Chapter 8

In Hastinapur, the city was in a vibrant state of urgency and excitement. What a unique state of things. The Yuvrajes, Pandu-putra, Jyesth of the Pandavas, along with his brothers, and Dhriterasht-putra, Suyoddhon, with his hundred brothers were returning from gurukul within 3 years. The King had ordered a massive festival to be held, and the construction of a massive colosseum, where the princes will be exhibiting their arts to the invited royalties and the people of Hastinapur.

In between these festivities, a young man walked through the busy streets of the glorious capital of Hastinapur, with a cloth covering his entire body and half his face. Soon he came to a small house at the very edge of the slums. The house was devoid of any decorations, a stark contrast to all the other houses that were surrounding it. It was as if it was in a state of sorrow and mourning, with the paint coming off in flakes outside the house.

"How long has passed sice I saw them?"

Throwing the cloak aside, Karna tentatively knocked on the door. After waiting for some time, the door opened to a face that Karna had not seen for so long. Oh, yes, Radha maa did have some of her hairs turned grey, but she was still the same, yet her eyes, they held sorrow. Tears pooled in Karns's eyes, and he could not help but embrace his other.

"Maa, I'm back maa. I'm here."

Radha could not bear it any longer. She had recognized her son, but was afraid that it was a mere halucination. But Karna's words assured her. Yes, such a beautiful voice, that could only be of her son, Vasusen.

"Vasu..."

She could no longer hold her tears. The dam she had constructed for the past 40 years, ever since her Vasu, and then her Shon left, broke down.

Later in the evening when Adirath returned, something similar happened. Yet Karna was happy, anf feeling fullfilled.

Thus in a blur of time, the time passed. He had taken up a job in the construction of the Kriyamanch, the colosseum. He utilised the entirety of his expertise, and slowly made a manch, that was and would become the pride of the people of Hastinapur, standing straight for a 1000 years. He would never forget to do his daan, right after he finished his morning prayers. He had gotten a lot of followers, some suitors, some just looking for daan, while the others enjoying his free spirited prayers, his beautiful singing, and dance that seemed to be a celebration of life in and of itself. Yet, he would never grow wary of them, and smile everyday and bow to the elders, play with the kids, ask if anyone needed anything, and walked to his work. He would give daan to anyone who needed it, and stare down at anyone who asked him to harm someone innocent in daan, or for personal gain.

Today it was the time for the princes to return. Karna, along with his parents, all went to the entrance of the city. There they were, the 105 chariots adorned with gold and silver, befitting of royalty. The princes were graceful, their poise screaming elegance. And at the forefront was Drona, the Guru of the Kuru family, along with his son, Ashwattama. Ashwattama's jewel at the center of his forehead glowed an irridiscent white, burning with divinity, bearing witness to all the punya he had collected over his births. At the entrance of the Royal Palace stood the entirety of the Royal Family. There was Gangaputra Bhisma, in his white angavastra, Maharaj Dhritarashtra and Maharani Gandhari, with a cloth over her eyes, dressed in Rajvastra. There was Mahamantri Vidur, one of the smartest men alive, and there, in the dress of a widow, was my mother, Kunti. Ah, how long has it been since Karna last saw his mother. Her face is still as radiant as the day she shed tears on his behalf. Her eyes held happiness, at being finally reunited with her children. Suddenly, she started to look towards the crowd, a sense of hope and a long lost happiness starting to rise in her heart, something she had lost a long time ago. A tear slid down the cheek of Karna, as he moved away from the crowd, under the worried eyes of his parents.