The great arena near Hastinapura's palace brimmed with people — nobles in silks, merchants with dust-stained robes, even farmers who'd walked miles to glimpse their future rulers. This was no ordinary gathering. It was the long-awaited public showcase of Dronacharya's students — princes trained in war, sons raised to lead.
But Karna did not stand among them.
He watched from the royal platform's side, beside Duryodhana — not as an outcast, but as an equal. Not a prince by blood, but by right.
For months now, the court had grown used to Karna's presence. Some nobles gossiped quietly behind their fans. Others watched him with veiled contempt. The charioteer's son, they whispered. Duryodhana's pet warrior. Too skilled. Too close.
But Karna ignored them all. He had learned to endure stares long ago. And Duryodhana's friendship was a shield no one could pierce.
---
The crowd hushed as the five Pandavas stepped into the arena, led by Arjuna — bow in hand, eyes cold with purpose. Beside Dronacharya, pride gleamed in the teacher's face.
Arjuna moved like fire incarnate. His arrows blurred through spinning rings, shattered moving targets, and split the trunk of a tree clean down the center.
Even Karna found himself nodding in approval. The skill was real. But so was the pride — the silent assumption that he was the best, the rightful heir to glory.
The crowd roared. Dhritarashtra smiled. Bhishma looked pleased.
Then Dronacharya stood and raised his hand.
"Behold, my greatest student — Arjuna, son of Pandu and bearer of Indra's grace. None may rival his skill."
Karna's jaw tightened.
Duryodhana leaned over. "You won't let that stand, will you?"
Karna rose. Calmly. Confidently.
---
He stepped onto the field, silence following like a cloak.
The crowd recognized him now. Whispers passed — Isn't that the boy Duryodhana elevated? The charioteer's son?
Kripa frowned. Dronacharya's mouth tightened.
Arjuna lowered his bow slightly. "You wish to challenge me again, Karna?" he asked, not unkindly — but firmly.
"I do," Karna replied, "though not for pride or insult. Let skill speak louder than names."
Drona stepped forward, voice hard. "This is a contest for royal-born. By what right do you stand here, Karna?"
Before Karna could answer, Duryodhana rose from his seat, voice ringing across the arena.
"He stands here because I recognize him as a king — not just of Anga, but of courage. If birth is your measure, then let mine be enough. And if skill is your concern — let your favorite prove his place."
A ripple passed through the court.
Drona hesitated. Bhishma's brow furrowed. Vidura said nothing.
Krishna, standing silently near the royal gallery, observed with narrowed eyes. He had known this day would come — when caste would clash with merit, and the world would be forced to choose sides.
---
Kripa spoke, his voice sharper than Drona's.
"If your student is of royal favor, then let him name his father before this court."
Karna's lips pressed thin.
Duryodhana's hand went to his sword hilt. "Enough."
But Karna stopped him with a glance.
"I do not know my father's name," he said quietly. "But I know my path. And it leads through men who think birth alone grants greatness."
The crowd murmured — some with disapproval, others with uncertain admiration.
Arjuna remained silent, gaze unreadable.
---
Karna and Arjuna faced each other. The bowstring thrummed. The crowd leaned forward.
Then — thunder cracked. A sudden storm rolled in from the west, clouds billowing like chariots of war. Drona raised his hand.
"This contest is over — the skies have spoken."
Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps the gods were not ready for this fight.
Karna lowered his bow. Arjuna did the same.
But something had changed.
The court had seen a challenger not of royal blood, yet every bit a warrior.
And Duryodhana had made it clear: Karna was not his tool, nor his charity. He was his brother-in-arms.
---
That night, as rain drummed softly on palace stone, Karna stood with Duryodhana beneath the terrace awnings.
"They will never accept me," Karna said. "No matter what I do."
Duryodhana poured wine into two bronze cups. "Then we stop asking. Let them cling to the past. We will build the future."
Karna looked out into the storm.
So be it, he thought.