A Different Path

River

Even from where he stood, he could hear the sounds of the Ganga flowing through the city with the indomitable strength that had caused lands and mountains to shift and give passage to the revered goddess. He had always admired the raw spirit of the Ganga; the power cocooned in every single drop, that was as holy and as pure as the milk that one pours on the shivling.

As a child, Karna had always been drawn to the Ganga. He would spend hours watching how the color changed from silver in the noon to orangish at dusk to dark blue at night. How the clouds above would find their replicas on its surface, how at times when he was lucky, he would find a rainbow there after a storm, and that beautiful burst of color would drive him mad with joy. Sometimes, as a kid, Karna would jump into the river to collect all the colors before they would be swept away by the strong waves. Radha Ma would laugh at his naivete and would hold him close to her, as they watched the clouds clearing away slowly and the Sun reclaiming its position as the king of the skies. Light after hours of darkness.

Karna wasn't sure when exactly he had begun to offer his respects to the Sun God by the shores of the Ganga, indeed even his parents didn't remember but for Karna, it was something natural like breathing, so he had never given it much thought. He should have understood that the pull that he felt towards the Sun God was due to a long, forgotten clandestine relationship and the reason he was attracted to Ganga was because for a few days that felt like an eternity, she had been a mother, a father, his family as her waves chartered the course of his destiny. Maybe it was gratitude that made him return to the river or perhaps simply wistful fascination, but he would be there every day at the break of dawn. 

It was during one of those excursions, when the rest of the world was in deep slumber that he came upon the sight of a man, sitting near his spot on the shoreline. Karna was caught by the man's posture, there was a visible strain in his shoulders and his eyes were filled with tears. His long, silver locks flowed freely in the cold breeze and his face was ravaged by some profound grief that Karna was too young to understand. His matted grey beard contrasted against his dark blue angavastram and the man seemed to be completely lost in his thoughts, oblivious to his surroundings.

Karna was amazed by that sight, enthralled by the shocking picture of a man laying out his grief for the world to see. Even from this distance, Karna could see that stranger was a warrior, his muscles evincing an unconquerable strength. Weren't tears a sign of weakness? That is what Father said when he had broken his arm by falling off the peepal tree. But this man didn't seem to harbour any injuries at least from what he could see.

On his own, his feet moved closer to the stranger and his mind was blank, save for one strange thought. He had to talk to him. He had to know.

The old man looked up at him. For a few moments, neither said a word to the other. They just stared.

"Respected warrior, forgive me for intruding but I must ask.....why are you crying?" Karna wasn't sure what ancient sadness was choking him so badly that his throat hurt while uttering those words.

"Because I am upset."

The reply was so simple and straightforward that it caught him off guard. His palms felt sweaty and the sun seemed harsher than it had been a few moments ago.