—Kripacharya, born in grass; Drona of mysterious origin; Kumara, son of fire and Ganga. Aren’t you Pandavas also born of gods? Why demand proof of lineage? Valor alone reveals a man’s worth, and Karna is destined to rule.”
Thus, the day ended with triumph and turmoil, joy and envy, pride and foreboding. The princes had displayed their skill; the people had witnessed marvels beyond measure. Yet the entry of Karna, rival to Arjuna, had set a flame that would never be quenched. Kunti’s heart wavered between pride and sorrow, for she alone knew the truth of Karna’s birth. Duryodhana rejoiced, seeing in Karna his champion against the sons of Pandu. And from that day, the line between Kauravas and Pandavas grew sharper, the seeds of fratricidal strife sown before the eyes of all.
