The battlefield of Kurukshetra reeked of blood, dust, and the stench of death. The cries of fallen warriors and the thunder of clashing weapons had faded into a haunting silence, broken only by the whimpers of the dying and the mournful calls of carrion birds. Lying on the stained earth was Karna, the son of Surya, his life a relentless series of betrayals and sorrows. His mighty chariot, a symbol of his power and status, lay in ruins beside him, its wheel buried deep within the mud—a final, cruel joke of fate that echoed the many injustices he had suffered. His divine powers, once his greatest strength, were now a distant memory, abandoned by a curse at the most crucial moment of his existence. Before him stood Arjuna, holding the divine Gandiva bow, ready to deliver the final blow. This was the moment they had fought their entire lives for, the climax of a rivalry that had defined their very existence.
But in that moment, there was no rage in Karna's heart. The bitter animosity he had held for Arjuna had melted away, replaced by a profound and overwhelming weariness. His eyes saw neither Arjuna's face nor the memory of Duryodhana's unwavering friendship. His mind was not consumed by the desire for victory or the sorrow of defeat. Instead, it held a single, pure image: a normal life. A life without the constant threat of war, without the weight of an impossible oath, a life where he could simply be, unburdened by his lineage or the expectations of others. He desired a life free from the stinging insults of his caste, a life where his true identity would not be a source of shame, but of peace. It was a wish he had never dared to feel before, a fragile hope born from the depths of his exhaustion.
As Arjuna released the arrow, Karna closed his eyes, not in fear, but in profound acceptance. He embraced death not as an end, but as a final release from the suffering that had been his constant companion since the moment he was born. He felt a fleeting sensation of the arrow striking him, but as his last breaths faded, a voice sounded—a voice unlike any he had ever heard, so clear and pure that it held the power to silence the clamor of a thousand wars. It was a voice that belonged to neither heaven nor earth, but to the very essence of existence itself.
Karna opened his eyes, and the grisly tableau of the battlefield was gone. He was no longer on the blood-soaked ground but in a realm of ethereal light that shimmered with cosmic energy. The air was cool and filled with the scent of lotuses and rain, a stark contrast to the burning earth he had just left. Standing before him was a divine being, his face serene and filled with ageless wisdom. He wore simple, saffron robes and carried a vina, a symbol of peace and harmony. It was Devrishi Narada.
"Rise, Son of Surya," Narada's voice resonated with a profound depth that echoed in Karna's very soul. "The three gods have sent me. Your life's end was a tragic one, but they have witnessed your sacrifice and the purity of your spirit. You have one last chance, not for glory, but for what you truly desire. Speak your final wish, and I will fulfill it."
Tears welled in Karna's eyes, not of sorrow but of overwhelming gratitude for this unexpected mercy. He uttered his last desire with a voice that was but a whisper. "If there truly is a chance, then erase my memories and my powers. I do not wish for war. I do not wish for friendship defined by burden and debt. I only desire a normal and peaceful life. My soul is weary from its burden. Please, remove all of it so I may finally know what it is to live without this constant pain." He spoke of a life unburdened by the weight of being "Sutaputra," a life where he could choose his own path, rather than be driven by the need for acceptance.
For the first time, Narada's gentle smile vanished. His face grew serious for a moment, and a flicker of sorrow, perhaps even pity, crossed his eyes, as if what he had heard brought him a silent pain. It was a fleeting glimpse of an emotion he was not meant to show, a hint of a deeper purpose. But he quickly masked his emotions, his expression returning to a neutral calmness.
"Forgive me, Son of Surya," Narada said, his voice now colder, sharper. "It is not possible to erase your memories and powers. They are woven into the very fabric of who you are and what you were born to be. To destroy them would be to destroy your very essence. However, we can seal them. They will remain dormant, hidden within you, a part of your soul, until you choose to reveal them."
Within Narada's words was a hidden warning, a crucial caveat that Karna's grief-stricken mind could not grasp. His thoughts were fixated only on the promise of "peace," a word that shimmered with a deceptive hope. The words "not possible to erase" were swallowed by the promise to "seal." He felt a sudden, strange lightness as the ties to his past life, the sorrows and the oaths, seemed to unbind. It was the first true feeling of freedom he had ever known, and it was so intoxicating that he would have agreed to anything. He closed his eyes and said, "Then so be it. If this is the only path, I am willing to walk it. I no longer wish to bear this burden."
As he spoke, the ethereal light around him dissolved once more, and he was consumed by a brilliant, white light. His soul floated towards a peace he had never known, a tranquility so absolute it was almost terrifying. He thought, "This time, peace. Just peace."
But he did not know that this simple wish, born of an illusion, would become the cause of the greatest tragedy in his life to come.