Karna My Son - part 2

Read Part 1 here.

I faint in the arena, not from weakness but from the shock of seeing my past walk into my present — alive, grown, strong, claimed by another woman and another world. When I wake, I say nothing. I feel a sense of relief, but the truth inside me tightens like a knot pulled too hard.

********

After the tournament, life moves outward as if nothing has changed. Duryodhana stands beside Karna with a pride that only deepens with time; their bond grows quickly, two young men hungry for recognition and fiercely loyal to each other. I watch them from afar, always with the same quiet dread. I know what it means for a boy to be lifted from obscurity and given a place. I know what such gratitude can become. I know the same ache Karna carries : the hunger to belong, the desperation to prove oneself worthy.

I realise too well I cannot reveal the truth now. He is no longer a child in a basket — he is a man with pride, anger, and wounds I cannot predict. And he stands beside the one person who trusts him completely. If I speak now, I break that trust and risk his fury. I cannot bear the thought of him looking at me with hatred. So the secret stays — not because I fear society, nor my sons; they would love me still. I fear only him, my firstborn, the one I abandoned, the one who may never forgive me.

********

Time moves on, and fate tightens around us.

The fire at Varanavata — the wax palace — nearly takes our lives. The heat, the smoke, the desperate crawl through the tunnel… yet we escape. My sons survive. I survive.

Meanwhile Karna’s loyalty to Duryodhana only deepens. With every turn, he moves further from the life he was born into — and further from me.

And as my sons’ paths unfold, I feel more and more that I can no longer shape any of it. Destiny has taken over.

********

After the fire, Krishna enters our lives more closely. There is something steady about him — not dazzling, not mystical, but a clarity that eases even the heaviest thoughts. He does not ask about my secret, yet I sometimes feel he knows. He never presses. He waits.

When Draupadi becomes the shared wife of my sons, I see Krishna’s quiet presence guiding the moment. I do not know if he is divine. I only know that his calmness settles over my head like a gentle shade.

The years before the dice game are uneasy. My sons grow in strength and confidence; Duryodhana’s resentment grows with them. Karna stands beside him, constant and unquestioning.

During the dice game, when Draupadi is dragged into the hall, Karna stands there — steady, sharp-tongued, unyielding. I look at him and know: he does not belong to me anymore. He has shaped himself around another loyalty, another affection. What place do I have now to claim him?

And so the secret stays.

********

When war becomes unavoidable, Krishna comes to me. He speaks gently, but his words strike straight at the heart. “It is time for Karna to know.” The moment I dreaded all my life stands before me. Krishna explains that if I had told Karna earlier, he would have been torn between loyalties, hurting everyone, including himself. If I tell him after the war, it becomes cruelty. But now — when his path is fixed and he knows what he is fighting for — the truth will free him, not bind him.

I do not know whether Krishna is God, but I know he is right.

Meeting Karna is the hardest walk of my life. He stands tall, composed, almost waiting. When I see his face clearly — so much of myself reflect in him — a quiet ache fills me.

I tell him the truth. Slowly, carefully. Not to win him back, not to claim him, but to return to him what I once took — his identity. He listens in stillness. When he speaks, his voice is calm, almost too calm. He says he is grateful to know. He says he understands. But he cannot return to me. His loyalty is already given. He promises four of my sons will survive. He excludes Arjuna. That promise is both comfort and wound.

As I return, I realise the burden has eased. Not vanished.

********

The war begins. Each time my sons ride to battle, I feel the weight of the secret I carried. But there is no turning back now.

When Karna falls, I know before the news reaches me. Something inside me sinks, quiet and deep.

I go to him. I whisper his name. I tell him I am proud. I tell him I am sorry. I tell him I loved him from the very beginning, even in silence.

I tell Yudhishthira to perform his last rites. When Yudhishtra learns the truth, his grief turns sharp. His words cut deeply — not from disrespect, but from the anguish of realising he fought his own brother. He curses no women would ever keep secrets.

And I agree whole-heartedly. Dharma is not black and white. It is not carved on rocks for eternity. What is right today may not be true tomorrow. When society defines dharma, it ought to be ready to face the challenges ... examine ... redefine ... constantly.

When I threw back my secret at the society, at the very people who would poke their pointing fingers at me, I felt a kind of release I never expected to feel. It is their battle now. I smile faintly, as I walk slowly towards the sunset.

Read Part 1