Return to Magadha

After the eventful days in Hastinapur, Bahubali and Karna set out for Magadha, their chariot rolling through the dusty plains of Aryavrat, the Ganga's distant shimmer a constant companion.

The journey, spanning a week, was filled with quiet reflection and spirited discussion, their bond as friends and warriors deepened by the trials of the Kalapradarshan and the trade negotiations. 

A week later, they entered Magadha's capital, its streets bustling with artisans, scholars, and farmers, the fruits of Bahubali's reforms evident in their smiles.

The palace, adorned with banners of Mahadev's trident, welcomed them, and after settling their parents, Bahubali summoned the court, its marble hall filled with ministers, generals, and nobles, their anticipation palpable.

Standing before the throne, Bahubali's presence commanded silence, his voice resonant with authority. "Esteemed members of Magadha's sabha, loyal ministers, brave warriors, and wise scholars. Our journey to Hastinapur has strengthened our ties with the Kurus and secured Anga for our realm, a land we will uplift with schools, hospitals, and justice, as we have here. But today, I make a proclamation that honors valor and dharma. My brother, Senapati Karna, whose arrows humbled Aryavrat's pride, whose heart serves our people tirelessly, shall be crowned king of Anga. From this day, he is Angaraj Karna, sovereign of our new territory, to rule with the same dharma that guides Magadha."

The court gasped, murmurs rippling through the hall. Karna, standing beside Bahubali, turned to him, his face a mask of shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Bahu… Maharaj, what is this? I'm your senapati, content to serve you and Magadha. A king? I never sought such a throne, nor dreamed of it! Why place this burden on me when my bow is yours, my life dedicated to your vision?"

Bahubali's gaze was firm, his voice laced with conviction, a smile softening his words. "Karna listen to me. You've repeatedly proved your valor against Jarasandha's armies, in Hastinapur's arena, in every battle we've faced together. Your archery, honed by Lord Parashurama and sharpened by our years of training, is unmatched. Your heart, pure despite the world's scorn, upholds dharma as fiercely as I do. Anga's people need a king, not a distant governor, and there is none more worthy than you. This is not a burden, but respect for the warrior you are. You've earned this, Karna, and I will not hear your refusal. Magadha and Anga will shine as twin stars under our shared vision."

Karna's eyes glistened, his voice thick with emotion as he grappled with the honor. "Bahu, your faith in me… it's more than I can fathom. How can I deny your word when it comes from a heart I trust above all? If this is your will, I accept, not for glory, but to serve Anga's people as you've taught me—to build, to protect, to uphold dharma. But know this: my loyalty to you, to Magadha, will never waver, king or not."

Bahubali clasped Karna's shoulders, his smile radiant. "That's the Karna I know. Come, let us not delay. The coronation will be today, and Anga will hail its new king."

The court erupted in cheers, the ministers chanting, "Angaraj Karna ki jai!" Priests were summoned, and by midday, Karna's coronation unfolded with Vedic grandeur. Amid chants and the fragrance of sandalwood, Karna was anointed with sacred tilak, crowned with a golden diadem, and hailed as Angaraj, his kundalas gleaming under the sun, a symbol of his divine destiny. Bahubali watched, his heart swelling with pride, knowing Mahadev and Mata Parvati smiled upon their disciple.

At dusk, after the Suryapuja by the Ganga, where Karna offered his prayers to his divine patron, he and Bahubali stood alone on the riverbank, the water reflecting the fading light. Karna turned to his friend, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Bahu, today you've made me a king, given me a throne I never sought, a realm to call my own. Angaraj Karna… the title feels like a dream, yet it's real because of you. What can I give in return for this honor, this trust? Name it, my brother, and it's yours—my bow, my life, anything."

Bahubali's smile was enigmatic, his tone gentle yet serious. "Karna, I ask only one thing: give me your word that you will never donate your kavach and kundalas to anyone, no matter who asks or why. From today on, those are mine; it is not yours to give. These are no ordinary adornments, and their importance is greater than you know. Swear this to me, and I'll ask nothing more."

Karna's brow furrowed, his hand instinctively touching the radiant armor and earrings, gifts from his birth he'd always cherished. "Bahu, I don't understand why you ask this, but your word is my law. From this day, these kavach and kundalas are yours in spirit—they will never leave me, no matter the plea or promise. But tell me, why this vow? What secret lies in them that you guard so fiercely?"

Bahubali's expression grew grave, his eyes piercing as he placed a hand on Karna's shoulder. "Karna, brace yourself, for I must reveal a truth that will shake your world. I know this because my teachers gifted me insight beyond mortal ken. You are not a sutaputra, as you've believed all your life. You are a Suryaputra, born of Lord Surya himself. Your kavach and kundalas are forged of amrit, divine nectar, making you invincible as long as they adorn you—no warrior, no astra, can fell you while you wear them. You were adopted as a newborn by Radha maa and Adhiratha baba, found in a box floating on the Ganga. Your birth mother left you there, unmarried and afraid, fearing the world's judgment and her father's tarnished honor if her secret was known."

Karna's face paled, his breath catching, shock etching his features. As Bahubali's words sank in, tears welled in his eyes, his voice trembling. "Bahu… Suryaputra? Not a suta? My entire life, I've borne the scorn of my birth, fought to prove my worth, and now you say it was all a lie? Radha Maa, Pitaji—they raised me, loved me, yet I'm not theirs by blood? And my birth mother… she abandoned me in the Ganga, as if I were a stain to be washed away? Who is she, Bahu? Tell me her name, I beg you, though I dread the answer."

Bahubali's voice softened, his grip steadying Karna. "Karna, your mother is Kunti, Mata Kunti of Hastinapur. You are her first son, the eldest of the Pandavas, born before her marriage to Pandu. She was young, gifted a boon by Sage Durvasa, and in her innocence, invoked Lord Surya, bearing you. Fearing society's wrath and her father's disgrace, she set you adrift, praying you'd find a home. Radha and Adhiratha became your true parents, their love shaping you into the warrior you are. This is your truth, Karna, a secret even Kunti hides from her sons."

Karna staggered, his world unraveling, tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared at the Ganga, the river that had carried him to his fate. "Kunti… my mother? The Pandavas, my brothers? Bhima's scorn, Arjuna's challenge—they mocked their own kin, and I, their elder, stood against them, not knowing? My life feels like a jest, Bahu, a cruel play scripted by the gods. Kunti washed her hands of me, left me to drift, and now I'm to carry this burden alone? What am I, Bahu—a suta, a Suryaputra, a Pandava? Who am I meant to be?"

Bahubali's voice was calm, anchoring Karna's storm. "You are Karna, Angaraj, my brother, a warrior of dharma forged by love and trial. Your birth does not define you—your deeds do. Radha and Adhiratha are your true parents, their hearts your home. Kunti's choice was hers, born of fear, not malice. You ask what to do? That's for your heart to decide, Karna. Will you seek her, confront her, or let this truth rest? Will you claim your place among the Pandavas, or remain the son of Radha? I'll stand by you, whatever you choose, but the path is yours."

Karna stood silent, his gaze lost in the Ganga's flow, his tears mingling with its waters. After a long pause, his voice steadied, resolute. "Bahu, I've thought on it, and my heart speaks clear. I will do nothing. I am the son of Radha and Adhiratha, and I'll remain so until my death. They gave me love, a home, a name—Karna, not some Pandava prince. Kunti left me in the Ganga, as if washing away her sin. If she could sever that bond, so can I. I owe her nothing, nor will I claim a mother who chose shame over her son. My life as a suta, my struggles, my triumphs—they're mine, and I'll not trade them for a royal lineage that cast me aside."

Bahubali nodded, respect in his eyes. "A choice born of strength, Karna. But what of your brothers—the Pandavas? They had no part in Kunti's deed. Bhima's words stung, Arjuna's pride clashed with yours, yet they're your kin. Will you shun them too, or find a way to bridge this divide?"

Karna's jaw tightened, his voice firm yet tinged with compassion. "The Pandavas… they're strangers to me, Bahu, bound by blood but not by heart. Bhima's scorn, Nakula and Sahadeva's laughter—they judged me as a suta, not a brother. Yet, if they walk the path of dharma, I'll protect them, as I would any righteous soul. I'll guard them from afar, ensuring no harm befalls them while they uphold truth. But I'll not reveal this secret, nor claim a bond they'd likely reject. My loyalty lies with Radha Maa, Pitaji, you, and Magadha. That's my truth, and I'll live it, Suryaputra or not."

Bahubali's smile returned, his voice warm with pride. "You've chosen wisely, Karna, with a heart as vast as the Ganga. Your path is dharma's, and I'm honored to walk it with you. Come, let's return to the palace. Anga awaits its king, and we've preparations to make for your move. Magadha and Anga will shine as twin flames, guided by Mahadev and Mata Parvati."

Karna wiped his tears, his resolve firm, a new strength in his stride. "Yes, Bahu. Let's prepare. Anga's people deserve a king who serves, and I'll give them my all, as you've taught me. With you by my side, no challenge is too great."

The two friends walked back to the palace, the stars above bearing witness to Karna's rebirth as Angaraj and Suryaputra, their bond unshakeable, ready to forge a new chapter in Aryavrat's saga.