My Sun, My Dear
According to traditions, the period of a solar eclipse is considered most unfortunate. It is said that no good can be done in a time deprived of the Sun. Until the rays of the Suryadeva reach the Earth for the second time that day, no dharmika deed should be done.
But what if the Sun is sure to never return?
What if, just what if, there will be no second time for the rays to strike the Earth.
Such an eclipse had shadowed the life of the eldest Kaurav prince, Duryodhana. It was close to dusk on the 17th day of the War of Kurukshetra. Duryodhana had lost his brothers —his ninety nine brothers— to a fruitless war. He had lost his family, his relatives and in the end, his teacher too. Grief sagged his heart every time he lifted a weapon.
But warriors do not wait to grieve. Grief can stop a man, not an army. Not the enemy.
Karna took Drona's place as the Commander in Chief of Duryodhana's army. So for as long as Suryen-dhanya Karna, blessed by the Sun itself, was beside him, who could defeat the Kuru prince?
Or so he thought.
The last rays of the sun were disappearing from the battlefield. As tradition wills it, every warrior had put away his weapons. Except Gandivdhari Arjuna.
For as long as he stayed alive, Duryodhana never forgot the sound of the bow string let loose. The arrow cutting through the air in the direction of Karna. The last ray of the sun glinting off of the tip of the arrow and briefly blinding everyone.
A moment later, when Duryodhana opened his eyes, the sun was no longer.
A blue sheet of dusk had settled over the battlefield as far as the eye could see. He searched the periphery of his vision for his beloved mitra. What could an arrow do to the man who wears the armor of Suryadeva himself.
He remembered the next few moments in pieces. Karna falling from his chariot. The charioteer speeding off without him. Karna in the dirt. Karna with Arjuna's arrow.
Karna with Arjuna's arrow lodged in his throat.
Karna lying still in the dirt.
Karna.
A scream ripped itself out of Duryodhana's throat, thunderous and raw as an impeding storm. The entire battlefield turned to stare as the Kuru prince mounted the nearest horse and galloped to the fallen body.
The Pandavas surrounded Karna, shocked to see their own mother weeping with his head in her lap. Arjuna's charioteer, Krishna, explained to them what adharma they had just committed, and why not to blame themselves for it. They did not weep. Even after killing their own blood, they did not weep.
Arjuna lowered his head in shame. Duryodhana wanted to cut it off.
By the time he reached Karna, the Pandavas had blocked him from his view. Yudhisthir had seen him approaching and was now standing in his way.
"Step aside, Yudhisthir," Duryodhana rasped, mounting off his horse.
"No."
He turned his full glare on him; furious, bloodshot eyes, stinging with tears. "I need to see him."
"You may not, bhrata Suyodhana. It is dusk, you should return with your army."
For one last time, Duryodhana tightened his grip over his gadaa. If they wouldn't give him Karna's body, he would fight for it. He was Duryodhana's before he was ever a brother to these sorry sobs.
"Keep your arms down, maharathi," Krishna's voice echoed off the air itself. "It is adharma to raise a weapon, for the Sun is no longer."
The Sun is no longer.
This was the exact moment Duryodhana remembered that his heart shattered. The gadaa slipped from his fingers.
He could see a sliver of Karna's body hidden in the crowd of the Pandavas' sena. Such a small army had never before seemed to infinitely vast to Duryodhana. He, raised with hundred brothers himself and not once feeling crowded, saw the bodies hiding Karna's from him and saw for the first time in his life a crowd so vast he couldn't see his path.
Hundred brothers, one by one each lost to these Pandavas. And Duryodhana never looked back to see who burned their pyre. But this, this he couldn't allow. He would sooner let them take his life than Karna.
Slowly, with the image of Karna's corpse burned into his eyelids, Duryodhana fell to his knees.
All across the ranbhoomi, not a single man dared to draw a breath. Their eyes stayed fixated on their King as he lowered his head and...
Joined his hands.
When he spoke, the ache in his voice rang through the battlefield. "Brother, they call you dharmaraja because you are said to value dharma before anything else. But I am a fool, I- I never cared for what is dharma and adharma. For my entire life I have looked for ways to make you inferior to me, but it was always I who was inferior."
The Pandavas looked at each other in shock. They had not expected him to kneel, let alone plead.
"Be the righteous King you were always meant to be, Dharmaraja, but grant me this one thing. Give me my mi-tra. That is- That is all I ask of you. If not your brother, then as a supplicant." Even the breaks in his voice echoed. His tears wet the Earth below him.
"Let him have it, Dharmaraja."
Yudhisthir looked at Krishna, as if expecting him to come to his senses. "But he is our brother, Vasudeva. We are the ones who shall perform his last rites by dharma."
Duryodhana opened his mouth to speak, but Krishna spoke before him. "What kind of brother, Dharmaraja? The one you didn't even know about this morning? The one you were preparing to kill for days? The one you called sutaputra?"
If he wasn't wrecked inside with misery, Duryodhana might have enjoyed the shame on Yudhisthir's face. But all he felt was hope.
"Let him have Angaraja's body. It is he who deserves to perform his last rites, for they loved each other over karma and dharma. It is hard to see the one who hates you as someone capable of love, but is it fair to deny him his love, Dharmaraja?"
Yudhisthir only looked at his pleading brother.
A funeral pyre was to be prepared for Karna after the Pandavas left. Duryodhana's army gathered wood and oil, someone stitched a shroud out of the dead warriors' clothes, nobody dared to disturb the grieving prince.
Karna. Karna. Karna. He chanted till it was not a name but the sound of his tears falling on his armor. It was not a word but aching devotion.
He lifted a bloody hand to cup Karna's cheek. The warmth should have gone out of it long ago, but he was Suryaputra. He burned until there was nothing left to burn but his body.
He still couldn't wrap his head around the truth in his grief. Karna －brilliant, quick-witted, unyielding Karna－ was dead.
He clutched the body in his arms. The body that no longer belonged to his lover. A shadow. A torture.
Karna. Karna. Karna.
His Radheya. His Angaraja. His Karna. His Priye. His Sun.
Duryodhana felt as though all the light had gone out of his life. He carries the embers of it to the pyre, lays him down as gently as one would to a newborn instead of a corpse.
With shaking hands, Duryodhana carried the fire and lit the funeral pyre. He couldn't bear to watch as flames engulfed his beloved and turned his head to the sky. The scream that followed was a living thing, clawing its way out of his throat.
For the last time in forever, his lover burned as bright as the Sun.
And the smoke swirled in the night sky, carrying the prince to a land of eternal eclipse.