I removed the piece of clothing hanging over my shoulders and threw it onto a wooden bench.
I walked over to the balcony.
Below me lay the city of Hastinapur, but my eyes did not see it.
My mind was locked in a clash between two entirely different memories.
I pressed my palms against my sides of my head.
The memories of thirty-one years as Karna were completely real.
I felt the hard skin on my fingers from the bowstring, the weight of Parashurama’s curse, and the burning shame of being called a lower-caste “Suta-putra.”
Yet, layered over those memories with absolute clarity were my memories as Varun.
I remembered my quiet life on Earth, and with it, the complete story of the Mahabharata epic.
I knew exactly how everything was going to end.
I knew about the burning of the wax palace at Varanavata, Draupadi’s wedding contest and the cheating game of dice, the horrifying moment they tried to pull away Draupadi’s clothes, the thirteen long years of living in the forest, and the final, terrible slaughter at Kurukshetra.
”It is impossible to change sides now,” I whispered to the night air, my voice tight.
My mind evaluated my current position.
I could not just run away immediately.
Duryodhana had stood before the entire assembly, defied his elders, and made me the King of Anga.
To the old Karna, this act demanded absolute, blind loyalty until death.
To the awakened me, it was a golden trap.
”I cannot just abandon him right now,” I muttered to myself, stopping before a flickering bronze oil lamp.
“Duryodhana stood up for me when no one else would.
If I vanish tonight, the world will call me a traitor and a coward.
But I cannot follow him blindly into wickedness either.
I must draw a hard line.”
I decided to use my knowledge of the future to act as Duryodhana’s conscience.
”From now on, I will stand in his way,” I resolved, my eyes flashing in the firelight.
“When Duryodhana plans his wicked schemes when his uncle Shakuni tries to poison his mind I will speak the brutal truth.
If he listens and stops, I will stay by his side and change history.
But if he chooses wickedness anyway, that will be my clear exit.”
I knew how stubborn Duryodhana could be.
If a day came where he insisted on committing terrible crimes despite my warnings, I would use that as my ultimate boundary.
I would lay down the crown of Anga right at his feet, refusing to support a king marching toward his own destruction.
No one in the land could call me ungrateful.
They would see a man of principle walking away from evil.
”But if he somehow listens to me during the times of peace, there is still one final test,” I realized, my thoughts racing forward to the start of the great war.
I knew war was unavoidable because the Pandavas needed a kingdom, Duryodhana wanted the Hastinapur kingdom, and the god Krishna needed the war to happen to fulfill his divine duty.
With my past-life memories, I knew the exact moment the universe would offer a final chance for peace.
Years from now, after the Pandavas completed their exile, Krishna would come to the Hastinapur court as a peace messenger.
He would ask Duryodhana for just five simple villages to prevent the destruction of their entire race.
And Duryodhana, blinded by his ego, would refuse.
He would declare that he would not give them land equal to the point of a needle.
A idea lit up in my mind.
”If Duryodhana refuses Krishna’s peace demand, I will step forward,” I whispered, a small smile touching my lips.
“In the open court, before all the kings, I will offer my entire kingdom of Anga to the Pandavas.
If Duryodhana refuses to give them five villages to save the world, I will give them my whole realm to stop the war and save Duryodhana’s pride.”
It was a perfect trap for destiny.
If the Pandavas accepted Anga, the war would be stopped, and I would successfully break the story of the Mahabharata.
If Duryodhana tried to block the transfer, or if the war happened anyway, I would have the perfect, ultimate reason to walk away from the throne.
I would hand the crown back to Duryodhana, completely separating myself from the madness of the war.
But even when I gave away the kingdom—whether due to Duryodhana’s evil actions or the peace talks—my nature would never allow me to leave as a debtor.
I needed to ensure Duryodhana was paid back so completely that no moral duty remained between us.
”If I return his kingdom, I will leave him with promises and power that outweigh a piece of land,” I planned.
First, I had to expand Duryodhana’s power over other kingdoms by conquering them and bringing them under his rule.
Then, I had to create an army that was feared by everyone.
This would be enough repayment to him.
”I will give him the safety he bought me for, and then, I will step away,” I vowed softly.
“When I walk into the shadows, Duryodhana will have no right to call me ungrateful.”
By setting these boundaries, I successfully shifted my destiny.
I was no longer a blind follower marching toward a planned slaughterhouse.
If Duryodhana listened, we would rewrite the empire together.
If Duryodhana failed, I would walk away with my honor safe, completely free of the trap.
I walked back to the balcony.
The cool night breeze brushed against my face, melting away my confusion.
I knew the road ahead was dangerous.
I still had to deal with the curse of Parashurama, the powerful shadow of Krishna, and the natural flow of the timeline.
But for the first time since waking up, the crushing weight of panic left me.
I was no longer just a game piece.
At the same time, I had to face another problem.
From my memories as Karna, I understood that the power level of this world and how people train to get that power was very different from my memories as Varun.
In Indian mythology, every book written by ancient sages always hid the secret of how people cultivated that strength.
The stories only said things like, “his power will destroy the mountain.” They never explained why he had that power or how he gained it.
Or they only said that an Asura prayed for long years and got a boom from a God.
But even before getting the blessing, those individuals were already powerful.
How they gained that initial power was solely through their own hard work.
The only power they got from the blessing was just not dying by the hands of a specific being.
They thought they were immortal, but they still died because of the rules of the universe.
So, how a person gains power through their own efforts in Indian mythology had always been a mystery.
But here, in this real world, the memories of Karna gave me the answer.
A person could truly gain immense strength through their own training, separate from just learning astras or getting blessings from the gods.