Stories are rarely as simple as heroes and villains. The Mahabharata is a testament to that—a tale where dharma is questioned, righteousness is blurred, and fate is a storm that spares no one.

This is not the story of a warrior, a ruler, or a divine avatar. This is the story of Rhea—an outsider, a bystander, a woman who never sought war but found herself in the heart of one. She is neither destined for greatness nor eager for battle. She stumbles, she doubts, she questions. But when the tides of Kurukshetra rise, she must make a choice: remain a shadow in history or carve her place in a war that never asked for her.

The Mahabharata is a vast and sacred epic, and I deeply respect its essence and significance. This story is a fictional interpretation, not a retelling. It does not aim to alter, challenge, or diminish the original—it merely explores a different perspective, one that may have existed in the shadows of history. I mean no offense to any beliefs, traditions, or sentiments.

The Mahabharata is a story of kings and sages, of gods and warriors—but within it, there are whispers of those history forgot. This is one of those whispers.

Welcome to The War That Found Me.