Dream - A Karna SI

12. PARTING

Karn - 10 years old

Yudhistira - 7 years

Bhima & Duryodhana - 6 years

Arjun - 5 years

Nakula & Sahdeva - 3 years

Karn's POV

The journey continued, and with each passing day, the bond between me and the Pandavas grew stronger. The terrain around us shifted-hills gave way to dense forests, and forests to open plains. Our group moved as one, with Yudhishthira often engaged in deep philosophical discussions with the rishis, his mind ever curious, while Bhima and Arjun kept close to me, their youthful energy and endless questions keeping the journey lively.

On some days, I carried the youngest twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, on my shoulders as we walked. They were quieter than their elder brothers, observing the world with wide, thoughtful eyes. Nakula had a gentle nature, always concerned about the well-being of his brothers, while Sahadeva's mind seemed to wander to places beyond our immediate surroundings, as if he was thinking about things far removed from our current reality. Carrying them was a small burden, but it brought me a sense of peace, a connection that I hadn't expected but cherished.

Kunti, too, sought more of my company as the days wore on. Her questions were gentle, probing, yet laced with an unspoken longing. She asked about my life in Hastinapur, about my friends and how I came to be at Gandhmadan for my training. I answered her questions as honestly as I could, though I could see that my answers often brought a shadow to her eyes. It was as if she was searching for something in my words, something she herself wasn't entirely sure of.

One evening, as we sat around the campfire, Kunti asked, "Karn, do you miss your home in Hastinapur?"

Her question caught me off guard. I hadn't allowed myself to think of Hastinapur as home-not in the way she meant. "I miss my parents," I replied truthfully, "but I know my path lies elsewhere for now. My training isn't complete."

Kunti nodded, her eyes reflecting the fire's light. "Your parents must be proud of you, Karn."

I smiled at that, a warmth spreading in my chest. "They are. They've always supported me, even when others didn't."

As we neared the boundary of Hastinapur, I felt a mix of emotions-pride in having accompanied the Pandavas on their journey, but also a deep sadness, knowing that I wouldn't be returning home just yet. When the walls of Hastinapur finally came into view, our journey together was at an end. I informed everybody that I wouldn't be entering the city with them; my place was back at the ashram until my studies were complete.

As we have neared Hastinapur a sense of melancholy settled over the group. The inevitable reality of Pandu's passing hanging over all of us. As we stood at the boundary, saying our farewells, Yudhishthira came to me first, his expression serious yet grateful. "Karn, thank you for your guidance and company. I've learned much from you."

"Take care, my prince," I said, clasping his arm. "Remember what we discussed. Let Dharma be your guide."

Bhima was next, his usual exuberance tempered by the realization that our time together was ending. "You'll visit us when you can, won't you, Karn?"

I ruffled his hair, smiling. "Of course, Bhima. And keep training-you'll need that strength."

Arjun approached quietly, his eyes reflecting a depth that belied his years. "I'll remember what you taught us, Karn. About the weapons...and about Dharma."

I nodded, touched by his sincerity. "You'll become a great warrior, Arjun. I have no doubt."

Finally, Kunti came to me, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. She didn't say anything at first, just looked at me as if committing my face to memory. Then, in a gesture that took me completely by surprise, she pulled me into a hug. The embrace was brief but filled with unspoken emotion.

"Take care, my son," she whispered, and I felt a lump in my throat.

"I will, Rajmahisi" I replied, stepping back.

I watched as the Pandavas and Kunti disappeared into the city, their figures growing smaller with each step. I stayed at the boundary until I could no longer see them, my heart heavy yet resolved.

When the rishis returned, we began our journey back to the ashram. The return trip was quieter, giving me time to reflect on all that had happened. But it was also an opportunity to deepen my own studies. The rishis, noticing my dedication, took it upon themselves to help me refine my pronunciation and memorization of mantras. Every night, by the light of the campfire, I would sit with them, reciting the sacred verses until they rolled off my tongue with perfect clarity. The repetition was soothing, a way to ground myself after the emotional journey to Hastinapur.

The familiar peaks of Gandhmadan came into view, in no time.