Years later...
The clinking of metal filled the small hut as Karna tightened the straps of his worn-out sandals. The cool morning breeze brushed against his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was set. His heart pounded...thud, thud, thud, like a war drum inside his chest.
From the corner of the room, Radha stirred. The wooden cot beneath her creaked as she sat up. Creak.
"Karna?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "Where are you going so early?"
Karna froze for a moment. He didn't want to lie to his mother. But he couldn't tell her either—not yet.
"Just… practicing," he muttered, slinging his bow over his shoulder.
Radha's brows knitted together. "Practicing? Again? Karna, you are a charioteer's son. What future do you see in wielding a bow?"
A sharp pang shot through Karna's chest, but he forced a smile. "A future of my own making, Mother."
Before she could protest, he stepped out into the morning mist, leaving behind the warmth of home for the cold embrace of destiny.
---
The training grounds of Hastinapur buzzed with energy. The thwap of arrows hitting targets, the clang of swords meeting shields, and the booming voice of Dronacharya commanding his students filled the air.
Karna's pulse quickened. This was where he belonged. Not in the dust of the stables, not behind a chariot, but here, among warriors.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Dronacharya stood tall, his white beard flowing like a river of wisdom. His piercing eyes swept over the students, royalty, all of them. Arjuna stood in the front, his bow steady, his aim perfect. Another arrow flew.
Thwack!
It hit dead center. Applause followed.
Karna clenched his fists. That could be him. That should be him.
Gathering his courage, he took another step. The earth beneath him felt heavy, but he willed his feet to move. Finally, he stood before Dronacharya.
The Guru's gaze fell upon him. "Who are you?"
Karna bowed deeply. "Acharya, my name is Karna. I wish to learn the art of warfare under your guidance."
A murmur rippled through the students. Some snickered, others whispered. Karna ignored them. His eyes remained locked on Dronacharya's.
The Guru studied him, then asked, "Whose son are you?"
Karna hesitated for a fraction of a second. He knew the answer he gave would determine everything. Finally, he straightened his back and said with pride, "I am Karna, son of Adhiratha, the royal charioteer."
Silence.
Then...laughter.
Arjuna smirked. Duryodhana watched with narrowed eyes. The other princes whispered among themselves.
Dronacharya's expression did not change. His voice was calm but final. "You are a charioteer's son. I train only Kshatriyas and Brahmins. Leave."
Karna's heart dropped. The words hit him harder than any arrow could. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his bow, to prove himself right there and then. But his voice was steady when he spoke.
"Acharya," he said, forcing the lump down his throat, "is skill not greater than birth?"
Dronacharya's eyes hardened. "Skill matters, yes. But dharma matters more. A warrior's path is not yours to walk."
A heavy silence pressed upon Karna's chest. His vision blurred for a moment, but he refused to let his emotions show. Instead, he turned away. Each step he took away from the training ground felt like a nail driven into his heart.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He did not stop walking. He did not look back.
But one thought burned inside him.
If the doors of knowledge were closed to him, he would break them down.
He would learn. Whatever it took.
As he disappeared into the distance, the sky rumbled...boom as if the heavens themselves bore witness to his resolve.