Time passed.
In Mathura, the sun had shifted across the sky and then disappeared behind the palace walls, but the city itself remained strangely silent. Streets were still filled with unconscious bodies. Homes stood with doors half-open. Lamps burned until their oil ran out. Even the dogs that usually roamed the alleys moved cautiously, sniffing at motionless humans and then backing away as if the entire city had been cursed.
Deep beneath the palace, where damp stone swallowed sound and torches burned with weak flame, Kamsa lay in a small cell.
His body was sprawled on the cold floor, wrists and ankles bound tightly in thick chains. The metal links looked ordinary at first glance, but anyone with spiritual sight could tell the truth. Faint threads of golden light ran through the iron, almost invisible, like divine veins embedded into the chains. The glow was not bright, but it was steady, and it pressed against Kamsa's asuric blood like a constant weight.
Even his breathing sounded heavy, restrained.
The tyrant of Mathura, who once roared like a demon king, now lay powerless like a captured animal.
Outside the bars, Karna stood silently.
The dim torchlight reflected off his calm eyes, making him look colder than usual. Mrinalini stood beside him, her blood-streaked armor still clinging to her body like a second skin. Her face remained unreadable, her gaze fixed on Kamsa as if she were staring at a snake she had finally cornered.
Karna's lips then began to move.
A chant left his mouth in a low voice, slow and precise. The words were ancient. Each syllable seemed to vibrate through the stone walls of the underground cell, like the palace itself was being forced to listen.
The lingering effects of Sammohanastra still clung to Kamsa's mind like fog. Karna's chant cut through that fog like a blade.
Slowly, Kamsa stirred.
His fingers twitched.
His jaw tightened.
Then his eyes snapped open.
For a moment, confusion clouded his face. His vision adjusted to the dim light, and then he realized what he was seeing. Iron bars. A cramped cell. Chains biting into his wrists and ankles. The faint golden glow inside the metal pressed into his skin like burning poison.
His breath turned sharp.
His eyes widened in fury.
He tried to move.
The chains tightened instantly.
Pain shot through his limbs, and the divine glow flared brighter, suppressing his asuric strength before it could even rise.
Kamsa snarled like a beast. "What is this?!" he roared, jerking against the chains. "Who dares?!"
His gaze snapped to Karna and Mrinalini standing outside the cell.
The rage in his eyes became even darker. "Who are you two?" he demanded, voice hoarse but violent. "What did you do to me?!"
Karna did not answer immediately. His expression remained calm, almost indifferent, as if Kamsa's fury was nothing more than the barking of a dog tied to a post.
But before Karna could speak, Mrinalini stepped forward.
Her footsteps were quiet, but the air seemed to tighten as she approached the bars. Her eyes were cold, her voice even colder.
"You didn't recognize me, Maharaj?" she asked, her tone carrying a sharp mockery that made the words sting. "I suppose you wouldn't. You never even bothered to see my portrait before forcing my father into a marriage proposal."
Kamsa's brows furrowed.
Mrinalini leaned slightly closer, her gaze unblinking.
"I am Mrinalini," she said. "Princess of Kashi."
The words landed like a slap.
Kamsa froze.
His eyes widened slowly, disbelief flickering through his expression for the first time. His mouth parted slightly, and his breathing stopped for a heartbeat.
"You…" he whispered, then louder, "It's you?"
The name seemed to unlock something in his mind. His face twisted again, rage returning twice as strong.
Then his gaze snapped to Karna.
His eyes narrowed as if he could smell the truth.
"And you…" Kamsa growled, voice thick with hatred. "Then you must be Suryaputra."
His lips curled.
"The murderer of my son."
The cell seemed to grow colder.
Mrinalini's fingers tightened around the bars, but Karna lifted his hand slightly, a silent gesture telling her to wait.
Then Karna finally spoke.
His voice was calm, steady, almost quiet. "Your son never battled me, Maharaj Kamsa," Karna said.
Kamsa blinked, thrown off by the coldness in his tone.
Karna continued, his gaze locked on Kamsa's face. "The one who killed him…" Karna said slowly, "…is the one you wanted as your daughter-in-law."
For a moment, the underground cell fell into dead silence.
Kamsa's eyes widened again, but this time it wasn't shock alone.
It was disbelief mixed with humiliation.
His head snapped toward Mrinalini. "No," he said immediately, voice rising. "No way."
His chains rattled as he tried to lunge forward, but the divine metal held him in place, burning against his skin. Still, his eyes were wild.
"That's impossible!" he snarled. "My son was a maharathi! He mastered the dark arts!"
His voice grew louder, almost frantic, as if he was trying to convince himself.
"Not even the entire Kashi kingdom's army could match him," Kamsa spat. "And you're telling me… you're telling me a mere woman killed him?"
His tone dripped with disgust.
Mrinalini's expression did not change at those words… atleast at first.
She stepped closer until she stood directly in front of the bars, close enough that Kamsa could see the dried blood on her armor, the faint bruises on her arms, the quiet strength in her posture.
Then she spoke, her voice calm, cold, and sharp enough to cut pride apart.
"Your son truly inherited your wickedness," she said. "And your bad intellect, Maharaj Kamsa."
Kamsa's face twisted, but Mrinalini did not stop.
"Both of you are so arrogant," she continued, "that you forget something simple: that every woman is a warrior."
Kamsa's lips parted, but no words came out.
Mrinalini's voice remained steady, almost casual, as if she were stating a truth that should have been obvious. "A man fights wars once in a while," she said. "A woman fights wars every single day. She fights for respect. She fights for safety. She fights for dignity. She fights against fear. And men like your son think that they can trample on that dignity just because they are strong and can fight. Look where it got him..."
Kamsa stared at her, breathing heavily, chains rattling as his body trembled with rage.
Mrinalini continued, her words now carrying something darker, something that came from grief sharpened into steel. "For his evil deeds, his corpse should have been thrown into the river the moment he died. That would have been the fate he deserved."
She tilted her head slightly toward Karna.
"But Karna followed his dharma."
Her voice did not soften, but there was something in it that sounded like reluctant respect. "He cremated him properly. He performed the ancestral rituals. And he even sent his ashes back to Mathura, even after you caused him so much pain."
Kamsa's face twitched.
Mrinalini's voice rose slightly, not in volume, but in intensity. "Without any reason," she said, "you sent asuras one after another to kill him. When you failed, you sent them to attack Rajapura and forced Karna to leave his wife."
Her voice dipped lower after a pause.
"If he had been by her side," she said slowly, "he could have saved her."
Karna's eyes flickered.
Mrinalini's gaze, meanwhile, remained locked on Kamsa, her words now striking like blows. "His music is so powerful," she said, "that it cured my father's sickness."
She leaned closer, her face inches from the bars, her eyes cold enough to freeze fire. "And yet because of you," she whispered, "he was forced away from his home. Away from his children."
Her voice tightened. "He lost the woman he loved."
The silence after those words was heavy.
Even Kamsa's rage paused for a moment, as if he didn't know how to respond to that kind of truth.
Mrinalini straightened slowly, her shoulders squared. "And after all of this," she said, "he did not desire revenge on Mathura. He came only to capture you."
Kamsa snarled again, but his voice sounded weaker now, as if the chains weren't the only thing binding him.
Mrinalini's final words fell like a judgment. "Even now," she said, "the reason you are going to die is not revenge."
She stared into Kamsa's eyes, unblinking. "It is because your adharma has reached the point where you are no longer allowed to live on this earth."
Kamsa's breathing grew harsh.
His chains rattled as he struggled again, his eyes burning with hate and fear mixed together.