The Vow

He was young when he made it. Clear-eyed. Loving. His father grieved and he acted from everything he had — gave up the throne, the lineage, the body, the future. Not from weakness. From the most complete love a son can offer.

The heavens shook. That's how pure it was.

The Mahabharata is what happened next.

Not despite the vow. Because of it. Draupadi in the court. The war. The eighteen days. The counting of the dead. Bhishma on a bed of arrows, seeing the completed board. Every square filled.

He had placed his number with complete confidence. Full capability. Absolute love.

Doing my best doesn't mean it is for the best.

At the Gate

By the time Yudhishthira reached the gate of heaven, he was alone. Not alone the way we mean it casually. Alone in the way that arrives only after everything has been taken. Draupadi had fallen on the mountain. Then Sahadeva. Nakula. Arjuna. Bhima. One by one, each had dropped on

The Riverbank

Every morning, without fail, Karna stood in the river at dawn and offered his prayers to Surya — his father, his god, his one true witness. And every morning, after his prayers, he gave. To whoever came. Whatever they asked. This was known. This was Karna. On this morning, a brahmin

The Second Arrow

The Buddhists say pain arrives twice. The first time is the event. The second time is everything after — the returning, the replaying, the carrying of it forward into days that have nothing to do with it. The first arrow lands. The second arrow we throw ourselves. But there is something

The Only Answer

Nine numbers. Nine boxes. None repeat. One solution. Not one of several. One. I started playing Sudoku at forty — scared, if I'm honest, of my mind getting slower. Everyone said play Sudoku. So I did. And then something unexpected happened. I started enjoying it. Not the completion. The

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At the Gate

The Riverbank

The Second Arrow

The Only Answer