For the next three days, Karna moved through Hastinapura as a tourist.
He walked through markets to buy normal quality and also high quality fabrics, and the northern spices that leaned toward warming blends like cumin, coriander, cardamom, and black pepper. The spices were different from how the cooking was used in Dakshina Kalinga, where turmeric, ginger, mustard seeds, and tamarind were more central.
Merchants greeted him with respect, some recognizing him, others sensing his stature without knowing his name. After all, Karna didn't travel in disguises. He just wore his kingly robes as he toured around with one attendant.
He paused at stalls, selecting items with quiet care.
Jewelry that would catch Dhavani's eye.
Fine fabrics that Mrinalini might find worthy.
Books, scrolls, crafted pieces that would suit Sumedha's thoughtful nature.
And many common items for servants and maids who serve the queens and him closely. For the kids as well...
Each choice carried intention.
During these three days, Karna met Yudhisthira only once; their discussion was entirely formal rather than casual, centered on trade and governance.
He crossed paths with Arjuna again during a night of practice, but didn't exchange any words, and arrows spoke instead. Just a friendly competition of arrow shooting. That was their conversation.
In the meantime, Karna did not seek out Kunti.
Nor did he plan to avoid her either.
He simply waited for the right time.
On the third night, through a maid, he sent word.
He would meet her.
*
Dawn arrived quietly.
At the banks of the Ganga, the world seemed to pause in anticipation of the sun's ascent.
Karna stood at the edge, his feet firm against the cool sand, his posture straight, unmoving.
The air carried a gentle chill.
The scent of river water.
The distant call of birds waking to the day.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Kunti stopped a short distance away, her breath catching slightly as she looked at him.
"Son…"
The word slipped from her lips before she could restrain it, fragile yet heavy with years.
Karna did not turn.
His voice came, calm, steady, without warmth yet without hostility.
"Please wait for a while, Maharani Kunti."
The formality struck her harder than any raised voice could have.
Her fingers tightened faintly at her sides, her breath faltering before she steadied herself. She said nothing, her gaze fixed on his back as the silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of the river.
Time moved slowly.
The sun began its ascent.
Karna lifted water in his palms, the liquid catching the first rays of light as he offered it to the sky, his movements precise, practiced, each gesture carrying devotion toward his father. The water slipped through his fingers, falling back into the river in shimmering arcs, merging again with the flow.
Only after completing the ritual did he turn.
When he did, Kunti saw that his face seemed completely calm.
He walked toward her, each step measured, until he stopped a few feet away.
His gaze met hers at a close distance. And Kunti could see her reflection in his eyes.
"Maharani Kunti," he said, his tone even, "you wished to meet me."
There was a pause, and then he added, "Now we are here. Please… speak what you have to say."
Kunti's eyes, already moist from the weight of years unspoken, lifted slowly toward Karna, who stood before her with the stillness of a mountain, untouched by wind, unmoved by the shifting tides around him.
"Maharani?" she repeated, her voice cracking softly under the strain of emotion, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. Her lips trembled as she took a shallow breath, "Son… I…"
The word lingered.
Hung.
Barely alive in the air between them.
Karna did not let it settle.
"Please don't call me that, Maharani."
His voice was calm, measured, without rise or fall, yet it carried a firmness that cut deeper than anger could have. His gaze did not waver, his expression unchanged.
"Because I am not your son," he continued, each word placed carefully, deliberately, like stones laid to build a wall. "You lost that right the moment you abandoned me in the river."
Kunti's breath hitched.
Her feet moved before her thoughts could gather, one step forward, hesitant yet driven by something stronger than reason.
"I had no choice…" she said, her voice trembling as tears began to spill freely now, tracing warm paths down her cheeks. "I was an unmarried princess. I carried the honor of King Kuntibhoja, the weight of the royal lineage… I…"
Her words faltered, collapsing under their own weight as memory rose...
"I regretted it," she continued, her voice breaking further, breath uneven, shoulders trembling as she struggled to hold herself together. "The moment I let you go… I truly regretted it. But by then… it was already too late."
Her hands lifted slightly, as if reaching for something that no longer existed.
"Suryadev himself descended… and you were taken away."
Heavy silence followed.
However, Karna did not move.
Not even a shift in posture.
Not even a flicker in his eyes could be seen.
He let her words pass through the space between them, as though they belonged to another world entirely.
Then he spoke.
"If that is the case," he said, his tone unchanged, "may I ask you something, Maharani?"
Kunti's breath caught again, her eyes lifting toward him with fragile hope that had no foundation, yet refused to die.
"It's been more than 3 decades since that incident. Have you ever told anyone about me?"
The question landed softly.
But its weight was immense.
Kunti opened her mouth.
"I…" she began.
And stopped.
Her lips trembled.
Her gaze faltered.
Karna watched.
And then he continued for her.
"I understand that you kept it a secret," he said, his voice steady, almost gentle in its clarity, "out of fear for your future when you were unmarried. Then, later, to protect your position when you were newly married. And after that, to protect your sons when you returned to Hastinapura."
Each phase of her life unfolded in his words, stripped of defense, laid bare.
"But what about when Maharaj Pandu left for the forest?" he asked, his gaze sharpening just slightly, not in anger, but in precision. "When you were no longer a royalty bound by courtly expectations, and he was no longer a king bound by the throne?"
A pause.
The river murmured.
The wind shifted.
"You did not expect to return to the palace then," Karna continued, his voice lowering slightly, yet carrying deeper weight. "There was no prestige to protect. No court to judge you. No throne to lose."
Another pause.
"Why didn't you tell him then? Why didn't you tell him when he was wishing for the first son from my brother Yamaraj, that you already had a son? From what I have heard of Maharaj Pandu, he would have forgiven you easily and probably treated me as his son, atleast in his heart. Rather than wishing for five children from various gods, he would have prayed for SuryaNarayana to return me to him and you. Even a stranger like me knew of his noble character. As a wife, you weren't aware of his character? Or is it that you have already decided to forgo my existence in your heart?"
Kunti's tears fell faster now, her breath breaking into uneven fragments as her chest rose and fell with each strained inhale. Her hands clenched tighter, nails pressing into her palms as if pain might steady her.
"Please… don't speak like that…" she whispered, her voice barely holding form.
Karna did not stop.
"Maharani Kunti," he said, the formality returning, firm and unyielding, "do not worry."
He took a slow breath.
"I do not hate you," he said.
Kunti's head lifted slightly, hope flickering again.
But then, Karna added, "But I do not hold any affection for you either."
The flicker dimmed.
"Hatred is born when someone harms us, and we still unknowingly wish to be connected with that person even if it is through hate," he continued, his gaze steady. "However, you did not harm me. My life was not one of suffering. I did not grow up as an abandoned child struggling for survival. I was raised in Surya's realm, loved, trained, guided. And I have no intention to stay in connection with you, whether it is love or hate."
His words carried no bitterness.
Only truth.
Kunti's shoulders trembled.