Back to the Present;
As Karna entered the training grounds, walking toward his chief queen, Mrinalini told everyone to continue and walked toward Karna as well, her armor glinting faintly. As she came close, her expression shifted into something softer, more familiar.
"You returned a bit late today," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Faced any trouble on the way?"
Karna shook his head with a small smile.
"No, dear," he replied casually. "I was caught up in a children's play."
Mrinalini stared at him for a second, then let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head as if she had already expected such an answer. "You must be the only king in the entire Bharatavarsh who is probably more precious to his citizens than their own families."
Karna chuckled lightly, his gaze calm. "As I always say, we follow our dharma, we do our karma, and leave the rest to fate. Whatever comes as a result, we accept it."
His smile deepened slightly, but his tone remained simple.
Mrinalini looked at him, her expression softening even more, as if those words were not just philosophy but something she had watched him live every single day.
They began to walk together toward the palace corridors, the sounds of training fading behind them like distant thunder.
As they walked, Mrinalini's face turned slightly serious.
"Dear," she said, "there is something else."
Karna glanced at her, waiting.
"Earlier," she continued, "Minister Padmabhushan tried to look for you. He seemed… a bit anxious."
Karna nodded slowly, as if he had expected it. "I know why," he replied. "It's about Hastinapura's invitation."
Mrinalini blinked, surprised. "You still haven't replied?" she asked.
Karna exhaled quietly. "It's not a question of whether I want to go or not," he said. "It's about whether I should go there officially… or secretly."
Mrinalini's brows furrowed immediately.
"Why?" she asked.
Karna looked at her and smiled faintly, the kind of smile he gave when he had already made a decision but didn't want to reveal it yet.
"I have my reasons," he replied.
Mrinalini shook her head, half annoyed, half amused. "You always say that," she muttered. "And keep everything a mystery."
Karna's eyes gleamed slightly, as if he enjoyed her frustration.
Then, as if something else came to his mind, he asked casually, "What about the kids?"
Mrinalini's lips curved into a smile again. "The children of The Great Sangyaputra Karna," she replied with dramatic exhaustion, "will they ever break the routine?"
Karna raised an eyebrow.
Mrinalini continued, her voice filled with both affection and complaint.
"They were all with Sister Sumedha again," she said. "Listening to her recitals. As if she were some goddess of stories and knowledge."
Karna nodded slowly, as if pleased.
After a brief pause, his voice lowered slightly. "And what about… Queen Dhavani?"
Mrinalini's expression turned knowing. "She must be in pooja right now," she answered.
Karna nodded once.
The moment her name was spoken, something almost invisible shifted in Karna's face, like a soldier remembering a battlefield.
Then he walked forward again, calm as always.
*
Later, after bathing and changing into clean royal attire, Karna walked toward the Shiva Mandir inside the palace grounds.
The mandir was peaceful. The air smelled of sandalwood, ghee, and flowers. A priest was arranging fresh bilva leaves. The lamps flickered softly, and the sound of water dripping from the abhishekam pot was almost soothing.
Karna stepped inside, palms joined.
But when he looked around, he did not see Dhavani.
She was gone.
He turned to one of the maids standing nearby.
"Where is Rani Dhavani?" he asked.
The maid bowed quickly. "Rani Dhavani is at the royal kitchens, Maharaj," she replied.
Karna stiffened so suddenly that it was as if someone had struck him with an invisible arrow.
His calm expression froze.
For a moment, he did not speak.
Then he forced himself to nod.
"Alright," he said quietly.
He turned back to the Shiva Lingam and joined his palms again. His lips moved softly, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
"Mahadeva," he murmured in his heart, "I think I need your blessings today again. Protect this devotee of yours."
He offered his prayer quickly, almost urgently, and then turned around as if he was fleeing a battlefield.
He began walking toward the assembly court.
He had no time to waste.
No time to stop.
No time to be caught.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
On the way, he saw her.
Dhavani, the Princess of Magadha, is the daughter of Jarasandha, his second queen.
She stood in the corridor like a quiet ambush, her face calm and innocent. In her hands was a bowl. Steam rose faintly from it, and even from a distance, Karna could sense something wrong.
A smell then reached him.
Pungent.
Sharp.
Unholy.
Karna's face stiffened again.
He stepped forward quickly, pretending confidence.
"Rani Dhavani," he said hurriedly before she could speak, "it's time for the assembly. Let's talk later."
He tried to walk past her.
Dhavani's voice, however, stopped him instantly. "Maharaj."
Karna froze in his steps.
Slowly, like a man accepting his doom, he turned back.
Dhavani looked at him with calm eyes, holding the bowl carefully.
Karna spoke first, quickly, trying to escape again. "I know what you want," he said. "You prepared a list of things you want from Hastinapura. I will take it later, alright?"
He turned to walk away again.
But Dhavani's voice stopped him once more. "Wait, Maharaj."
Karna's shoulders sagged slightly.
He turned again.
Dhavani lifted the bowl a little. "I made a special dish for you today," she said sweetly. "Can you taste it and tell me how it is?"
Karna stared at the bowl.
His throat went dry.
His mind screamed.
He forced his lips to move. "Dear, I need to go for the assembly…" he said carefully, "it's not time for…"
Dhavani cut him off immediately, her face turning sad in an instant. Her lips pouted, her eyes looking wounded.
"Maharaj," she said softly, "I worked so hard to make this special kheer."
Karna's heart sank deeper.
Dhavani's voice became even more pitiful. "You aren't even tasting it?" she asked.
Then she puffed her cheeks like an offended child and looked away dramatically.
"If you don't eat it," she declared, "I won't talk to you all day."
A throb formed in Karna's head instantly.
Not pain.
Not injury.
Something worse.
The silent agony of a husband trapped between duty and survival.
In the end, taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and stepped toward her.
He gently grabbed her arms, as if she were some fragile treasure. Then he carefully took the bowl from her hands, his expression full of fake bravery.
"Dear," he said softly, "if you become sad… You know I won't feel good."
Dhavani's eyes shifted toward him, still pouting.
Karna swallowed. "Alright," he said. "Fine. Let me have this kheer."
He looked down at the bowl again.
Kheer?
The smell hit him harder now.
His soul trembled.
Still, he asked cautiously, like a warrior checking the enemy's weapon before accepting a duel.
"Dear," he said, "before I take it… may I ask what exactly this is?"
Dhavani's face lit up instantly.
She laughed sweetly, like a girl who had created something divine. "Maharaj," she said happily, "this is special palandu kheer."
Karna's eyes widened slightly.
Palandu?
His brain screamed again.
Onion?
His entire body stiffened.
He shut his eyes.
Then, like a man walking into a burning house with full dignity, Karna lifted the bowl and drank the entire kheer in one go.
Not slowly.
Not carefully.
In one ruthless gulp.
The liquid went down his throat, and Karna felt emotions he did not know a human body could feel. His stomach twisted. His tongue suffered. His soul wept. His eyes almost watered.
But his face remained perfectly composed.
He wiped the milk that clung to his moustache with royal dignity.
Then he nodded slowly, as if he had just tasted amrita. "It is indeed a special dish," Karna said, voice steady. "Dear… I don't think anyone would make kheer like you."
Dhavani's eyes sparkled with joy. "Maharaj," she said happily, almost glowing with pride. "Thank you…"
She turned and walked away, her steps light, satisfied like a victorious queen.
The moment she disappeared around the corridor, Karna's face fell.
His expression twisted into silent suffering.
His throat tightened as if the kheer was still haunting him.
He pressed a hand to his stomach, breathing through his nose like a warrior holding back poison.
Inside his head, he cried dramatically.
"When I am your husband, I will love everything about you, my queen. Your paintings, your wisdom, even your childish antics sometimes…"
"But even after four years of marriage, I still cannot bring myself to love your cooking. Your special dishes are like divyastras aimed at me… Except I cannot counter them. I can only face them, and not even this invincible divine armor my father blessed me can save me from it.
"Ugh…"