Krishna and the Dying Warrior - A Soldier's Last Questions

The soldier was dying slowly. An arrow through his gut, not quickly fatal but certainly so. He lay among thousands like him—the unnamed, the unremembered, the men who died so that kings could argue.

Krishna found him at sunset, walking the battlefield after the day's slaughter had ended.

An Unnamed Soldier: "You. You're him. The charioteer. The god."

Krishna: "I'm him."

An Unnamed Soldier: "I have questions."

Krishna: "Ask."

An Unnamed Soldier: "Why am I dying for this? I never met Duryodhana. Never met the Pandavas. I owned a small farm. I had a wife. Two children. I was conscripted. Given a spear. Told to fight for dharma. And now I'm bleeding out in a field of bodies, and I don't understand what any of this is for."

Krishna: "Would understanding help?"

An Unnamed Soldier: "It might. Before I die, I'd like to know why."

Krishna sat beside him.

Krishna: "The simple answer is politics. Duryodhana's greed. The Pandavas' claim. A conflict that could have been resolved peacefully but wasn't. You're dying because powerful men couldn't compromise."

An Unnamed Soldier: "That's the reason? Stupidity? Arrogance?"

Krishna: "That's one layer. Beneath that is karma—actions from past lives creating consequences in this one. Deeper still is lila—the cosmic play that moves through us all. You might be completing a cycle you started ages ago without knowing it."

An Unnamed Soldier: "I didn't start anything. I was farming."

Krishna: "In this life. But souls are older than lives. You might have been a king who sent soldiers to death. Now you understand what that feels like. Or you might have been a peaceful soul who needed to experience violence to complete your understanding. I don't know your karma. Only you and time know that."

An Unnamed Soldier: "That's not comforting."

Krishna: "I'm not offering comfort. You asked for truth."

The soldier laughed, then coughed blood.

An Unnamed Soldier: "Fair enough. Here's another question: do you care?"

Krishna: "About?"

An Unnamed Soldier: "About me. About the ten thousand soldiers who died today. About the ones who'll die tomorrow. Do you care about us, or are we just... pieces in your game?"

Krishna was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was different—softer, heavier.

Krishna: "I care. But caring doesn't mean saving. I care about every being in every realm. I feel every death, every birth, every moment of suffering and joy. And yet I don't intervene. Not because I'm indifferent. Because intervention would stop the game—and the game is how souls learn."

An Unnamed Soldier: "So our suffering teaches us?"

Krishna: "Your suffering teaches you. And everyone who witnesses it. And everyone who caused it. The lesson ripples outward forever. Your death tonight will affect your wife, your children, the soldier who killed you, the king who conscripted you. Each of them will learn something—consciously or not—from losing you."

An Unnamed Soldier: "I'd rather be alive."

Krishna: "I know. And your wanting to live is also part of the lesson. That desire, that fear, that grief—these are what make the game meaningful. If death didn't matter, life wouldn't either."

The soldier's breathing was shallower now.

An Unnamed Soldier: "One more question."

Krishna: "Ask."

An Unnamed Soldier: "Will anyone remember me? Or am I just... gone? After the funeral, after my wife remarries, after my children grow old—does any trace of me remain?"

Krishna: "Here is what remains: every action creates ripples. Your kindness to a stranger three years ago is still moving through the world. The child you helped across a river grew up kinder because of it. She will help others. They will help others. The chain never breaks."

An Unnamed Soldier: "But my name—"

Krishna: "Names are sounds. What matters is the pattern you created. And that pattern is immortal. It changed the universe in ways that can never be unchanged. Long after every history book has crumbled, the effects of your existence will still be propagating through reality."

An Unnamed Soldier: "Even a farmer's existence?"

Krishna: "Especially a farmer's existence. Farmers feed people. Those people do things. Those things create more things. You've been feeding ripples for decades. Do you think Alexander's conquests matter more than your wheat? Alexander killed thousands. You nourished thousands. I know which pattern the universe values more."

The soldier smiled. His eyes were closing.

An Unnamed Soldier: "Will you stay? Until—"

Krishna: "I'll stay."

An Unnamed Soldier: "Thank you. I didn't expect a god to... to bother with someone like me."

Krishna: "There is no one like you. There is no one unlike you. You are unique and universal simultaneously. That's the joke of existence. That's what I came to experience, wearing these human forms."

An Unnamed Soldier: "What?"

Krishna: "How it feels to be one thing. To have a name, a story, a death. To matter and not matter at the same time. You've taught me that tonight. In return, I stay."

The soldier's last breath left him. Krishna stayed until dawn, then rose and returned to his chariot.

The war continued. The kings fought. The nameless died.

But this one—this farmer, this soldier, this brief conversation—would ripple through reality forever. Just like all the others. Just like everything.