So, this is how it ends. I die knee-deep in mud and an arrow in the back, not a glorious end a warrior like me desires, but I seek solace in the fact that Arjun did not get a magnificent victory either. I doubt anyone will know him as 'Arjun, the slayer of Karana,'. My defeat was the end of a tragic life, not a celebrated moment in Arjun's saga. My name shall always be a question mark on his claim as a righteous warrior, the best archer in the world.

Maybe I deserved this end. To be honest, I deserved worst. My ego, my role in the disrobing of Devi Draupadi, and the death of son Abhimanyu. No matter what I do or did, I cannot wash off those strains on my soul. I know I make my way to the inextinguishable fires of hell, and I welcome that.

As I make way to my pyre, I pray these are not the only two moments that define me. I do not desire to be known for my generosity- those were only feeble attempts to atone for my sins. I am not and will never be a Pandava. I am a Kuntiya, I will not deny my mother her motherhood, even though she was never a mother to me. I was never her son, just her shame. But I cannot identify with her other sons. All warriors wish for victories and ballads, and I am no exception, but it is not glory I seek.

If there were one thing I hope progeny remembers me for, it would be my loyalty. I stood behind my friend, Duryodhan, through it all. I saw his family, even his Gods doubt and question him, but I stood steady with him. My loyalty even when I realized he and his brothers would eventually make it to heaven, all their sins forgiven, for they died on the battlefield. I, on the other hand, will have to wait for another grandeur-less birth for a chance at heaven. I do not get the glory. But Karan, the ever-loyal friend, has a beautiful ring.