Shon's POV
Two years had passed since I was reincarnated into this mythological world. Looking back, these two years with Radha Maa and Adhirath Pitashree have been some of the most peaceful and beautiful days of my life.
Sure, I was a child again. But that didn't stop me from keeping the routine I had sworn to follow. Every day, I chanted the Gayatri Mantra and the Panchakshari Mantra with such consistency that my body had developed muscle memory for it. I could now chant them while crawling around the house or—my favorite pastime—sneaking into the kitchen to steal kheer and laddoos from Radha Maa's shelves. My thievery skills were elite now.
I only stopped chanting when I had to speak—which, thankfully, was rare. Technically, I could speak fluently now. My mind and soul were still those of a 22-year-old medical student, after all. But I kept silent, only uttering the words "Mama" and "Baba" to Radha Maa and Pitashree. Anything more would just freak them out.
I still remember the first time I said "Mama" to Radha Maa. Her reaction? Legendary.
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Flashback
I was about 1 year and 3 months old. It was a full moon night. Adhirath Pitashree had just returned from court duties, and after freshening up, he, Karna, and Radha Maa were sitting for dinner. They were having roti, aloo-gobhi sabzi, and kheer.
I was off in a corner playing with the wooden horse Pitashree had gifted me when the aroma of kheer hit my nose. My soul practically left my body. Kheer had been my favorite in my past life, and that hadn't changed.
I crawled as fast as my chubby limbs would let me and reached for the table—but the kheer was out of reach. After several failed attempts, I turned toward Radha Maa, pointed at the pot of kheer, and shouted, "Mama!"
She froze. Then smiled. Then screamed in joy.
She scooped me up and fed me spoonfuls of warm, sweet kheer as I grinned in victory. Later, she proudly showed off to Adhirath and Karna.
Pitashree tried to get me to say "Baba," but I ignored him completely.
Karna joined in with "Say Bhrata! Come on, little brother!"
I ignored him, too.
Radha Maa, smug, asked me to say "Mama" again.
I did.
It wasn't until three days later that I finally said "Baba." Pitashree was thrilled. But poor Karna? It took me a whole month before I finally called him "Bhrata" —and I never repeated it again for weeks. Just to mess with him.
---
Flashback ends.
I chuckled, remembering Karna's sulky face. Good times.
At 1 year and 5 months old, I managed to stand with support. By 1 year and 8 months, I could walk without help.
That's when I added physical training to my daily routine. I started small: 20 pushups, 1-minute plank, 20 sit-ups, and 20 pull-ups using the rails of my crib. I did this twice a day, every day. Within a month, I pushed it to 30 of each, with a 2-minute plank.
Now, at age 2, I do 50 pushups, 50 sit-ups, 50 pull-ups, and a 3-minute plank, twice a day. My body may be small, but I can feel it getting stronger.
After training, I always chant the Hanuman Chalisa before bed. Because even a warrior needs a good night's sleep.
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General POV
Meanwhile, at the royal palace of Hastinapur, something strange was unfolding.
It had been over a year since Gandhari had conceived, and yet, there was still no sign of a child. The kingdom grew worried. Dhritarashtra, already troubled by his blindness and political insecurity, grew increasingly frustrated.
In the forest, Pandu heard the news and felt genuine sorrow for his elder brother and sister-in-law. But his sorrow was doubled by his own helplessness. Due to the curse placed on him, he could not father children, and thus, could not produce an heir for the Kuru dynasty.
Seeing her husband's despair, Kunti finally revealed her secret: a boon from Sage Durvasa that allowed her to summon any god and bear their child.
Pandu, stunned and overjoyed, embraced her tightly. He immediately requested that she invoke Lord Yama—the god of death and dharma. He wished for a son who would be righteous, truthful, and an ideal ruler.
Kunti agreed. She recited the mantra and prayed to Yama for a son who embodied dharma.
Yama blessed her, and soon, she became pregnant.
Exactly when Shon turned two, Kunti gave birth to a healthy boy.
They named him Yudhishthir.
The news of Yudhishthir's divine birth reached Hastinapur quickly. Dhritarashtra was happy for his brother but couldn't hide his envy. His own wife had been pregnant for almost two years with no result.
In a fit of anger and desperation, Dhritarashtra did something unthinkable.
He slept with Sughada, a dasi and Gandhari's close companion.
When Gandhari found out, her heart broke. In anguish, she struck her own belly. This sudden trauma triggered premature labor.
What she gave birth to was not a child, but a single mass of flesh—lifeless, yet strangely pulsating.
Many in the court called it an omen and advised it be discarded. But Gandhari, firm in her faith, refused.
Sage Vyasa was summoned.
He examined the mass and saw something divine within. He called for 101 pots, ghee, and wheat flour. With sacred chants, he divided the mass into 100 parts, placing each in a pot with ghee and sealing it with flour.
"There is one piece left," said Vyasa.
Gandhari stepped forward. "I asked Mahadev for a daughter too."
Vyasa nodded and sealed the final piece separately.
He instructed the caretakers: "In time—within one to four years—these will become living children."
Dhritarashtra and Gandhari were relieved.
The future of the Kuru dynasty had been secured.
---
Shon's POV
It was nighttime. The world around me was quiet.
I sat cross-legged in bed, chanting the Gayatri Mantra. My eyes were closed, my breathing calm.
Then, I felt something... shift.
I opened my eyes.
Darkness. Complete and infinite. I was no longer in my room.
Then came a blinding light—not harsh, but divine. When it faded, a figure stood before me.
Tall. Radiant. Timeless.
He held a trishul in one hand, a damru tied to it. A serpent coiled around his neck. The crescent moon glowed on his matted hair. The air trembled with his presence.
He looked anything but ordinary.
It was Mahadev.
His eyes, deep and endless, fixed on mine.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. But I felt no fear.
Only stillness.
And a strange, overwhelming sense of being seen. Not just my body, but my soul. My past. My pain. My vow.
Time slowed. Everything else faded.
Mahadev raised his hand slowly, and the trishul pulsed with a faint glow. The damru gave a soft shake, as if acknowledging something ancient.
He took one step forward.
Not toward Karna. Not toward the horizon.
But toward me.
His presence felt less like a storm and more like a mountain of silence pressing down on the world. My heart raced, but not out of fear. Out of anticipation.
Something sacred was about to happen. Something life-changing.
He had not come for a vision. Not for a silent glance.
Mahadev had come for me.
To speak.
To show me something I needed to know.
And whatever it was, it would alter the path of my life forever.
The moment had arrived.
But the words had not.
Not yet.
To Be Continued...