His eyes fell on the shades of colour on the bow, and the patterns of wood floated before his eyes. He picked it up with an easy swipe of his left hand. The collective gasp of the crowd sounded like the cracking of dry leaves in the forest. His breastplate shimmered like bridal jewellery in the sunlight now pouring into the arena.

All my life…this is what I have wanted. It is here. The arrow will not only strike the eye of the fish, but at the very foundations of the prison of caste, shattering the illusions that cloud the eyes of every Ksharjan present. They will know that I, Karna, am the best. And that we will not be left behind anymore.

As he walked to peer at the water in the bowl below, he thought of Draupadi. Today, a lowborn would marry the Princess of Panchal. Together, they would usher Aryavrat into a new age. They would go back to Anga. With Panchal’s help, he would establish peace and learn to rule. Sudama would have a loving aunt. Duryodhan would gain Panchal as an ally for the Union. And he Karna, would finally get his due, despite his wretched beginnings. It all works out in the end, he heard his mother saying.

His eyes searched for Draupadi. She was perched at the edge of her chair, as if posed for flight. She seemed unwell. Her cheeks were red, and she had a hand on her throat, as if trying not to retch. Karna paused. He saw Krishna appear and stand beside her, patting her gently. But Karna could not long ponder on what he saw. He knew she was praying for him. Maybe it’s true what they say about love, he thought. It is a sickness of mind and heart…

He bent down one knee and looked down at the reflection of the fish revolving on the wheel above. Time slowed. Everything receded from his mind. The wheel began to move slower and slower… till it stopped moving. He saw the body of the fish in great detail. The gold had faded from its skin and what remained was a silvery mass. He could see the rotting scales... And then he saw nothing but the eye of the fish. He waited for his moment. Haste was after all the invisible pothole before the gates of glory. He stretched the bowstring back, hearing its familiar music in his ears. For you Mother….

‘Stop! He is a Resht! I will not marry his kind.’