The moment Karna addressed Sumedha, the court's silence deepened.
It was not the silence of boredom. It was the silence of anticipation. Ministers who had been bold enough to speak moments earlier now sat still, as if their tongues had been tied. Even the scribes paused their writing. The guards at the pillars stood straighter.
Every eye turned toward the third queen, who is often hailed as the wisest and most knowledgeable person in the entire kingdom, the one their Maharaj depends on the most.
Sumedha then rose calmly.
Her hands folded lightly in front of her, her posture elegant but not fragile. There was something about her presence that always reminded the court that she had grown up in isolation, surrounded not by luxury but by knowledge.
Her eyes briefly shifted toward Rajguru Someshwara.
"In my opinion," she said, her voice gentle but clear, "whatever Rajguru has stated, from his perspective and from the perspective of Shaivism… is one hundred percent truth."
The Rajguru's lips curled into a satisfied smile, as if he had already won.
But Sumedha did not stop there.
She turned her gaze toward Karna, and her tone remained calm, almost scholarly.
"However," she continued, "the Vaishnava Puranas speak differently."
The Rajguru's smile faltered slightly at those words.
Sumedha's words flowed smoothly, like someone reciting something she had read a hundred times. "The Vaishnava Puranas say that Narayana is the primal being," she explained. "He then separated himself into two parts. One is the materialistic being, Lord Vishnu, and the other is the eternal spiritualistic being, Lord Shiva."
A faint murmur passed through the court. Some ministers shifted uncomfortably, as if they were hearing something dangerous.
Sumedha continued, her voice steady. "And from Lord Vishnu was born Lord Brahma," she said, "who then created the material universe."
She paused for a moment, letting the words settle.
Then she added, almost casually, as if it was obvious. "And according to the Shakta Puranas, Devi Shakti is the primal being, from whom Lord Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahadeva were born."
The Rajguru's brows knitted together.
A few Shaiva ministers frowned, but none dared interrupt her. After all, she was not speaking from arrogance. She was speaking from scripture, and scripture was not something even priests could easily dismiss.
Sumedha looked around the hall, her expression composed.
"There are many Puranas," she said, "and many theories."
Then her voice softened slightly, as if she was stepping away from debate and into truth.
"But whatever Puranas exist, they all speak of the same thing. There is a primal being, from whom the other two parts of Tridev, or even all three of them, were created."
She let her gaze travel across the court.
"And then all of them depended on one another. Lord Brahma creates, Lord Vishnu preserves, and Lord Shiva destroys. Thus completing the cycle."
The hall remained silent.
Not because they agreed.
But because they could not deny the logic.
Sumedha sat down again, her face still calm, as if she had merely answered a child's question about the seasons.
Karna's lips curved into a smile.
Not the polite smile of a king.
Not the forced smile he gave ministers when they argued foolishly.
It was genuine.
He looked at Sumedha with quiet admiration, once again reminded that this woman had been raised in a prison cell, yet her mind had been freer than most people living under open skies.
"You are correct indeed," Karna said slowly.
Sumedha looked up at him, attentive.
"The primal source," Karna continued, "the primal being you referred to… is what we call Para Brahman, Rani Sumedha."
Sumedha blinked.
Her calm expression finally cracked with surprise.
"Para… Brahman?" she repeated softly, as if tasting the unfamiliar words.
She had read countless scriptures. She had memorized the Puranas. She had studied philosophies and arguments.
Yet she had never heard that term.
Not because she lacked knowledge.
But because humans, in their endless stories, rarely spoke of what had no form.
Karna's gaze swept across the court. Ministers were staring now, their eyes wide with curiosity. Even Rajguru Someshwara looked unsettled, as if the king had stepped beyond the boundaries of ordinary theology.
Karna spoke calmly, his voice carrying a quiet authority that did not demand belief but offered understanding.
"Para Brahman is the source of everything."
He paused briefly, his eyes thoughtful.
"But since Para Brahman has no image," he continued, "people search for a form."
His gaze shifted slightly, as if he was looking beyond the hall itself.
"Some see Lord Narayana in Para Brahman's image," he said. "Some see Lord Vishnu in Para Brahman's image. Some see Devi Shakti in Para Brahman's image. "And for some, they see their own parents in Para Brahman's image."
The court went still.
Even the skeptical ministers felt something in those words.
Karna looked down at Vrishaketu, who sat on his lap, watching him with wide innocent eyes. The boy looked confused, his small brows furrowed, trying to understand something too large for his little mind.
Karna then glanced at the two daughters on his knees.
One was sucking her thumb, staring at a pillar carving.
The other was trying to count the lamps in the ceiling.
Karna chuckled quietly, then gently caressed their heads, the way a father would comfort his children without words.
Then he looked back at Vrishaketu.
"Son," Karna said softly, "if you want… You can worship both Narayana and Mahadeva."
Vrishaketu's eyes widened.
Karna continued calmly.
"Whether you worship one or both, it doesn't matter," he said, "you ultimately worship Para Brahman."
The child's face brightened slightly, as if that answer finally made sense in his heart, even if his mind still struggled.
Karna's voice turned thoughtful again.
"As for why they aren't worshipped together in the same temple," he said, "it is because the ones who build such temples do not see it that way."
He looked across the hall again, his gaze sharp but not cruel.
"They only see Para Brahman in one form," Karna concluded. "That is why."
The words settled in the court like incense smoke, spreading slowly, entering every mind.
Sumedha sat still, absorbing the knowledge like a thirsty traveler receiving water. Her eyes remained fixed on Karna, as if she was hearing something that should have been written in scriptures but never was.
The silence did not break.
The court remained still, as if everyone was afraid that even breathing too loudly would disturb the weight of the discussion.
Then Vrishaketu, sitting innocently on Karna's lap, looked up again.
His voice was soft, but clear enough to cut through the stillness. "Then…" he asked, tilting his head, "why can't Father build a temple for both?"
Karna blinked.
For a moment, he did not speak.
Not because he lacked an answer.
But because he had not expected such a direct, fearless conclusion from a three-year-old.
The question was so innocent, so pure, that it felt like an arrow fired straight into the heart of tradition.
Before Karna could respond, Sumedha immediately rose again, her eyes shining faintly with interest.
"I agree with the proposal, Maharaj," she said calmly. "It would send a good message to the entire Bharatavarsh."
Several ministers stiffened.
Some looked uneasy.
Some looked impressed.
Some looked frightened, as if the queen had just suggested something that could spark a religious storm.
Karna was about to speak.
But Rajguru Someshwara rose again, his face now serious.
"Maharaj," the Rajguru said carefully, "in Dakshina Kalinga, the Vaishnava community is far less compared to other kingdoms. And under Maharaj's rule, our Shaiva community has lived in peace with them. "Apart from brief verbal arguments and debates, it has remained peaceful."
Then he lifted his chin slightly.
"Everyone here is free to practice their own belief," Someshwara said. "No one is complaining."
His voice grew firmer, like a man defending a wall.
"So why bother introducing a new tradition," he asked, "when everything is already peaceful?"