The village of Hastinapura buzzed with life, but Karna felt like an outsider. By the time he turned seven, he had begun to understand that he was different. Not just because of his golden armor and earrings, which never left his body, but because of the way people looked at him—half in awe, half in suspicion.
His mother, Radha, always showered him with love, yet there were whispers he could not ignore. The boys of the village played with him, but when they lost to him, some would mutter, "Of course he wins, look at him…he's not normal."
Karna did not understand.
"Mother, why do people look at me like that?" he asked one evening, watching her knead the dough for dinner.
Radha smiled, her hands pausing for a moment. "Because you are special, my son. Not everyone can shine as brightly as the sun."
---
By the time he turned eight, Karna's curiosity had grown sharper. He noticed how his father, Adhiratha, always seemed to deflect questions about his birth. He had asked before, but never received a clear answer.
One evening, as he helped his father with the chariots, Karna gathered his courage. "Father," he asked, oiling a wheel, "where did I come from?"
Adhiratha stiffened but then sighed. He looked at Karna with soft eyes. "You are my son. That is all that matters."
Karna did not press further. But he knew—he was not born like other children.
---
At nine, Karna was growing stronger. He practiced daily with a wooden bow, aiming at trees and makeshift targets. His arms ached, but he refused to stop. He had seen warriors pass through their village, their swords gleaming, their presence commanding respect. He wanted that. He craved that.
One day, while secretly watching the royal soldiers train in the fields outside Hastinapura, he heard a name spoken in hushed reverence—Bhishma.
The great warrior. The guardian of Hastinapura. A man of unbreakable vows.
A few months later, Karna finally saw him.
The sun blazed high when Bhishma's chariot passed through the village. Karna had been fetching water when he heard the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of hooves. He turned and saw the imposing figure, his silver hair flowing, his eyes like steel.
Karna stepped forward instinctively. Something in his chest burned—an urge, a need to be seen. He had to speak. But as Bhishma's chariot slowed, the great warrior merely glanced at him.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Bhishma's gaze flickered to Karna's golden armor. His brows furrowed. But then, without a word, he turned away, signaling his charioteer to continue.
Karna felt a pang of frustration as the dust settled. Who was he to Bhishma? No one.
But one day, he vowed, Bhishma would know his name.
---
By ten, Karna had made up his mind—he would become a warrior. But how? No teacher would train a charioteer's son. He had heard that Guru Drona, the greatest teacher in the kingdom, was taking in royal students, but Karna knew he had no place among princes.
Still, he had to try.
One evening, he approached Adhiratha. "Father, I want to train as a warrior."
Adhiratha looked startled. "A warrior? But you are meant to be a charioteer, my son."
Karna clenched his fists. "No. I was born for more."
Adhiratha sighed. "The world does not see it that way."
Karna looked at him, determination burning in his eyes. "Then I will make them see."
And so, his path truly began.