Chapter 35: The Son of Silence
The dawn broke gently over Dwaraka, painting the sea in a wash of rose and silver. The city had survived war, but for Karna, a greater battle remained—not one of blades, but of truths long buried.
He walked to the quiet temple garden where Kunti waited alone.
She had risen before the sun, as if summoned by guilt itself. Her sari was plain, her hair unadorned. There were no guards, no courtiers. Only a mother, trembling in the stillness of morning.
Karna stopped a few feet away. The sound of his sandals on stone startled her.
She turned. Their eyes met.
She opened her mouth to speak.
He raised a hand.
"Let me talk first."
She nodded, breath shallow.
Karna took a slow breath. "All my life, I fought to prove that I belonged. That I was worthy of being seen, of being named. I carried shame like a sword. Not because I deserved it—but because someone decided I had to."
Kunti's eyes filled.
"I never stopped thinking of you," she whispered. "Not one day passed without—"
"You thought of me," he interrupted, voice trembling, "but you never came."
She flinched.
"I wanted to. But I was afraid."
"So was I," he said. "Every day, I feared I was born wrong. That my blood was a curse. And now I know it was divine. And still... I feel the same."
She stepped closer. "I was a child. I had no choice."
"And I was a child too," Karna said. "But I had no mother."
The silence that followed was thicker than grief.
She reached for his hand.
He let her hold it.
"You don't hate me?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"No. I pity you. For the love you buried. For the son you lost even as he breathed."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "What will you do now?"
Karna looked at the rising sun.
"Nothing. Not yet. The world isn't ready for this truth. The Pandavas... tell them about it today. Not as your secret. But as my truth."
Kunti covered her face, weeping openly now.
Karna stepped back.
"I was born of Surya, raised by Radha. I know what name the world gave me. But I know who I am."
He met her eyes.
"I will always be Radheya. Not Kaunteya."
She nodded, hands trembling.
And as he turned to walk away, the morning wind carried a whisper that felt like absolution.
He did not look back.
But her tears, at last, were not silent.