Re: I Become Karna In Mahabharata

"Finally, we're out of that stupid forest," I shouted with my fist, making triumph fists like a five-year-old anime protagonist who had just cleared a mini-boss.

Radha gave me a look.

Not the "aww, my son is adorable" look.

The "this child will be the death of me" look.

Beside her,

Adhiratha rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. He is still preparing for The Royal Interview—you know, the one where your future livelihood depends on impressing a blind emperor with godlike political senses, while also praying that your five-year-old doesn't blurt out something like "Hey, why does the palace smell like sandalwood and anxiety?"

Which, to be fair, I was fully capable of saying.

We crested the final hill, and there it was.

Hastinapur.

The capital of Aryavrat. The city of kings. The karmic dump yard of every major plot twist to ever happen in this timeline.

Even from a distance, it looked regal in that ancient-epic-will-eventually-be-pillaged-by-invaders sort of way. Towering sandstone spires pierced the sky, birds circling them like confused paparazzi. Wide stone roads gleamed in the morning sun, flanked by manicured gardens and banners stitched in the colors of royal houses.

And there was the gate.

Massive. Guarded. Carved with scenes of ancient battles and divine interventions that I now knew might actually have happened.

"This is it," Adhiratha muttered, mostly to himself. "I report to the stables first. Then they'll summon us for an audience."

He looked nervous.

Radha noticed. I noticed. Even Surabhi noticed, judging by the way she nudged him gently with her massive celestial forehead.

"You'll do fine," Radha said quietly, placing a hand on his arm. "You've never failed a king's horse, you won't fail a king's court."

Adhiratha almost smiled. Almost.

I decided not to make a joke about brushing the emperor's beard like a horse's mane. Growth. Character development.

Oh, from the 'blind emperor' I remember...

King Pandu married Princess Kunti from Kuntibhoj, and Princess Madravati of Madra Kingdom two years ago.

And well, due to that vicious curse.

He thought to repent for his crime of killing Sage Kindama and his wife, who were making love in the form of deer, by self-exile in the forest with his wife.

Of course, no one tells you in textbooks that "repentance" in ancient Aryavrat comes with jungle mosquitoes, soul-crushing guilt, and a strict no-intimacy clause or you die on the spot.

Which—spoiler alert—Pandu eventually forgot. Tragic foreshadowing aside, that whole side-quest was happening away from Hastinapur right now.

What mattered here was the man who did take the throne in Pandu's absence:

Dhritarashtra.

The blind king.

Actually, by birthright of being the eldest brother, he should have been king in the first place. But oh no—enter ancient monarchy loophole number 237, otherwise known as: "Sorry, you're blind, so the royal HR department says no."

It didn't matter that Dhritarashtra was strong enough to wrestle elephants and politically sharper than most sighted courtiers. The throne passed to his younger brother Pandu anyway—because apparently, vision impairment disqualified you from ruling, but random curses from sages you accidentally interrupt mid-snuggle were totally fine.

Aryavrat, ladies and gentlemen. The land of consistent logic.

Still, credit where it's due—Dhritarashtra didn't pull a Ravana and rage-burn the palace. He stayed. He endured. And when Pandu stepped away for jungle therapy and curse management, Dhritarashtra got the crown anyway.

And if my guess is right, then right about now, Pitamaha Bhishma must be searching for a bride for—his Highness the Royal Hulking Bench Press Champion, a.k.a. Dhritarashtra.

Because what's a kingdom without a queen? And what's a queen without a political alliance cleverly disguised as romance?

"Stay close, Karna," Radha said as we finally approached the palace gates. Her voice was calm, but her grip on my hand said, One wrong move and you're becoming part of the stables.

"I'm literally five," I whispered. "How far do you think I can run in these dhoti pants?"

The guards at the gates were as intimidating as you'd expect—massive men in bronze-plated armour, spears taller than Adhiratha, and expressions like someone just told them Mahabharata spoilers.

"Name?" one guard barked, looking over Adhiratha's humble caravan like it was a suspiciously overachieving bullock cart.

"Adhiratha Suta," my foster father said, bowing respectfully. "From Champa. Royal charioteer by training. Here to report for duty under the command of the stablemaster, by Mahamahim Bhishma's orders."

The guard squinted. Then looked at the massive cow next to us.

"And… her?"

"This," I said brightly before Radha could stop me, "is Surabhi. She's just built differently."

Surabhi gave the most unbothered cow-blink ever recorded in Aryavrat.

The guards exchanged a glance. Then, silently stepped aside.

Power move: achieved.

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

We entered through the palace gates, and instantly, the atmosphere shifted.

The outer city had been noisy with hawkers, ox-carts, kids playing dice and losing generational wealth—but here? Silence, order, and sandalwood-scented expectations. Courtiers bustled in elegant silence. Soldiers patrolled in rehearsed synchronicity. Everything gleamed like it had been polished with divine elbow grease.

"I feel like I just stepped into a premium drama set," I whispered. "Do I bow to the floor or just burst into a song about fate and dharma?"

Surabhi snorted at that—snorted, I tell you. Not mooed. Not huffed. She gave the bovine equivalent of a sarcastic nose-laugh, as if to say, "Try it, boy. I dare you."

Radha pinched the skin of my arm with maternal precision. "No bursting. No singing. Just walk. Quietly."

I did as instructed. Mostly.

Adhiratha led the way through polished stone corridors inlaid with murals—some of them depicting gods mid-smiting, some showing ancient kings doing suspiciously gymnastic poses in battle. I caught sight of one that looked a little too much like Bhishma doing yoga while fighting ten people. Artistic license? Maybe.

We passed under archways inscribed with Vedic mantras and through colonnades filled with carved lotuses and gold-flecked lamps, until we reached a large hall guarded by more stone-faced warriors. This was it. The waiting chamber.

A man in saffron robes stepped forward. An official. He had the air of someone who hadn't smiled since the last yuga.

"You are Adhiratha Suta?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yes, sir."

"Wait here. The King has been informed. He will see you shortly."

I blinked.

Wait.

We're actually going to meet Dhritarashtra? Like—now?

I thought this was going to be a "wait in the side room for four chapters while other nobles discuss the economy" situation.

Instead, the doors opened with a slow, cinematic groan.

And there he stood.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in layers of dark silk that shimmered like midnight. A silver staff rested in one hand. A thin band of gold circled his head—not quite a crown, but not not a crown either.

King Dhritarashtra.

The Blind Lion of Hastinapur.

He did not move like someone blind. He moved like someone who knew exactly where everything and everyone was. His head turned slightly toward us, sensing the shift in air, in breath, in fear.

"Adhiratha, is that you? my friend?"

I froze at friend.

Is this 'that' timeline, where Adhiratha my father was a friend of ChatGPT said:

…the King?

Adhiratha bowed, deep and respectful, but not submissive.

"Yes, Maharaj. I stand humbled before your gaze," he said, and I swear I saw the ghost of a smile flicker on Dhritarashtra's lips.

"Well, not my gaze," the King replied dryly, tapping his silver staff on the marble floor once. "But yes. I sense your sincerity. And your old scent of saddle oil and horsehair hasn't changed a bit."

OH.

So they go way back.

This man—this towering figure whose name would one day echo through war and ash—was cracking jokes like a blind sniffer dog.

Radha, standing beside me, blinked. Once. Twice. Her hand subtly tugged the edge of her veil down, the ancient Aryavrat version of "I am NOT ready for this level of palace drama."

"Come forward, Adhiratha," Dhritarashtra said, his voice smooth like river stones worn by time. "Let me place my hand upon the man who once drove me into battle like a god behind thunder."

Adhiratha stepped forward. The King extended his hand, and Adhiratha took it. Their palms met.

And for a second—just one second—I saw Adhiratha smile.

Not the gruff smile he used when someone complimented his bullock cart. Not the tired one he gave Radha after a long day. A real, honest, memories-spilled-all-over-the-floor kind of smile.

"We rode like fire once, didn't we?" Dhritarashtra said.

"We did, Maharaj," Adhiratha answered, voice quiet with something between pride and grief.

And then those milky, sightless eyes turned toward me.

"And who is this?" Dhritarashtra asked. "I hear a heartbeat that does not tremble. That is… rare in this palace."

Okay wow.

Sir.

Could you not read my chakras like a blood pressure monitor?

Adhiratha hesitated. Just slightly. "My son," he said simply. "Karna."

Dhritarashtra tilted his head.

"Karna," he repeated. "The ears of a prince. The posture of a question. And the stillness of someone older than his body."

Pause.

Did the King just drop an entire character analysis on me like it was a resume review?

I tried to bow. Sort of. It turned into an awkward half-squat, half-fall. Dhoti balance is an art form I haven't yet unlocked.

"Greetings, Maharaj," I said, careful to sound childlike but not stupid. "It is an honour to be in your presence."

Dhritarashtra smiled faintly. "You speak like one who reads the air before speaking. That is wise. Dangerous in a child, but wise."

Radha let out a breath like she'd been holding it since we passed the gate.

The King raised his staff and tapped it twice on the marble. A subtle signal.

A eunuch stepped forward from the shadows, bowed, and whispered something into his ear.

The King nodded once.

"Adhiratha. The stables await. The Master of Horses will assess your skill… though I doubt he'll find fault. Your reputation rides faster than you do."

Adhiratha bowed. "Thank you, Maharaj."

"But I ask one thing," the King said, voice quieter now. "This time. Stay a while."

And then—

He turned toward me again. Not just facing my general direction, but me.

"I would like to see what kind of man grows from such stillness."

No pressure, right?

Radha bowed. I tried not to freak out. Surabhi, bless her divine soul, remained unbothered, chewing temple grass like this was all a mid-tier filler arc.

"Go," Dhritarashtra said finally, raising his staff like a dismissal. "Let fate walk its path. Slowly."

The doors closed behind us with a hush of stone and shadow.

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

[Outside the Court Hall – Marble Corridor]

I exhaled.

"I didn't pee myself," I announced with what I felt was incredible restraint.

Radha side-eyed me. "The day isn't over yet."

Adhiratha… didn't speak. Not right away.

He kept walking, slow, steady.

Until we reached the courtyard.

And then he sat. Just sat. On the edge of the palace steps, like a man pulling ghosts out of his pockets.

I stood beside him quietly.

"You and the King," I said finally, "You were really friends?"

Adhiratha looked at me.

Not with surprise.

With… memory.

"I drove him into battle during his youth," he said softly. "Before politics took his sight from power. Before he wore silk and spoke like prophecy. He laughed back then. Rode fast. Fought harder."

"And then?"

Adhiratha didn't answer right away.

"He stayed," he said finally. "And I left. That's all."

But it wasn't all.

I could feel it.