Mahabharat: Cruel Fate

Chapter 4

Author's POV:

The first sliver of dawn light sliced through the thin fabric of Karn's tent, waking him up from sleep. With an ease born from years of dedication and practice, he stretched his lean but muscular body. Each movement was deliberate, a silent conversation between body and mind. As the sun rose above the horizon, the sky looked as if it was painted with vibrant hues of orange and gold, Karn stepped out of his tent. The cool morning air stimulated him, and he made his way towards the nearby stream as he turned his face towards the rising sun, a silent prayer forming on his lips. He began his Surya Namaskar, a series of flowing postures designed to greet the day and pay homage to the Surya dev. His body, honed by years of rigorous training, moved with a grace that showcased its strength. Every bend, every twist, was a testament to his discipline and his control of his body. The rising sun cast long shadows, highlighting the defined lines of his arms and the ripple of muscles across his back. After completing his Surya Namaskar, Karn made his way into the stream. The cool water was a welcome shock to his system, washing away the remnants of sleep and preparing him for the day ahead. As he emerged from the water, a sense of renewed purpose settled over him. He donned clean, simple clothes, the fabric light and breathable against his skin. Hunger gnawed at him, and he spotted a mango tree laden with big and ripe mangoes a short distance away. With practiced ease, he lifted his bow, nocking an arrow with a swift, silent motion. Taking aim, he focused not on the fruit itself, but on the slender stems connecting them to the branches. The arrow flew in quick succession, finding its mark with a satisfying snap. He retrieved his arrow and collected the eight fallen mangoes, their sweet scent filling the air. Karn settled beneath the shade of a large banyan tree, the fallen fruit beside him. He savored the taste of the mangoes, the simple sweetness a welcome contrast to the usual camp fare. With a full stomach and a clear mind, he closed his eyes, entering a state of deep meditation. The world around him faded away. He focused on his breath, a steady rhythm calming his thoughts and centering his spirit. This was his time for reflection, for gathering the mental strength he would need for the intense training session that awaited him.

Karn's POV:

A pang of longing echos in my chest as I meditate. Images flickered behind my closed eyelids - mother's gentle smile, father's booming laughter,Shone's mischievous grin. They all felt like memories from another lifetime, and yet they came back only to distract me. Here, his only family was the bow in his hand and his unwavering pursuit of archery. I take a deep breath and brace myself for what's to come. I have to be the best. Arjun, he awaits me back in Hastinapur. Only by mastering my archery skills under the legendary Parashuram could I ever surpass him. A sudden warmth touched my shoulder, jolting me back to reality. "Batsa," a familiar voice said, "the sun climbs higher. Time for your training." My eyes open to see Parashuram, guru dev. Gratitude washed over me, pushing away the flicker of homesickness. "Yes, Gurudev," he replied, bowing low, his fingers brushing his feet in respect. "Namaste." The morning sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the training ground in a beautiful show of light and shadow. My muscles buzzed with anticipation, a familiar tingle before every session with Gurudev Parashuram. Today, we started with the most fundamental aspect of archery – target practice. Parashuram, his weathered face etched with the wisdom of countless battles, stood before a row of wooden targets. Each target had a single bullseye at its center, an easy challenge against the vibrant colors adorning the wood. "Remember, Batsa," Parashuram's voice boomed, "Archery is not just about strength. It's about focus, precision, and breath control. Each shot must be an extension of yourself." I nodded, my grip tightening around the smooth surface of my bow. Every word from Gurudev was a sacred mantra, a pathway to becoming the archer I dreamt of being. "Take your position," he commanded, gesturing towards the firing line. I stepped forward, my heart hammering a steady rhythm against my ribs. I raised the bow, the weight of it familiar and comforting in my hands. Taking a deep breath, I closed one eye, aligning the sight with the distant bullseye. The world seemed to shrink, the target filling my vision. I could almost feel the smooth release of the arrow, the satisfying thud as it found its mark. With a steady exhale, I released the string. The arrow flew true, a blur of black against the blue sky. It slammed into the target, burying itself deep within the bullseye. A flicker of approval crossed Parashuram's face. "Good," he said, his voice gruff but laced with satisfaction. "But remember, consistency is key. One successful shot doesn't make a master." I grinned, the familiar burn of determination coursing through me. "I understand, Gurudev. I will not falter." The day progressed, each shot a testament to my unwavering focus. We moved through different distances, different positions, each challenge pushing me to refine my technique. Parashuram's voice echoed in my ears, a constant guide on the path to mastery. The afternoon sun beat down on the training ground as Parashuram surveyed Karn's final arrow, lodged squarely in the bullseye. A hint of a smile played on the master archer's lips. "Excellent work today, Batsa," he rumbled. "Your focus is improving." Karn beamed, pride warming his chest. Earning Gurudev's praise was the highest honor. "However," Parashuram continued, his voice taking on a playful edge, "there's always more to learn." He strode towards a nearby well, its stone lining bleached white by the sun. 

Authors POV:

Karn watched in curiosity as Parashuram reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a smooth, gleaming metal ball. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball plummeting down the well's dark depths. A loud clang echoed from below, followed by an unsettling silence. Karn's brow furrowed. What was Gurudev planning? Parashuram then reached for a bundle of dry grass, his weathered hands moving with practiced ease. He began to twist the end of the strands to make them sharp, his movements swift and sure. As he worked, he explained, "This, Batsa, is not just about brute strength. It requires ingenuity, resourcefulness, and the ability to think outside the box." Within minutes, all the grass strands were sharpened in Parashuram's hands. He knelt beside the well, his gaze meeting Karn's. "Now, watch closely." With a practiced flick, Parashuram threw the first grass into the well. Karn watched, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. The grass strand went straight through and pierced the metal ball. In the same manner, Parashuram threw another grass which pierced the other grass. He kept throwing one strand after another and formed a rope just like that. Finally, with a triumphant grunt, he pulled the rope upwards. To Karn's astonishment, the metal ball emerged from the darkness, gleaming in the sunlight. A gasp escaped his lips. It seemed like magic! Parashuram chuckled at Karn's awestruck expression. "Your turn, Batsa," he said, handing him some new grass. "Let's see if you can replicate what you've seen." Karn took the grass, his fingers itching to try. He attempted to sharpen it, but his efforts resulted in a tangled mess. Frustration gnawed at him. He tried again, this time focusing on mimicking Parashuram's movements, but the rope remained stubbornly blunt. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues. Karn, defeated, dropped the grass. "I... I can't do it, Gurudev," he admitted, a hint of shame in his voice. Parashuram placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's no shame in failing, Batsa. It's part of the learning process. Remember, even the greatest archers take time to master their craft." Karn nodded, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. This trick might have eluded him today, but he wouldn't give up. He would learn, he would practice, and one day, he would be able to replicate Gurudev's feat. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training ground, Parashuram clapped his hands, signaling the end of the session. My arms ached pleasantly, the sweet ache of a day well spent. "Today was good, Batsa," Parashuram said, his gaze approving. "But tomorrow, we push further. Are you ready?" "Always, Gurudev," he replied, his voice filled with unwavering determination. The journey to becoming the greatest archer was hard, but with each passing day, he felt himself getting closer to that goal.