Ten months slipped away like sand through open fingers.
Karna walked on, day after day, through dust-choked roads and cool forest paths, stopping only where hermits offered shade and a handful of rice.
The beard had grown thick across his jaw, hiding the sharp lines of his face, and the simple white cloth he wore hung loose on a body made lean by grief and endless walking.
No one looked twice at the quiet traveler who carried a small clay urn against his chest. Inside it rested the ashes of Roshini, waiting for the Goddess Ganga to receive them.
Meanwhile, Bharatvarsh had not stood still in his absence, but the changes were quiet ones.
No asura raids shook the southern borders.
No armies marched.
The only ripple that reached even the smallest villages was news of the swayamvara of Princess Dhavani, nine months earlier.
Kings and princes had gathered in Magadha from every corner of the land. Yet when the moment came, Dhavani had stepped forward, looked at each one, and chosen no one. She had stood silent, eyes steady, while the hall filled with murmurs of surprise and wounded pride.
Whispers said she had once hoped for Karna, who was the prime choice of Jarasandha, too.
Dhavani broke away her hopes when Karna rejected her, but when word came that his wife had died in childbirth and he had left his kingdom to wander toward Kashi, the hope returned to her. As a result, she didn't even think twice before refusing every suitor.
Jarasandha, fierce as he was, did not force her either. And no king dared speak against Magadha openly. They left in silence, carrying their disappointment home.
Karna reached the forests of Kashi. Evening light slanted through the leaves in long golden bars. Karna walked steadily, asking directions from woodcutters and goatherds. Kashi City was close to him now, and in a few days, he would reach his destination, at last.
Present day;
As the sun dipped low, Karna saw the faint smoke of a Ashram ahead—mud walls, thatched roof, a small courtyard with a tulsi plant in the center. He quickened his step to rest here for the night.
But as he neared the gate, he noticed the royal chariot standing under the big mango tree.
The horses were still harnessed, coats glossy with sweat. A banner hung limp in the still air, showing the trishula of Kashi. Soldiers in polished armor moved quietly around the yard, setting up a small camp. A few of them glanced up as Karna approached.
One stepped forward, hand resting on his sword hilt. "Stop there, traveler. This Ashram is occupied tonight. The prince and princess of Kashi are resting here. Find another place."
Karna halted. The words were polite enough, but the tone carried an edge. He looked past the soldier to the courtyard. A large tent had been pitched near the Tulsi plant. Two smaller ones flanked it. A faint smell of sandalwood incense drifted out. Everything was calm, orderly, royal.
He met the soldier's eyes and calmly said. "I seek only shelter for the night, Warrior. A corner of the courtyard, nothing more. I will not disturb the prince or princess."
The soldier, however, shook his head. "Orders are clear. No strangers tonight. Move on."
Karna's jaw tightened. An Ashram was not a palace that some prince or princess could claim. It belonged to anyone who came in peace, seeking rest and shelter. To bar the gate went against the oldest dharma of the road. Yet he saw the soldiers' faces—young, tense, loyal. They were following commands, not malice.
He drew a slow breath and stepped back. "I understand. I will find another place before dark."
The soldier relaxed slightly, almost surprised that there was no argument or plea. Karna turned and walked away, feet steady on the path. Behind him, the Ashram gate closed with a soft thud.
The sun was already touching the treetops. If he hurried, he could reach another shelter before full night fell. He adjusted the urn against his chest, feeling its familiar weight, and kept walking.
Inside the Ashram, Mrinalini stood near the tent flap, listening to the exchange. She had heard the traveler's voice—low, calm, carrying the quiet authority of someone who did not need to shout. She had seen him through the gap in the cloth: tall, bearded, dressed like an ascetic, yet something in his bearing made the soldiers' refusal feel suddenly small and wrong.
She turned to the guard who had spoken. "Who was that man?"
"A wanderer, Princess. He asked for shelter. We told him the Ashram is occupied."
Mrinalini frowned. "This is an Ashram, not our palace. The rule is to give rest to all who come in peace."
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "But Princess… It's for your safety."
Mrinalini's eyes shifted. "You idiot. It is almost sunset, and if something happens to him in the dark, who will bear the sins? My father's condition is already not good. Do you want the gods to punish him even more..."
The soldier stiffened.
Princess Mrinalini hurried forward without waiting for his response.
Meanwhile, Karna had already walked away, back onto the darkening path, when the voice came from behind.
"Wait, traveler."
It was calm, clear, carrying the quiet weight of someone used to being heard. He paused, then slowly turned.
A woman stood in the open gateway of the Ashram.
She wore a deep blue saree edged with silver thread, simple yet unmistakably royal. A thin gold chain rested against her collarbone, and a small ruby gleamed at the parting of her hair.
Her face was lovely in the fading light—high cheekbones, steady dark eyes. Her face turned into a small, warm smile.
"Mahodaya," she said, folding her hands. "I apologize for their behavior. They were only trying to protect me, but they forgot the first rule of hospitality. Please, come in."
Karna studied her for a moment. The humility in her tone surprised him—not the practiced courtesy of a royal, but something genuine. He inclined his head.
"There is no need for apology, Devi," he said quietly. "I understand their caution."
He walked back and then stepped past the gate. "Thank you for the kindness, Princess."
As she nodded, he continued to walk.
The courtyard smelled of tulsi and burning camphor. A small fire crackled near the central hut, throwing soft light on the clay walls. Karna paused just inside, the clay urn still held close to his chest.
The woman followed a step behind him. As he moved toward the hut where the hermit usually received guests, she spoke again.
"Wait."
He stopped and looked back.
She smiled once more, this time with open curiosity. "May I know your name?"
Karna hesitated only a heartbeat. The name he had carried since birth felt too heavy now, too tied to battles and grief. He chose the name that the attendants in Suryaloka had sometimes used—a gentle, ancient name that carried no burden.
"Vasusena," he said.
The woman's smile widened. "Vasusena," she repeated softly, as though tasting the word. "I am Mrinalini, princess of Kashi."
Karna had already guessed as much from the banner and the soldiers, but he inclined his head again. "I am honored, Princess."
She tilted her head slightly. "If you do not find it offensive to ask, may I know what brings a traveler like you to these forests so late in the day? And to this Ashram, of all places?"
Karna met her eyes. There was no demand in her voice, only genuine interest.
"I am on my way to Kashi, Princess," he answered. "To offer these ashes to the Ganga." He touched the urn lightly. "I seek rest for the night before entering the city."
Mrinalini's gaze dropped to the urn. Understanding moved across her face—soft, quiet sorrow. She nodded once.
"Then you have come to the right place," she said. "This is the Ashram of Maharshi Nirvikapla."
Karna's breath caught. Nirvikapla—the sage from Treta Yuga, whose divine vision could pierce past, present, and future. Even in Suryaloka, the name had been spoken with reverence. Karna had never expected to step into his ashram by chance.
Mrinalini saw the flicker in his expression and smiled again. "A fortunate coincidence, isn't it?"
Before Karna could reply, a young man stepped out from one of the smaller huts. He looked no older than sixteen, tall for his age, dressed in fine silk, but his face carried the quick pride of youth. He strode toward them, frowning as he saw Karna standing beside his sister.
"Hey, you," he called, voice sharp with authority. "Who are you? Are you troubling my sister?"