Karna stood motionless on the ghat steps, the river's steady murmur filling the silence that had fallen between them.
Dhavani's words still hung in the air—simple, direct, yet carrying a weight that pressed against the walls he had built around his heart.
He had faced armies, broken illusions, stared down death itself, but this quiet question from a princess who barely knew him left him without words for the first time in many months.
He had lived in Surya Loka, surrounded by purity and light.
He had studied under Parashurama himself, the great sage who taught only the worthy and the exceptional.
Through that training, he had learned to see truths most mortals missed—the hidden currents beneath actions, the unseen threads of dharma and karma.
He knew the Vedas line by line.
He had studied the scriptures deeply enough to recall almost every puranic event, every tale of gods and kings and their choices.
His knowledge rivaled that of the oldest sages, even if his years did not match theirs.
And yet, right now, he could not answer her.
Dhavani's question was not new.
It was the very teaching he had given her moments earlier. She had only turned the mirror toward him, reflecting his own wisdom back in a way that fit his life perfectly.
He had spoken of internal detachment, of performing every duty without clinging to the result.
She had asked why he could not apply the same principle to love and marriage.
The silence stretched.
Karna's gaze remained on the water, watching the small ripples catch the fading light.
For a second, the words of Sage Nirvikapla echoed in his mind—find your purpose, turn from guilt toward the world's welfare. Then the gentle voice of Goddess Ganga followed—spend time here, meditate in my waters, see the deaths and the lives that pass through me.
Was this what they had both meant?
Was this moment—the princess standing before him, asking him to live again—not the very path they had pointed toward?
He drew a slow, deep breath and looked at her.
"Your argument is valid," he said at last, voice low but clear. "I thank you for your guidance, Princess. You have shown me a path forward. You are truly a wise woman."
Dhavani's eyes brightened, a small hope flickering in them. She thought he would outright refuse to answer her question or counter it with something she couldn't answer. After all, she had a heartbreak once because of her unnecessary hopes on Karna, back a year ago… she didn't want another heartbreak again...
Karna continued, his tone gentle but firm.
"However, at the moment, I am still unqualified to walk that path. The wound and guilt in my heart have not subsided. They remain as raw as the day I lost her. When I am ready—when that inner chamber opens again—I will surely walk the path of duality you describe."
Dhavani's smile returned, soft and patient.
"Good," she said. "I will wait for that day."
Karna felt a small jolt at the words.
The sentence landed differently than he expected.
For a moment, he wondered—did she mean it as encouragement from one friend to another? Or was there something deeper behind the quiet promise? He searched her face, but she only looked back with the same steady warmth, no demand, no pressure.
He remembered then—this was only their second real conversation. The first had been brief, polite. This one had carried more weight than he had anticipated.
In the end, he chose to see it as kindness.
"Thank you once again," he said, inclining his head.
Dhavani returned the gesture.
Soon, she turned and walked back toward the path where Mrinalini waited. Karna watched her go, the crowd closing around her until she disappeared from sight.
He stood alone again.
The river continued its flow, unhurried, eternal.
Karna sat back down on the steps. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the water fill his ears once more.
The day had brought questions he had not expected.
But it had also brought something else—a small, almost imperceptible shift.
The grief remained.
But now, for the first time, it felt as though the river beside him might one day carry part of it away.
*
Later that evening, Prince Vritraketu sat alone in the guest chamber assigned to him in the palace of Kashi. An empty goblet rested in his hand, the sharp smell of madhira still clinging to the air. He had drunk heavily, glass after glass, until the edges of his anger blurred but never quite faded.
He stared at his right hand
. The wrist still throbbed where Karna had gripped it earlier that day. The skin had darkened into a deep bruise, and every small movement sent a fresh spike of pain up his arm. He flexed his fingers slowly, grimacing, then let the hand fall back onto the cushion.
"No…" he muttered to the empty room. "Who knows what this Mrinalini will do during the next month? What if she elopes with him? If he could hurt me so easily, he is capable enough to take her from this place."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor.
"First, I take her to Mathura. Marry her—by force if necessary. Then I kill that rogue who dared to injure me."
The words tasted bitter, but they settled something inside him.
He rose, swaying slightly from the wine, and moved toward the window. The palace gardens lay dark below, lit only by a few scattered torches. He watched the shadows for a long time, mind turning over the plan until it felt solid.
When the palace had grown quiet, the corridors empty except for the occasional footfall of a night guard, Vritraketu slipped out of his chamber.
He moved like a man used to secrecy—soft steps, back pressed to walls, avoiding pools of lamplight.
He climbed the outer wall of the royal women's quarters using the carved stone brackets as handholds, then swung himself onto a narrow balcony.
From there, he crossed to a window ledge, fingers finding purchase in the decorative lattice.
He reached Mrinalini's room without raising any alarm.
Inside, the chamber was dim, lit only by a single oil lamp turned low.
Two maids sat near the bed, gently fanning the sleeping princess with palm-leaf fans. Mrinalini lay on her side, breathing evenly, hair spread across the pillow like dark silk.
Vritraketu clung to the outer sill, muscles straining.
He reached into the fold of his kurta and drew out two thin needles, each tipped with a dark, glistening poison. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them flying.
The first needle struck one maid neatly in the side of the neck.
She gasped once, a soft sound, then slumped forward, the fan falling from her hand. The second needle found the other maid's throat. She made no sound at all; her body simply folded onto the floor.
Vritraketu waited a heartbeat to be sure no one had heard. Then he pushed the lattice aside and slipped into the room.
He crossed the floor in silence and stood over the bed. Moonlight fell through the open window, touching Mrinalini's face. Her skin looked almost luminous in the pale glow. Vritraketu stared down at her, breathing shallow.
"This kingdom is small," he thought, "but this woman's beauty is appalling. Once I take you to Mathura, I will enjoy you every night, princess."
He reached out, fingers brushing toward her cheek.
But, it was at that moment… Mrinalini's hand moved.
Before Vritraketu could even react, her wrist twisted in a blur. A dagger appeared in her palm as if conjured from nowhere. The blade flashed once and drove straight into his chest.
"Gaahh—"
The scream rose in his throat, raw and shocked.
Mrinalini was already moving. She sprang from the bed, one hand clamping a pillow over his mouth to muffle the sound. With her other hand, she shoved him backward. Vritraketu crashed to the floor with a muffled thud, the pillow still pressed tight against his face.
She knelt over him, dagger still buried in his chest and her left knee crushing his abdomen, eyes cold and steady.
"Prince Vritraketu," she said coldly, "kindly explain what you are doing in my room at this hour."
Vritraketu stared up at her, pain and disbelief warring across his face.
He was a warrior—born of Kamsa's strength and Jarasandha's blood, trained in asuric arts, capable of crushing most men with his bare hands.
Yet this woman—this seemingly gentle-looking princess who had seemed so soft and composed—had moved faster than he could track, struck with perfect precision, and now held him pinned to the floor like a child?
His breath came in ragged gasps around the pillow. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
Is he even Mrinalini, the Kashi princess he was betrothed to?