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...