Karna continued calmly.
"An evil has risen upon the earth—Narakasura. He has drowned kingdoms in blood. He has enslaved the innocent. He has brought endless sorrow upon mankind. Not long ago he exterminated the entire race of the Matsya Purushas—an ancient people whose only crime was protecting a divine treasure entrusted to their care."
The mountain remained silent. Only the sacred mantra continued flowing from Dharani's lips.
"Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…"
Karna's voice grew quieter.
"Narakasura had the boon that only his mother, Bhudevi, can kill him. Despite having the strength to stop his atrocities, we are helpless because of his boon, Mata. You are the human incarnation of Bhudevi. You alone possess the destiny to end Narakasura's reign. I do not ask this for my own glory. I ask it for the countless innocents who continue to suffer beneath his tyranny. I ask it… for Dharma."
Silence.
Not even the slightest movement came from the woman before him. She remained completely immersed in her devotion to Narayana.
Karna waited.
One minute.
Then another.
The only sound that accompanied him was her unwavering chant.
"Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…"
A gentle smile slowly appeared on Karna's face.
He finally understood.
Her meditation had reached a realm beyond ordinary awareness. She was no longer listening to the world. Her entire being belonged solely to Narayana. To forcefully awaken such a person would indeed be an unforgivable sin.
Karna slowly bowed deeply.
"Mata… this son understands. I shall not disturb your tapasya any further."
He rose to his feet.
"There is someone waiting for me. I have given my word that I shall escort her safely back to her home. A promise once given must be fulfilled. If destiny wills it… perhaps the day when I return again, you will hear my request."
He joined his palms one final time.
"My respectful obeisance, Mata."
Without another word, Karna turned and quietly walked away.
The transparent celestial barrier continued surrounding Dharani. The freezing mountain winds still crashed against it endlessly. Yet not a single breeze reached the meditating woman. She remained exactly as before—eyes closed, hands resting peacefully upon her lap, her lips continuing their endless chant.
"Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…
Om Namo Narayana…"
The divine chariot left the sacred heights of Nanda Parvat behind. Far below, the endless blanket of snow slowly disappeared beneath drifting clouds, until even the sacred mountain itself vanished beyond the horizon.
Karna stood quietly inside the chariot. His gaze remained fixed toward the distant north for a long time. The image of Dharani stayed vivid in his mind—a woman who had renounced the world so completely that even his arrival had failed to stir her awareness.
The meeting had not borne fruit
Not because she rejected him.
Nor because she refused to help.
Simply because the time had not yet arrived.
Karna slowly exhaled.
"I shall wait."
The celestial horses continued their journey southward.
Hours later, the familiar walls of Kashi finally appeared on the horizon. The golden city gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. Countless citizens went about their daily lives, completely unaware of the calamity that had unfolded in the distant kingdom of Pragjyotishpura.
The divine chariot gently descended within the royal palace. No sooner had Karna stepped down than hurried footsteps echoed across the courtyard.
"Swami!"
Mrinalini quickly approached him.
Clad in elegant crimson garments, the Queen's face carried the warmth that always greeted his return. Yet the smile upon her lips slowly faded. She had expected to see relief, perhaps satisfaction. Instead, her husband looked unusually quiet. His expression was calm, but there was a heaviness hidden behind those calm eyes that only someone who knew him well could notice.
She stopped before him.
"What happened?"
Karna remained silent for a brief moment.
"I was too late."
Those four simple words made her heart sink. Mrinalini lowered her voice.
"…The Matsya Purushas?"
Karna slowly nodded.
"They are gone. They chose to protect the sacred treasure entrusted to their ancestors. They fulfilled that duty… until the very end."
Mrinalini quietly closed her eyes. As one who had dedicated her own life to protecting her people, she understood exactly what those words meant. There were no survivors.
She looked at him again. His answer had been unusually brief—no details, no explanation. She understood immediately. There were matters too great to be spoken openly. She simply nodded.
At that moment, another familiar figure approached from the palace entrance.
Princess Dushala.
Unlike when Karna had found her the day before, the princess no longer seemed to be filled with fear and worry. She looked like she had recovered mentally as well. And upon seeing Karna safely return, a relieved smile finally appeared across her face.
"Maharaj."
Karna inclined his head respectfully.
"Princess."
She stopped before him.
Karna smiled gently.
"Forgive me for making you wait."
Mrinalini glanced between the two before speaking.
"So… are you leaving today?"
Karna nodded.
"I promised the Princess that I would personally escort her home. A promise given must be fulfilled." He turned toward his queen. "I shall be away only briefly. Until then… I hope you wait for me at Kashi..."
Mrinalini smiled.
"You needn't worry about me, Maharaj."
Karna nodded gratefully.
Meanwhile, Dushala quietly reached into the sleeve of her simple garments. She carefully withdrew a neatly folded letter. It had been written several nights earlier. She looked at it for a long moment. The handwriting upon its surface remained unchanged. The recipient was not Maharaja Dhritarashtra, nor Queen Gandhari. Instead, it bore another name—Duryodhana.
She gently folded it once again before placing it safely back within her sleeve. She had decided. Rather than allowing another messenger to carry her words, she would send the letter only after reaching Hastinapura.
Soon afterward, the divine chariot once again departed from Kashi. This time its destination was Hastinapura.
Dushala quietly climbed aboard. For the briefest moment she hesitated. She had heard stories about this celestial chariot. It was said that beings consumed by great evil could never ride upon it. The divine horses would refuse them before the journey even began.
She instinctively waited, half expecting something to happen.
Nothing did.
The seven celestial horses merely neighed softly before beginning their journey through the heavens as naturally as if she had always belonged there. Dushala quietly released a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Karna noticed, but he said nothing.
Instead, his gaze briefly lingered upon the seven divine steeds. Throughout the journey, they remained completely at ease. Not once did they show the slightest trace of rejection. A faint smile appeared upon Karna's face. The celestial steeds had never erred in judging hearts. He had believed that since the day his father had entrusted them to him.
As the divine chariot soared through the skies, Karna found himself quietly observing the princess seated opposite him.
Compared to nearly two years ago, Karna felt like she looked completely different.
She was no longer merely the cherished younger sister of the Kuru princes, nor simply the princess of Hastinapura.
She had willingly abandoned the comforts of palace life. She had lived within the humble hermitage of sages. She had cooked, cleaned, gathered firewood, fetched water, and served elderly ascetics with her own hands—even though it was for the sake of her marriage.
Very few born into royalty possessed such humility. Fewer still could endure it for an entire year without complaint. Karna found himself admiring that quiet strength.
The journey passed swiftly. Mountains gave way to fertile plains. Great rivers shimmered beneath the afternoon sun before disappearing behind them. Villages gradually became towns. Towns slowly gave way to the vast territories surrounding the Kuru capital.
Within only a few hours, the magnificent walls of Hastinapura appeared upon the horizon. The ancient capital stood proudly beside the sacred Ganga, its towering gates bustling with merchants, soldiers, nobles and travelers from every corner of Aryavarta.
Yet Karna did not steer the chariot toward the palace. Instead, the celestial horses gradually descended near a peaceful forest on the outskirts of the city.
Nestled among ancient trees stood a modest hermitage of Rishi Jamali. Oil lamps had already begun glowing beneath the approaching evening. The peaceful chanting of sages drifted softly through the forest.