The corridors of Hastinapur were silent, the stone walls bathed in the faint glow of torchlight. Outside a closed chamber door, Kunti stood with her hands trembling. Her talk with Krishna had given her strength, but standing here now, she felt like that sixteen-year-old girl again—alone, afraid, and aching for her son.
Inside, Karna sat by the window, staring at the moonlight that filtered through the lattice. Arjun's words from earlier wouldn't leave his mind. Brother. The word echoed strangely.
When he opened his door and saw her standing there, he stiffened.
"Mata Kunti," he greeted with careful grace, voice calm but eyes wary.
She nodded. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Angraj."
He bowed slightly. "You are never a disturbance. But I wasn't expecting anyone tonight."
"May I come in?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he stepped aside. "Of course."
She entered slowly, and as the door shut behind her, she stopped at the center of the room, overwhelmed.
"This is the first time I've seen your room," she said with a sad smile. "I used to imagine what it would look like... when you were just a baby."
Karna turned away, arms crossed. "Is that so?"
Her voice cracked. "I'm not here to pretend. I'm here to finally be your mother."
He didn't respond.
"You were my first," she whispered. "My sun-born child. I never wanted to abandon you. But the world... it was cruel. I was a girl, unmarried, and terrified. They would have killed me. So I let you go—not because I didn't love you, but because I didn't know how to protect you."
Karna flinched, still facing away. "You could have come for me. Later. When you were queen. When you had power."
Her tears fell freely now. "I know. I should have. Every day I lived with that guilt. Watching you grow from afar... seeing your pain, your glory, your loneliness. And I remained a coward."
Karna finally turned, his face blank, but his voice trembled. "Do you know what it feels like to beg the world to see you as worthy? To carry shame for a sin you never committed?"
Kunti took a step forward. "Yes. I do. Because I gave that shame to you."
He looked at her, really looked—for the first time. "Why now?"
"Because I owe you the truth. Because you deserve to hear it from me. Not Krishna. Not Arjun. Me."
Silence.
Then Karna broke.
His voice turned shaky, the mask of the king slipping."I don't want your pity," he murmured. "And I don't know if I can call you 'Rajmata' without bleeding from the inside."
He continued."I was always searching for you.Even when I didn't know it ma."
Kunti rushed to him, holding him as he finally let go. His shoulders shook, his fists clenched, but he didn't pull away.
"I'm here now," she whispered. "And I will never leave again."
---
Elsewhere in the palace, beneath the stars that watched over kings and kingslayers alike, Bhishma stood at the edge of the courtyard, his silver-white hair glistening.
"You have a habit of appearing wherever needed," he said calmly.
Krishna appeared beside him, arms folded. "You could say I follow where dharma wavers."
Bhishma looked at him with tired eyes. "Let me guess. You're here to tell me that the firstborn of Kunti is not Yudhisthir."
Krishna smiled faintly. "You already suspected."
"I've lived too long not to notice fate's patterns."
Krishna's voice was gentle. "Karna is her first son. Born of Surya, abandoned in fear, raised in love. He is not just a warrior. He is an heir."
Bhishma closed his eyes. For once, there was no fury, no resistance. Only silence.
"So the throne that tears this family apart… may belong to the one cast out from the beginning."
Krishna nodded. "And perhaps that knowledge can begin to mend what has been broken."
Bhishma breathed deeply. "Then maybe… I can finally rest."
They stood in silence together. Two guardians of destiny.
---
And in the quiet, the stars whispered:
What is lost may yet return,
What is silenced may still yearn.
When truth breaks chains of golden lies,
Even kings may cry, and stone hearts rise.