Three months passed away;
Karna lived the life of an ascetic during this time. He lived quietly on the ghats, bathing before sunrise, meditating in the river's depths for hours, eating only what fruits and roots he gathered or what devotees offered.
His daily activities mainly contain only four things. One, visiting every temple in Kashi every day, Two, doing tapasya in the waters of ganga, Three, staying at the cremation spots, watching endless people getting cremated and sometimes even helping them, and four, sharing whatever food he was given as dakshina by the pilgrims with the stray dogs.
The beard had grown long and thick, hair falling past his shoulders in rough waves.
While the Surya tilak on his forehead remained fresh every day, three horizontal lines of ash above his brows took the place. To the people who passed him, he was simply one more ascetic among hundreds at Kashi.
Mrinalini kept a watch on his whereabouts and activities from the palace.
A trusted scout followed his movements at a distance, reporting back each evening.
She never went herself, but she listened to every detail—the hours he spent underwater, the way he sat motionless on the steps after emerging, the small acts of kindness he offered strangers without expecting anything in return.
She told herself that she was being responsible, to keep an eye on his savior, to keep an eye on her guest. Yet every night when the scout left, she found herself standing on the balcony, looking toward the river, wondering what thoughts kept him so far from the world, and unknowingly trying to understand why Karna was doing all this instead of returning home and ruling a kingdom.
One afternoon, the palace gates opened to receive a visitor. Princess Dhavani arrived from Magadha, traveling light with only a few attendants and guards. She stepped into the main hall with the same calm grace Mrinalini remembered about her friend, but her eyes were brighter, her smile wider than usual.
The two princesses met with all the proper pleasantries.
They spoke of the journey, the weather, and the health of their fathers.
Dhavani offered gifts—fine silks from Magadha, a small box of saffron, and a carved sandalwood idol of Shiva. The Queen accepted them with thanks and returned the hospitality with Kashi's own offerings—fresh jasmine garlands, a copper vessel filled with Ganga water, and a shawl woven with silver thread.
When the formalities ended and the attendants withdrew, Dhavani followed Mrinalini to her private chamber. The moment the door closed, Dhavani turned.
"Is he still here?" she asked, voice low and urgent.
Mrinalini nodded once.
Dhavani's breath caught. "Let's go."
Mrinalini raised a brow. "Right away? You just arrived."
Dhavani looked out the window. The sun was still high, noon light pouring over the rooftops.
"It is still early," she said. "Plenty of time before sunset. Come. Please. I want to see him again. This time, I want to talk to him."
Mrinalini watched her friend's face—the hope, the impatience, the small tremble in her smile. She sighed softly. "This girl is helpless," she thought.
"Alright," she said aloud. "Let us change into something simpler. We can't go out in royal attire. Attracts unnecessary attention."
They left the palace in plain cotton sarees, dupattas pulled low over their heads, faces half-hidden. Two discreet guards followed at a distance. The scout met them near the outer gate and led them through the crowded lanes toward the ghats.
They reached Vishwanath temple first. Hundreds moved through the courtyard, offering flowers, lighting lamps, pressing forward for darshan. Dhavani paused only long enough to bow before the lingam, then hurried after the scout.
He took them to one of the quieter ghats farther south. The river flowed wide and calm here, steps worn smooth by countless feet. Dhavani scanned the water, the banks, the people sitting in meditation.
"Where is he?" she asked, voice tight with anxiety.
The scout pointed toward the river. "He is meditating in the depths of the River Ganga."
Dhavani's eyes widened. "Inside, not at the shore?"
The scout nodded. "Yes, Princess. He enters the water before noon and stays for hours. He surfaces only when the sun is on the descent."
Dhavani looked at Mrinalini, raising her brows as if she were questioning her friend.
Mrinalini gave a helpless smile. "Sorry, I forgot about it."
Dhavani opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned back to the river.
They waited.
Another hour later, as the sun began to descend, near the center of the stream, the surface broke.
And then Karna rose slowly.
He walked toward the shore without hurry, each step measured. As he emerged, the subtle divine energy around him warmed the air. Droplets on his skin and clothes dried in moments, leaving him dry and steady.
He reached the steps and paused to wring a little water from his hair. Then he continued walking along the ghat, eyes distant, lost in thought.
Dhavani's breath caught, watching his new appearance from afar. Is he really the same one I know? She couldn't help but wonder for a moment, but the faint excitement still appeared on her face, and her heart beat rose in her body.
Mrinalini then touched her arm. "Come. We will follow from a distance."
They kept back, blending into the crowd of pilgrims. Karna walked steadily through the lanes—past flower sellers, past small shrines, past children playing near the water. He moved with the same quiet purpose he had shown at the Ashram.
Then, without warning, he turned a corner and vanished. One moment, he was there; the next, only specks of golden light lingered in the air.
Dhavani stopped short. "Where..."
And then, suddenly, a voice came from right behind them.
"What are you doing?"
They turned.
Karna stood there, calm, arms folded.
His hair now reached past his shoulders in thick waves.
The beard was longer, neatly trimmed but full. The simple cloth he wore hung loosely on his frame, but the golden earrings still caught the sun. He looked every inch an ascetic now, yet the radiance on his face that resembled Lord Surya only seemed to grow further.
Mrinalini recovered first.
"Maharaj," she said quietly.
Karna looked at her, then at Dhavani. Surprise flickered across his face. "Princess Dhavani?" he said aloud.
Dhavani's cheeks flushed the moment Karna spoke her name.
She stepped quickly behind Mrinalini, half-hiding her face in the other princess's shoulder as though the simple act of being seen made her suddenly shy.
Mrinalini glanced at her friend, amused, then looked back at Karna.
"Well," Mrinalini said lightly, "you haven't come to the palace as you promised—even after three months. We were just… curious."
Karna's gaze moved to the scout standing a few paces away. The man had gone very still, eyes fixed on the ground. Karna's lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
"I knew someone was keeping an eye on me," he said. "I didn't want to disturb your duty. I only thought it was the Kashi Naresh who had ordered it—not you, Princess."
The scout remained silent, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
Karna turned his attention back to Mrinalini.
"However, I did not break my word, Princess. When I leave Kashi and return home as king once more, I will come to the palace for the meal. That promise still stands."
Mrinalini smiled—warm, genuine, the kind of smile that reached her eyes.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said.
She took a small step closer, her voice softening. "Since we have already met like this, may I ask you something?"
Karna inclined his head. "Of course."
Mrinalini looked at him steadily, taking in the long hair, the thick beard, the simple cloth wrapped around his shoulders. "Why are you living this way? You are a king. You are the divine son of Suryanarayana. Have you taken some solemn vow that forces you to live like an ascetic?"
Karna looked at her for a long moment. Then he answered with a question of his own.
"Have you ever lost a loved one, Princess?"