Upon receiving the joyous news that Karn was in Hastinapur, the elation of Pandu, Kunti, and Madri was palpable. Their hearts swelled with an indescribable happiness that seemed to transcend the moment, and they found themselves eagerly awaiting. The anticipation of his arrival cast a cheerful spell over the place. Each glance exchanged between Pandu and his wives carried the warmth of shared joy, and the entire royal household buzzed with jubilance at the thought of welcoming Karn. It seemed as though the very air of Hastinapur was infused with celebration, reflecting the deep affection and high hopes that the family held for Karn's impending visit. ------- On a warm and serene afternoon, Pandu found himself seated comfortably in the shade of a sprawling ancient tree. The rustling leaves above provided a gentle background score as he focused intently on the scroll in his hands, its parchment filled with wisdom from ages past. As he absorbed the text, a gentle breeze carried the soft laughter of children to his ears. It was Kunti, who was playing joyfully with their children not too far off, their voices filling the air with light and mirth. In this idyllic setting, life seemed almost perfect.

As time passed, Madri, Pandu's other wife, gracefully emerged from the direction of the nearby glistening river. She was skillfully balancing pots filled with water, each step she took imbued with a natural elegance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her appearance was nothing short of ethereal, her shimmering presence contrasting beautifully with the vibrant hues of nature surrounding her. Her hair, damp from the river, caught the sunlight in a way that seemed almost magical, and her smile radiated warmth and kindness.

Pandu glanced up from his scroll and his eyes inadvertently met Madri's, sparking a moment of profound connection. For that instant, the world around him faded away, including the heavy burden of the curse that had been imposed upon him by Rishi Kindram. The curse that had loomed over his thoughts now seemed distant and irrelevant. Overwhelmed by a spontaneous surge of affection, Pandu rose to his feet and moved towards Madri with a renewed sense of purpose and love.

As he approached her from behind, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation filled him. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into an embrace that was both intimate and reassuring. Madri, surprised but delighted, turned around to face him, and in that moment, time seemed to slow. Their gazes locked once more, and Pandu, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, leaned in to capture her lips with his in a tender kiss.

But as their lips met, reality came crashing down in the form of the curse's dreadful consequences. The warmth that enveloped them just moments ago was suddenly replaced by an unsettling cold. In an instant, both Pandu and Madri were overcome by an inexplicable force, and before either could realize the magnitude of the situation, they were both rendered unconscious, collapsing softly to the ground beneath the towering tree which had, just moments before, served as a silent witness to their love and joy. The serene afternoon, once filled with the promise of contentment and harmony, was now cloaked in a somber silence, the scroll lying abandoned amidst the rustling leaves.

Some time later, Madri slowly regained consciousness, her mind still foggy from the events that had transpired. As her senses came back to her, she felt a chill in the air, far colder than it had been before. Turning her head with a growing sense of dread, her eyes landed on her husband Pandu lying motionless beside her. His skin was pallid, lacking the warmth and vitality it once held. A shiver coursed through her body, but it was not from the cold-it was from the growing realization that something was terribly wrong.

Panic welled up within Madri as she reached out with trembling hands to shake Pandu, desperation lacing her voice as she called out to him, hoping against hope for a response.

Madri :- Arya, arya, please wake up...

She pleaded, her voice cracking with fear. But Pandu remained still, unyielding to her cries. Her heart raced as she leaned in closer, placing her fingers on his wrist, searching for any sign of life-for the faintest pulse that would assure her that her worst fears were unfounded. But there was nothing, no reassuring throb beneath her fingertips. A strangled scream tore from her throat, echoing through the stillness of the surroundings as the chilling reality sunk in.

Hearing the heart-wrenching cry, Kunti and the children came rushing towards her, their faces etched with worry and confusion. Kunti's eyes widened in shock as she took in the scene before her, Madri's tear-streaked face and Pandu's lifeless form lying on the ground.

Kunti's voice trembled as she approached Madri, urgency tinged with disbelief.

Kunti :- Madri, what happened to arya? Tell me, say something!

She implored, wanting desperately to understand the situation, hoping for an explanation that might unravel this tragedy.



Madri trembled as she spoke, her voice choked with guilt and despair.

Madri :- This all happened because of me, Jiji. I should have stopped him...

Her words trailed off into silence, overwhelmed by the sorrow that had gripped her heart. The scene before her was one of immeasurable grief - her husband, Pandu, lay lifeless amidst the wails and sobs that filled the air.

As her emotions got the better of her, Madri couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Her cries pierced the solemn atmosphere, and she collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. Kunti rushed forward, pulling Madri into a compassionate embrace. They held each other tightly, their tears mingling, mourning the irreplaceable loss of their husband.

Nearby, the Pandavs, those five little beacons of future promise and legacy, sat huddled on the cold ground. They encircled their father's body, their innocent pleas interweaving in a heart-wrenching chorus,

"Father, please wake up!"

Yet, no matter how fervent or heartfelt their cries, Pandu remained silent, leaving a void that nothing could fill.

The sorrow wasn't confined to the forest where they mourned; like wildfire, news of Pandu's tragic demise spread swiftly back to Hastinapur. The royal palace, which had always been a grand residence filled with the bustle of royal duties, was now engulfed in a heavy shroud of sorrow and loss. The members of the Kuru dynasty were deeply stricken, and the entire kingdom seemed to resonate with their mourning.

Amidst the chaos of grief, Vidur, the wise and gentle advisor of the court, was dispatched to bring Kunti and her sons back to the safety of Hastinapur. Arriving with a retinue at the forest abode, Vidur's presence was both reassuring and necessary. The final rites for Pandu were carried out with solemn dignity, as per the sacred customs.

But the grief-stricken Madri, who held herself accountable for Pandu's demise, insisted on a heart-wrenching decision of her own. With unwavering resolve, she chose to perform sati, joining her husband in death by ascending his pyre. Her tragic act added another layer of suffering to the already devastated family and set forth a poignant reminder of the love and loyalty that bound them.

Once the rites were concluded, it was time for Kunti and her sons to return. The young princes, along with their mother, packed their sparse belongings, loading them meticulously onto the waiting chariots. As the preparations were underway, Vidur's gaze fell upon something remarkable inside the dwelling - Pandu's mighty bow lay solemnly on a table.

Driven by curiosity and respect, Vidur approached the weapon, a symbol of Pandu's valor and strength. He bent down to lift it, expecting its weight yet finding himself utterly surprised. The bow seemed to possess the weight of a mountain; despite his best efforts, it remained steadfastly in place, unyielding to his attempts. The realization dawned upon him that this was not merely a weapon, but a testament to the extraordinary might of Pandu, a legacy that his sons would one day have to live up to.



Vidur just stood there in the dimly lit chamber, his gaze fixed on the magnificent bow placed on the ancient wooden table before him. The bow seemed to emanate an aura of both mystery and power, its intricately carved body gleaming in the soft light that filtered through the room. A sense of awe and reverence filled the air, mingling with the quiet tension that enveloped Vidur's thoughts.

Vidur's lips moved almost imperceptibly, his voice barely a whisper at first but growing with each word,

Vidur :- How did brother lift it?

The question hung in the air, heavy with curiosity and admiration, as memories of his brother's legendary strength and valor flooded his mind. From behind Vidur, there was a gentle rustling of fabric, and Kunti appeared with graceful steps, her presence like a soothing balm in the midst of his bewilderment. Her eyes shone with a knowing wisdom, and her expression was serene yet resolute.

Kunti :- This bow is bound by Arya's wish. It can only be lifted by our eldest son.

She explained softly, her voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge and the lore of their family. A flicker of determination sparked in Vidur's eyes, and he turned slightly towards Kunti, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.

Vidur :- But we can't just leave it here, bhabishree. We will give it to him once we find him.

He replied, his voice steady and resolved. Kunti, with a serene nod, approached the table where the bow rested. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the weapon's surface as if bridging the gap between the past and the present. She closed her eyes, a silent prayer resonating in her heart as her spirit reached out across the boundaries of the mortal world to communicate with her husband's soul.

Kunti :- Arya, please let me take the bow. I promise to safely hand it over to our eldest son.

She murmured with heartfelt sincerity. With those words, an unexpected sense of calm enveloped her, and she reached for the bow once more. This time, to her astonishment, it lifted easily, as if recognizing her resolve and accepting her plea. The bow, once seemingly immovable, now felt light as a feather in her grasp, as if the very heavens had granted her wish.

With the bow in her possession, Vidur and Kunti departed from the chamber, their hearts filled with a newfound purpose. They embarked on their journey back to Hastinapur, their minds consumed with thoughts of what awaited them. Upon their return, the Pandavs were introduced to the Kauravs, marking the beginning of a complex and tumultuous relationship that would shape their destinies.

In the halls of Hastinapur, the tension between the Pandavs and the Kauravs was palpable, a simmering undercurrent that hinted at the fierce enmity to come. Bheem and Duryodhan, the two potentials of strength and pride, could barely conceal their rivalry, their interactions charged with a barely restrained animosity. Yet amidst this burgeoning conflict, Yudhishthir stood as a beacon of peace, his demeanor calm and composed. Though unaffected by the rising hostilities, he endeavored to find common ground, ever hopeful that unity might prevail over discord. Nonetheless, the differences among them loomed large, and as time passed, it became clear that the seeds of discord had taken root, foreshadowing the epic conflict that lay ahead.



One exciting day dawned as a grand picnic was organized for the young princes of the Kuru dynasty. This event was designed with the noble intention of fostering camaraderie and unity among the princes, giving them a chance to bond and strengthen their familial ties. The lush, sprawling meadows by the riverside were chosen as the venue, with vibrant tents set up and an array of delectable food prepared for the young royals.

However, beneath the surface of this seemingly innocent gathering, dark schemes were being hatched. Shakuni, the cunning and manipulative uncle of Duryodhan, saw this picnic as an opportunity to further his own devious plans. He approached his impressionable nephew, Duryodhan, and planted seeds of jealousy and hatred against Bheem, the one prince whose immense physical strength and valor he saw as a threat to his own ambitions. Crafting a cunning plan, Shakuni persuaded Duryodhan to carry out an insidious act - to feed Bheem a serving of poisoned Kheer, a sweet rice pudding, during the picnic.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the princes, filled with youthful exuberance, arrived by the gentle flowing river. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air as they settled down to enjoy the splendid feast laid before them. Duryodhan, under Shakuni's influence, seized the moment and offered Bheem the prepared bowl of Kheer with a guise of friendliness. Unaware of the treachery, Bheem graciously accepted and consumed it. After Bheem had eaten, Duryodhan executed the next phase of the plot by callously throwing Bheem's body into the river, fully expecting that the poison would do its deadly work.

Yet, fate had other designs. The river, which was believed to have divine properties, did not become a watery grave for the mighty Bheem. Instead of succumbing to the poison, Bheem's body was carried by the currents to the underwater kingdom of Nagas, serpent beings who inhabited the depths. There, by a miraculous twist of destiny, the venom was neutralized, and Bheem was blessed with newfound strength. Arising from the depths, he returned to the surface endowed with the might of seventy elephants, his physical prowess magnified beyond imagination.

Back in Hastinapur, news of the incident quickly spread through the palace corridors. Kunti, upon hearing of the sinister attempt on her beloved son's life, was distraught and resolved to leave the palace, fearing for the safety of her children. She was overwhelmed by the perilous environment in which her sons were being raised, overshadowed by constant threats and sinister plots.

However, as she prepared to depart with her sons, the wise and venerable Bhism, the grand patriarch of the Kuru dynasty, intervened. With his authoritative presence and deep sense of responsibility, Bhism approached Kunti. He gently implored her to reconsider her decision, promising with unwavering conviction that he would himself ensure the protection and well-being of her sons. Bhism's words of assurance provided Kunti with a renewed sense of hope and security.

Convinced of Bhism's sincere commitment, Kunti consented to remain in Hastinapur. With renewed determination, she resolved to face the challenges ahead, fortified by the knowledge that her sons were under the watchful guardianship of one of the most respected and powerful figures in the kingdom. And so, life in the palace resumed, with an ever-present undercurrent of tension, ready to test the resilience and unity of Kunti and her sons.



One sunny afternoon, the young princes were gathered in the sprawling gardens of the royal palace, their laughter echoing through the air as they engaged in a game of ball. The grassy landscape was alive with their youthful energy, each prince vying to outdo the other with skillful kicks and deft passes. This was not just any day; it was a day filled with the innocent joys of childhood, with nature and camaraderie as their playground.

The ball soared high above the heads of the princes, gliding effortlessly through the air, when, with an unfortunate twist of fate, it veered off course and descended into the depths of a nearby well. The sound of the splash was met with a collective gasp from the young royals, who hurriedly gathered around the stone-lined well, peering into its dark, seemingly bottomless chasm as the waters rippled and settled.

Confusion and dismay hung in the air as the princes debated amongst themselves, their brows furrowed in thought, pondering how they might retrieve their beloved ball from the clutches of the well. Ideas were proposed and quickly dismissed, frustration beginning to creep into their playful spirits, when suddenly, the soft shuffle of footsteps approached from behind.

Turning around, their eyes fell upon a figure dressed in the distinctive attire of a sage-a red angvastra draped over his shoulders and a dhoti wrapped around his waist. His silver hair gently caught in the breeze, and his face bore the wisdom of many years, yet his eyes sparkled with a warmth and kindness that immediately put the princes at ease. This was no ordinary man; it was Dronacharya, the revered teacher and mentor, known to possess knowledge far beyond the reach of ordinary men.

With a gentle smile playing on his lips, Dronacharya approached the circle of young princes, who respectfully made way for him, their curiosity piqued by his unexpected arrival. The revered teacher observed the situation with a thoughtful gaze, taking in the challenge that lay before the eager and determined young minds. Little did they know, they were about to learn a lesson far more valuable than retrieving a mere ball.



Dron stood by the well, observing the anxious faces of the young boys surrounding him. Among them were Arjun, Bheem, Yudhisthir, Nakul, Sahdev, and their cousin Vikarn, all students eager to learn from their revered mentor.

Dron :- What happened? Did anyone fall down the well?

He asked with an air of calm authority. Arjun stepped forward respectfully and replied,

Arjun :- No, mahoday. Our ball fell into the well, and we were wondering if you could kindly help us retrieve it.

Dron pondered for a moment before replying, with a hint of a lesson in his words,

Dron :- When you all couldn't protect a mere ball, how will you be able to protect this land?

Bheem immediately responded,

Bheem :- There is a vast difference between a ball and a piece of land, Guruji.

Sensing the growing tension, Yudhisthir, ever the diplomat among the group, intervened.

Yudhisthir :- Will you please do us the favor of helping us get the ball out, mahoday?

He politely asked. Dron saw an opportunity to teach them both a skill and an lesson in resourcefulness.

Dron :- Of course, son, but for that, I need some fine sticks. Can you bring them for me?

Nakul :- Sure, mahoday!

Nakul, Sahdev, and Vikarn chorused, eager to be part of the solution. Dron watched as the young princes scampered off, soon returning with an assortment of sticks. He carefully selected the ones that seemed most suitable, before positioning himself at the edge of the well. Peering into the depths, he spotted the ball-a vivid blue, bobbing just above the surface of the water.

With quiet precision, Dron began his task. He threw the first stick with such accuracy and force that it pierced the water and struck the ball. The next stick he deftly attached to the first, and with a series of expert movements, he formed a makeshift pole long enough to reach the floating ball. A few more careful maneuvers allowed him to hook the ball securely.

As the kids watched in awe, Dron skillfully pulled the connected sticks towards him, drawing the ball upwards until it was finally free from the confines of the well. Handing it over to the boys, he smiled, satisfied with their understanding.

The young princes burst into smiles of relief and gratitude, their spirits lifted.

"Thank you, Guruji!"

They chorused, their voices filled with admiration and appreciation.

Dron nodded with a hint of a smile, watching them as they gathered around the retrieved ball, a newfound respect and understanding forged by the lesson. With a renewed sense of camaraderie, the group of boys thanked their mentor once more and turned away, the echoes of their laughter resonating in the air as they went off to resume their game, each more aware of the responsibility and dexterity that their future roles would require.



Arjun, his face flushed with urgency and excitement, ran through the winding corridors of the royal palace, past the intricately carved pillars and tapestries, until he reached the grand chamber of Bhism. Bursting into the room, Arjun leaned in close to Bhism and eagerly recounted the astonishing tale of a man who had performed a seemingly miraculous feat-drawing a ball out of the deep well using nothing but ordinary sticks. No ordinary feat indeed; this man had executed a trick known only to the most skilled, one imparted by the legendary sage Parshuram himself.

Bhism's eyebrows arched in surprise. This was no coincidence; the realization dawned upon him that the man to whom Arjun referred could only be a disciple of Parshuram. The thought of such knowledge residing in a new visitor intrigued and compelled Bhism. Wasting no time, he resolved to meet this enigmatic figure who, according to Arjun's vivid description, bore the hallmark of a formidable teacher.

Together, with Arjun leading the way, they made their way through the flourishing greenery and quietude of the forest to a secluded ashram. There, amidst the soft rustle of leaves and the distant song of birds, they found him seated in profound meditation, lost in the practice of yog. The air around him seemed charged with energy, the kind that comes from years of disciplined mastery. As they approached, his awareness, keen and unerring, detected their presence, and he gently opened his eyes.

The man, Dron, stood up with a graceful acknowledgment.

Dron :- Welcome, Gangaputr.

He said with a nod, recognizing the prestigious elder instantly.

With a deep reverence in his voice, Bhism responded,

Bhism :- Hastinapur is truly blessed by your arrival, Acharya Dron. I have come at the behest of Maharaj, extending an invitation for you to become the guru of our princes. Your guidance would be invaluable, and I have no doubt that your presence will contribute immeasurably to the honor of the Kuru vansh.

As the words hung in the air, the scene took a turn with the entrance of Shakuni, ever the calculating and shrewd mind, accompanied by the young prince Duryodhan. Shakuni, with a voice seasoned with mindfulness, offered his greeting,

Shakuni :- Pranam, Acharya. Please accept this humble token of our respect and admiration.

Duryodhan, following his uncle's lead, placed a heavy bag of gold coins at the feet of Dron with a practiced graciousness that belied his ambition.

Dron, however, met this gesture with serene detachment. With a gentle, resolute step, he retreated from the tempting pile.

Dron :- I shall accept guru dakshina only upon the completion of their knowledge, Gandhar Kumar.

He declared, his voice steady and unyielding, signaling a refusal to equate wisdom with material wealth. Bhism, observing the scene, took the opportunity to remind those present of the sacrosanct nature of education.

Bhism :- Education should not be weighed against gold currency, Prince Shakuni. The relationship between teacher and student transcends such transactions. It is as sacred as that between the divine and the devotee, built on respect, reverence, and the pursuit of ultimate truth.

In this exchange, the foundations for a future marked by destiny and duty were silently laid, as the figures gathered under the ancient banyan conversed.



As the education of the young princes began in earnest, it soon became evident that Ashwatthama harbored a growing resentment towards Arjun. Despite being the son of the esteemed teacher Dronacharya, Ashwatthama couldn't help but notice that his father seemed to have a particular fondness for Arjun, often praising his skills and abilities above all others. This preferential treatment pricked at Ashwatthama's pride daily, a simmering jealousy brewing within him as he observed the dynamics at the gurukul.

One day, the weight of his emotions became too much to bear, and Ashwatthama resolved to confront his father about his perceived favoritism. The opportunity presented itself one quiet afternoon when they were seated together on the balcony, the sun casting a warm glow as Dron's wife gently fanned them while they enjoyed their meal. Ashwatthama fiddled with his food, his mind a whirl of thoughts, oblivious to the scenic view of the sprawling gardens below.

Dronacharya, ever observant, noticed the shift in his son's demeanor-the usual cheer absent from his features-and softly inquired,

Dron :- Why are your eyes clogged with doubts, my son?

The words were a gentle prod, opening the floodgates of Ashwatthama's suppressed emotions.

Ashwatthama :- If I notice that I am your son...

He began, his voice tinged with the rawness of unheard grievances,

Ashwatthama :- But yet it seems you love Arjun the most, then surely I am bound to feel doubtful and hurt.

His father listened intently, absorbing the gravity of his son's feelings.

Dron :- You said that you wanted to be my student, but it was the will of the divine that made you my son. Remember, this place is a gurukul, where knowledge is revered and merit rewarded. It is not the courtyard of our home, where familial bonds dictate favoritism. Here, the most worthy student has the greater claim.

Ashwatthama, his mind ablaze with the injustice he felt, retorted,

Ashwatthama:- Without a test, how can you decide that Arjun is the best?

Dron, recognizing the earnestness of his son's plea, allowed the corners of his lips to curl into a gentle smile.

Dron :- Very well...

He agreed, a hint of fatherly affection in his voice.

Dron :- Let us arrange for a test that will put your worries to rest and satisfy your conscience. Through this trial, may you find the clarity that you seek.

And with those words, the stage was set for a test that would not only challenge the prowess of his students but also provide answers to matters of the heart. ........... Dronacharya gathered all the young princes who were under his tutelage for a crucial lesson in focus and concentration. It was a bright morning, and the air was filled with anticipation as the princes assembled around their guru, each holding a bow and an arrow, eager to prove their skills. The atmosphere was abuzz with murmurs of excitement and nervousness.

With a commanding presence, Dronacharya addressed the princes, his voice resonating with authority and wisdom.

Dron :- Students! Today's lesson is of utmost importance. You must listen carefully and learn the essence of true focus. Observe that tree over there, where a dummy bird perches. This bird will serve as your target.

He then turned his gaze toward Yudhisthir, the eldest of the Pandavas.

Dron :- Yudhisthir! Step forward and take aim.

H called. Yudhisthir, ever obedient and dutiful, stepped up, raising his bow with steady hands and placing an arrow on its string. His eyes fixated on the distant target.

Yudhisthir :- What do you see?

Dron inquired, testing Yudhisthir's focus. Yudhisthir replied earnestly,

Yudhisthir :- I see the sky, the earth, and the branches of the tree...

Before he could continue, Dron interrupted him, shaking his head.

Dron :- No, that won't do. Duryodhana, step forward and show us what you can see.

He said. Duryodhan, confident and ambitious, stepped up to the mark, drawing his bowstring taut and aiming carefully. But like Yudhisthir, he too was distracted by the surroundings and mentioned seeing the forest and distant hills. Dron, growing slightly impatient, called upon each of the princes in succession: Bhim, Nakul, Sahadev, and even his own son, Ashwatthama. Each one took his turn, but none provided the answer Dron sought. Their eyes wandered, capturing everything but the essence of the lesson.

Finally, Dron's gaze settled on Arjun, the most skilled Pandav, known for his unwavering determination and sharp focus.

Dron :- Arjun! Step forward and prepare to take aim.

He called, as a hush fell over the gathered students. Arjun moved with the calm assurance of one who had been waiting for his moment. He raised his bow and nocked an arrow with practiced ease. As he drew the bowstring back, the world around him seemed to fade, leaving only the target in his sight.

Dron :- What do you see, Arjun?

His voice held a note of expectation. Without hesitation, Arjun answered,

Arjun :- I see only the eye of the bird, Gurudev.

A satisfied smile crossed Dron's face, his eyes reflecting pride in his pupil. Turning briefly to glance at Ashwatthama, whose head was now lowered in acknowledgment of Arjun's superior focus, Dron nodded.

Dron :- Very well, my dear student, release your arrow.

He said softly yet firmly, with a swift and fluid motion, Arjun released the arrow. It sliced through the air with unerring precision, embedding itself perfectly into the eye of the dummy bird. The students erupted into applause, but Dron's attention remained on Arjun, marveling at the young prince's single-minded dedication.

Dron :- Remember this lesson, all of you.

He instructed the princes, his voice both admonishing and encouraging.

Dron :- Success is not just about skill, but about the ability to concentrate one's efforts entirely on the goal. Arjun has shown you the power of focus.

Thus, the lesson ended, with a profound understanding etched into the hearts of the young princes, and Arjun standing as a testament to what true mastery entailed.





Amidst all this chaos and turmoil, where dreams clashed and ambitions soared, there was yet another boy whose aspirations burned brightly. This young lad harbored dreams of becoming a formidable warrior, someone destined for greatness on the battlefield. He was none other than Amrit, Karn's younger brother from their foster family. Little did the world know, Amrit was the earthly incarnation of Rahoo, carrying within him the spirit of fierce determination and age-old legacy.

His dreams, however, were met with resistance at home. His foster parents, who wished for him a life of peace and safety, could not be convinced of the path he yearned to take. Torn between his family's wishes and his own calling, Amrit felt trapped, like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage. Fueled by an unstoppable drive to pursue his destiny, he made the heart-wrenching decision to leave the only home he had ever known.

With steadfast resolve and a steadfast heart, Amrit embarked on a journey that would forever alter his fate. He traveled through trails laden with challenges and across lands unknown, determined to carve out his future. His destination was Sukracharya, the revered sage and teacher known for his unmatched wisdom and knowledge of warfare. Amrit approached him with great reverence and humility, longing to be accepted as a disciple.

Upon reaching Sukracharya's abode, Amrit respectfully requested the great sage to become his guru, yearning to learn under his tutelage. He expressed his unwavering desire to master the skills and wisdom needed to become a true warrior. This was not just a plea for guidance; it was a declaration of his own destiny, a testament to his resolve to rise above his circumstances and etch his name into the annals of history.



Sukracharya, a sage of profound wisdom and mystical knowledge, possessed the unique ability to discern the hidden depths within a person's soul. When he gazed into the eyes of the young child standing before him, he noticed an unusual darkness, a shadow of potential and untapped power that intrigued him deeply. Despite the child's tender age, Sukracharya sensed a rare quality within him that set him apart from others. With a solemn nod, he decided to accept the child as his student, knowing well that this decision could alter the course of both their lives.

Under Sukracharya's guidance, the child's journey into the realm of the arcane began. The sage, renowned for his mastery in the magical arts, was determined to teach Amrit the intricacies of conjuring and controlling mystical forces. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Sukracharya imparted his extensive knowledge. The training was rigorous and often perilous, pushing Amrit's abilities to their limits. Through a combination of discipline and encouragement, Sukracharya helped Amrit explore and harness the full extent of his potential, channeling the darkness within him toward a greater purpose.



There are two different teachings we get from previous tests.

Karn's test proves that if you're determined, you will see your aim in every smallest opportunity you get.

Whereas Arjun's test shows that to be successful one should concentrate only on their goal of life and ignore all other distractions.





Did you like the chapter ?

Can anyone guess what is going to happen ? Who is this girl ? And why is lord Parsuram angry on Karn ?

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