"You did promise Parameshwar to always follow Dharma. You also said that any dharma you missed in past lives, you'd make up for in this one," Krishna reminded him, his voice steady. Vasusena nodded.



"Then why aren't you standing with your brothers, who are linked to you not just by blood but by their just cause?"



-----------------------------------------------



Observing the heated conversation between Krishna and Vasusena from his snowy abode, a subtle smile curved the lips of Parameshwara, a blend of anticipation and serenity making his divine orbs sparkle and his tiger-skin clad, soot-stained, wiry form alive with exultation.



When he should have been immersed in Yoga-Nidra, that same intense meditation which took mortals ages of penance in unfathomably extreme conditions at remote locations to penetrate and draw the attention of Pashupati to their pleas, he now stood awake, leaning towards the screen of mist that performed the dual purpose of revealing the much-awaited encounter between Adhirathi and Vasudeva as well as guard the onlooker from the omniscient gaze of Narayana, waiting eagerly for the answer his current student would give.



The decision Vasusena would make at this crucial moment would shape the future of the universe, determining the course of cosmic events. In his previous life, Vasusena made several wrong choices which crippled his potential. Shiva was very eager to know the choices Vasusena would make in this life.



A deep exhale, filled with the sorrow of wasted potential and the unjustness of justice left the cosmic chest of Uma-pati as he recalled the world where the brilliance of the Suryaputra would have been forcefully snuffed out on a blood-soaked field and immortalized in words on the pages of history.



A world where Vasusena's previous life, akin to the life cycle of a star, was filled with moments of unparalleled brilliance and periods of profound darkness that eventually consumed him without mercy.

Smiling softly Shiva opened another screen of mist to watch the experiences which forged his present student into the person he became once again.





Protostar Phase



The first phase of a star's life cycle is the protostar phase. This is when the foundation of a star is laid, determining the kind of life it will have. This is the time where the star gathers strength... This is the phase where it will be determined weather the star will be a Giant star or a Small Star.



To Princess Pritha, Vasusena's birth could not have been anything but a mistake and a stain on the honour of her adopted father. She had abandoned him at birth, casting him away due to her fears and societal pressures. A child who should have been a prince had been floated away on the river Ganga because his mother placed her beliefs about her honour and her adopted father's honour above the well-being of her firstborn.



****How strange was the way life worked! Whenever Vasusena had encountered Queen Kunti in the halls of his dearest friend's residence she had been polite and interested in his well-being, the very picture of a royal asking after another royal (Where is your affection? Your care? Do you not love me mother?).



He had, in turn, been impressed by her unyielding nature and self-confidence and his respect for her had been immense.

It had taken a revelation under the sunlight for that respect to turn to ashes. He knew then that she was thorns carefully concealed in a bed of roses. He had wondered if his brothers by blood (not by love, never by love. Suyodhana was the only one who deserved his love) had ever had cause to know as well.



It had made him realize how fortunate he had been, to be found by Adhiratha and Radha and raised as their own. (The child he once was would have felt anger for his biological mother for her abandonment but the man he grew into was thankful. Because if she never abandoned him he'd never know Radhamma's love) They had, at least, placed no conditions on their love.****



Radha and Adhiratha cherished him deeply, nurturing him with all the love they could muster, much more than his biological mother ever did.



But a pair of gazelles could never raise a lion to his full potential. The lion will always be a leader, and gazelles will always be followers.



It was not their fault, Shiva smiled, as his student recalled the weary smiles and half-hearted encouragements whenever he returned with the makeshift bow he had created out of the brittle branches of the nearby oak, his palm perforated with splinters and dripping blood on the floor but with the satisfaction of every arrow aimed true.



Vasusena's upbringing might be in the house of a suta. He might be known to the world as sutaputra but the blood that flowed within his veins urged him to be a warrior, destined for greatness on the battlefield. He was born to rule, lead, and conquer—a lion among men. His adopted parents' nature, however, was that of servants, humble and unassuming. Their inherent nature was to serve, to live quietly and dutifully.



Despite the differences in their nature, they loved him unconditionally and encouraged him as best they could, offering their support and care. However, even though he had the love of his parents, society was not merciful. It was often cruel and unyielding in its judgments.



The First Bow and the First Brush with Prejudice...



It had been at the tender age of seven winters that Vasusena had convinced some of his neighbours' children (Not his friends. He had never quite managed to make friends) to venture into the shallow half of the forest, where the great oak tree stood. But he had not told them that the reason he wanted to go there was for the wood of the tree.



"My father told me there are mango trees around. Is that why we are going, Vasu?" Padmavati had asked eagerly, ever impatient at the prospect of fresh fruits. He had not looked her in the eye but had confirmed that yes, they were going to that area. A half-truth.



Slipping away from the ragtag group of young Sutas had been no difficulty once they were ensnared with mangoes and slingshots (His neighbor's son, whose name was a hazy memory for him, seemed to carry them everywhere). He had followed the cloying scent of resins with closed eyes, easily distinguishable from the sweet freshness of mangoes until he stumbled on gnarled, ancient roots.



Upon opening his eyes, he had come face to face with the massive trunk of the tree, thickened and hardened with resins and carved with age, so humongous that even its lowermost branches were far out of his reach. Getting to those branches would be challenging, he remembered thinking. But he was never the kind to shy away from a challenge.



By the time he had gotten enough wood for a Maha-Dhanur (it is a Maha-Dhanur for his child's heart) his angavastram was torn to shreds, his arms were lacerated and bloody, a dull ache had developed in his bones and his eardrums were being attacked by the never-ending yells and calls of his peers, who had finished with the mangoes sometime ago and were gawking at his monkey-like antics. Vasusena did not care as he could make his bow all by himself now.



It took him a week's labor, a bewildered carpenter handing over his spare tools, a few long-suffering pumice stones and exasperated fishermen giving away the thinnest of their cords to put together something resembling a bow (he may have miscalculated the amount of wood required for a Maha-Dhanur since he was barely a third of the height they were in his father's stories. But it came up to his height so no harm was done). The result was a great misshapen arc, resembling the crescent moon, strung with a fishing cord. Vasusena loved it all the same.



From then on whenever his peers hollered at his window to come and play with them, carrying their mud and straw playthings, Vasusena carried his bow. When they played with toys, Vasusena held his bow, feeling every dent and swell, finding the most comfortable position to grip, positioning an arrow (borrowed from the local hunters), familiarizing himself with the course of the wind and aiming just so.



When his mates rolled about in mud he practiced his aim, his focus unwavering. He practiced and practiced till he never missed any target he set upon himself. The blood in his veins scoffed at the childishness of the kids around him, feeling a sense of detachment. He trained when others played, honing his skills with relentless dedication.



His peers would look in his direction and goggle at the bow. They would pause their games to come up and plead with him to join them. Each time he would decline, for his target hadn't been perfected yet and couldn't they see he was busy? They would give each other nonplussed looks and shake their heads in confusion. Eventually they would leave him alone.



Days passed and they stopped bothering him. No one came to his house to call him out to play anymore. He did not care. Those nameless children weren't worth his archery time anyway (except Padmavati. He quite enjoyed her company). When his parents asked him why he didn't go out to play anymore he answered that he didn't like children's games and it wasn't that important, he was quite happy as it was. And he meant it.



Even as Adhiratha and Radha exchanged worried looks over his head, Vasusena hummed contently under his breath, already looking forward to training the next day.



He did not know then that it was not meant to last. For he was the Universe's favorite puppet and puppets weren't supposed to do as they pleased.



It happened a month after the venture to the forest. Adhiratha had to leave for the palace early when an urgent summons arrived for him and Radha had a ritual to conduct for which she had been fasting since the previous day. Vasusena was pleased. This meant he could practice for longer and no one would interrupt. He decided to do what he had been wanting for the past few weeks.



There was a wide open space a little farther from the ghat where the village women washed their utensils and it was perfect for archery. His mother had asked him to avoid that area previously but had not explained why.



When Vasusena had pestered for the reason, she had answered that there were bad people there. This had seemed the silliest thing in the world to seven-year-old Vasusena, young and unafraid when he had promised to do so but not meant it.



So that day, as he soundlessly treaded out of the house, Vasusena shot a guilty look towards his mother- who was sitting in front of the mud idols of the gods with eyes closed in prayer- before making his escape.



He had gotten a prahar's worth of practice when a sharp, violent gasp as well as the clang! of utensils hitting the stony ground drew his attention to his back. It was the wife of the village Mukhiya, who had come for the day's washing and now stood on the first step of the ghat, staring at him with a bloodless countenance, her eyes wide and wild with terror. His position had been half-hidden by a cluster of trees and hence, the women already in the water had not spotted him. But the Chief's wife had only just arrived.



Her reaction drew the attention of the other ladies and one by one, they took in the sight before them. Seeing a seven-year-old Suta boy wielding a bow with a skill beyond what is required for hunting, every single one of them blanched in horror.



Vasusena did not think there was any reason to react so violently. What was happening?



He got his answer when mere moments later the Mukhiya's wife was right in front of him and shook his shoulders hard. Shock jolted his heart and Vasusena stumbled back from the sudden onslaught. "What do you think you are doing, boy?" the woman screeched, making Vasusena wince at the pitch and reply- "I am training myself in archery, my lady".



The woman withdrew her hands but did not move. "You wish to be a hunter to provide for the village?" she rasped.



"No, I wish to be an archer of war. A Rathi warrior" declared Radheya proudly. But it did not have the effect he had intended. There was no clapping, no encouraging smiles, no delightful exclamations. Instead, the Chief's wife stared at him intensely, her eyes burning through his tender skin and scorching his soul. It shook him deeply.



"You...wish to be a warrior", she said, as if she could have somehow misheard.



"A Rathi warrior," Vasusena said exultantly looking up at her...and flinched as her countenance lost another shade of color and she clenched her cotton wrapper tighter around herself, looking around fearfully for any eavesdroppers.



When she had ascertained the area to be free of any onlookers (even the avian kind), she grabbed Vasusena harshly and dragged him back to the shadowy corner from whence he had emerged to speak to her. "Listen to me, are you listening to me?" she said forcefully, making Vasusena jolt and thrash in her hold. His heart cried for his mother but his mind would not let him say it out loud. He was a warrior!



"We. Are. Sutas.", the woman emphasized as if Vasusena might have somehow missed that growing up. "Ours is to handle the reins of the warrior's vehicles, ours is to clear the path for them in war and guide them safely through it. Ours is the place at the fore of the chariot NOT AT THE PAVILION OF IT", she punctuated with a bruising grip at his tender shoulders.



"But why? We too are the same flesh and blood as them. We too wield weapons and learn warfare the same as them. Why can we not stand in a chariot bearing a flag of our own wish and making? Vasusena argued, despite the fear making his heart hammer against his ribcage and every instinct telling him to flee.



The woman drew in a ragged breath. "What kind of half-cocked education are your parents giving you? No boy, Sutas do not learn the same things as Kshtriyas. We wield weapons of lesser magnificence and with lesser skill. Anything more is forbidden. You better get this through your thick skull fast. War is the province of the upper-class caste and they do not take kindly to usurpers."



The words were meant to inspire fear, to make him give up his beloved bow. They only succeeded in making his blood boil and pound harder through his veins.



"I SHALL NOT!" Vasusena roared, as much as his squeaky voice would allow. It was enough to make all the women down in the ghat, who had begun tittering, to fall silent and look their way again and make any passerby stop in their tracks to behold the spectacle. "I shall not give up my bow, my dream. 'Tis my wish to be an archer, a warrior and I will not shy away from it!"



The woman moaned in despair, her shaking hands pulling at her hair, " Destiny, dream...do you think you are the first Suta to be ensnared by these fanciful words, boy? No, you're not. Neither will you be the first to be punished for it and pull everyone else down with you. Do you want 'them' to pour molten lead down your throat?"



Vasusena gasped and jerked out of her hold. Looking up at her angrily, he declared, "You're cruel. You are trying to rip my dream away and scare me as well. I shan't talk to you any further."



The woman stared at Vasusena for a few moments. Her hair was disheveled, her face had not regained any color and her fingers had developed a nervous tick. She was such a pitiable sight that Vasusena would have apologized. But she stood up suddenly, leaving Vasusena dizzy at the abruptness of her movement, and spoke curtly, " So be it. If you're that eager to pave your way towards a brutal downfall, far be it from me to stop you". She turned and threaded back the way she came, her gait slightly unsteady, the utensils she had dropped collecting dust and forgotten.



But to seven-winter Vasusena, the entire encounter seemed like a fever dream, at the end of which he was left with a single question, Who was 'them'?



He would get his answer sooner than he liked.



************

Death in Family



Vasusena had hoped to forget that ordeal entirely. But it seemed to be the beginning of the lifting of the veil from his eyes, the one created from sunshine and roses, cloaking the evils of the earth.



Instead of recognizing his worth, society sneered at him, its disdain palpable. Everywhere he looked, he faced scorn and mockery because of his nature and his ambitions, a constant reminder of his outsider status.



Even his parents could not support him wholeheartedly, fearing societal retribution and the harsh judgment of their peers. Yet he never strayed from his chosen path, remaining steadfast in his determination and resolve. His unwavering spirit pushed him forward, despite all the obstacles he faced. He knew his destiny was not defined by his circumstances but by his actions and choices. This drove him to continue, undeterred by the hardships, constantly striving to prove his worth and fulfill his true potential.



The year he turned eleven winters, he gained yet another reason to push himself past all sane limits.



The day Vasusena's life changed forever started as any other day. Clear blue sky dotted with white fluffs, chirping birds that always came for the grains his Amma set aside just for them, the scent of the Parijat flowers from the tree their neighbor had planted a few years prior and the drooling of his brother Swarnajeet-or Shona as they called him-on Vasusena's shoulder because the former had, as usual, wrapped himself around his elder brother in his sleep.



But Vasusena knew he needed to get up early that day. It was the time for the traditional aarti to Lakshmi- a goddess that the Suta colony, being of the lowermost caste, seldom had access to and since the ceremony occurred once every five years, all members of the colony were expected to be present. Which was why, even though he hated to rise his brother, he needed to get up now.



Sitting up as quietly as possible, Vasusena tried to gently untangle Shona's limbs without waking him up. But that was not to be as, within a moment, Shona stirred, blinking one sleepy eye open and smiling adorably. He had seen all of eight winters and could make even the most vinegar-tempered person turn to mush with that smile. "Suprabhat?"



Vasusena chuckled, "Suprabhat, little rabbit. Up you get now or I'll be late for the pooja and Amma will have both our heads." " 'M, not a rabbit," Shona mumbled sleepily, trying in vain to burrow into his brother- and, in Vasusena's opinion, contradicting his own words- and fall back into sleep's embrace.



When Vasusena poked him- a prelude to tickling, they both knew, if Shona delayed any longer- his younger brother sighed and, sitting up with a theatrical groan, continued, "I would rather be a monkey! Like Lord Hanuman!" he straightened and threw his hand up into the air as if he were about to take flight and rush to Lanka to Devi Sita's rescue.



Vasusena ruffled his hair as he stood to go collect his ritual attire for the ceremony. "You'd need to learn to at least climb trees first without dropping like a sack of potatoes", Vasusena remarked over his shoulder before shutting the door to their hut behind him as he prepared to venture into the river for his morning ablutions, ignoring his brother's indignant squawking.



When he returned, his parents were attired and fully equipped for the puja and Shon was, oddly, bouncing on his heels, his eyes flicking this way and that nervously. But Vasusena did not get to enquire about the reason behind this. No sooner had Vasusena set the cloth basket down- the clothes of his previous day washed and hung in the yard to dry- than his mother descended on him, attacking his hair with a drying towel and his body with fragrant oils and essences that she had made herself from the sap of plants.



By the time Radha finally released him, he was looking around in a daze, his nose brutally assaulted with varying scents of flowers and fruits and his unruly hair mercilessly flattened to his skull with oil. Vasusena struggled not to grimace....and sneeze. Radha usually had a good sense of which scent complimented which and what essence pairings should be declared illegal, but it was clear that the significance of the day was taking its toll on Amma's nerves. He could see Shona struggling not to snicker at his, most likely, constipated expression while Radha, oblivious to this or Vasusena's answering glare spoke, "We must get to the temple now Radheya, Shona. It is already nigh on time and the ceremony will begin at the earliest. Oh, can you imagine the shame if we make it there late?"



Vasusena bit back a sigh and allowed his mother to haul him outside (she would topple over otherwise. He was much stronger than her) with one hand while the other clutched the platter loaded with ingredients. Father had already left for the temple, she told them, and they must be on their way too. Looked like Vasusena wouldn't get to dry his hair after all.



As Vasusena, Radha, and Adhiratha prepared to leave for the temple, Shon tugged at Vasusena's arm, pulling him aside. His big, earnest eyes looked up at his elder brother with a blend of nervousness and hesitation.



"Bhrata, can you tell Amma and Baba that I'll join you later? I want to gather some of my friends and walk to the temple together," he whispered, glancing nervously at their parents.



Vasusena raised an eyebrow. Taking in Shon's jittery form, eyes flitting this way and that and hands fiddling with his angavastram, Vasusena fixed his younger brother with a stern look. "Uh-huh. And the truth?"



Sheepishly, Shon admitted, "Well, not exactly. We were playing catch yesterday near the head purohit's house, and our ball got stuck high up in one of the trees in his courtyard. Today, since the purohit and his wife will be busy with the puja, we planned to sneak in and get it back. It's perfectly safe, Bhrata, no one will be around to see us."



Vasusena frowned, his protective instincts flaring. "Shon, if you're caught, the punishment for a Shudra polluting the pure residence of a Brahmin would be unimaginable. This isn't safe."



Shon huffed in exasperation. "You worry too much, Bhrata. We'll be quick and careful. Just go with Amma and Baba. I'll handle the rest."



Reluctantly, Vasusena nodded, though unease gnawed at him. "Be careful, Shon. And come straight to the temple after."



Shon beamed, "I will, Bhrata. Don't worry."



With conflicted emotions, Vasusena joined his parents, and they set off towards the temple. The path was lined with vibrant flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the morning air. As they approached the temple, Vasusena's thoughts kept drifting back to his brother, a growing sense of dread shadowing his heart.



Inside the temple, the aarati chamber was adorned with garlands and oil lamps, casting a warm, golden glow. The Suta families gathered, their faces alight with anticipation for the rare ceremony. The Purohit's wife bustled around, arranging offerings with meticulous care, but the Purohit himself was conspicuously absent.



One of the women asked, "Where is the Purohit?"



His wife smiled reassuringly. "He'll be here soon. He was delayed by a missive from Kuru Rajpurohit Kripacharya and stayed home to consult his scrolls."



Vasusena's blood ran cold at the mention of Purohit staying home. He prayed desperately that the man would not notice Shon and his friends.



But that was not to be as, moments later, a frantic shout pierced the air. "Radhamma! Radhamma!"



A young boy, one of Shon's friends, burst into the temple, his clothes torn and muddied. The gathered crowd dissolved into chaos as Radha leapt to her feet, rushing outside with Adhiratha and Vasusena on her heels.



Adhiratha reached the boy first, gripping his shoulders. "What happened?"



The boy, shaking and pale, managed to croak out, "Shon... Purohit's house... yard... ball..."



Vasusena didn't wait to hear more. He bolted towards the Purohit's house, his heart pounding in his chest, each step a prayer for Shon's safety. As he turned a corner, an unearthly scream split the air, freezing him in his tracks. It was a scream filled with unimaginable pain and terror, and Vasusena recognized it instantly. It was Shon.



Vasusena stumbled forward, his legs threatening to give way. He felt many hands steady him as he struggled to comprehend the horror unfolding. The Purohit emerged from his house, his face a mask of cold indifference.



"A young Suta child snuck into my chambers and was reciting the Rig Veda," the Purohit declared. "Which, as you all are aware, is punishable by death if committed by any individual of the lower castes. Adhiratha's son must be punished accordingly. I'm taking him to court."



The Brahmin's wife, witnessing the commotion, approached with a look of concern. "What has happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.



One of the elder Sutas, his face etched with sorrow, replied, "The Purohit claims that young Shon was caught reciting the Rig Veda and punished accordingly. But the boy was merely retrieving a ball. How could he have been reciting the scriptures?"



The Purohit's wife looked at her husband, confusion and fear clouding her eyes. "Is this true?" she asked him quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.



The Purohit's expression hardened. "The boy was in my chambers, speaking words forbidden to his kind. I will act as the law dictates."



But the Purohit's words were only the beginning. Dragging Shon's small, trembling form to the court of Hastinapur, the Purohit repeated his lie with a venomous conviction. Despite the law that forbade the killing of a child younger than thirteen years, the Purohit's wrath and influence was not something to be trifled with. Vasusena hoped at least the court would provide justice to him.



---



As the Purohit dragged the haggard and weeping Shon to the court of Hastinapur, Bhishma stood on the dais, his eyes scanning the assembly. The court was a place of law and order, a sacred institution that upheld the dharma of their society. Bhishma prided himself on his adherence to these principles, but the situation unfolding before him tested his resolve.



The Purohit's accusations rang through the hall, his voice tinged with righteous indignation. "This boy, a mere Shudra, was caught in my chambers, reciting the sacred Rig Veda. Such a transgression cannot go unpunished."



Bhishma's face remained stoic, but inside, a storm brewed. The law was clear: no child under thirteen should face death. Yet, the Brahmin's word held immense weight. To challenge him could mean inviting a curse upon the kingdom, a prospect Bhishma could not afford.



He looked down at Shon, a small, trembling figure surrounded by the imposing figures of the court. Bhishma's gaze hardened. In his mind, the varna system was the bedrock of their civilization. Each caste had its place, its duty. The Brahmins, as the custodians of knowledge and spirituality, were to be revered and protected. The Shudras, meant for servitude, were to remain in their prescribed roles. To disrupt this order was to invite chaos.



Bhishma's thoughts flickered to the past, to the teachings of his ancestors. He remembered the stories of how the great kingdoms had fallen when the social order was challenged. To him, this incident was not just about a boy trespassing; it was about maintaining the sanctity of their way of life.



The Purohit's voice cut through his thoughts. "The law dictates punishment. To let this boy's actions go unpunished would be to undermine the very fabric of our society."



Bhishma's jaw tightened. He was torn between the law's explicit prohibition against executing children and the broader implications of defying a Brahmin. He knew the punishment the Purohit demanded was extreme, but he also feared the consequences of allowing a perceived transgression by a Shudra to go unpunished.



He raised his hand, calling for silence. The hall fell quiet, every eye fixed on him. "Our laws are clear, and we have to uphold them. However, the sanctity of the Brahmin's home and the purity of our sacred texts must also be protected. This boy's actions, though he is but a child, threaten that sanctity."



His voice, usually a beacon of justice, now carried a cold, calculating edge. "To maintain the harmony and order of our society, the punishment must be carried out."



A murmur of agreement rippled through the Brahmins in the court, while the others watched in stunned silence. Bhishma's heart was heavy, but his mind was resolute. He signalled for the executioner to step forward, the act of pouring molten lead into the boy's mouth a grim spectacle of deterrence for the lower castes not to reach above their station.



As the executioner approached, Bhishma's eyes met Shon's. The boy's terror was palpable, and for a fleeting moment, Bhishma felt a pang of doubt. But he quickly suppressed it. To him, this was a necessary evil, a sacrifice to uphold the greater good.



When Shon's scream of agony filled the hall, Bhishma's face remained impassive, though his heart pounded. The sight of the boy's convulsing body, the molten lead searing through his young flesh, was a testament to the harsh realities of their world. Bhishma turned his gaze away, his mind already rationalizing the act as a necessary measure to preserve societal order.



"The boy has been punished," Bhishma declared, his voice ringing out with finality when the hoarse unearthly screams of the dying child had faded. "Let this serve as a warning to all who dare defy the sacred order of our society."



As Shon's lifeless body- his face, a barely recognisable mass of charred and blackened tissues- was carried away, Bhishma stood tall, his expression a mask of unwavering resolve. Inside, however, he felt the weight of his decision bearing down on him. He knew he had acted in accordance with his beliefs, but a part of him wondered if there might have been another way. Yet, in the end, his Dharma and fear of divine retribution had guided his hand.



To Bhishma, the sacrifice of one child was a small price to pay for the stability and order of the kingdom. The lower castes, he believed, needed to understand their place, and sometimes, harsh measures were necessary to ensure they did. As he watched the court return to its usual proceedings, Bhishma reaffirmed his commitment to upholding the ancient laws and traditions, no matter the cost.

---

Vasusena's blood turned to ice as he watched the horrific scene unfold. Shon's eyes, wide with terror, searched the crowd for his brother, his protector. But there was nothing Vasusena could do. His legs refused to move, his voice choked by despair. The sight of molten lead, glistening ominously in the executioner's hands, seared into his mind.



Shon's scream was a sound of pure agony, tearing through the hearts of all who heard it. It was a scream that would echo in Vasusena's nightmares for the rest of his life. As the lead was poured, the boy's small body convulsed, his life snuffed out in a brutal act of injustice.



The Purohit, standing tall with smug satisfaction, declared, "Let this be a lesson to all who dare defy the order of our society."



Radha's wail of grief was a sound that tore the heavens. Adhiratha, his face a mask of devastation, cradled his wife as she crumbled to the ground. The Suta villagers, their faces etched with horror and sorrow, murmured prayers for the innocent soul that had been so cruelly taken from them.



Vasusena, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces, cradled his brother's lifeless body, the weight of injustice crushing his spirit. At that moment, he realized the harsh truth of their world. The society that prided itself on purity and piety was capable of unspeakable cruelty towards those it deemed lesser. And no matter how hard they tried, the Sutas would always be seen as outsiders, as 'them.'



The Lakshmi Puja, a ceremony meant to bring blessings and prosperity, had turned into a day of mourning and injustice. The Sutas, bound by their faith and traditions, were left to grapple with the harsh reality of their place in society.



Vasusena, his heart heavy with grief and anger, vowed to remember this day. The world was cruel and unjust, but he would not let his brother's death be in vain. As he stood amidst the shattered remnants of his family's joy, he silently swore to fight against the forces that sought to keep them oppressed.



The memory of Shon's innocent smile, his playful laughter, and his dreams would fuel Vasusena's resolve. He would become a beacon of hope for his people, a warrior against the darkness of discrimination and hatred.



Thus, on a day that had begun with hope and tradition, Vasusena's life was irrevocably changed, setting him on a path that would challenge the very foundations of the world he knew.



Several years later.



Years had passed since that fateful day, and Vasusena had risen to power, known as Angaraj, the King of Anga, a title bestowed upon him by Suyodhana to honor his exceptional skills rather than his caste. One day, as he presided over his court, a child was brought before him for a petty crime. Clad in regal attire, he listened intently to the accusations, the weight of his crown a constant reminder of his responsibilities.



Unfamiliar with the laws of the land, he instinctively ordered a punishment. His minister, Sahastrabuddi, stepped forward and respectfully reminded him, "Your Majesty, no child under thirteen should be punished."



Vasusena was taken aback, the old wound of his brother's unjust death reopening in his heart. He turned to Sahastrabuddi, his voice trembling slightly. "Is it true?"



"Yes, Maharaaj." The humble minister spoke kindly.



"Even if a Suta child reads the Vedas, is this rule still applicable?"



Sahastrabuddi smiled trying to hide his confusion, not understanding the depth of Vasusena's question. No one knew about his brother. The people knew about his living brothers but no one knew about the brother their King loved the most. "No child should be punished for such a crime, my king. Our laws protect all children equally, regardless of their caste."



"If a child got molten lead poured into his mouth for reading Vedas..."



"Then it is a wrong judgment. We are a civilized kingdom, Maharaj." Shastrabuddi answered him softly.



"If such a judgment is given. What is the reason behind it?" He asked desperately.



"Even daityas are not that cruel, Maharaj," Sahastrabuddi replied in an even tone trying to conceal the unease he felt. Wetting his lips with a sip of wine he continued. "Why are you asking this, Maharaj?"



The revelation hit Vasusena like a thunderbolt. His mind flashed back to the court of Hastinapur, where his beloved Shon had been dragged, accused of a crime he didn't commit. The memory of molten lead being poured into his brother's mouth, the terror in Shon's eyes, the scream that had haunted his dreams ever since—all came rushing back.



Vasusena's knees buckled, and he sank onto his throne, his regal composure shattered. The court fell silent, the gravity of the moment palpable. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, unable to contain the flood of emotions. The ministers and courtiers watched in stunned silence, the usually unflinching king now vulnerable and broken.



"All of you please leave." He spoke as his eyes grew blurred with tears.



The entire court disassembled but not before they saw their king smashing all the furniture in the court wailing in sorrow.



He whispered to himself, "Shon... all this time, you were innocent. Even the trumped-up charges against you are not enough to sentence you to death. They lied... they lied to us."



Why? Why should his brother die? Bhishma and that bloody Brahmin... sentenced an innocent child to death. What had he or his brother ever done to those bastards who called themselves dharmis?



"Maharaj..." It seems like Sahastrabuddi was still in the court. He kneeled beside him and started to rub his shoulders soothingly. "They say if you have sorrow in your heart... it would lessen by sharing it with others."



"You said even daityas would never give such a punishment, Maanyavar," Vasusena spoke in a broken tone. "Then Mahaamahim Bhishma is worse than a daitya. He gave that punishment to my brother."



The minister took the young King in his hands and gave his shoulder for his King to cry trying to hide his shock.



---



The Prejudiced teacher...

//Gurur Brahma, Gurur Vishnu, Gurur Devo Maheshwaraha

Gurur Sakshaat Param Brahmah, Tasmai Shree Guravey Namaha//



They say a teacher is same as Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. It was said equal to a God... mother, father and teacher are to be respected.



When he grew older, Vasusena was sent to train under Kripacharya and Dronacharya, the warfare teachers of the Kuru clan. Contrary to what most people think, Vasusena did learn under Dronacharya, absorbing knowledge with great eagerness. That's why, even when he was insulted by the teacher of the Kuru clan, he kept silent out of respect and a deep sense of duty, swallowing his pride. After all, a teacher for a day is a father for life.



Not many people understand that the education given to Kshatriyas and Sutas was very different, a stark contrast in opportunities. He actually learned about astras under Dronacharya, the mystical weapons of immense power. But the method of teaching was different, tailored to the societal hierarchy that dictated their roles.



Sutas also had a respectable position in the varnas, serving essential roles in society. They served as charioteers, spies, soldiers, and more; their contributions were vital. The charioteers knew the effects of astras, understanding their complexities.



When a Kshatriya warrior fought in a war, his charioteer was the one he should trust wholeheartedly, a bond of life and death. The charioteers gave them advice on what the warrior should do and pulled them out of tight spots in war, a crucial role. So they had to know the astras, the intricacies of these powerful weapons.



Suta charioteer education focused on recognizing the astras and making split-second decisions on how to steer their riders from certain death. If an astra could not be countered by their warrior, they should guide them out of danger to the best of their ability as a strategy for survival.



But they were not taught how to use the astras, knowledge was kept from them. They were taught the knowledge of how to recognize astras but not how to use them. They were just given a glimpse into that knowledge but not the full version.



Vasusena learned of the astras from Dronacharya. He didn't learn the knowledge on how to wield and recall the astras because that knowledge was reserved only for Brahmins and Kshatriyas.



For a child like him, it was like dangling a piece of meat in front of a tiger and pulling it away because it was not reserved for him. To Vasusena, it was a constant reminder of the disparity based solely on birth. This constant reminder fueled his determination and ambition, driving him to prove his worth despite the limitations placed on him by society. The unfairness of the situation only made him more resolute in his pursuit of excellence.



As he grew, Vasusena started to shine brightly, displaying unmatched skills in archery and combat. His talents were undeniable despite being the son of a charioteer. In his community and even among the princes, there was no one, except Arjuna, who could be actually called his equal in anything, which was a testament to both his passion and abilities.



He was proud of this, and it was a source of great satisfaction for him. Despite not having as many resources as the princes, he was the second-best among them, which was a remarkable achievement. He loved archery with all his heart, but he would never have the full education just because of his caste due to a cruel twist of fate. He was more than capable of learning the advanced techniques, but they would be forever out of his reach because society had declared so.



This was the first time he saw the injustice in the world, a harsh reality. The first seeds of discontent, which started with the death of his brother, began to grow slowly into a simmering hatred.





**Inside Guru Dronacharya's Ashram**



The atmosphere in Guru Dronacharya's ashram crackled with tension as Vasusena stood before the revered guru, his demeanor defiant, his eyes ablaze with determination.



"Gurudev," Vasusena began, his voice firm despite the hostile glares from noble-born students around him, "I seek knowledge of the sacred astras. Shouldn't one's worth be judged by their skills and dedication rather than their birth?"



Guru Dronacharya's usually composed face contorted with disdain. He had faced challenges before, but none as audacious as this. The noble-born students shifted uncomfortably, their faces twisted with a mixture of scorn and curiosity.



"Vasusena," Guru Dronacharya's voice sliced through the tense silence, dripping with disdain, "do you not understand the sanctity of our traditions? You, a lowly Suta, dare to speak of astras? You, who are but a stain upon the purity of our lineage?"



Vasusena's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Respect should be earned through merit, not birth," he retorted, his words cutting through the air like a knife. The noble-born students exchanged incredulous glances, some scoffing under their breath.



"Enough!" Guru Dronacharya thundered, his voice reverberating off the walls of the ashram. "You are nothing but a deluded fool, Vasusena! A Shudra will never ascend beyond his station, no matter how much he dreams!"



The tension in the room thickened, the other students watching with a mixture of discomfort and fascination.



"Gurudev," Vasusena pressed on, his voice unwavering, "if I do not challenge these boundaries, how will anything ever change?"



Guru Dronacharya's face flushed crimson with rage. "You insolent wretch!" he seethed, his eyes blazing with contempt. "You think yourself worthy to stand among princes and warriors? You, who are destined for nothing more than to respect and serve your superiors?"



The noble-born students, despite their initial shock, now watched with a growing sense of vindication. Some nodded in agreement, their respect for Guru Dronacharya swelling as he put Vasusena in his place.



"Your impudence knows no bounds," Guru Dronacharya continued, his voice dripping with scorn. "Leave this ashram at once, Vasusena! You are not fit to tread upon these sacred grounds, let alone aspire to wield the knowledge of astras!"



Vasusena stood tall, his face a mask of defiance and disappointment. "I will not be bound by your prejudice, Gurudev," he declared, his voice steady, his eyes locking defiantly with Dronacharya's. "I will find my own path, even if it leads me away from here."



Guru Dronacharya's gaze bore into Vasusena like a dagger. "Go then," he spat, his voice laced with disdain. "Go and live out your miserable existence. You are a blight on your caste. You who are to receive moksha by serving faithfully refuse to do so and aspire to stand on the pavilion of the chariot. May the gods show you the folly of your ambitions!"



With a downcast glare hiding his anger, Vasusena turned on his heel and strode out of the ashram, the weight of rejection heavy upon his shoulders. The noble-born students watched in silent approval, their admiration for Guru Dronacharya deepening as they witnessed the swift and harsh justice meted out to the audacious Suta.



"Let that be a lesson to all who dare challenge their place," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction.



The ashram returned to its usual order, the noble-born students resuming their training with renewed vigor. Guru Dronacharya, his chest heaving with a mix of triumph and resentment, turned away.



"Let him serve as a reminder," Dronacharya muttered to himself, his voice cold and resolute. "A reminder that birth and station are immutable, and those who defy them are doomed to failure."



The noble-born students nodded in agreement, their faith in Guru Dronacharya reaffirmed. As they continued their studies, the memory of Vasusena's defiance lingered, as cautionary tale that echoed through the halls of the ashram.



No one knew the Suta they sneered at became one of the best archers in their generation. No one even in their wildest dreams could imagine a child with thirteen years less education compared to them in his later life will turn into a Maharathi who is the most dangerous man on the side of Prince Suyodhana.



Adhiratha paced the length of his modest home, anxiety etched deeply into his weathered face. The news of Vasusena's confrontation with Guru Drona had spread like wildfire through Hastinapur. To challenge a revered Brahmin and teacher was unthinkable, and for a charioteer's son to do so was an act of sheer audacity. Adhiratha knew the consequences could be dire.



"Vasusena!" he called out, his voice echoing through the house. "Come here at once."



Vasusena, his expression still smoldering with the remnants of his defiance, appeared from his room. "Father, you called?"



Adhiratha looked at his son, a mixture of pride and fear swirling in his eyes. "Is it true, what I've heard? Did you confront Guru Drona?"



Vasusena stood tall, his chin lifted in defiance. "Yes, Father. I did. I sought the knowledge of the astras, but he denied me because of my birth."



Adhiratha's heart ached with a father's pride and a servant's fear. "My son, do you realize the gravity of what you've done? Defying Drona is akin to defying the very order of our society. You will be ostracized for this."



Vasusena's jaw tightened. "I do not care, Father. I will not be bound by the shackles of my birth. I promised myself that I'll find a teacher and become a warrior better than any of Guru Drona's students. I seek your permission to leave Hasthinapur."



Adhiratha took a deep breath, his mind racing. He knew Vasusena's determination was unyielding, but the world outside their home was unforgiving. The only way for Vasusena and their family to weather the scorn was to leave Hasthinapur. But he's still a child.



Radha, Vasusena's mother, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped forward, her eyes brimming with tears. "No, Adhiratha! We cannot send our son away. He is but a child."



Adhiratha turned to her, his expression stern but filled with sorrow. "Radha, it is not our decision to make. Vasusena has made his choice."



Vasusena gently held his mother's hands, his own eyes misty but resolute. "Mother, I must do this. I must prove my worth to the world, and to myself."



Radha clung to him, her tears soaking his tunic. "But you are our son! How can we let you go? How will you survive without us?"



Vasusena embraced her tightly, then gently pried her arms away. "I will be fine, Mother. I promise. I will find a teacher who will recognize my worth. I will become a warrior greater than any of Drona's students."



Adhiratha placed a hand on his son's shoulder, a gesture of both support and farewell. "Go, my son. Seek out your destiny. Ayushman Bhava."



As Vasusena gathered his belongings and prepared to leave, Radha's sobs filled the house. Adhiratha held her, his own heart breaking. "We must let him go, Radha. It is the only way."



After Vasusena had left, the house felt unbearably empty. Radha turned to Adhiratha, her voice trembling with grief and anger. "Why did you let him go? What if something happens to him?"



Adhiratha's eyes were filled with a sorrow that matched her own. "If he stays here, Radha, he'll face derision from everyone in our society. He'll be filled with hate. Compared to the beasts, rakshasas etc outside the walls of this Kingdom... the people within the walls are more cruel. He's the blessing given to us by Suryadev. The ruler of Navagraha himself will protect our son. I want him to be happy, Radha. I know no Brahmin will ever accept him due to tradition but if we don't let him go, he'd resent us for not allowing him to fight for his dreams."



************************************************



So, he left Hastinapur in search of a teacher who was willing to teach him astras in his quest for knowledge. History will remember him as a person jealous of Arjuna, and despite being more than ten years older than him, he wanted to learn astras for the sole purpose of defeating and killing the third Pandava.



Most of that was true, but people tend to forget that both he and Arjuna started their training at the same time. However, Arjuna was always given a better education. One of them received only half an education because of his caste, while the other had everything given to him, a stark contrast. What Vasusena loved was kept out of his reach because of his caste, and it made him a bitter and jealous person.



Vasusena superimposed everything wrong about the varna system into the image of Arjuna, the favourite of both Bhishma and Drona. One of them killed his brother unjustly and the other can't even see his potential too blinded by the traditions.



Arjuna, who had the best of everything just because he was born a Kshatriya. All his bitterness was concentrated towards the third Pandava and he believed that if he ever managed to beat the third Pandava he could prove the world wrong. It was wrong, but it was the mistake he made in anger against the world and the society he lived in.



Many people say Vasusena and Arjuna received equal education because Vasusena learned under Sage Parashurama. This is a misconception and it is certainly not true.



Vasusena wandered all over Aryavarta for eleven long years, searching for a teacher who was willing to teach him. He begged more than a hundred teachers, who rejected him, the fools too blinded by the varna system to understand the diamond in the rough presented to them.



He never gave up, even when faced with rejection after rejection, his determination unwavering. This journey itself was a testament to his resolve and his unyielding quest for knowledge, despite the unfairness of his circumstances.



Vasusena's perseverance was admirable, yet it also highlighted the deeply ingrained prejudices of the time. Each rejection only fueled his desire to prove himself, to rise above the limitations imposed on him by birth. He encountered many who never even bothered to see his potential just because of societal norms.



This long and arduous journey shaped his character, instilling in him a resilience that would define his legacy. But it also eroded his morals. His struggle was not just against the world but also against the constraints within his own heart and mind, battling the bitterness which he ultimately failed. Because even a rock would be worn down by the flowing river.



He was consumed by such desperation that he was willing to forsake his morals for the cherished love he held for the weapon. His burning desire was to demonstrate to the world that even a Suta could ascend to greatness when afforded an opportunity. This endeavour represented not just a quest driven by passion but also an unwavering pursuit of recognition and validation.



Not many people understand that it was eleven years wasted while Arjuna was continually learning under Dronacharya. He studied under Sage Parashurama for only three and a half years.



The Father who conspired to kill his son...



Parashurama Kshetram... fourteen and half years after Vasusena left Hasthinapur.



Vasusena had become Sage Parashurama's most beloved student, their bond deepened by endless hours spent together, delving into the secrets of warfare and philosophy. The sage, pleased with Vasusena's dedication and thirst for knowledge, imparted his advanced fighting techniques with unparalleled enthusiasm. Vasusena, in turn, absorbed every lesson, every nuance, with the fervour of a parched earth soaking up the monsoon rains.



One day, after an exhausting hunt in the dense forests, Sage Parashurama, weary from their exertions, sought respite. Vasusena, ever attentive to his guru's needs, found a shaded spot under a large tree and offered his lap as a pillow. With a contented smile, the sage lay down and quickly fell into a deep, restful sleep, his trust in Vasusena absolute.



As Vasusena watched his mentor sleep, he marvelled at the serene expression on Parashurama's face. How could such a fierce warrior look so innocent in slumber? Pride swelled within him, knowing the sage's confidence in his vigilance. Yet, fate had a cruel twist in store for Vasusena.



The ground beneath them was teeming with insects. As Vasusena sat immobile, careful not to disturb Parashurama, a massive worm began its slow ascent up his thigh. Vasusena tried to brush it away, but any movement risked waking the sage. Resolute, he endured, even as the worm's sting pierced his skin.



The worm burrowed deeper, its sting like fire in Vasusena's flesh. Blood flowed freely from the wound, soaking his garment, inching towards the sleeping sage's head. The pain was excruciating, but Vasusena clenched his jaw, suppressing any sound.



The stench of blood eventually roused Sage Parashurama. As he awoke, he felt the warm, sticky fluid on his cheek and saw the blood-soaked cloth. He bolted upright, his gaze falling upon Vasusena's pain-stricken face and the wriggling worm. With a flick of his hand, the worm dissolved in the pool of blood, revealing a towering figure.



"Who are you?" the sage demanded, his voice cold and authoritative.



"I am Dansa, an Asura," the being replied in a deep, resonant voice. "You have freed me from this cursed form. Thank you, mighty Parashurama."



The sage's eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."



Dansa bowed his head. "I belong to the Krita Yuga. In my youth, I fell in love with Sage Bhrigu's wife." Parashurama's eyes grew enraged. Sage Bhirugu was his ancestor. Seeing his anger the asura hurriedly explained. "For this transgression, Sage Bhrigu cursed me to live as a worm until I met a member of his clan who would release me. You, great Parashurama, are my liberator." With that, the Asura vanished.



Parashurama turned his penetrating gaze back to Vasusena, who was visibly shaken. "You are no Brahmin," the sage declared, his voice laced with anger. "No Brahmin could endure such pain without flinching. You have the resilience of a Kshatriya. Tell me the truth, who are you?"



Vasusena took a deep breath, knowing he could no longer hide. "I am Vasusena, son of Radha and Adhiratha, a charioteer by birth. I disguised myself as a Brahmin because I feared you would not teach me otherwise. I wanted nothing more than to learn the art of warfare from you."



Parashurama's face hardened, his disappointment palpable. "You deceived me. You claimed Brahminhood to learn what was forbidden to your caste. Your deceit will not go unpunished, Vasusena. I curse you! The knowledge you have gained through this deception will betray you when you need it most."



Vasusena was struck dumb, his heart shattering at the sage's words. He wanted to protest, to explain his desperate desire for knowledge, but he knew it was futile. Parashurama's judgment was final, his wrath unyielding. Vasusena, now cursed, could only watch in silent agony as the sage walked away, leaving him to grapple with the bitter consequences of his ambition and deceit.



The weight of Parashurama's curse bore down heavily on Vasusena. However when Sage Parashurama's wrath cooled down he gave Vijaya Dhanush to Vasusena.



History will state that Lord Parashurama discovered that Vasusena was lying to him after three and a half years and then cursed him. That's what the whole world will know. But what won't be written is that the teacher already knew the student's lie and was waiting to trap him and curse him.



He then chased him off. In the middle of his education, Vasusena was chased off. He received only half an education from Parashurama.



Vasusena learned astras but not about complete warfare because he didn't know that he needed to learn more. He learned how to fight with weapons, astras, and Divyastras, a specialized knowledge. His partial avatar gave all the knowledge he had about astras and weapons, and that's all.



But warfare is not just about astras and weapons. It is also about the art of wearing armour, knowledge of battle formations, and many other intricate details, and it is a comprehensive discipline. In addition to mastering astras and weapons, one must also understand the strategies, tactics, and subtleties of warfare to be truly proficient.



After teaching Vasusena the weapons and astras, Parashurama cursed him and chased him away in the middle of his training. His shame made Parashurama give Vasusena the Vijaya Dhanush, but his duty as the Avatar of Vishnu stopped him from giving the full education Vasusena needed.



In the middle of his education, Vasusena was chased out of the ashram. It took Vasusena two years to return to Hastinapur, a long absence. During all this time, Arjuna was still training, becoming stronger and more skilled. Arjuna had over thirteen years of higher-quality education and had more significant knowledge than Vasusena.



Sage Parashurama was one of the avatars of Vishnu; he already knew that Vasusena lied to him due to his divine insight on the very day Vasusena came to him for training. He could have chased Vasusena off the very first day the Suryaputra had come to him. He could have immediately rejected him. But he never did that because it was a deliberate choice.



This strategy was a calculated move to limit Vasusena's growth and potential in the art of warfare. By doing so, Parashurama ensured that Vasusena, despite his formidable skills, would always have a critical gap in his knowledge and training, thereby maintaining a balance in the epic conflict that was to come.



He did so because if Vasusena had been rejected by Parashurama, he would have eventually gone to Shukracharya to learn under him. By asking Parashurama to teach Vasusena, Krishna ensured that Vasusena received only partial education, preventing him from becoming an even greater threat.



If Vasusena ever went to Shukracharya, the daitya guru would have seen the potential in Vasusena and he would have nurtured it unconditionally. He was never the kind who cared about niyathi, varna, and other things. Kavyasaktaya was a man who too faced prejudice in his life and he would have seen himself in the young warrior and made sure to make him an all-rounded person.



He was a teacher and the only thing he was concerned about when someone came to him for his teachings was the competence and the passion of his student.



If he learned that the Vishnu avatar himself had marked Vasusena for death, out of spite he would have taught him even more. Vasusena would have been a warrior who had to be personally killed by Krishna if we learnt under Shukracharya's guidance.



After all, it was under his guidance that Meghanad, also known as Indrajit, became such a terrifying warrior, a testament to his teaching. Despite not knowing how to teach all Tridev astras, he would have made Vasusena do austerities and obtain them.



But to strangle Vasusena's potential, Krishna requested his senior avatar to take the Jyesta Kaunteya under his tutelage and curse him so he could be killed off easily.



Vasusena's words to Parashurama in this life might be cruel, but they are not a lie. They represent a harsh truth. Whatever flowery words the Vishnu avatars might tell themselves, it was still a betrayal to the young man who loved them unconditionally. This betrayal was not just a simple act of deceit; it was an act of malice. A guru was supposed to lead his students to be good people, not stunting their growth and plotting their death.



And yet the child never thought ill of his teacher. There is a reason why Vasusena always respected Krishna despite his friend loathing the eighth avatar of Vishnu. He felt the essence of his teacher in Krishna and gave Keshava the same respect he always gave to his teacher. They betrayed such a child.



Despite the grand narratives spun by the avatars, the reality remains that a devoted and loyal young man was sacrificed for the larger cosmic plan, an act that cannot be easily justified or forgotten.



Vasudeva even asked the earth to curse him to cripple him further unfairly. Indra created an illusion that made Vasusena kill the cow of the Brahmin, a deceit which led him to be cursed. Like thorns, Vasusena's growth was strangled by his upbringing, society, and curses.



His early life, the first phase of the life cycle, where his future would be determined, was strangled by the expectations and prejudices of society and by the mechanisms of Vishnu. The boy had the very world against him from the moment he took his first breath. His formative years were so strangled, and the child that was supposed to become a massive star turned into an average star, a stifled potential due to the mechanisms of the Vishnu avatar.



Despite these setbacks, after his tutelage under Sage Parashurama, Vasusena turned into a sun that was small but brilliant in its glory. His brilliance was undeniable, yet it was confined by the numerous curses and societal constraints placed upon him.



Even with these limitations, Vasusena's light shone brightly, a testament to his innate potential and resilience. His journey, marked by struggles and obstacles, was a reflection of how his destiny was constantly manipulated by divine interventions and earthly prejudices. Despite all efforts to stifle his growth, Vasusena managed to become a force of nature who was called Arjuna's equal. He should be much more yet the Lord of the Universe himself prevented him from becoming a colossal force he was capable of becoming.



An unusual friendship deeper than any bond...



For a child who was hated by the very world, he made a rare bond with Suyodhana. He found a friend who accepted and loved him for all he was. The odd yet beautiful friendship between Suyodhana and Vasusena was a unique relationship, something that cannot be put into words.



The beginning of their bond was born out of pragmatism on both sides, and it was a friendship that started for self-interests. Vasusena wanted to show the world that even a Suta could be great when given a chance. The chance was given to him by Jyeshtha Kaurava. Duryodhana needed an archer who could defeat Arjuna, and Vasusena proved himself to be a threat to the middle Pandava.



Yet, the friendship bloomed so beautifully that it can be compared to a lotus that bloomed on dirty soil. The place it started from was dirty, but the friendship they had was pure.



The two children, who would never have become friends in any other situation, understood each other in a way no one ever could due to fate. Their bond was beautiful because both of them knew and experienced what it meant to be hated by the world.



This friendship would have made Duryodhana a kinder person if Vasusena had stayed true to his morals. If he could have been more forceful and not strayed away from the path of Dharma, Duryodhana would have become Suyodhana again.



Duryodhana loved Vasusena more than the throne, more than his brothers, and even more than his own life. If Vasusena had ever threatened to leave him, Duryodhana would have eventually changed his ways.



Their relationship would have been a testament to the transformative power of true friendship. It was still a beautiful friendship no doubt about that. Despite the self-serving beginnings, it evolved into something genuine and profound.



The bond they shared was so deep that it had the potential to alter destinies and change hearts. Duryodhana's love for Vasusena was so strong that it could have led him back to the path of righteousness, had Vasusena stayed true to his morals instead of changing his nature out of gratitude for his friend.



Their friendship should be remembered as a rare and shining example of how even the most unlikely connections can blossom into something truly extraordinary and yet all it would be remembered for is that both of them pulled each other deep into adharma. Such a friendship remained as a cautionary tale.



This bond between Vasusena and Duryodhana was more than just a strategic alliance; it was a lifeline for both of them. In a world that scorned them, they found solace in each other.



This rare bond was characterized by mutual respect, deep understanding, and unwavering loyalty. Vasusena, despite his own sufferings, provided a sense of assurance that none of his elders ever gave the young prince and he became the strength of Duryodhana. Similarly, Duryodhana's unwavering support for Vasusena soothed the wounds the society left on his heart.



But Vasusena chose his gratitude towards his friend over his Dharma, and he supported him even in his evil schemes in a tragic display of loyalty. The final nail in the coffin was during that accursed Dyut Sabha where he insulted a woman who didn't deserve it.



He was deeply ashamed of his actions, but the words, once released like arrows, could not come back. This moment marked a turning point in his life, a stark realization of the path he had chosen. The sun had died, and it reached its next life cycle, the Red Giant, a phase of decline. Vasusena's inner turmoil grew as he grappled with the consequences of his unwavering loyalty and the moral compromises he had made.





2nd Phase in the life cycle of a star- Red Giant.



The Red Giant phase was the beginning of the death of the star.



The loyalty that once seemed noble now revealed its darker side, a grim reality. Like a star exhausting its hydrogen and expanding into a red giant, Vasusena's life swelled with the consequences of his misjudgments. His fierce pride and refusal to abandon Duryodhana, even when the path was clearly wrong, only inflated his downfall, a tragic flaw. The grandeur of his abilities was overshadowed by the instability of his moral compass, which had tainted his brilliance.



But this is also the stage where the star glows at its brightest. He performed Digvijayayatra and conquered all four directions for his friend, a testament to his power and the love he had for his friend. All over Aryavartha, he became a warrior who was feared and respected. His prowess on the battlefield and his unyielding dedication earned him a legendary status.



He became well-known all over Aryavarha as Daanveer, and during this time, he let go of his jealousy and became kind. His generosity and benevolence towards others marked a significant transformation in his character. He gained nine sons through his wives, and he felt blessed with a sense of fulfilment. These years, despite the looming shadow of his past actions, were filled with personal growth and achievements.





3rd Phase in the Life cycle of the star- Planetary Nebula. The culling of the strength of the star.



But as all stars approach death, this star too started the next phase of his life, the Planetary Nebula, a phase of decline. The phase in which most of the strength of the star will leave, a weakening. In this phase, he was weakened in all aspects.



He lost battle strength when he gave away his armor when Indra came in the disguise of a Brahmin, when the King of the Gods disguised himself as a Brahmin and swindled him of his kavach and kundals.



Vasusena was warned of the deception of Indra beforehand, and yet he stayed true to his morals. He gave favour to the father of his enemy even though it meant his death. Some might say it's a fair trade. But a single-use weapon for his life is not an equal trade by any means.



The eighth incarnation of Vishnu exploited loopholes, he took away his physical and mental strength and rendered him weak and toothless just for his dear Parth.



He already betrayed his friend several times in his life. Vasusena loved Suyodhana very much. He loved him so much that in the fear of losing their friendship... he never stopped him from walking on the path of adharma. That was a betrayal to the very essence of their friendship. Hell he even encouraged and instigated Suyodhana against Pandavas. There is a reason why he was called the trunk of adharma.



He changed completely after seeing the Vishwaroop of Sri Krishna. He knew he was fighting on the side of adharma. Yet he decided to fight with his full might out of the love he had for his friend.



The God who came in a guise of a well-wisher...

The sun, too, is one of the stars, shining brightly in the vastness of space, a beacon of light in the cosmic expanse.



Or so Vasusena had been told when his cousin (could cousins be fair-weather?) had come to him on the shores of a river, sparkling with the brilliance of said light.



The cousin began to spin a tale of devotion and its much-loved offspring, a blessing; of impulsiveness and its acrid side-effect, helplessness; of a princess who had entered the second phase of life too soon and her golden progeny; of countless tears and a tumultuous river; of a silk-padded basket, overladen with flowers (since when, Vasusena wondered, did flowers make an acceptable substitution for maternity?) and a childless charioteer, in the right place at the right time.



Vasusena never forgot the day Keshav came to him to ensnare him and break him psychologically. In the evening of that fateful day, he had simply gone to the riverbank, as he used to sometimes on idle days, to think in silence and learn whatever nature had to teach him. That morning he was a prideful man who was willing to fight and defeat Pandava Sena or die trying for his dear friend. And when he returned it was with a heavy heart and his irrevocably shattered soul.



He wanted to snort bitterly whenever that thought crossed his mind. He had learnt no bird speech that day. Nor the exact color of Nayantara leaves under sunlight. But what he had learnt was what he vowed to never forget. And even in the next Vasusena never forgot that lesson. A mother's love had limits. Justice was all good only from the descriptions. And Narayana was crueler than anyone knew or would ever know.



The son of Adhiratha looked at Krishna, standing on the banks of the river, trying to convince him to join those he had been unfortunate enough to share a womb with on that day. Trying to make him believe that his birth family would love him.



But what kind of love would that be? The unconditional and selfless kind? But his mother had made the conditions of her love known already.



The kind that came from shared blood? What use was that when he had more of it from those who chose him than those who fate had saddled him with could ever give him?



Krishna might speak honeyed words about a princess helplessly trapped in the shackles of society but Vasusena was not stupid. Which king would ever turn away a demigod born of the eldest son of Aditi? Which kingdom would scorn and not celebrate the physical form of the blessing of a God? Of a notoriously ill-tempered sage?



Which loving mother would throw away her supposedly beloved child like a sin by leaving him to the mercy of the elements, instead of finding him an innocuous and gentle foster family?



And even the temptations made by Krishna were not actually worth anything. They were no more than a curse.



The truth was never as simple as the son of Devaki would have the world believe. Despite being the firstborn of Kunti, King Pandu never adopted him from Niyoga. He could never be a Prince of Gajarajya. He'd be a royal bastard, a stain on the character of his mother.



The truth, if revealed, would only dishonour her. And the little affection that was left in him for the Queen Mother, even after the reveal, would not allow him to dishonour the woman who had borne him in her womb for nine moon turns.



By adopting him, his father gave him a caste to call himself to be a part of. He might be a Kshatriya by birth but till his death and even after, he'll always be a sutaputra. He became a Kshatriya by defeating all the kingdoms in Digvijaya Yatra but his father will always be Adhiratha. By birth, he might be Suryaputra but by niyoga, he'd always be Adhirathi and he'll always be a sutaputra.



He may be suta by adoption and even though the world sneered at him... by Vedas he is a Kshatriya. He defeated all four directions for his friend and was called Duryodhana's most skilled warrior (and a few other colorful names like bloodhound of Kuru Vamsa etc.)



He will be recognised as a Kshatriya, Keshava had declared. He was already a Kshatriya by his deeds.



His blood brothers will recognise him as their elder and crown him as the King of Aryavarta. He scoffed at the very thought.



Even before anyone knew his capability, one Prince requested his father to crown him as a King just because he wanted to honor a skilled warrior without the barriers of caste. Who is better, a friend who trusted and honored him even before he showed himself to be a warrior capable of fighting the middle Pandava as an equal or the real brothers who always insulted him even after seeing his capability?



Which bond is greater? The friend or his blood brothers? The friend who loved him and never thought low of him even though he never was able to fulfil his promise. Or his blood brothers who spat on him like a dog.



His friend went against the entire world disregarding traditions for a man he only knew as a person who released him and stopped his humiliation in front of the entire arena. Vasusena could be an enemy or a spy but never even for one second did Suyodhana hesitate to call him his friend.



When asked what his strength is... Suyodhana proudly pointed at him and proclaimed. "Here is my strength. Here stands my hope. Here is the person I trust my very life with."



What is the riches of the entire world compared to the love of such a person? To betray him, wouldn't that ever be the biggest sin he would ever commit? And he was carrying enough sins around, as it was.



Panchami would be his wife? He cannot even look into her eyes because of his words during Dyut Sabha. And a younger brother's wife was equal to a sister. Moreover he already had wives who gave him the gift of nine beautiful children. Why did he need anyone else?



His birth mother would be happy if he joined the Pandavas. His real mother instilled loyalty in him. Suyodhana made him a king when the entire society laughed at him. He trusted him and loved him even after he gave away his armour and earrings. Even after he gave away one of the things that would help him win the war, Suyodhana never criticized him.



Leaving such a person for the comforts of the world? He scoffed at the very thought. He would die by the side of his dear friend than live by the side of his brothers who treated him like an enemy.



By the time Krishna ever came to him, he already knew he was fighting a losing battle. He knew war was inevitable even if the peace talks were realized. Even if the Pandu Putras were given a single house, war would occur as they already have alliances all over the country.



Doing a Rajasuya yajna, Digvijaya yatra or Ashwamedha yagna is not that difficult for them to start expanding their kingdom. He knew Pandavas better than any others. They won't rest till they make their brother the Samrat of Aryavartha. And this time they will raise their weapons against their cousins because there is no one holding them back.



He already had a dream where he saw Yudhistira eat buttered payasam in a golden cup, which showed him that the Pandavagrajah would be the Samrat of Aryavarta while he, Suyodhana and the Kaurava brothers and all the allies on their side traveled south which means death is waiting for them.



If he was lured away from the side of Kauravas, nothing but scorn would await him. He would be everything the Pandavas have ever declared him to be. An Adharmi who sold his dharma for riches.



Let it be known that Vasusena was willing to die because of his misplaced loyalty. It's not like his actions beforehand were that way. Better a fool than a traitor. He already betrayed his friend for his principles when he gave Indradev Kavach and Kundals as alms. He's unwilling to betray him even more.





Never did he think he would commit an even worse betrayal to his friend because of the woman who bore him.

------------------------------------------------

The Cold-hearted mother



The Royal Garden of Hastinapur



The sun was rising, casting a golden hue over the lush gardens of Hastinapur. Birds chirped their staring songs of the day as a cool breeze rustled the leaves. By the lotus pond stood Vasusena, his face etched with lines of worry and contemplation. The impending war weighed heavily on his mind, a storm of emotions brewing within him. He just completed his Surya pooja and is waiting for subh gadiyas so that he could start his donations for the day.



From a distance, a figure approached. Draped in royal silks but veiled with a deerskin cloak, a figure walked with purpose, their face serene but their eyes betraying a sense of urgency. As she neared Vasusena, their soft footfalls made themselves heard to Vasusena's acute auditory senses. He turned to see who had disturbed his rare moment of privacy...and stared, his eyes widening in surprise at the person's unexpected presence.



"Queen Mother," he greeted, bowing respectfully. "To what do I owe this honour?"



Kunti's voice was steady as she cast her cloak away, her beauteous face catching the glow of Surya and her demeanour calm, and spoke. "Vasusena, I have come to speak with you about a matter of great importance. The war is upon us, and there are truths that must be faced."



Vasusena stiffened. Krishna's unwanted and unwelcome intrusion a few weeks prior had made him wary and weary of any confessor. All the same, he was not the kind of person who would allow his weariness to discomfort anyone. And this was his mother. He might know her as the Queen Mother and the woman he had respected since time immemorial but he was still her flesh and blood. Keeping his tone polite, he spoke, " I am listening."



Kunti's gaze softened at her eldests' involuntary reaction to her (at a different time, in a different world, she would never have allowed herself to give a child of hers cause to flinch away from her. But this was not that one and this must be lived in in its own way) but there was a steely resolve in her eyes.



"Vasusena, you are not the son of a charioteer. You are my son, born of the Sun God before I was married. You are the eldest of the Pandavas, rightful heir to the Kuru throne."



Vasusena reeled back as if struck by a whip. Kunti, seeing his expression, continued, "This is true, child. I do not lie or jape......"



"Why are you telling me?" Vasusena whispered.



Kunti stopped abruptly, ".....What?"



"Since we have first met in the Kalapradharsan not even once have you slipped up, let alone willingly reveal this to anyone, in all these years, I assumed you'd maintain your silence for the rest of your life. I was fine with that," Vasusena's tone was soft and didn't even waver a bit. "Why now of all times?"



Kunti was bewildered. "What do you mean, putra? Did you know already? How?"



"After the Sandhi Prastav... Sri Krishna came to me and told me the truth, Maharani Kunti''

Kunti took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Krishna told you? That saves me the time for an explanation. Son, we do not have much time. Hurry, you must come with me. You cannot remain entwined with adharma and face your blood brothers on the opposite side of this war. Listen to the plea of this old woman, your mother, and accompany me."



Vasusena's eyes, hardened by years of suffering and betrayal, met Kunti's pleading gaze. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of a lifetime of anguish. "O Kshatriya lady," he began, his tone measured yet firm, "I cannot accept your assertion that obeying your commands constitutes the highest of my duties. Mother, you abandoned me the moment I was born. This grievous injury, one that threatened my very existence, has marred my achievements and tainted my fame."



He paused, the silence filled with the unspoken pain of a forsaken child. "If indeed I am a Kshatriya, your actions have stripped me of all the rites and honors that my birthright entails. What enemy could have inflicted a greater wound upon me? Without a shred of mercy when it was most needed, you left me bereft of the sacred rites that define a Kshatriya's life. And now, you seek to command me, expecting filial loyalty today?Who needs enemies when he has a mother such as you?"



His words cut through the air like a blade. "You never sought my welfare as a mother should. Today, however, you approach me with a desire that serves your own interests. Who would not fear for Dhananjaya, who has Krishna as his charioteer? If I were to join the Pandavas now, who would not see it as an act of cowardice?"



He continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Until now, no one knew of my true lineage. If I were to declare myself their brother on the eve of battle and join the Pandavas, what would all the Kshatriyas say? I was showered with gifts and honor by the sons of Dhritarashtra, who seek my friendship to bolster their cause. How can I now betray that trust? They have treated me with the reverence of the Vasus towards Indra, believing in my might to lead them to victory. How can I shatter their hopes?"



Vasusena's resolve was unyielding. "With me as their anchor, they hope to navigate the treacherous ocean of battle. How can I abandon those who look to me as their only hope to cross these perilous waters?"



Kunti silently stared at him, stricken. Her hand was at her throat as the other hand clenched her ivory saree tightly. Her face was ashen.



Vasusena's expression softened as he looked at her. "Queen Mother, know this—I have already sworn not to kill any of your legitimate sons except Arjuna. Yet, I'm making this vow out of respect for you.



Yudhistira- A man who is more of a priest than a king. By Vedas, he is a Brahmin. Brahmanahatya is an unforgivable sin. Killing him would be a stain on my own character.



Bhimasena- If he fights against me... I'll break his pride but I'd leave his body and soul intact.



Nakula and Sahadeva- Even though they are not the children of your womb. They have been your children more than I ever could hope to. All these children of yours... even when I meet them in war... I'll not fight against them with my full capabilities.



But Arjuna... Arjuna is the one whom I'll fight with all my strength and soul. Because I took an asura oath to kill him. And Vasusena will always try to fulfil his oaths. After this war... either Arjuna or I will be alive. You'll always be the mother of five children." Folding his hands he asked for forgiveness. "Please forgive me, Devi Kunti. This is all I can give of you."



Kunti's eyes widened in surprise, a mix of relief and sorrow washing over her. "You have my gratitude, Vasusena. However, I must admit to there being another reason behind me seeking you out. It is said that you never would deny any person anything they ask of if they come to you after your prayer to Suryadev. Will you fulfill this widow's request?"



"Anything that is within my power to do so, Devi Kunti... I'll fulfill it."



Kunti's voice was firm, her gaze unwavering. "I know you honor your word. Please, grant me this. Please do not use any astra twice against Arjuna"



A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the gentle rustling of the garden and the distant calls of birds. For a while Vasusena only looked at her, gauging her eyes, her very soul. Long enough that, Kunti started to get nervous. Eventually, he nodded, his face set in a mask of resolve. "I promise you, Queen Mother. I will not use the same astra twice against Arjuna."



When Rajamata Kunti left... Vasusena smiled softly to himself. All his life he fought to receive love and respect from others. What a fool he was. His own mother... His own mother came here to collect and put a few branches for his chithi (funeral pyre).



It was said that there is no love greater than a mother's love. It was said that no care is greater than a father's care. In her eyes, he's always a stain on her honour.



It was clear to him that Maharani Kunti would always be Maharani Kunti to him. She'd never be Mata Kunti.



At least, he had two fathers to call his own. In that, he is blessed.

****



The final stage in the life cycle of a star- White Dwarf.



And yet, if the question were posed to anyone about who is the most dangerous warrior on the Kaurava side during Kurukshetra, without a single thought, the first answer that would appear in the mind would be Vasusena. And it's an undeniable truth.



Not Bhishma, not Drona, not Kripacharya, or anyone else. Anyone will say without a moment of hesitation, that Vasusena is the most formidable warrior on the Kaurava side during Kurukshetra.



His final battle with Arjuna was called the greatest battle in Dvapara Yuga. Arjuna's heart was filled with hate because of the death of his valiant son, and Vasusena lost three of his sons at the hands of Phalguna. Both loathed each other and fought at their full capacity.



Krishna dragged Vasusena as the final sacrifice on the altar of Dharma and chained him to it so he could be killed easily. And yet, it is Vasusena who made the entire Pandava army lose hope on the sixteenth day. Vasusena fought the combined might of the entire Pandava army except for Phalguna and instilled fear in their hearts. A small star like him should never have gone Supernova, and yet on the day of his death, his prowess immortalized his name in the annals of history.



Arjuna trained for war all his life. He has a higher knowledge of warfare, has knowledge of all astras, and received celestial weapons from his father Indra, who requested several gods to bless him with the knowledge of their personal astras. He performed tapasya to him (Shiva) and mastered all forms of archery with his blessing. He received Brahmastra and Bhramashira from his teacher Drona, Pashupatastra from himself, and Vaishnavastra and Narayanastra from Krishna.



Yet amidst his unparalleled skills and vast arsenal, it was his bond with Krishna that served as the cornerstone of his strength. Krishna's guidance and unwavering support bolstered Arjuna's resolve, turning him into an undefeated warrior on the battlefield.



Vasusena, on the other hand, didn't even have half the knowledge that Arjuna possessed. He had a standard chariot, a charioteer whom he could not trust, and several gaps in his knowledge. The only divine weapon he had was the Vijaya Dhanush, and that was all the advantage he possessed. Additionally, he was weakened both physically and emotionally. To top it all, he was burdened by unfair curses. Vasusena was akin to a dying snake, bashed on the head by six people before he came to face Arjuna. Above all, he was standing opposite a Vishnu avatar



And yet, the entire battlefield shivered at the might displayed by the Suryaputra. Even with all of the curses and the disadvantages he had, Krishna himself had to agree that if Vasusena ever got back on the chariot and rearmed himself with his Vijaya Dhanush, the war wouldn't have any end. That's how powerful Vasusena was. When he was finally killed, people would remember only the pale imitation of what he truly was.



When all the astras he knew ran out... he destroyed Brahmastra with just his yogic energy. A terrifying spectacle that even gods themselves have applauded him for. Any other astras except for Vaishnava Astra and Pashupatastra will meet the similar end.



In the universe where Krishna's plan has moved forward as he liked... Vasusena's chariot would have been struck in the mud and he would have been killed while lifting the chariot.



No one will ever know about the sun that should have burned brightly. His great potential will be reduced to just a cautionary tale, much like a White Dwarf. Vasusena's core principles will be the only thing remembered, overshadowing the full extent of his abilities and the brilliance he could have achieved.



He will be remembered as one of the greatest archers Dvapara Yuga has ever seen. He will be remembered as a person who, despite being great, destroyed his life due to wrong friendship and hubris.



History will not know the conspiracies done against him to keep him on a leash. Though his name will be etched in the annals of history, what's left in the dark will be the greatness that was never fully realized due to the sheer amount of manipulations against him.



If one were to draw parallels to the Ramayana, Vikarna can be seen as the Kumbhakarna of the Kaurava Sena, and Yuyutsu is akin to Vibhishana who abandoned his brother for Dharma. Duryodhana can be compared to Ravana. But Vasusena... Vasusena is comparable to Indrajit for the Kaurava Sena. Like Indrajit, he too fought against Vishnu's avatar and when he understood he was wrong, he willingly died on the altar of Dharma.



Vasusena could be the second mortal who is not an Avatar after Indrajit to achieve the title of 'Ati-Maharathi'. He would have achieved that status if he was given a proper education. And in this universe, he and Paravathi made sure he received the said education.



However, the original Indrajit, when hit by the Pashupatastra, chose to kill his father after coming back. This Indrajit's body, mind and soul are devoted to his friend. Because he knew if given a chance, Suyodhana too would be great. Every step he took was a calculated move in which he had a single focus... to change the fate of his friend.



What this Indrajit will do is something Shiva will have to see—a destiny yet to be revealed, one which he is eagerly waiting for with great anticipation. And after several failed worlds... Shiva too wanted to see a world where Dharma was established without cheating.



Vasusena's life had been, like that of a star, marked by a rise to greatness followed by a fall due to choices influenced by loyalty and pride. That cycle of brilliance and darkness had impacted not only his own fate but also the destinies of those around him. He was sure that, had that other world stayed intact, his journey would have served as a reminder of how individual choices can have far-reaching consequences, shaping the course of cosmic events and the destiny of the universe.



He got a second chance. Whether he could change his fate or succumb to it... it's in his hands. In his first life... the Gods played him like a puppet. In this life though... they couldn't.



The strings have been cut off... All the strings the gods used to bind him were now in his hands. Maybe he'll use those strings to create beautiful art or he'll use those strings to strangle himself... no one knows. But he's very interested in watching this future unfold.





*********************************************************

Hello all...

I know this is not the chapter you are expecting to see. Even I know it well.



However, the main feedback I received from my reviewers is that my story is a bit lacking in descriptions.



So this time with the help of another author (HopeMikaelson2009) I tried something new. She's an upcoming writer who is a bit green but lacks the cynical and hard edge I have. Please do support her. She is a very good writer but needs polish. Do check out her stories here



https://www.wattpad.com/user/HopeMikaelson2009



I hope you guys will like this. The confrontation of Krishna will be in the next chapter.

Sorry if I disappointed you. I will endeavour to make up for it in the next chapter.