Mrityunjaya : Shiwaji Sawant

The search for the meaning of Being is man's eternal quest and the subject of his greatest creations. Shivaji Sawant's Mrityunjaya is an outstanding instance of such a literary masterpiece in which a contemporary Marathi novelist investigates the meaning of the bewildering skein that is life through the personae of the Mahabharata protagonists. For over two decades since its first publication the vast non- Marathi and non-Hindi readership remained deprived of this remarkable exploration of the human psyche till the publication of this English translation by the Writers workshop – a contribution for which there is much to be grateful for.

Mrityunjaya is the autobiography of Karna, and yet it is not just that. With deceptive case, Sawant brings into play an exceptional stylistic innovation by combining six "dramatic soliloquies" to form the nine books of this novel of epic dimensions. Four books are spoken by Karna. These are interspersed with a book each from the lips of his unwed mother Kunti, Duryodhana (who considers Karna his mainstay), Shon (Shatruntapa, his foster-brother, who here-worships him), his wife Vrishali to whom he is like a god and, last of all, Krishna. Sawant depicts an uncanny similarity between Krishna and Karna and hints at a mystic link between them, investing his protagonist with a more-than-human aura to offset the un-heroic and even unmanly acts which mar this tremendously complex and utterly fascinating creating of Vyasa.
The beginning of the novel is riveting in its newness and simplicity: "I want to say something today.... a time comes when the dead have to speak too. When this flesh-and-bones living behave like the dead, then the dead have to come alive and speak out". That is Sawant's pregnant comment on the state of contemporary society, where class and caste ride roughshod over innate worth; where the most intimate ties are denied for the sake of conformity with social norms.
This blunt beginning is immediately capped with a succession of images. Memories are like peacock feathers or like vakula blossoms that fade but leave their fragrance behind; life's events disperse like herds of wild horses galloping crazily after ear-splitting flashes of lightning crash in a forest; life is a temple with Champanagari as its sweetest tinkling bell.

Sawant begins very much in the manner of an epic film, giving us first a panoramic view of life as a battlefield strewn with arrows and flashes of disparate memories of things past lighting up the gloom, with Karna's voice-over. He then zooms down in a sudden change of mood, to focus on "creeper-covered, bird-and –beast haunted" Champanagari where Karna's earliest memories begin. And why all this? "For one reason only", says Sawant's Karna. "To make sense of it for myself". And in that very reason lies the secret of the spell cast by the novel. For is not that the deepest craving of each one of us to make sense of our lives for ourselves?

Sawant's Karna is a rebel against caste. He does not hesitate to ask Drona who has refused to train him alongside the princes, " Are the royally born blessed with hundreds of arms? Why do they get this special importance?"

The keynote to Karna's character is egotism which cannot reconcile itself with low social status and absence of recognition. Sawant shows us a rebel who chooses the sun as guru and excels every one in skill and strength through self – discipline. A number of incidents are introduced to pour humiliation on Karna's head, such as Drona's rejection of his heroic capture of a cheetah for a sacrifice. Along with this we get an extremely realistic depiction of the perplexity within Karna who cannot understand why he alone should feel agitated at not being trained with the princes. With his crying need to be recognized and loved, Karna responds immediately to the affection displayed by Ashvatthama, who considers him the finest archer (why Kripa, the preceptor, never notices this remains a mystery), and to the sympathy shown by Duryodhana.

The turmoil within Karna arising out of his inability to understand why he feels ashamed to declare his lineage is splendidly brought out in the tournament. There, too, Sawant departs from Vyasa in having Bhishma declare Karna to have bested Arjuna's feats. Yet, this same Bhishma remains mysteriously silent when Bhima laughs at Karna for his low birth. That silence is repeated when the Pandavas are given Khandava forest to rule over and when Draupadi is disrobed in open court. Characteristically, Karna terms Bhishma a senile fool clinging to power only when he berates Karna for fleeing from the gandharvas and classes him as "ardha-rathi". That extreme sensitivity regarding his self-esteem is what makes Karna so appealingly human, and someone with whom we can identify, despite his being a hero.


This book, I love a lot.