Oh, mother! I pledged my devotion to you by not pursuing any of your sons.
Any but Arjuna who wields the Gandiva, and set the Khandava forest on fire.
The son of Indra, the Lord of the heavens above.
But why Arjuna? You may ask that to the son of a charioteer
Who was stripped of his kavacha and kundalas that were his birthright?
Mother, it is me, your firstborn Karna.
Why would I harm my own younger brother?
Why would I side with Duryodhana, his enemy?
It is not Arjuna that I despise so much.
It might be his biased guru, Dronacharya, who does not teach anyone but Kshatriyas.
It might be the people who jeered and shamed me for being the son of Adhiratha.
It might be the bee that stung me and injured me,
Exposing my lie to my guru Parashurama
Who cursed me for not being a Brahmin.
It might be the Pandavas who believe that I am a Suta.
Your son has made many mistakes while becoming a warrior.
I have given away a lot because I cannot bear to see people
Who are worthy of everything being so miserable because
Of what our scriptures and teachings perceive them to be.
I was presented with a chariot by my father when I was sixteen.
But all I ever wanted was to wield a bow and arrow.
I received many curses for forcefully becoming what I wanted to.
I belong in that palace of Hastinapura, the oldest one of the Pandavas.
But here I see my own brothers despising me so much.
They do not know, mother. Fate will ask me and you to forgive them.
As I prepare here for the Kurukshetra war, I need your blessings
To display my warfare as a battle of morals and virtues is being waged.
Within me, this warfare is my resistance towards the ones who have diagrammed me out
As just another arrogant warrior, I am much more.
Duryodhana saw that and crowned me as the king of Anga.
It was he who welcomed me to the palace.
So, till my last breath, I will use my might to fight for him.
As I equal or surpass the designated and praised warrior in Arjuna
Fate has been ironic to me, mother!
I, a son of a charioteer, am being driven around by a king.
Shalya, brother of Madri, is my charioteer.
As I twang my Vijaya and pick my quivers,
Believe that your son has resisted enough.
Now I fight.
Calling upon Surya, my father, and Parashurama, my guru.
I will fight till the end.
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