Saga Of The Timeless (A Mahabharata Story)

9.Heartaches, and High Drama

By the third day of our journey, I was on the brink of collapse. My body ached in ways I hadn't known it could, and every step felt like a monumental effort. The exhaustion was overwhelming, a constant reminder that I had never endured anything like this before. Back in my time, travel was effortless—planes, trains, and cars made the world feel so small. Distances melted away in hours, not days.

But here, with nothing but our feet and the horses, the world seemed vast and unending. Every step we took stretched the horizon farther, making the road ahead feel infinite. The landscape around us was both beautiful and daunting, with its rugged terrain and endless expanse, but it only served to remind me of how far we still had to go.

Karna, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the fatigue that weighed so heavily on me. He moved with a grace and ease that I envied. Perhaps it was because he was used to this—used to walking for miles, used to the hardships of travel in this era. I watched him with a mix of admiration and frustration, wondering how he managed to stay so composed when I felt like I could collapse at any moment.

As night fell, we set up camp, our meal simple and sparse. Karna took his place on the other side of the fire, his presence a silent comfort. I lay down, trying to find some semblance of rest, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

The truth was, I was terrified. Not just of the journey ahead, but of the nightmares that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. They were so vivid, so real, that I feared I might never wake from them. I was grateful that Karna was on the other side of the fire, unable to see the fear etched on my face.

The darkness of the night seemed to press in on me, the shadows flickering in the firelight like phantoms. The nightmares lurked at the edges of my consciousness, waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down. I knew I needed to rest, to regain my strength, but the fear kept me wide awake, staring into the flames as they danced in the cool night air.

I closed my eyes, desperate for a few hours of oblivion, hoping that sleep might offer a brief escape from the reality that pressed down on me.

I lay there, staring into the darkness, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Every sound, every rustle of the leaves or snap of a twig, seemed amplified in the stillness of the night. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

 I turned my head slightly, glancing over at Karna again. 

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I felt the weight of the night pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. Then, suddenly, Karna's voice broke through the silence .

"Tvarita," he called out softly, his voice carrying a warmth that sliced through the cold of the night.

I stiffened, caught off guard. How did he realize I was awake? I had been lying so still, my breathing shallow as I tried to keep my thoughts from spiraling.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice a whisper in the night, thick with the emotions I was trying so hard to keep at bay.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was low, hesitant, as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to say the words aloud. The bonfire between us crackled softly, casting shadows that danced across his face.

"Yes," I said, trying to sound calm, though my heart was beating faster. 

"Have you ever done something that you regret the most?" The question came out almost painfully, as if he had been holding it inside for too long. His eyes, usually so steady, seemed to search mine for something—understanding, perhaps, or forgiveness.

I wasn't surprised by the question, not really. We all carry regrets, some heavier than others. But the way he asked, the way his voice trembled just slightly, told me this wasn't just about curiosity. This was about something deeper, something that had been gnawing at him for a long time.