Karna walked alone through the moonlit streets of Hastinapura. The offer of kingship echoed in his ears, but not as temptation. Instead, it was a test—a reminder of how fragile men could be before the glitter of power.
He paused by the riverbank, where the Ganga shimmered silver under the stars. Kneeling, he dipped his hands into the cool waters, offering silent prayer to the goddess. "Mother Shakti," he whispered, "you gave me this life anew. You burdened me with knowledge of what has been and what will be. Tonight, temptation knocked at my door. But you know, I did not falter."
The waters rippled as if in answer. Karna closed his eyes, memories flooding him. He thought of the food stalls he had once built, of feeding beggars and sages, of watching joy fill empty stomachs. He thought of the vow he had made—that his wealth, his strength, even his breath would serve dharma, not crowns.
A throne, he mused, was but wood and gold. But honor—honor was eternal.
The next day, he returned to his practice ground, where the sun blazed high and the earth trembled beneath the thrum of arrows. Arjuna was already there, releasing shafts with flawless grace. Their eyes met briefly, not as rivals, but as warriors sharing the same path.
Arjuna raised an eyebrow at Karna's faint smile. "Why do you grin, sutaputra? Have you won a hidden prize?"
Karna shook his head, nocking an arrow. "No prize, only clarity. Sometimes temptation comes dressed as opportunity. But when one knows his path, even kingship feels light as dust."
Arjuna frowned, puzzled, but Karna loosed his arrow. It split the bullseye beside Arjuna's, and both shafts quivered side by side.
That night, Duryodhana brooded in his chamber. Shakuni questioned him, "Did he accept?"
"No," Duryodhana muttered. "He smiled. He spoke of dharma, of honor, as if thrones mean nothing. How can I bind such a man?"
Shakuni's eyes gleamed, cold and sharp. "A serpent waits. A serpent whispers. A serpent coils. If he will not be bound by thrones, then bind him with friendship. Gift him loyalty, and he will gift it back. And when war comes, he will stand where friendship places him."
Duryodhana nodded slowly, determination hardening in him. He would not give up. Karna would be his, one way or another.
But Karna, sleeping beneath the stars that night, dreamed not of thrones or of battles. He dreamed of the path Shakti had whispered into his soul: that discipline, honor, dedication, and respect could bend even fate itself. He knew storms were coming, rivalries would burn, wars would shatter kingdoms. Yet he smiled still, for he had chosen his truth.