The day of the Kalapradarshan dawned with a golden glow, painting the sky above Hastinapur in hues of saffron and rose. The city, usually a symphony of trade and daily life, now thrummed with a different kind of energy – a festive, almost feverish anticipation. Kian, Vishwa's father, was indeed bustling, his mind already calculating the opportunities presented by the influx of dignitaries and merchants from distant kingdoms. This was a day for grand displays, both on the field and in the ledger.
Vishwa, however, was not concerned with profits. He walked hand-in-hand with his mother, Leela, a small figure swallowed by the surging crowds making their way towards the grand arena. He was just another face in the sea of expectant citizens, no special entry, no grandstanding. He was simply there to witness.
As they entered the vast amphitheater, Vishwa gasped. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking. Banners depicting the Kuru lineage fluttered from towering poles, their colors vibrant against the blue sky. The air vibrated with the roar of thousands of voices, a collective exhalation of excitement. The scent of dust, sweat, and celebratory incense mingled, creating a heady aroma. He saw the royal pavilion, draped in silks, where the blind King Dhritarashtra, his queen Gandhari, and the elders of the Kuru court sat like statues of power. The glint of polished weapons, the rhythmic beat of drums, the soaring notes of a celebratory song – it was a sensory overload that momentarily swept away his usual analytical detachment. He was, at the end of the day, still a child, and the spectacle was truly awe-inspiring.
The exhibition began. One by one, the princes displayed their prowess. Vishwa watched, mesmerized, as Bhima shattered stone effigies with his mace, as Nakula and Sahadeva moved with fluid grace, as Duryodhana displayed his formidable skills with the sword. He was genuinely impressed by their mastery. He didn't think about their character or their future roles; he simply appreciated the sheer dedication and talent required to perform such feats. He was captivated by Arjuna, whose archery was a dance of precision and power, each arrow finding its mark with impossible accuracy. The crowd roared its approval, and Vishwa felt a thrill course through him, a shared sense of wonder.
Then, a hush fell over the arena, followed by a ripple of murmurs. A new figure strode into the center, his presence commanding, even from a distance. He was tall, with a powerful build and an aura that seemed to challenge the very air around him. This was Karna.
As Karna announced his intention to challenge Arjuna, a cold wave of understanding washed over Vishwa, cutting through his childlike awe. The atmosphere shifted, becoming charged with a different kind of tension. This wasn't just about skill anymore. This was about something else entirely – about lineage, about power, about who was allowed to stand where.
Vishwa's mind, usually so quick to dissect, first registered a surge of admiration, not for Karna's skill (which he had yet to fully witness), but for his sheer courage. To step into such an arena, uninvited, and challenge the celebrated prince, knowing the scorn that would follow his birth – that took a bravery Vishwa instinctively lauded.
He heard the cries of "Suta-putra!" and "Son of a charioteer!" ring out, harsh and demeaning. Vishwa's brow furrowed. What is wrong with a little display of skill? he thought, his earlier questions about the Varna system resurfacing with renewed intensity. He is also part of this kingdom. If he is strong, if he has trained, if he has skills, why should he not be allowed to show them? What harm is there in that? If he is strong, is that not good for the kingdom? The logic seemed so simple to him, yet it was clearly alien to the shouting crowd and the frowning royals.
Then came Duryodhana's dramatic intervention, declaring Karna the King of Anga. The crowd erupted again, some in cheers, some in shock. Vishwa watched Duryodhana, noting the glint in his eyes, the almost triumphant sneer as he defied the elders. They don't care about the people, do they? Vishwa thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. He just made him a king, without knowing his leadership capabilities, without knowing if he has the wisdom to rule. Just because he can challenge Arjuna. Is this how kings are chosen? Is this how power is given?
The entire scene brought forth a torrent of questions about Dharma, kingship, and social order. The Amba story, the sage's cryptic words about rivers and rocks – it all coalesced in his mind. Karna's humiliation, his immediate elevation by Duryodhana, it wasn't about justice or merit. It was about alliances, about perceived slights, about the rigid boundaries that defined who was 'worthy' and who was not. The injustice of it all, the blatant disregard for a man's inherent worth based solely on his birth, resonated deeply with Vishwa's core beliefs. He saw the hypocrisy, the inherent flaws in a system that claimed to be righteous yet allowed such blatant unfairness.
He didn't voice these thoughts to his parents. He knew their stance, had heard their discussions about the unquestionable nature of royal decrees and the established order. They would try to explain it away with complex notions of duty and fate, concepts he now found increasingly hollow.
The Kalapradarshan ended, not with the pure joy of spectacle, but with a lingering sense of unease for Vishwa. He walked home in silence, the cheers and insults echoing in his ears. This wasn't just a competition; it was a stark demonstration of the very forces that shaped his world, forces that valued birth over skill, loyalty over justice, and power over people. He didn't yet see the specific path to a great war, not as a political pundit would, but he felt the tension, the underlying currents of conflict.
The event solidified his unique worldview. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that the world was not as simple as the scrolls depicted or the elders preached. He felt a growing urgency, a quiet determination to understand more, to find ways to prepare for a future that seemed increasingly fraught with the very injustices he had witnessed today. He didn't know what he could do, a mere merchant's son, but he knew he had to do something. The Kalapradarshan had not just been a display of skill; it had been a revelation, igniting a new fire in Vishwa's inquisitive soul.