‘I want to be remembered for all the good I am on the inside. I want my name to survive for all ages to come. I want to be remembered.’

‘Fame? Is that what you seek?’

Karna had pondered this, then shaken his head. ‘Immortality…not of the flesh but the soul. The kind where my name lives on long after I am gone.’

Savitre Lios had not replied, but stared at Karna as if searching his soul. Karna had felt like cringing before that luminous gaze, so he had kept his eyes focused on the ridge of Savitre’s aquiline nose.

After what seemed an eternity, Savitre Lios had said, ‘Do you know of a man who goes by the name Parshuram?’

No one knew a ‘man’ by that name. Everyone knew of a ‘legend’ called Parshuram. Even uneducated Reshts like Karna. Many myths surrounded him. Immortal. Centaur. Teacher of Heroes. Bandit. Shrap of Ksharjas. Karna had only heard stories. ‘Is he the same who is said to have taught the White Eagle and Acharya Dron?’

‘The same.’

‘I thought he was a myth.’

‘As mythical as us,’ Savitre Lios smiled.

‘And what are you?’

‘You will come to know in time.’

Karna had nodded. ‘And he will teach me?’ In his excitement, the rein of the horse he held had slipped softly from his hand; he did not care. ‘Will he?’ he had repeated, his mind desperately fighting the rising tide of happiness that threatened to pour in and flood him into oblivion.

‘I cannot say. You will have to go to Meru, where they will prepare you. If worthy, you will be chosen.’

Karna had looked up sharply. ‘They teach Acharyas there, not warriors.’

‘Indeed, but every other year, Acharya Parshuram handpicks a student to teach the Art of the Sun. You will have to be deserving for him to choose you. Parshuram is a hard man…a very hard man. In the last few hundred years, he has taken few students. He will take many tests…tests that will show how deep inside yourself you can truly sink. You will sweat, bleed, burn… But if you get through, there will be nothing to stop him from teaching you all that you want to know.’ He had pulled a scroll from an insert in his trousers and handed it to Karna. ‘A map to Meru. When you reach there, say these words to the gatekeeper: Tat Savitur Varenyam. Repeat after me.’

‘Tat Savitur Varenyam.’ Karna had taken the map with unsure hands and looked up at Savitre to ask, ‘What do the words mean?’

He had quieted suddenly, as if regretting what he was doing. Finally, he had said, ‘I cannot tell you now, but know this, when you learn in Meru will make you hate me.’ Savitre had hugged Karna, surprising him.

‘I could never hate you.’ Karna had pointed to the map. ‘If this works, you have saved me, Savitre. I owe you a debt of life.’