The scent of wet earth after rain, the rough texture of his father's hands, the warmth of his mother's embrace, these were the first things Karna remembered.
He was not like the other children. He knew this before he even understood what it meant. When the village boys played by the river, splashing water and chasing each other with carefree laughter, he saw their reflections ripple in the water. Their skin was brown like the soil, but his glowed like the sun.
"Why do I look different, Amma?" Karna had asked one day, tugging at Radha's sari.
His mother had only smiled, smoothing his curls. "Because you are special, my son."
"Special?" His small brows furrowed. He had heard that word before, whispered by neighbors when they thought he wasn't listening. A foundling… A river child… Not like us…
His father, Adhiratha, never let such talk reach him. "Karna is my son," he would say firmly, lifting Karna onto his shoulders. "And one day, he will be greater than any of you."
Karna clung to those words. He wanted to be great. He wanted to be strong. And so, even as a child, he trained harder than the others. When the village boys ran, he ran faster. When they lifted small wooden swords to play-war, he held his longer, his arms shaking with effort but never dropping it. When they mocked him for his golden skin, for the earrings and armor that never came off, he clenched his fists and walked away, until one day, he didn't.
It was the first fight of his life.
---
The midday sun burned overhead as Karna, now five, stood at the edge of the riverbank. His feet dug into the mud as he watched the older boys wrestle in the water, their shouts echoing across the village.
"I want to fight too!" Karna declared, stepping forward.
The boys turned. One of them, Suran, a boy of seven with mischief in his eyes, smirked. "You? The golden boy? What do you know about fighting?"
Karna lifted his chin. "I know enough."
Laughter rippled through the group. "Alright," Suran said. "Show us."
A ring formed around them. The other children watched as Suran lunged first. Karna barely had time to react before he was shoved into the mud.
Thud.
Pain shot up his side, but he didn't cry out. He scrambled up, his heart pounding. He charged at Suran, arms swinging wildly. The older boy dodged easily, but Karna didn't stop. His feet moved without thought, his body surging forward. His small fists found their mark, landing against Suran's chest.
Thwack.
Suran stumbled, eyes wide. The laughter stopped.
For a moment, there was only the sound of the river lapping against the shore.
Then Suran grinned, wiping mud from his face. "Not bad, golden boy. Let's fight again tomorrow."
Karna grinned back. He had won, not just the fight, but something more.
Respect.
---
That night, he sat beside his father, watching the stars twinkle above. "Appa," he said, his voice soft, "I want to be strong. Stronger than everyone."
Adhiratha chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Strength is not just in your arms, my son. It is in your heart."
Karna frowned. "But warriors have strong arms. I want to be a warrior."
Silence stretched between them. Then, his father sighed. "We are charioteers, Karna. Not warriors."
"But why?"
His father did not answer. Instead, he looked at the sky, his face unreadable.
Karna clenched his fists. He did not understand then, but he would. One day, he would learn that fate had already written his story long before he could write his own.
And he would fight against it, until his last breath.