Re: I Become Karna In Mahabharata

Father came just in time to see the flying jackal—

And let me tell you, he was this close to crying when he saw me safe and sound.

Can you believe it?

The Legendary Tsundere Dad — all rugged with a fisherman's tan and decades of emotional constipation — had glassy eyes.

Yup. Tsundere because this man pretends to sleep at 8 PM sharp like he's living in a bedtime-obsessed monastery. But every night, once Radha Maa drifts off, he quietly sneaks over to my cradle. No words. No humming. Just stands there like a village Batman with emotional damage and a guilt complex.

Honestly? Respect.

Anyway. When he saw Surabhi guarding my squishy baby form like a divine bovine bouncer, and the jackal whimpering in a pit of ash, he scooped me up like I was made of gold—

Which, to be fair, I kind of am.

Thanks, Sun Dad™, for the lifetime subscription to "Shiny Accessories & Oppression."

He held me close, whispering something like, "Thank the gods. I thought I lost you."

Bro. I'm a baby.

But inside? Full-on emotional monsoon. I was crying harder than the time Naruto met his mom.

But like, baby-crying.

Which is basically just a lot of aggressive spit and snorts.

***

[The Next Day…]

The village was buzzing.

No, really. The rumor mill spun harder than a WhatsApp group on election night.

"A jackal? In the ash pit?"

"And Radha's cow fought it off?"

"With the baby beside her?!"

I became an urban legend overnight.

People came by the hut just to gawk at me like I was some kind of miracle-infused mango.

The priest from the temple even said, "Such animals are known to sense divine auras. Perhaps the child is blessed."

Blessed?

You mean targeted by every known karmic tragedy available on the Vedic menu?

Cool. Very cool.

Meanwhile, Surabhi just basked in the fame like a queen. She chewed cud with dramatic pauses, posed beside me like she was doing a Vogue shoot, and occasionally farted in what I now recognize as her version of applause.

[System Notification]

🟦 Title Unlocked: "Ash Pit Survivor"

✨ Bonus Effect: +1 Resistance to Wild Animal Encounters

🎖 Achievement: "Moo-st Protected" – Survive your first life-threatening event with bovine intervention.

[P.S. We still won't unlock any real features till Age 6. Have fun.]

"System, I swear by every blade of Vishnu's chakra — I will uninstall you with prayer beads."

***

[Fast Forward: Month 1]

Radha Maa started feeding me mashed rice with ghee. Ghee so pure, it could've lit a temple lamp for three hours.

It tasted like salvation.

Except when she added boiled bitter gourd to "build immunity." In that moment, I questioned my will to live.

I'd fight Duryodhana in a 1v1 before I swallow karela again.

Surabhi mooed in agreement.

Even she wouldn't eat that demon vegetable.

Adhiratha took me on his oxcart once, a short trip to the nearby forest line to collect firewood.

That man doesn't say much.

But when he does? You listen.

As the cart bounced and rattled, I sat on his lap like a potato with opinions, just vibing.

He looked down once and said,

"Strong arms you'll have. Maybe you'll be a warrior. Maybe… a king."

Sir, I know I'm a year old and legally not allowed to form sentences, but you just hit me with foreshadowing so heavy I nearly spit up my lunch.

[Village Boy Ranking System — According to Aunties]

Every small village has it.

The unofficial aunty-approved leaderboard of kids.

Let me break it down:

Top 1: Raghav — walks, talks, and recites the Gayatri mantra on command. His parents renamed him "Chhota Rishi." Dude's two years old and already a public relations menace.

Top 2: Subash — fast crawler, throws tantrums in perfect Sanskrit. Gets fed laddoos daily like a royal offering.

Wildcard Entry: Me — Karna, son of a charioteer, rumoured divine child, saved by a holy cow, still pees self sometimes.

But guess what?

I've got village celebrity status. I'm the 'golden earring baby'. And I've got something none of them do.

A secret, cursed, sarcastic monologue machine running 24/7 in my head.

Also, plot relevance.

Come at me, Chhota Rishi.

And come he did—

"Haey, Tou! Tou thinc touself tu bhi tam hero huh?"(Hey, You! You think yourself to be a hero huh?)

I looked at him so hard, boy started doubting himself.

But I was waiting... waiting for the insult... but he just stood there like a stone statue with a crooked grin — the kind that says, "I won."

Wait, don't tell me "THAT" was the BIG insult.

Then, from my time, a five-year-old can destroy the whole bloodline in seconds.

But how could I blame him?

He's dumb as roti without salt and twice as dry. His parents feed him Sanskrit mantras and hollow compliments like they're ghee-coated truth bombs. I bet if you tap on his head, it echoes back with "Aham Brahmasmi" on loop.

Still, I kept my cool.

I gave him the Look™. The full "I have seen things you cannot even spell" glare — equal parts Clint Eastwood, Sun God, and that one teacher who stares at you until you remember your homework from last year.

He flinched.

Only slightly.

Then Raghav did something bold.

He poked me.

Right on the forehead.

Like I was a holy reset button.

Now, you must understand — in modern India, this is equivalent to:

An open challenge

A declaration of war

And assault on baby pride, Article 370 style.

My baby fingers curled.

Rage filled my tiny chest like a pressure cooker before one whistle too many.

But before I could unleash the sacred baby slap of fury, Radha appeared like a divine pop-up blocker.

"Raghav beta," she said sweetly, holding a bowl of roasted chana, "Would you like some snack?"

And just like that, war was postponed.

Food diplomacy always works with toddlers.

Raghav nodded, but not before giving me a final smirk that said, "I still poked you though."

It was on.

I mentally added him to my "Enemies List."

🛑 Raghav the Sanskrit Snob

Status: Smug toddler

Power: Parental overconfidence + Fast crawling + Mantra spam

Threat Level: Moderate

Personal Goal: Slap him before I turn 3

***

I CAN'T EAT!

My front buckteeth were not made for this. Seriously. Whoever designed baby Karna forgot the whole chewing thing. I was basically a soggy noodle wrapped in mashed rice and mystery mush. The ghee helped, but it was mostly a glaze over the horror of swallowing something that felt like it had been blessed by the gods and cursed by their lunch lady.

Radha kept cooing, "Eat, beta, eat. It's good for you."

Good for me? I was sure it was a conspiracy to turn me into a future warrior with a cast-iron stomach. No thanks.

Surabhi gave a loud, approving moo from her usual throne by the hut. I'm convinced she was judging me for not appreciating the finer things in dairy life.

I gurgled something that hopefully translated to: "When do I get to eat something that doesn't taste like a spiritual trial?"

Later that day, the village buzzed louder than ever.

Raghav was back.

The Smug Sanskrit Snob — crawling like a tiny tank, eyes sparkling with the promise of more baby shenanigans.

He approached, dragging his wooden rattle like a knight dragging his sword.

"Tou think tu kar sakta hai sab kuch?" he taunted, voice all high-pitched toddler menace. (You think you can do anything?)

I stared him down with my best "I'm ancient sunfire incarnate in a diaper" glare.

He poked me again — this time, a little harder.

Not on the forehead. Oh no, he went for the cheek.

The cheek!

Everyone knows that's an instant "I'm officially starting a fight" move.

I was about to retaliate with my patented "baby slap of doom" when—

Surabhi had enough of this nonsense.

With a deep, thundering moo that sounded like a conch shell blown by an angry temple priest, she stood up.

Let me repeat that for those in the back:

Surabhi Stood. Up.

Now, unless you've been raised by sentient cows in a mythological epic (which, surprise, I basically am), you wouldn't understand the gravity of this moment.

The toddlers froze.

Even the wind paused.

Raghav's smug face drooped like a wet ladoo in monsoon.

Surabhi didn't charge (yet). She simply stared. You know the kind of stare your mom gives you when you're about to touch a hot pan, and she doesn't say a word — just looks at you like she's already written your obituary?

That.

Her eyes said, "Poke my baby one more time, Sanskrit Boy. Just. One. More. Time."

Raghav slowly backed away.

He dropped his rattle like it was made of pure regret, turned around, and crawled off in reverse like a malfunctioning Roomba.

Victory.

Surabhi then turned to me.

I swear she winked again.

Okay, maybe she had an eye twitch or hay in her cornea, but in my soul, I knew it was a wink.

"Thanks, Moo Mom," I whispered in gurgles.

And that was the day the village kids officially stopped poking me.

They didn't know whether I was divine, cursed, or just had a pet cow with anger management issues — but they weren't risking it.

My street cred? Sky high.

***

[Later That Week…]

Radha decided I needed to socialize more.

Which, in mom-code, meant "parade you like a temple procession" across half the village.

She dressed me in fresh cotton, oiled my hair till I was shinier than my divine earrings, and carried me like I was a walking family resume.

Every stop was the same:

"Radha, what a lovely child!""He glows like a golden diya, I swear.""Ohhh! He farted! So auspicious!"

Kill me.

At one point, an aunty even pinched both my cheeks—

Moo!

Okay, okay, correction: she pinched both my buttocks.

LIKE SERIOUSLY, WHO THE HELL DOES THAT?!

Lady, I may look like a soft modak stuffed with karma, but inside I'm a full-grown dude with pride, trauma, and at least one unfinished college assignment haunting me. Hands off my celestial assets!

Surabhi mooed again. This time lower, louder — the bovine version of a mafia warning.

The aunty backed off real quick. She even muttered, "Aisa lagta hai jaise cow dekh rahi ho…" (Feels like the cow's watching me…)

Damn right she is.

From that day onward, I was known as Karna, the Golden Baby with a Holy Cow Bodyguard.

One aunty even claimed that she had a dream where Surabhi whispered Sanskrit into her ears and demanded a tribute of fresh grass every Purnima. Another claimed I was the reincarnation of some celestial being, and she tried to feed me kheer five times in one day. Honestly, I didn't hate that one.

But the worst? Oh, the worst was…

THE SINGING AUNTY.

This woman — goddess help us all — believed she could summon divine blessings by singing bhajans directly into my face. Like, full-on loudspeaker mode, five inches from my ears.

"HARE RAM HARE RAM RAM RAM HARE HARE!!"

Lady! I'm one! My eardrums are made of soggy papad! This isn't devotion — this is audio assault!

Radha had to pull me away gently while I stared at the woman like she'd just hacked into my nightmares.

Surabhi looked like she was this close to launching an udder-based projectile.

I loved my new family, don't get me wrong.

But sometimes I wondered if this was divine punishment for how much I used to roast mythology as a teenager.

Karma, thy name is comedic irony.