123. I Am Told It Is a Genetic Predisposition Triggered by an Illness or Environmental Factor

King Yudhisthira asks the foremost of orators, the sage Narada, to narrate what he knows of the Pandavas' half-brother Karna, demigod son of Kunti and Surya, believed to be the son of the charioteer Adiratha and his wife Radha, killed by Arjuna in the Kurukshetra War. So questioned, the illustrious Narada relates the curses and tricks that dictated the course of Karna's life thus:

"O mighty one, nothing on earth could best Karna and Arjuna in battle! Here is how that accomplished warrior Karna came to be slain by your brother Arjuna's hand. Your half-brother Karna was conceived by Kunti in her maidenhood, for she had invoked the sun-god Surya out of curiosity and out of wedlock to fulfill a boon by which gods would sire her children. The boy born of this union was destined to be righteous and respectful, imbued with great energy, capable of inciting a war. Kunti abandoned him to the river, which brought him to a charioteer of Hastinapur, Adiratha, who adopted him, and so Karna was believed to be a suta's son. Close to the king's court as Adiratha's son, Karna learned the science of astras and missiles from the preceptor Drona, superior master of all weapons. One day he approached Drona and humbly asked, 'I desire to know the Brahmastra, with all its mantras and how to recant it, for I desire to be regarded as one accomplished in all weapons!' His kshatriya blood, though he knew it not, urged him to make such a request. Drona, partial to Arjuna and unaware of Karna's birthright, replied, 'None but a Brahmin who has duly made and observed all vows, or a kshatriya who has practiced austere penances may learn the Brahmastra.'"

In some versions, Drona laughs at him, like Draupadi later laughs when Karna asks to participate in the archery contest that will determine her betrothed, because he does not belong to the social class able to take up arms.

You can also substitute one expected to endure the pain of battle every time the word kshatriya is uttered or, more simply, one expected to endure pain.

Narada continues, "So it is that Drona thus answers, and Karna respectfully departs and seeks out one who will teach him. He goes to the Mahendra mountains to see the venerable Parashurama, the sixth avatar of Vishnu, born as a Brahmin but possessed of the traits of a kshatriya despite his hatred of kshatriyas. Karna approached him and said, 'O Master, my name is Karna and I am a Brahmin with ancestry to Bhrigu who seeks knowledge of the Brahmastra.' Hearing this lineage, Parashurama accepted him as a pupil, saying, 'Thou art welcome!' Karna resided in the Mahendra mountains with his guru for years, acquiring knowledge of all the weapons and mingling with Gandharvas, Yakshas, and gods. He became a great favorite of all who encountered him. One day, armed with sword and bow, he roamed the forest hunting, and perceiving movement, shot his arrow, which struck and killed the holy cow of a devotee of Brahma. Inadvertent though the act was, virtuous Karna was guilt-stricken and sought out this devotee and confessed to the killing, prostrating himself in apology. But the devotee was furious and declared, 'O wicked one! As you struck down a helpless creature, so you deserve to be similarly killed. While fighting the one against whom you are destined to struggle, the earth will swallow your chariot wheel; and while you fruitlessly set your shoulder to it to regain the ability to move, your foe will demonstrate his prowess and behead you.' Though cursed, Karna offered wealth and food to attempt to make amends, but all this was rejected. Cheerless, Karna returned to Parashurama's home, reflecting on this fate. Destiny is unwavering, so it is that this may have been his thalaiyeluththu, the fate written on his head, at the moment of his birth.

Parashurama, though, was well pleased with Karna's progress, his affection, his discipline and self-restraint, and his desire to serve his preceptor, and so he highly favored him. After Karna had observed ascetic penances, Parashurama taught him of the Brahmastra, after which, imbued with significant prowess, he devoted himself to the study of weapons and the arts of war. One day, intelligent and devout Parashurama, while roving near the hermitage with Karna, grew weak from all the fasts he had undergone. 'Let us rest,' Karna suggested, seating himself under a tree, and with the affection of a guru to a trusted student, Parashurama placed his head on Karna's lap and soundly slept. As he slept, a frightful insect that fed on human fat and blood alighted on Karna's thigh and began to tunnel into his flesh with its teeth. Not wanting to disturb his master's much-needed rest, Karna gritted his teeth and held still. Though it gored through the skin, O Yudhisthira, so the son of Surya, lest any movement wake his guru, endured with heroic patience, without manifesting any sign of pain. However, his blood welled up in the wound and dripped onto Parashurama's head, waking him. 'Alas, I have been made impure! My student, tell me how this has come to pass!' the great sage exclaimed. Stoically maintaining composure, Karna gestured at the insect half-submerged in the flesh of his thigh. Parashurama glanced at it, and instantly the creature expired, and before them, a rakshasa appeared, dark in hue with a red face and neck; its hands joined, the demon declared, 'O best of ascetics, you have saved me from this curse. Formerly I was a great Asura, but I ravished the wife of a great and holy sage in thy ancestry. In anger, that sage said unto me, 'You wretch, you will subsist on human fat and blood as a worm with an uncleansed soul until an ascetic of my race breaks this curse. You have done me great good today, and I adore you.' So saying, the Asura, restored to his former state, bowed his head and vanished.

"But Parashurama had not forgotten his pupil's wound and on inspection saw how deep the tunnel, how minced the skin and flesh at the site, and he looked on Karna's face, which bore no grimace or trace of tears. He addressed Karna wrathfully, 'O you wretched fool, you sit with the patience of a kshatriya. No Brahmin could have borne such pain. Who are you, and speak truthfully!' Fearing Parashurama would curse him, and perhaps himself confused by the comparison to kshatriyas, Karna prostrated himself and joined his hands together and answered, 'I am called Karna, the suta son of Adiratha and Radha. I acted out of desire to obtain and master weapons, and as one's guru is akin to one's father, for this reason, I introduced myself as a member of your race.' To this, Parashurama uttered, 'Since you have lied to obtain and master these weapons, and since you are not a Brahmin, know that the Brahmastra will not dwell in your memory when you are matched with an opponent who is equal to you! Go now, for this is no place for those who speak falsely!' And so, O scion of Pandu's race, your half-brother Karna received the two curses that initiated his downfall."

And so, the grand sage Narada concluded the tale, and King Yudhisthira braced his forehead in his hands and wept for the older brother he never knew.

It would be more fitting if it was a story about a woman, for despite his low social status and even though the very gods stood arrayed against him, Karna is a man, his pain therefore more acceptable than a woman's. Nevertheless, this is the first mythological blueprint I encounter that unites unusual pain tolerance; brain fog whose occurrence is foreseen but whose timing is uncertain; a kind of unwitting disability masquerade; and the need to accept your fate even while contesting it. Karna is not disabled; his pain tolerance is a skill, simply one that did not belong in his training, assessment, and pretenses. O vaunted readers, see how it's my story I'm telling here, told to me by Appa when I was young, before we were prescient enough to know its daunting relevance to our lives. Tucked safely in bed, I understand that appearing to be other than what you are is punishable, stoicism only protects you until you bleed, and an exposed pain threshold, whatever its uses, is condemnable.

Decades later, with a wildly erratic pain threshold and a perforated appendix, I make Karna's mistake: I tolerate pain like a kshatriya warrior when I profess to be of a class that can't. The textbook presentation of appendicitis for ableds, as it's sold to me, is visibly excruciating pain, incoherence, a hampered gait; the expected presentation of fibromyalgia, a pain amplification syndrome, is also visibly excruciating pain.

No one expects pain to look painless, least of all when it is amplified. Like Karna, enacting this in spaces of education and assessment swallows my chariot wheel and sets against me the very gods, the final arbiters of my professional and medical value.