The sun was high, yet Kurukshetra felt darker than dawn. The ground trembled beneath Karna's chariot. The wheel—mighty and proud—was now trapped, swallowed whole by the earth like a mother reclaiming her son. Karna jumped down, his hands digging into the mud, teeth clenched in desperation. But the wheel did not move.
It was as if Prithvi herself had decided: No more.
He pulled. Struggled. Cursed. Yet beneath that fury… a silence bloomed. Not around him, but within him.
He looked at the sky. Then lowered his eyes. And memory came.
---
A darker day. A colder truth.
It was after the Dyut Sabha, after Draupadi's honor had been gambled and mocked. Karna had stood that day among the laughter, his words sharper than swords. But it was not the world's judgment that broke him—it was Radha's silence.
She had said nothing. Just one look. One night. One moment when her tears fell... and her heart stopped.
Radha was gone.
And Karna knew—it was him.
He had killed her, not by sword, but by shame. So he went to the woman he had wounded most. The woman he had reduced to silence. He stood before Draupadi, head bowed, voice trembling.
"I do not seek forgiveness," he said, "I seek punishment."
Draupadi, once a flame, now cold as moonlight, answered:
"I've cursed you before, Karna. But that was from pain, not justice."
"Even now, your regret cannot undo your crime."
"Yet if you want a curse... I give you this:"
"You shall feel what I felt that day. Trapped. Helpless. Alone. And no one will come to save you."
---
The curse had come true.
Now, years later, on the battlefield, Karna's arms trembled, not from weakness, but from the memory of her words. The wheel would not rise. Neither would fate.
And he knew... Arjun's arrow was coming.
He could feel it. Not on his skin, but in his soul. Death stood just behind him. And still—he did not reach for his bow.
He closed his eyes.
For once, he was ready.
But then—silence changed. The world around him froze. Time itself… paused.
The wind stopped. The arrows halted midair. Warriors were statues. Even the sun hovered, unmoving.
Only Karna breathed. And before him, standing calmly with a soft smile, was Lord Krishna.
Karna blinked. "Why… has the world stopped?"
Krishna stepped closer, his eyes carrying both compassion and mystery.
"There is a wish in your heart, Vasusen," he said gently. "It will not let you leave in peace. Speak it."
Karna hesitated. The weight of his sins was unbearable.
"Will you grant a wish… to the man who stood with Duryodhana? Who killed your nephew, Abhimanyu? Who mocked your Sakhi… Draupadi?"
Krishna smiled.
"I am not the keeper of sides, Karna. I am the witness of souls. To me, the Pandava and Kaurava are but threads in the same fabric."
"Speak, and be heard."
Karna exhaled. His voice, at last, steady.
"Long ago, at the edge of Dwaraka's sea, you told us a story… of countless universes. Of grains of sand, each holding a world like our own."
"If that is true… then in those worlds, there are others like me."
"I ask not for heaven, not for glory. Just this:"
"Let my life be sent as a dream to those Vasusens. Let them learn from me—not my strength, but my failure. Let even one walk a different path… not for ambition, but for his mother's pride."
Krishna nodded.
"Granted."
---
Time resumed.
Arjun's arrow, burning with purpose, flew.
It struck Karna's head. Clean. Silent.
The great warrior fell. No weapon in hand. No armor on chest. Only the mud, and the blood, and the setting sun.
No one cheered.
Not Arjun.
Not Krishna.
Even Suryadev, the eternal flame, seemed to dim, as if unable to watch his son return to dust.
---
Yet Krishna's eyes were far, far away—gazing beyond the battlefield, into the fabric of worlds.
"Oh, Vasusen..." he whispered, "This is not the first time you made this wish. And it shall not be the last."
"Many times I've sent your dream to other Vasusens. And many times… they forget."
"But this time…" He paused, lips curling into a smile. "One of them didn't."
"One Vasusen received the dream and did not dismiss it as fantasy. He thought, reflected... and changed."
"And the reason he changed... ah, that reason..." Krishna's smile deepened, eyes full of mischief and grace.