Sun TV Mahabharatham

The hall had fallen silent. The scent of jasmine and camphor drifted through the air. On the stage sat under the soft light the storyteller wearing a spotless white dhoti, his forehead marked with stripes of vibhuti. He adjusted the microphone, cleared his throat once, and spoke in that calm, resonant tone that balances the weight of wisdom with the ease of banter — the way only a seasoned upanyāsakar can. He looked around the hall, his gaze sweeping slowly and deliberately over the audience — as if to say, “Listen well... what follows is not just a story...” “Karma, my dear listeners, is like a shadow that refuses to fade. You may walk in sunlight, hide in a cave, or sink into the sea — it follows, unseen, waiting for the next dawn. No act is ever lost. It moves — from father to son, from serpent to sage, from forest to flame. Only with the touch of grace — only when the Divine decides — can that chain be broken. And today, we speak of one such karma — born in fire, car...

Storytime : 1 The sun had risen and set over Kurukshetra eight times. Each day, blood was spilled. Each night, hopes dimmed. And now, on the ninth day, the war dragged on — without resolution, without momentum. Victory for the Pandavas? It felt distant. Fading. The tide refused to turn. Bhishma stood like a mountain, unshaken. His arrows tore through the Pandava ranks with merciless precision. Arjuna, the hero of many battles, stood irresolute. Where was his prowess in archery gone? His heart was caught between reverence and duty. How could he aim at Bhishma — his grandsire, his mentor? And yet, how could he not? Krishna watched with a frown. His silence was heavy. He had vowed not to fight. But vows mean little when dharma itself is bleeding. Bhishma’s fury grew. Duryodhana’s harsh words — “You are partial to the Pandavas” — had sealed the last cracks in his kind heart. The love he once held for Arjuna had receded, buried beneath duty and wounded pride. The Pandava army was crum...