Two days later, in the grand arena of Girivraja, the morning sun beat down on the sand-covered pit at the center.
The stands were already filled, warriors, ministers, citizens, visiting kings and their retinues, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of oiled bodies and dust.
Karna sat on a raised throne placed beside Jarasandha's, the position of honor as chief guest.
His Rajguru Vidyadhara and Uparati Randhira to his left sat nearby, while Jarasandha occupied the central seat, his massive frame relaxed but commanding.
Crown Prince Sahadeva also sat nearby, with his arms folded, expression unreadable, and the supreme commander of Magadha's army, a grizzled veteran named Kalingaraj, occupied the seat beside him. The other seats were filled with ministers and nobles, all eyes fixed on the sixty-four wrestlers gathered on the field below, all buffed, oiled, wearing only langots.
Jarasandha then rose to his feet, his voice rolling across the arena like distant thunder.
"Today, we gather to honor strength, the only true measure of a man. These sixty-four fighters have come from every corner of the land, from the hills of the north to the coasts of the south, from the forests of the east to the deserts of the west. Each one has proven himself worthy to stand in this arena. For four days, they will fight, one against one, until only one remains. The victor will receive ten thousand gold coins, a war elephant from my stables, a high-level position in the governance, and the right to call himself the greatest malla of this age. And on the final day… the champion will face me, Jarasandha, king of Magadha, in a contest of pure strength. Now, let the games begin!"
The crowd roared, drums thundered, conches blew, and the first pair stepped into the central pit.
The wrestling competition began.
It was one-on-one battles, with no weapons, no astras. Only grips, throws, locks, and pins are seen.
The first day was a blur of sweat and sand, bodies slamming together, grunts echoing, the crowd shouting with every decisive throw. By evening, thirty-two wrestlers remained.
The second day narrowed it to sixteen, the third to eight.
However, Jarasandha was present for every bout, sitting on his throne, with eyes sharp, and continuously commenting to Karna on grips and footwork, laughing when a fighter landed a perfect suplex.
Because he watched every match, his sons, the citizens, and even Karna, out of obligation as chief guest, remained in their seats through the long hours.
Karna observed quietly, noting the skill, the stamina, the occasional flash of true mastery.
He spoke little, but when Jarasandha asked for his thoughts, he answered honestly: "The one from Chedi has excellent balance. The wrestler from Karusha fights with anger, which will cost him in the end."
On the fourth day, only four remained:
- Vikram from Chedi, tall, broad, known for crushing grips.
- Bheemsen from Panchala, quick, agile, a master of throws.
- Rudra from Videha, powerful, relentless, never tiring.
- VeerArjun from Kosala, young, fierce, with surprising technique.
The semifinals were conducted in the central pit, one bout after another.
Vikram defeated Bheemsen with a crushing bear hug that forced submission.
Rudra outlasted VeerArjun in a grueling match that lasted nearly an hour, pinning him at last with a shoulder lock.
In the final, Vikram and Rudra clashed, two titans trading grips and throws until Vikram finally lifted Rudra off the ground and slammed him down, both shoulders touching the sand.
The crowd erupted. Vikram stood, chest heaving, arms raised in victory.
Jarasandha rose to his feet, his voice carrying across the arena. "This man has proven himself among mortals. Now let him prove himself against me, the king of Magadha! Tomorrow, we will have two spars. First, the winner, Vikram, fights me. And then… a friendly spar with our chief guest who came all the way from Kanipura on my invitation, Suryaputra Karna!"
The audience murmured in surprise, then broke into cheers. Jarasandha's eyes found Karna's, a challenge, a promise, and something almost like respect.
Karna met his gaze steadily.
He nodded once in acceptance.
*
Later that day, as Karna prepared to rest, a soldier knocked softly on the doorframe and bowed low. "Rajan… Maharaj Jarasandha has asked me to escort you to our training chambers so that you may prepare for tomorrow's spar."
Karna turned from the window, a small, polite smile on his face. "No need for that. Tell Maharaj Jarasandha I thank him for the offer, but I am already prepared."
The soldier hesitated for a moment, then bowed again and left.
When the message reached Jarasandha in his private hall, he threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rolling sound that echoed off the stone walls. "He refuses even the training ground. Bold. Very bold."
Crown Prince Sahadeva, lounging nearby with a cup of wine in hand, snorted. "This Karna is really too arrogant, Father. He wasn't giving you face at all. Who does he think he is, refusing your hospitality like that?"
Jayatsena, quieter, more measured, looked up from the scroll he was reading. "You can't underestimate him, elder brother. He is, after all, the disciple of Lord Parashurama."
Sahadeva snorted again, louder this time. "Hmph. So what if he is the disciple of Bhagavan Parashurama? He is not Parashurama himself. Just because the teacher is strong doesn't mean the disciple will be strong too. What has he done? Destroyed some rakshasa tribes. Yes, maybe he is capable, might even be a Maharathi, but both of us are Maharathis too. And Father… everyone knows that in the entire Bharatvarsh, except for Bhishma, no one has the ability to contest against you. He should actually be honored to fight with you, but he is too complacent."
Jarasandha smirked, swirling the wine in his cup. "Well… we will see about his skill tomorrow. And then we will talk."
Meanwhile, in her private chamber, Princess Dhavani sat cross-legged on the floor, a sheet of fine paper spread before her.
A small oil lamp flickered beside her, casting warm light across the charcoal sketches.
She had already drawn Karna's face more than once, in different poses and different angles.
As Princess Dhavani stared at the latest drawing, with her cheeks turning warm and her breathing becoming shallow as she was lost in it, the door opened softly.
The Princess startled, hurriedly trying to gather the papers, but they slipped from her fingers and scattered across the rug.
Maharani Padmavati stepped inside, pausing when she saw the mess. "What is all this…?" Her voice trailed off as she bent to pick up one of the sheets. Karna's face looked up at her from the paper.
Padmavati raised the drawing, her expression softening.
Dhavani hung her head down in embarrassment. "Nothing, Mother. I was just trying to paint him. You know, like I want to show him that Magadha isn't just about strength or wrestling that Father was portraying, and nothing more.
The queen came closer, gently lifting Dhavani's chin with two fingers. "Silly girl. I'm your mother. Do you think I don't know what's in your heart?" She smiled, warm and knowing. "But then again, it isn't that surprising. All the princes and kings who have visited so far weren't as radiant as Karna. Your father also has a great impression of him. As long as he impresses your father more in tomorrow's spar, which I'm sure he will, then we can talk about your wedding proposal."
Dhavani's eyes widened. "Marriage? Mother!"
Her cheeks flamed brighter. She turned and ran to the balcony in embarrassment, pressing her hands to her face. Padmavati chuckled softly and shook her head, folding the drawing carefully and setting it aside.
Dhavani stood on the balcony, the night air cool against her burning skin. She looked up at the moon, thinking of Karna, his quiet voice, his steady gaze, the way he carried himself like light made flesh. Her heart beat faster, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
Meanwhile, in his chamber, Karna continued to miss his wife. He sat on the edge of the bed, the dagger in his hand once more. He caressed the golden handle, thumb tracing the lotus petals. "Just two days more," he murmured to the empty room, "and I will return by your side."