On Earth;
The Kingdom of Kalinga lay quiet under the late afternoon sun.
King Chitrangada walked slowly through the palace gardens with hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the blooming champa trees that lined the path.
His little daughter Bhanumati, ten years old, hair tied with red ribbons, ran ahead, laughing as she chased butterflies with her mother, Queen Chandramudra. The queen's sari fluttered as she pretended to catch the child, her voice soft with joy.
The king smiled faintly at the sight, a small moment of peace in a life filled with council meetings and border worries.
Just then, a voice called, clear, deep, carrying across the garden like a bell. "King Chitrangada!"
Chitrangada stopped in his tracks.
He looked around, first to the left, then to the right, but saw no one. His daughter paused too, tilting her head curiously. The queen drew Bhanumati close, suddenly alert.
A bright light appeared in the sky, sudden, blinding, visible only to the king.
It flared white-gold, like the sun itself descending, then softened.
When his vision cleared, a divine chariot hovered above the garden, pulled by seven horses whose manes shimmered like living flame.
Lord Surya stood at the reins, radiant, majestic, his face calm yet commanding. Beside him stood a young man, tall, strong, glowing with the same unhideable light as the Sun God. Next to the young man stood a beautiful woman, graceful, with the delicate features of a Gandharva princess, her eyes gentle but steady.
The king felt his heart quicken.
He recognized Lord Surya at once, the same divine presence that had visited him a few years ago. He raised his hand to dismiss the guards who had rushed forward at the sudden light.
"Leave us," he said quietly.
The guards bowed and retreated. His wife and daughter were also taken away.
Chitrangada stepped forward.
He folded his hands and bowed low, deeper than he had bowed to any mortal king. "Suryadev… welcome to Kalinga. It is an honor beyond words."
Lord Surya descended from the chariot, graceful, unhurried. He placed a hand on the king's shoulder in blessing. "King Chitrangada… I am here to remind you of your promise."
Chitrangada's face grew serious.
He remembered. How could he not?
Decades ago, before his own birth, the soil of Kalinga had been barren, cracked, lifeless, refusing to grow even grass.
His father, King Chandravarma, a simple devotee of the Sun God, had prayed day and night.
Impressed by the devotion, Lord Surya had blessed the land.
Crops had risen overnight. Rivers had filled. The kingdom had flourished. In return, Chandravarma had promised half his entire realm to Suryadev, land to build a grand temple, fields dedicated forever to the Sun God's name.
But the promise had never been fulfilled.
Chandravarma grew old, then died; the land passed to Chitrangada's elder brother, then to him.
Years of war had shrunk the kingdom.
Borders were lost.
And the temple was never built.
Not even a small plot had been set aside.
Then, a few years ago, while Karna was still training under Parashurama, Lord Surya had come again. He had spoken gently but firmly: Chandravarma suffered in hell for breaking his vow. Chitrangada had been given the choice: fulfill the promise and free his father, or let the suffering continue. He had promised then, with tears in his eyes, that he would make it right.
Back to the present, Lord Surya gestured to the young couple who stepped down from the chariot.
"This is my mortal son, Karna… and my daughter-in-law, Gandharva Princess Roshini. They were recently married, and as their wedding gift, I have decided to give the promised land to them."
Chitrangada looked at Karna. The young man stood tall, shoulders broad but relaxed, face calm and as radiant as his father. The earrings caught the light like twin suns. Roshini stood beside him, graceful like a celestial apsara, her hand resting lightly on Karna's arm.
Chitrangada bowed again, this time to Karna and Roshini. "Welcome to Kalinga. Please… come with me. I will escort you to the royal guest chambers."
He turned and led the way, walking slowly so they could keep pace.
The palace gardens opened before them, paths lined with flowering trees, fountains murmuring softly, peacocks strutting in the distance. Guards stood at attention but kept their distance, respectful, silent.
As they walked, Chitrangada spoke quietly to Lord Surya. "Suryadev… I have thought about this promise every day since you last came. The assembly argued for months about how much land? Which fields? The kingdom is only two-thirds of what it was when my grandfather made the vow. Wars took so much. I did not know how to measure half of what remains."
Lord Surya nodded in understanding, "Don't have to think much. Just give half of your current kingdom to my son."
Chitrangada's shoulders eased slightly. "Thank you, Suryadev. I will make preparations. The western half, the most fertile, with the river running through it, will be his. A temple will rise there, too.
Lord Surya placed a hand on the king's shoulder again. "No need, King Chitrangada. Rather than the western part, give the infertile eastern part of your kingdom, filled with mountains. Only the land is promised, not the wealth. Whatever kingdom my son wants to establish, he will have to work hard on his own."
Lord Surya then looked back at Karna. Patting his shoulder, he said, "Son, now this is where we part ways. I bless you success." He then looked at Roshini and smiled, "Daughter-in-law, I know that the future you will face will not be as easy as you think, but as long as you stay together, as long as you support one another, as long as you remember the seven vows of your marriage that you gave each other, whatever hurdles you may face can be crossed."
Both of them touched Lord Surya's feet for one last time. After blessing them with a smile, Lord Surya left, leaving behind the seven-horse chariot right there, for his son.
Meanwhile, they continued to walk, eventually reaching the guest wing, with wide corridors opening to private gardens, rooms draped in silk curtains.
Servants bowed low and stepped aside. King Chitrangada gestured to the largest chamber, windows overlooking the river, fresh flowers on every table.
"This will be yours," he said to Karna and Roshini.
He left them then, walking back toward the main palace, shoulders lighter than they had been in years.
Inside the chamber, Karna and Roshini stood together for a moment, silent, taking in the room.
The sunlight slanted through the windows, warm, golden. The river outside murmured softly. Roshini walked to the window, looking down at the water.
Karna came up behind her and then placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Are you nervous?"
Roshini shook her head, then turned to face him. "Not really, dear. If you are with me, why would I be nervous?"
Karna thought of something and mischievously smiled, "Well, soon, I'm going to be a King, and on Earth, mortal kings normally marry more than one lady. My father had to marry a second time, out of circumstances, but here, Kings marry for convenience. In the pursuit of growing the Kingdom's prosperity, I would have to leave you and travel to other kingdoms to make alliances. Who knows what king will offer their daughter in marriage to me? Aren't you going to worry about those possibilities?"
As Roshini's face suddenly hardened and tears almost filled her eyes, Karna immediately realized his blunder and grabbed her face, "Dear, I was just joking."
"Don't you dare say that again. I will kill myself if you bring another woman into our marriage..." She replied, her voice almost turning hoarse as if she was trying her best to control her tears.
Karna sighed and took her into his arms, hugging her with a smile, "Shhh… why are you becoming so emotional? If you become that insecure, how can our marriage last in happiness? Don't say things like that, okay. Wherever it leads… we walk it together. And I promise you that no matter what circumstances we face, I will be there for you. You will be my priority over anything, alright?"
She rested against his chest and tightened her hug.
They stood like that, husband and wife, watching the river flow below, the sun sinking slowly toward the horizon.