The next morning, the atmosphere inside the Sun Palace felt strangely quiet.
The guests from Hastinapura were preparing to depart. Servants moved through the palace corridors carrying luggage and ceremonial gifts. Horses were being prepared in the outer courtyards. Royal attendants hurried respectfully from one chamber to another. Yet despite all that movement, a faint heaviness lingered in the air — like the final moments after a long festival ends.
Inside one of the private royal chambers, Kunti stood silently near the doorway. Her fingers tightened lightly around the edge of her shawl while her eyes remained fixed upon Karna.
For a few moments neither spoke. The silence between them no longer felt hostile. It felt tired — like two people standing on opposite banks of a river that neither knew how to cross anymore.
Karna slowly walked toward one of the carved wooden cabinets near the back of the chamber. Morning sunlight entered through the open windows and fell across his figure while the soft sound of distant temple bells echoed faintly from outside the palace.
He bent slightly and opened a small chest. The box itself was surprisingly tiny, barely large enough to fit inside one palm.
Kunti watched quietly.
Karna took it carefully and walked back toward her. Then he extended it forward.
"Here."
Kunti looked confused for a moment before slowly accepting it with both hands.
"What is this?" she asked softly.
Karna's expression remained calm.
"Open it."
Kunti slowly lifted the lid.
Inside rested a small golden amulet. Simple. Yet beautiful. The pendant carried the engraved image of a radiant sun surrounded by delicate flame-like patterns. Even without touching it directly, Kunti could faintly feel warmth emanating from it.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Karna spoke quietly.
"This is something I specifically requested my grandfather to create for you."
Kunti gently touched the amulet with trembling fingers.
"It has no name," Karna continued. "Because it was made only for a single purpose."
He paused briefly. Then looked directly into her eyes.
"Do you remember the oath I gave you months ago in Hastinapura?"
Kunti's breath slightly faltered. Of course she remembered. That painful oath beside the river Ganga. That promise which sounded more like a farewell than affection.
Karna pointed toward the amulet calmly.
"When the day comes that you truly need my help," he said steadily, "throw this into fire."
Kunti looked up at him silently.
Karna continued.
"As the gold melts, speak your words into the flames. Until the amulet completely disappears, your voice will reach me wherever I am."
The chamber became completely silent afterward.
Kunti stared at the amulet in her hand. Her fingers trembled harder now. Something inside her chest tightened painfully. Because this was not a gift born from closeness. It was a final bridge — a single path left open before permanent separation. Using it would mean she was prepared to release him from the karmic debt he carried toward her. It would be like asking him for a favor in return for the life she had given him.
Her eyes slowly filled with tears. Then finally, unable to suppress the ache any longer, she asked softly,
"Are you truly determined… to cut away every connection between us?"
The question lingered heavily in the air. Outside, the distant sounds of preparations continued faintly, but inside the chamber it felt as though time itself had slowed.
Karna remained silent for several moments before answering. His voice stayed calm. Steady. But firm.
"When I fulfill the promise I made to you…" he said slowly, "I wish to close this chapter cleanly."
Kunti lowered her gaze.
Karna continued.
"I do not hate you, Queen Kunti."
Those words alone carried sincerity. No bitterness. No cruelty. Only truth.
"But neither do I wish to continue carrying the burden of this complicated bond on my soul."
He turned slightly toward the open window where sunlight poured into the chamber.
"In this life, my heart already belongs elsewhere."
His voice softened faintly.
"I am the son of Sangya. And I wish to remain that way."
Kunti closed her eyes tightly for a moment. Every word hurt. Yet strangely, she could not even blame him anymore. Because the calmness in his voice carried no hatred. Only resolution.
Karna slowly looked back toward her again.
"When the day comes that you truly need me," he said, "I will lay down my life to help you without hesitation, no matter what kind of task it is… as long as it is not adharmic."
Then after a small pause, he added quietly,
"And after that… perhaps both of us can finally move forward without these lingering chains between us."
Kunti's tears finally escaped down her cheeks silently. Not because he rejected her again. But because she understood. A seed planted too late never becomes a tree.
Slowly, Kunti closed the small chest carefully and held it close against her heart. Then without speaking further, she stepped forward and gently placed her trembling hand against Karna's cheek for just a brief moment — like a mother silently memorizing the face of her child.
Karna did not move away. But neither did he lean into it.
After a few seconds, Kunti lowered her hand again and smiled sadly.
"May Mahadev always protect you," she whispered.
Karna respectfully bowed his head.
Later that morning, Arjuna and Kunti finally departed from Kanipura.
The royal chariots slowly rolled out through the massive southern gates while palace guards saluted respectfully on both sides. Citizens gathered near the roads to watch the departing royal guests, and from the palace balcony several queens quietly observed the farewell.
Karna himself stood near the gates calmly.
Arjuna looked at him one final time before the chariot departed. Their eyes met briefly. No rivalry. No challenge. Just silent understanding.
Then the chariots disappeared into the distance beneath the morning sunlight.
And time moved forward once again.
***
After the chariots disappeared beyond the southern gates, Karna remained standing there for a long moment.
The morning sunlight fell across the empty road. The sound of hooves and wheels had already faded into the distance. Around him, the palace returned to its usual quiet rhythm — guards shifting posts, servants clearing the last of the farewell garlands.
Karna let out a soft sigh and slowly shook his head.
"Queen Kunti…" he murmured under his breath. "You have my pity. But unfortunately, you will only have your five children."
He stood still for a few more seconds, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
"Once I fulfill your wish… once I fulfill all of my duties to my family as well… I will give up this mortal body and be reborn truly as Sagyaputra in my next life."
Speaking of mother…
Karna raised his head and looked up at the drifting clouds. His voice grew even quieter.
"I wonder what Mother is doing right now. I miss her."
A faint, almost wistful smile touched his lips for a brief second.
"Should I visit her?"
He shook his head again, more firmly this time.
"No. I made Earth my home. Just like an arrow cannot return to the quiver once it leaves the bow… I cannot return to Suryaloka now. At the very least… not until I sever this mortal attachment with Queen Kunti."
The wind moved gently through his hair. Karna stood there a little longer, then finally turned and walked back toward the palace, his steps steady once more.