After picking up this poor abandonment-trauma-lichted lump of flesh—
Yup. Still me.
Wrapped in soggy crimson cloth, smelling like river, fear, and faint existential dread, I was now officially someone's baby. Not just a baby. Radha's baby. My new mom. The OG Mahabharata foster queen.
And no, I wasn't over the fact that my divine diaper zone had just been stabbed by gold coins. My tailbone still felt like it had a royalty tax embedded in it.
Anyway.
Now I had a new home. And by "home," I mean a mud-brick hut with a straw roof, three pots, one fire pit, a cot that was definitely older than modern plumbing, and the crown jewel of village living:
A cow.
But not just any cow.
Her name was Surabhi.
Yes. That Surabhi.
Okay—not the Vedic wish-granting divine Surabhi who birthed eleven thousand cows from her snort or whatever. But emotionally? She carried herself like she knew she came from a long line of bovine nobility.
She stared at me like she had personally witnessed my rebirth and decided she wasn't impressed.
"Moo."
I swear it had judgment in it.
"Nice to meet you too, Holy Cow," I gurgled. Probably sounded like a dying squirrel, but I meant it with respect.
Radha and Adhiratha bustled around, trying to get me warm, dry, and fed — all while sneakily eyeing the gold coins like they might explode and summon divine audits.
"We should bury them somewhere safe, and when Karna gets intelligent enough, he can choose what to do with them."
"Karna?" Adhiratha looked with a question mark on his face. "Is that... his name?"
Radha nodded gently. "Yes. It means 'ear' — fitting, since he was born with golden earrings."
I blinked. Great. Already named after my accessories. Classic Karna move.
"Karna... Hmm. Has a nice ring to it."I see what you did there, old man. Ring. Earrings. Real punny.
Radha smiled, satisfied. "Then it's settled. Our son's name is Karna."
Our son.
That hit harder than any wave in the Ganga.
Not "the foundling." Not "the cursed child of scandalous origins."
Our son.
A cosmic glitch like me, reborn as myth, wrapped in secondhand cloth, and already overthinking things — somehow I was theirs now. And they didn't even ask why I sparkled like a jewelry store's tax write-off.
But before I could mentally spiral any further—
—before I could mentally spiral any further, a wet slap echoed through the hut.
SPLAT!
It was Surabhi. She had decided to bless the floor with what I assumed was the first of many steaming divine cow pies.
Radha sighed, totally unfazed. "Auspicious start," she muttered, grabbing a bamboo broom like a battle-worn veteran. "It means good luck."
If auspicious meant I was reborn as a poop-adjacent baby burrito, then sure. Let's call it divine blessings.
Radha swept the holy dump with the grace of someone who had long since made peace with the randomness of cows, fate, and marriage. Adhiratha chuckled, wiping the coins and wrapping them in a coarse old cloth before hiding them under the cot.
I tried turning my head to see where he stashed them — and promptly failed.
Neck muscles? Still loading. Body control? 0%. Dignity? I left that behind with my adult bladder.
Meanwhile, Surabhi the Judgmental Holy Cow had now settled into a squat, glaring at me as if I had wronged her in a past life. Ma'am, you just pooped in the center of my reincarnation arc. Respectfully, moo off.
Radha lifted me again. "Let's clean you up, hmm?"
To be fair, I desperately needed it. Between the river water, crying snot, and divine debris, I smelled like a soggy dosa that had been rejected by the gods.
She dipped a cloth into a clay bowl of warm water and began wiping my face, then my arms, legs — all with terrifying motherly precision. You haven't known fear until you've been wiped down by a woman on a mission while you're defenseless and chubby.
I wanted to yell, "Woman, I'm twenty years old in spirit!"But all that came out was, "Gehhhh...blehhh."
Which was exactly as intimidating as it sounds.
"Hahaha!" Adhiratha couldn't hold back his laughter. "He sounds like Surabhi when she chokes on too much grass."
"Excuse me," I tried to retort, but my mouth betrayed me again with an impressive drool bubble and a squeaky hiccup that sounded like a dying harmonium.
Radha giggled. "You're a noisy one, little Karna."
I was not okay with this. I was a fully grown man inside this infant meat-sack, and now I was being compared to a cow with indigestion.
Just… divine reincarnation things.
Once I was cleaned, dried, and bundled up like a sacred momo, Radha set me gently into a woven cradle beside the hut's wall. The cradle squeaked like an old swing, swaying gently while Surabhi watched with the quiet judgment of someone who knew all my past sins.
Outside, the sounds of village life began to stir — soft chatter, children running, the clanging of pots, someone yelling about a missing chicken (probably that same guy every morning), and the far-off whistle of a shepherd.
And here I was. A baby with a cheat sheet system that was locked for the next six years.
Let's take stock:
Reincarnated? ✅
As Karna? ✅
System? ✅
Accessible modules? ❌
Respect? ❌
Control over bodily functions? Double ❌
[System Notification]
🟩 New Event Unlocked: "Infant Buff Applied"🍼 Effect: +100% Cuteness Aura (Radius: 3 meters)🛑 Warning: May cause random adult humans to poke your cheeks or call you "momo".
"System, I swear to Surya, I will uninstall you manually if you keep trolling me."
[P.S. You cannot uninstall destiny.]
Goddammit.
Radha was now humming softly again while grinding something in a stone mortar. The hut smelled of turmeric, wet earth, and newly kindled firewood. Honestly? Kind of comforting, if you ignored the existential dread, a judgmental cow, and the crippling inability to flip over.
Adhiratha stepped in from outside, holding something wrapped in banana leaf.
"Temple priest was saying there was an eclipse last night," he said, setting it down. "Maybe that's why the river gave us a child."
Radha looked at me with a wistful smile. "Or maybe… the gods finally answered a prayer we never dared to speak."
Bruh. Stop. My reincarnated adult brain could not handle this level of wholesome emotional damage.
I wasn't crying, okay? That was just liquid karma leaking from my baby ducts.
Radha leaned over the cradle and adjusted the cloth around me. "You'll be safe here, Karna," she whispered. "No matter where you came from."
I stared up at her, suddenly quiet. Her words didn't feel like some dramatic prophecy. They felt real. Grounded. Something the original Karna probably never heard in his whole damn life.
And then — as if the universe couldn't let a moment stay heartfelt too long —
"MOOOOOOO!"
Surabhi bellowed like a foghorn, knocking over one of the cooking pots and making the cradle wobble dangerously.
I flailed.
Radha chuckled. "Even Surabhi agrees. You're home."
"Ma'am," I mentally addressed the cow, "you spilled my dramatic scene. Again."
But as Radha leaned over to pick up the pot, Adhiratha peeked into the cradle again and said something that hit me in my tiny chest like a Mahabharata-sized truck.
"You think he'll grow up to be someone great?"
Radha smiled. "I don't know. But I'll love him either way."
***
And just like that, a year came and went by with my dignity left somewhere probably in the first cow pat Surabhi ever dropped next to my cradle.
My daily life consisted of three core activities:
Crying (sometimes for real, mostly for food),
Trying to roll over like a roly-poly with self-esteem issues,
Getting surprise cheek-pinched by half the village.
"Oooh, Radha! he is soooo cute~ Can I take him with me?"
"Woman, I demand basic human rights and at least one personal space bubble!"
...is what I would've screamed, had I possessed the vocal cords or civil liberties to do so.
Instead, what came out was a hiccup and a surprised fart.
Which, of course, caused the entire group of neighborhood aunties to swoon.
"AWWWW!"
"Look, he even toots cutely!"
"He's going to be such a charming boy when he grows up!"
I swear, if cheek-pinching became an Olympic sport, this village would win gold for five generations straight.
Radha, meanwhile, was the final boss of proud moms.
Every time someone complimented me, her eyes lit up like Diwali diyas.
"My Karna is special," she'd say, as if I wasn't currently licking my own hand and blinking like a confused chicken.
Even Adhiratha wasn't immune to my chubby charm.
He'd bounce me on his knee after work, humming old fishermen songs and grumbling that I'd better grow up strong so I could pull an oxcart like a real man.
Sir. I was a digital arts student. I failed PE. Respectfully, I decline.
...
Moooo!
"Yes, yes, I understand they can be a handful, but why are you the one complaining?!" I glared at Surabhi with all the fiery judgment a one-year-old could muster.
She huffed. Literally. A hot, damp breath that smelled like half-chewed hay hit me square in the face.
That's it.
No more Mr. Nice Momo.
I don't care if she descended from a thousand generations of divine dairy royalty. That snort blast of half-fermented ghee-breath was a declaration of war. And I, Baby Karna, would not be silenced.
I clenched my fists. My pudgy, dimpled fists of justice.
Today we take back the cradle.
"GugggHHhkk!"
Translation: Prepare yourself, Cowzilla.
Surabhi just blinked. Then promptly turned her rear toward me and began chewing cud like I wasn't even on her celestial radar.
Typical.
The cradle creaked. I attempted to sit up. Which in baby language meant doing that slow, weird crunching motion where your head lifts like 2 inches and your belly flops like jelly, before gravity reasserts dominance and slams you back down.
"Oof."
Yes. I oofed.
Why? Because I wasn't just fighting divine bovines now — I was fighting time itself.
A full year had passed.
Twelve months of poop-to-cheek-pinching pipeline, constant holy mooing, and the slow, existential dread that came with remembering every second of adult life while being spoon-fed mashed lentils.
***
But then…
One night, everything changed.
[Location: Ash Pit behind Radha's hut | Time: Post sunset]
It was supposed to be a normal village evening.
Radha was inside, prepping dinner. Adhiratha had gone off to help pull a cart stuck in a ditch (read: local oxcart bro club gathering). I was parked outside on a tiny blanket under the watchful gaze of—you guessed it—Surabhi the Eternal.
The stars were out.
The fireflies were blinking.
I was chewing on my toe for the fifth time today.
And then… I heard it.
A growl.
Not the "cow's stomach saying hello to the afterlife" kind.
No.
A real, low, hungry growl.
From the edge of the trees.
A jackal.
Its eyes glowed amber. Its fur was patchy. Its ribs stuck out like unpolished daggers. And it was looking at me like I was an all-you-can-eat buffet wrapped in banana leaf.
Oh.
Crap.
I looked around.
No Radha. No Adhiratha. Not even that annoying neighbor kid with the runny nose.
Just me.
And Judgment Cow.
I stared at Surabhi.
She stared at me.
"Help?" I gurgled.
Surabhi flicked her tail.
The jackal crept closer.
Okay. Okay. Let's not panic. Let's analyze. What do I have?
• Chubby limbs
• A blanket
•A weird baby rattle that makes cow sounds
• And... rage. Lots of unresolved rage.
The jackal bared its teeth.
I screamed.
Like, full-on banshee shriek.All lungs. No filter. Vibrating at "dog whistle breaking the fourth wall" frequency.
The jackal paused.
Surabhi stood.
And then…
She charged.
No. Freaking. Joke.
This cow — this holy diva of dung and disdain — charged like a possessed Nandi bull. She slammed her horns into the jackal's side, sending it flying into the ash pit with a whimper.
And then she turned, snorted, and stood in front of me like a four-legged divine tank.
I stared, slack-jawed.
"...Moo?"
Surabhi blinked.
And then — no joke — winked at me.
WINKED.
What just happened?
Did I get saved by the bovine equivalent of One Punch Man?
Was she secretly my divine guardian this whole time?
Or was that just cow-rage because the jackal dared step near her turf?
Either way...
Surabhi?
I see you now.
Respect.