Dream - A Karna SI

8 Sojourn

Karn - 10 years old

Yudhistira - 7 years

Bhima & Duryodhana - 6 years

Arjun - 5 years

Nakula & Sahdeva - 3 years

Karn's POV

With the clang of weapons and the heavy thud of footfalls as I faced off against five formidable opponents. Each wielded a different weapon-mace, swords, spears, and rapiers-each challenging my skills and endurance. My own mace, a weighty instrument of destruction, demanded every ounce of my strength and stamina. The relentless swinging and parrying took its toll, my muscles burning with exertion.

Though the swords and spears could not pierce my skin, they delivered punishing blows, each strike reverberating through my body with bruising force. I was thrown about the makeshift arena, every impact testing my resilience. My opponents were skilled, their attacks coordinated, and I had to draw upon every ounce of my training to stay in the fight.

Breathing heavily, I resorted to the intricate techniques of mace combat that I had learned. Each manoeuvre required precision and timing, and I executed them with a mix of desperation and determination. The mace arced through the air, connecting with weapons and armor, each swing demanding my absolute concentration for economic use of my stamina.

The first to face my fury were the swordsmen and rapier-wielders. With a series of powerful swings, I managed to disarm them, their weapons clattering to the ground. My mace connected with precision, sending them sprawling and effectively neutralizing their threat, while simultaneously dodging a spear thrust.

The spearman was agile and relentless, his thrusts coming at me with unyielding precision. I parried his attacks with calculated strikes, but a brutal mace hit landed on my side, nearly knocking the wind out of me. Using the momentum of the blow, I leaped across the field toward the other mace wielder. He was caught off guard by my ferocity and crumbled under two swift strikes.

I felt a heavy thrust from the spear behind me and, using the shaft as a guide, thrust my mace backward while pivoting. The solid thud of my mace connecting was satisfying, and the spearman was down.

Breathing heavily, I turned to face the final challenge: the lone mace fighter. He was the strongest and most skilled of the lot, his attacks precise and devastating. Towering over me, he had a considerable reach advantage. The weight of my own mace seemed to double, my muscles screaming in protest. Knowing I couldn't win a prolonged fight, I disengaged, creating distance between us. The mace wielder, confident, waited for me to come to him.

I gripped my mace near the root, a whole hand higher than usual, and advanced. He responded with an overhead strike, which I deflected to the side, adjusting my stance. The rebound counter was similarly evaded.

He left himself open momentarily, a false invitation to overcommit. Ignoring the bait, I redirected the next three strikes, feeling his fatigue. When he swung at my side again, I moved with the attack, causing him to overextend. In a burst of speed, I reversed my position and struck his torso. He tried to block with the shaft of his mace, but the weight of my weapon countered, unbalancing him further. I shoved my mace into his torso, and he fell. Dislodging his mace, I pointed mine at his face. He reluctantly conceded.

Standing by sheer force of will, my breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding like a war drum. Sweat plastered my hair to my head, a testament to the intense battle. The exhaustion and exhilaration of pushing my body to its limits were palpable. My opponents, senior brahmacharis and the best of the ashram, had tested me to my core.

As I regained my breath, I noticed a group of children at the edge of the training ground, their eyes wide with awe and admiration. New to the ashram, their faces were a mix of eagerness and curiosity. As my breath steadied, their expressions shifted to a melancholic one.

The children were a striking bunch, around five or six years old. The eldest, heavily built for his age, had an eager expression on his face. His dhoti was tied above his knees, revealing his fair complexion, long arms, and lotus-shaped eyes.

The second child was slender with a similarly fair complexion. His prominent nose and large eyes gave him a distinctive look, but he carried a subdued expression, as if the weight of the world rested on his young shoulders. He was the least excited of the group, his demeanour almost contemplative.

The youngest, with a dusky complexion and lotus eyes, was the most observant. His gaze darted everywhere, missing nothing. There was an air of alertness about him, a keen awareness that set him apart.

Despite their differences, one thing was common among them: their presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. I felt a strange premonition about meeting them here in the ashram, as if our paths were destined to cross.

I realized the ashram was graced by a few traveling rishis, and with them was a woman carrying a toddler. Her face, though brave, was etched with sorrow. Another toddler was being carried by a young monk. The children who had been watching my fight moved towards the assembly. As they approached, the two toddlers turned their heads, revealing identical faces. By Surya, they were twins!

A wave of realization and emotion crashed over me. These were the Pandavas and Kunti. The eldest child, who I had thought was the oldest, was in fact the second eldest, Bhima. His broad shoulders and eager eyes suddenly made sense. The others were Yudhishthira, with his burdened yet noble demeanor, and Arjun, my brother and destined rival. The observant one with the intense gaze was none other than him. The twins were Nakula and Sahadeva, their identical faces a haunting mirror image.

My heart clenched as I scanned the group, noting the absence of any regal figure. The truth struck like a thunderbolt: Pandu had passed away, and Madri had followed him in sati. The weight of their loss hung heavy in the air. They must be journeying to Hastinapur with the ashes of their beloved parents, using the ashram as a refuge on their sorrowful path.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched them, feeling a strange mix of kinship and destiny. These children, who would one day shape the future of our world, were here, sharing this moment. The enormity of our intertwined fates sent shivers down my spine.