Long before Ram's wish had reached Shakti, long before the fires of Surya burned within him, the story of the sun-born child had already been written into the fabric of time.
It began with Princess Pritha, known to the world as Kunti.
She was young, not yet burdened by the weight of destiny. Her laughter rang like bells across the courtyards of her father's palace. The servants adored her, the courtiers respected her, and yet, her innocence often carried her into mischief.
It was in those days that the wandering sage Durvasa came to the kingdom. A man feared across Bharata for his fiery temper, whose curses could shatter dynasties. Yet to Kunti, he appeared not as a terror, but as a guest to be served with devotion.
For months, she tended to him with patience that few others could manage. She bore his harsh words without flinching, his impossible demands without complaint. She rose before dawn to gather water for his ablutions, to prepare meals at precise moments, to stand ready for his needs as though the whole palace revolved around him.
Durvasa, unpredictable as the storm, was moved. One evening, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the palace gardens, he summoned Kunti to him.
"Child," his voice rumbled like distant thunder, "few possess such forbearance. You have pleased me."
Kunti bowed low, her heart trembling with both fear and pride.
"As reward," Durvasa continued, "I grant you a mantra of power, a secret of the heavens. With this invocation, you may call upon any of the gods, and they shall bless you with a son equal to themselves in splendor and might."
Kunti gasped, her youthful heart skipping. A boon of such magnitude—who could comprehend its weight?
"Remember," Durvasa warned, his eyes flashing, "it is no plaything. Use it wisely, for gods do not come without consequence."
And then he left, vanishing as suddenly as he had come, leaving behind a girl clutching a gift she could barely understand.
For days, Kunti could think of nothing else. The mantra echoed in her mind, whispering of divine sons, of celestial bloodlines. And with it came a dangerous spark of curiosity.
Could it truly be real?
Alone in her chamber one dawn, Kunti stood by her window, gazing at the rising sun. Her heart raced. The words of the mantra lingered on her lips.
"Surely… there is no harm in testing it, just once?" she whispered. "Just to see…"
Her innocence blinded her to consequence. She folded her palms, closed her eyes, and recited the mantra.
The air trembled.
The light of dawn swelled, flooding her chamber with unbearable brilliance. A warmth spread across her skin as the golden orb of the sun seemed to descend itself.
Before her appeared Surya, lord of radiance, his form resplendent, his crown blazing with fire, his eyes twin embers of eternity. The very air bent to his presence, and Kunti, trembling, fell to her knees.
"Who calls me?" His voice was thunder wrapped in sunlight.
Kunti's lips quivered. She had not expected it to work. She had not thought beyond the moment. "I… I did," she stammered. "Forgive me, Lord. I only wished to test the sage's gift."
Surya's gaze softened, though it burned all the same. "The mantra cannot be invoked in jest. My coming cannot be undone. As promised, I shall grant you a son, radiant as myself, a warrior of peerless might."
Kunti's eyes widened in terror. "No! I am but a maiden. What will the world say? Please, Lord, spare me this fate!"
But Surya shook his head. "The law of the gods cannot be broken. What is invoked must bear fruit."
And so, with a touch of his blazing hand upon her womb, the seed of divinity was planted.
Kunti wept in silence. She had played with power too great for her innocence, and now bore the consequence.
Months later, in secret, she gave birth to a child.
A boy of golden skin, his armor fused to his body at birth, his earrings shining like twin suns. His cry rang across the chambers like a conch of destiny.
Kunti's arms trembled as she held him. Love surged within her, fierce and undeniable. And yet, fear choked her heart. What will my father say? What will the kingdom think? Who will believe me if I tell the truth?
The world was not kind to maidens who bore children without marriage, even less so when the child radiated unnatural brilliance.
With tears blinding her eyes, Kunti placed her son into a small basket, lined it with soft cloth, and crept to the banks of the river.
The water shimmered under the moonlight, calm and merciless. She pressed her lips to the infant's forehead, whispering apologies, prayers, and promises that fate itself would not allow her to keep.
"My son," she wept, "may the gods protect you where I cannot. Forgive me."
With shaking hands, she set the basket adrift.
The river carried him away, the current strong, the moonlight silver on the waves. Kunti's cries echoed across the banks, swallowed by the night.
And so the child floated into destiny.
But this cycle… was different.
In the currents of that river, another soul stirred. Not just the soul of Surya's son, but the soul of Ram—the boy from Kali Yuga, the boy who had begged Shakti to let him stand in Karna's place.
As the basket drifted, the infant's golden eyes flickered with strange awareness. A fragment of Ram's consciousness stirred within, confused, lost. For a heartbeat, the newborn and the reincarnated shared the same breath, the same body.
Shakti's voice whispered over the waters, unheard by the world:
"This is your beginning, Ram. Born of Surya, abandoned by fate. Yet this time, you are not alone. This time, you carry my blessing. You shall rise as Karna reborn—not cursed, but unchained."
The baby's cry rang louder, fiercer, as though echoing her promise.
The river carried him onward, towards the humble household of a charioteer and his wife—Adhiratha and Radha—who would take him in as their own, never knowing the divinity in their arms.
And thus, the wheel of time spun again.
The world thought Karna's tragedy had been set once more. But destiny had shifted.
For within the golden child's heart burned not only the fire of Surya… but the soul of a boy from another age, who would not accept defeat.
The boy named Ram.