Re: I Become Karna In Mahabharata

The most fortunate thing is that Radha Maa and Baba didn't hear or see a thing.

So my secret of being a reincarnated teenager in a five-year-old body is safe.

Maybe she erased their memory of past one hour like some divine Men in Black cow goddess edition.

Or maybe they just genuinely fell asleep on a bullock cart like any parent who's raised a chaotic demon child with a crayon empire and no concept of bedtime. I'll take either.

What matters is—they don't know about that fake sage, Surabhi turned into a humanoid holographic bovine goddess, declared herself my divine fiancée, and dropped a karmic bombshell about my past life promise.

Which, honestly I don't even remember making.

This incident raises many questions about my reincarnation as a whole.

For me, one second I was doomscrolling on Insta, riding a high after throwing down some poetic smoke at a Karna slander thread, and the next moment—boom—gold light, silence, baby wailing noises intensify.

So where exactly does Yama come in?

Surabhi said I met him. Talked to him. Bargained with him.

Look, I don't doubt her divine memory or that her ears pick up karmic signals the way cows hear earthquakes, but wouldn't I remember meeting the literal God of Death?

Unless… unless that meeting happened between moments. You know, when your soul is halfway through the cosmic ATM queue and Brahma's playing elevator music?

Or worse—maybe I did meet him, and he offered me choices. And me, being the dumb, tragic-epic-loving idiot that I was, probably went:

"Yes, give me Karna. Max difficulty. No plot armor. Just pain and abs."

(Why am I like this.)

But the most unnerving part isn't that I don't remember the meeting.

It's that I feel like I should.

Like there's an itch in my soul, an echo that doesn't quite reach my mind.

Like the kind of dream that wakes you up crying, but you can't say why.

Surabhi said I promised to wait for her. That my moksha—my release—was tied to hers. And that I chose to come back, knowing I'd suffer.

That's... that's terrifying.

I mean, who chooses this?

Who chooses to be born as a tragic mythological figure with no official fan club until Twitter fandom caught up?

Who chooses to be born to a woman who abandoned you in a river because society told her a virgin birth was a scandal?

Who chooses to be raised in love, but is destined for betrayal?

Unless...

Unless I wasn't trying to win.

Unless I was trying to change something.

No. I'm overthinking. Again.

Classic Vijay.

Right now, there are more immediate concerns.

Like:

• Does Surabhi expect me to marry her when I hit puberty or is this more metaphorical?

• Is she going to pop out of nowhere whenever danger appears like a bovine Sailor Moon?

• And most importantly—if I made a deal with Yama...

What exactly did I trade in return?

Because I'm starting to suspect it wasn't just my memory.

I think I traded something else.

Like, I don't know... maybe plot protection?

Or common sense.Definitely common sense.

Because what five-year-old willingly debates the metaphysical implications of divine pacts and existential karma debt... while sitting in the back of a bullock cart munching on half a banana that fell in sand and was "mostly still edible"?

Me.

Hi. I'm the problem. It's me.

Anyway, I needed answers.

Real ones. Not just cosmic riddles and divine cow-lore.

So I did what any responsible reincarnated soul would do.

I closed my eyes. Sat cross-legged. Tried to focus.

Tried to meditate. Like I'd seen in anime.

...

Nothing.

Tried again. Focus. Breathe. Quiet the mind. Become one with the universe.

...

And got a cramp in my left leg.

Also, a mosquito bite on my eyelid. Because, of course.

"Arghhh—"I slapped my face like a budget Shaolin monk mid-exorcism.

Radha Maa stirred beside me.

"Mmh... what happened, beta?"

"Nothing! Just... practicing being spiritually awakened," I said, absolutely not spiritual and even less awakened.

She gave me a sleepy thumbs-up.

Parenting Level: Unlocked Ultra-Tolerance.

<><><><><><><><><>

Radha Maa slumped back down with a soft "hmmph", drooling gently onto Adhiratha's shoulder as if divine cow transformations and mosquito-induced enlightenment attempts were all just part of raising me.

I sighed and flopped backward on the hay. The bullock cart rocked gently like the universe mocking my quest for higher truth.

Okay. Plan A—Cosmic Meditation Breakthrough™—was a total failure.

Time for Plan B.

Poke Surabhi until answers fall out.

Now, here's the thing. After yesterday's surprise divine-fiancée reveal and celestial transformation sequence that could rival any anime finale, Surabhi had gone mysteriously quiet. She'd reverted to her cute, fluffy cow form and had been walking beside the cart all day like a suspiciously innocent bovine.

Too innocent.

Like she hadn't just declared karmic marriage rights over my soul.

Like she wasn't probably the only one alive—well, cosmically alive—who knew what I did in my post-death, pre-rebirth memory blackout.

I leaned over the edge of the cart.

"Oi," I whispered, careful not to wake Baba, who would definitely have a heart attack if he heard me whisper-sassing his holy cow.

Surabhi flicked an ear but didn't stop chewing.

"I know you can hear me. You've got divine-level multi-sensory perception or something."

Chew. Flick. Mooo.

Don't play bovine with me, ma'am.

I tossed a tiny hay tuft. It bounced off her head like an offering of disrespect.

Her eyes narrowed.

Gotcha.

In a smooth flicker of golden light, she shimmered—still in cow form, but now her horns glowed faintly, and her tail did the mystical swoosh-swoosh thing like an overpowered celestial broom.

"Yes, O Tragic One?" she said, her voice echoing directly into my head like Bluetooth connected brain-to-cow.

"First of all, rude," I grumbled. "Second, we need to talk."

"About our future together?"

"No. About Yama. And what deal I made."

She sighed. Not like a cow sigh, but the kind of ancient, weary sigh that came from eons of witnessing mortals doing dumb things with divine consequences.

"You chose not to remember," she said simply.

"I what?!"

"You asked to forget," she clarified. "Because memory would have been too much. Too heavy. You wanted to live this life as Karna without being chained to Vijay."

I stared. "But... I am Vijay."

"You're both. That's the problem."

I flopped again, hands in my hair. Or, more accurately, hands trying to be in my hair but getting tangled in hay and my own confusion.

"Why would I ask to forget?"

"Because," she said gently, "you couldn't bear the weight of what you saw."

"What did I see?!"

She was quiet.

Too quiet.

That eerie mythological quiet that always means "if you dig deeper, you'll uncover trauma wrapped in metaphysics with a side of existential dread."

"I'm five," I muttered. "I shouldn't have this much lore."

Surabhi tilted her head, ears twitching sympathetically. "You'll remember when you're ready."

"That's what all mysterious anime guardians say before vanishing for ten episodes!"

"Do you want me to vanish?"

"No!"

Before I could even register what I'd just said, Surabhi's ears perked up.

And that's when I realized—

Crap. I said it too fast. Too sincerely.

She blinked slowly, golden eyes glowing like sunset over a battlefield. A faint smile curled across her snout in that way only a celestial cow-fiancée with millennia of emotional leverage could manage.

"You like me," she said, tail swishing smugly.

"I like oxygen too. Doesn't mean I want to marry it."

She mooed in a tone that was one-third amusement, one-third divine trolling, and one-third spiritual 'gotcha'.

"And yet," she intoned, "you did promise to walk with me through all lifetimes. Until our karma is fulfilled."

"That sounds suspiciously like a marriage vow written by a cosmic drama queen."

She fluttered her golden lashes—lashes, mind you. On a cow.

"Your words, not mine, O Golden Warrior of Poor Life Decisions."

I buried my face in my tiny five-year-old hands and groaned. "I am going to have a nosebleed before puberty at this rate."

"Don't worry," she said warmly. "I'll heal it. With love."

"No healing via cow affection, please."

At this point, even the bullock pulling our cart glanced back like, Bro, you okay?

I flopped dramatically again, arms out. "Okay, fine. Let's say I chose to forget. What happens

when I remember?"

Surabhi's gaze turned distant.

The chewing stopped.

The hay fell from her mouth like a prophecy interrupted mid-snack.

"When you remember…" she said softly, "you'll stop being just Karna."

A pause.

"…And start becoming him?"

She nodded once. "The one who asked for this. The one who knew how it ends, and still stepped forward. That version of you is asleep right now. Because if he was awake—" she looked at me with something ancient in her eyes "—you'd break."

Chills. Actual divine-grade chills.

"I'm five," I muttered again. "I just learned to tie my dhoti last week. Why does my life sound like a tragic ballad narrated by a celestial Spotify account?"

She gave a half-moo, half-snort that might have been laughter.

"You asked Yama for three things," she said finally.

"Wait, three? This is new information!"

She nodded. "But he only granted two. The third... he left conditional."

I sat up straighter, adrenaline mixing poorly with banana residue and spiritual dread.

"Okay. Spill. What did I ask for?"

"One," she said, lifting her head toward the sky like she was reading the stars, "you asked to be reborn as Karna—but with the full soul of a modern heart. Compassion uncorrupted by war."

"Okay… that tracks. Emo but noble. What else?"

"Two," she continued, her voice like temple bells dipped in thunder, "you asked to find me. Again. Across all timelines. So I wouldn't be alone."

...

I blinked.

Suddenly, my hay-stuffed chest felt a bit too small for my soul.

"I—seriously?"

She nodded. No sarcasm. No smugness.

Just warmth.

"And the third thing?" I asked, voice smaller.

"The third," she said, eyes glowing, "you asked only if you succeeded in the first two."

"Which was?"

"To meet Yama again."

I frowned. "Wait. Why would I ask to meet the God of Death again? That's not exactly a bucket list item unless your bucket's leaking blood."

"You didn't want to meet him for answers," Surabhi said.

"Then?"

"You wanted to thank him."

...

Silence.

Even the bullock cart creaked more reverently, like it realized it was carrying emotional baggage now.

I swallowed. "Why… why would I thank him?"

Surabhi leaned closer, and her golden horns shimmered with soft light. "Because he didn't send you back as punishment. He sent you back as hope."

A beat passed.

The wind stirred the trees. The world felt big again.

Too big for a child, but exactly right for the soul within.

I lay back down on the cart floor and stared up at the fading sky.

Maybe I did forget. Maybe I asked to forget.

But it was okay.

Because now I knew the shape of the memory I was missing.

And it wasn't wrath, or regret, or revenge.

It was love.

Twisted by karma, tangled in pain, but still — love.

"Hey Surabhi?"

"Yes?"

"I still don't want to marry you before my voice drops."

She snorted. "I'll wait."

"Do cows even age?"

She smiled. "You'll find out."

"…That sounds like a threat."

"Only if you make it one, fiancé."

I groaned again and buried my face in hay.

But quietly… I smiled.

Somewhere in the distance, a thundercloud rumbled. Maybe it was Yama. Maybe it was fate clearing its throat.

Either way, I wasn't afraid.

Because this time?

I had people.

A mother who loved me.

A father who stood tall.

A divine bovine who may or may not be karmically tethered to my soul.

And somewhere — beyond time — a memory waiting for me to be strong enough to hold it.

I closed my eyes.

And whispered to the sky:

"I'm not ready yet…

…But I will be."