( Prologue : Karna, The Glorious warrior of the Kaurava clan, is cursed to death by Sage Parusuram. The curse bestowed 30 years prior to Kurukshetra war, goes in effect that, the great warrior would be forget his masterful skills of warfare, in the moment that he most needs them. He would be rendered helpless awaiting his death in hands of his arch rival Arjuna. As it were, On the 16th day of the great war, Karna’s chariot is shattered to pieces after a boulder thrown by Bhima, hits it unexpectedly. Ironically, he is left stranded a hundred feet away from his armoury tent, whereto he intended to go in order to reload his quiver. This is seen as an Opportunity by Arjuna, who attacks him. None, but Duryodhana, King Of hastinapur and Karna’s dearest friend, sees the impending doom and tries to come to his rescue from beyond the armoury. But Karna’s life is destined to end…)
The faint smell of soil pricks my scathing lungs….
I open my eyes to see a world of impending doom….
and a certain death galloping towards my course….
a chariot filled with the godly craft of archery….
of one conceived of air, and raised in womb of earth,
there be my rival, with his aim fixed upon me…
only this time ,I have not the spirited reply….
I also see to my farther side, a lone fearless friend….
a comrade who took me when none cared, as men should be..
my brother, riding only with the thought of saving me…..
I have but one arrow in my quiver, Oh! is it not irony….
such has been my journey, of hopes and despair…
and particularly few choices and harmed better….
a fight with my destiny though losing plenty much…
like a moth struggling to get out of a child’s batter….
a fish’s battle for air when caught in capture….
likewise my life has given me darkness and met
me, with specific acrimony sans any fair fortune…..
this was a fight of glory great, of wise and of powerful…
yet I find myself warring against my own demons….
I pick up the last arrow remaining, with my sight dimming…
shall I aim at my equal and try to delay the inevitable…
or shall I stop my sibling from advancing to this peril…..
I had dreams of this moment, yet to decide now is impossible….
in this ambiguity, I see a small child standing in front of me….
on the very draughty land that had consumed many a warrior…
she slowly walks unto me, with pleasant smile and desolate glee…
unaffected with this melancholy, a sweet morbid fervour….
now I know, now I breathe, now I see death in its wholesomeness….
not foaling devil, not grinning god, but in an angelic child…..
I ask her what her heart wishes for, and what her eyes seek….
she forwards her tender hands and says..”your Light”….
I ,who the world knows as an eternal giver…..
shall give her very wish, but first I must fight…..
but can I?, my shield and armour are now clay toys of someone else….
my arrows have left me, but for one lonesomeness…
I take aim for my brother’s chariot and disengage it…..
now he shall outlive me, hopefully avenge me even….
I see my death whooshing towards me, with silvery head…
coming from a bow of a master archer, shattering my mortal armour…….
the child senses my face with her small fingers, seeping my dark soul….
with silent agony and with blind courage…..
now it dawns upon me, this child is the sequence…
of death and life.,, quiet, innocent and particularly beautiful….
she is the shifting fate, invincible, unbiased, but a voiceless hymn…..