"Did I Ever Really Choose?”

They say it was all written.

That the war, the fall, the silence after—
every arrow in the sky, every tear on the ground—
was scripted before I was even born.

They say the gods were tired.
Tired of the noise, the chaos,
the imbalance we called progress.

So they came down as men,
placed pieces on a board,
and called it destiny.

But they also say we had free will.
That paths were shown, not forced.
That each of us had a choice to make.

And yet—
what kind of choice comes with a whisper in your ear,
a god beside you,
explaining what’s “right”
before you’ve even spoken your truth?

Krishna didn’t raise his voice.
He just tilted the scale.
Gave you the illusion of freedom,
while wrapping it in philosophy so profound
you’d feel guilty for choosing anything else.

"Do your duty," he said.
"Dharma over desire.
Detach. Deliver. Don't look back."

But what if I wanted to look back?
What if my heart said no,
even when my bow was steady?

Bhishma was tricked into silence.
Karna was robbed of his loyalty.
Draupadi was promised justice,
but was told to wait... and wait… and wait.

And I?
I stood in the middle of a battlefield
torn between karma and dharma—
between what felt right,
and what I was told was right.

And still…
they tell me I had a choice.

But did I?

Or was this all just a parent setting up a child—
watching them stumble,
then saying, “I told you so”?

Because maybe…
that’s the real question, isn’t it?

Was it ever about the choice—
or about who I became while choosing?

Even if the end was inevitable…
did the journey still belong to me?

Was the meaning mine to make—
even if the path was drawn long before I stepped on it?

Or was I only ever walking
someone else’s truth…
believing it was my own?