Interior – Hastinapura Assembly Hall – Late Evening
The silence after the dice's fall was heavier than thunder. Yudhishthira stared at the ivory cube, his eyes glazed, lips slightly parted. He had lost again. Another piece of himself was claimed by the game — a game that had long stopped being one.
The murmurs of the court faded into a distant echo in his ears. Across from him, Shakuni's smile widened, oozing with poisonous triumph. Duryodhana leaned forward, arms crossed, his smugness a wound that would never scab. The Kaurava prince whispered something to Karna at his side, and they both chuckled quietly. But Karna's laughter was hollow — as if something deep within him refused to truly revel in the humiliation of the Pandava king.
As Yudhishthira's hand trembled over the dice for another throw, his eyes met Karna's for a brief, flickering moment.
And something passed between them.
Not hate. Not rivalry. But something deeper. Ancient. A tether of fate bound by blood unknown.
Slow zoom into Karna's eyes. Darkness falls. Sounds fade.
A sudden golden light.
Time unravels. Dust flows backward. Palaces unbuild. Horses neigh in reverse. A baby's cry echoes across the ages.
Exterior – Kunti Kingdom – Years Before the Pandavas' Birth
The young princess Pritha, later to be known as Kunti, stood alone on a terrace that overlooked the palace gardens. She was not yet a mother. Not yet a queen. She was a girl of sixteen, noble and poised, but beneath her regal exterior lay a tempest of questions she had never dared voice.
Her adoptive father, King Kuntibhoja, had raised her with stern grace, promising that someday her destiny would match her dignity. That day had arrived. Sage Durvasa, the unpredictable hermit of legend, had come to stay as their guest — and it had been Pritha's solemn duty to serve him with diligence and devotion.
Durvasa was known for his wrath, a single misstep able to summon curses that outlasted kingdoms. But Pritha had served him unfailingly — with water before he asked, meals before he hungered, words before he could frown. For weeks she bore the burden of hospitality without error.
And then, on the eve of his departure, the sage turned to her.
"You have pleased me, child," Durvasa had said, his eyes burning like twin suns. "Your heart is pure, your dharma unshaken. I grant you a boon that no woman has possessed. You may call upon any god of your choosing, and he shall be bound to you. From him, you shall bear a child — divine, powerful, untainted by mortal seed."
A chill had run through Pritha then — not fear, but awe. She had bowed low, her forehead to the ground, and accepted the gift in silence. But as days turned into weeks, curiosity grew inside her like a whisper in the wind.
Could this truly be?
Was it real?
Or merely the raving of an eccentric sage?
She began to wonder, in solitude, about the gods. About their forms. Their might. Their fire. And in a moment of youthful folly — or perhaps divine compulsion — she chose to test the mantra.
Scene 4: The Sun God Comes
Interior – Kunti's Chambers – Midnight
The night was moonless.
Kunti stood alone in her chamber, her heart pounding like a battle drum. She whispered the sacred incantation Durvasa had taught her. The air thickened. A radiant heat filled the room. Curtains fluttered without wind. The lamps flickered out. Silence.
And then—
He appeared.
A being of unbearable brilliance. His body shone like the core of the sun. His crown burned with celestial flame. Golden armor shimmered upon his chest. Earrings of radiant gold floated beside his face like twin halos. His voice was the wind in the deserts, warm and terrifying.
"You called me, maiden," Surya, the Sun God, said. "And so I have come. The boon of Durvasa binds me. You are to bear my seed."
Kunti's eyes widened with dread.
"But… I did not mean… I was only testing…"
Surya's gaze did not waver.
"The gods do not come in jest. What has been invoked cannot be undone. You shall bear my child — and no shame shall touch you. I will restore your virginity. The world will not know."
Tears welled in her eyes — not from regret, but from the weight of it. The line between divine and mortal had broken. And she — a girl, still — had crossed it.
That night, light and shadow danced. And in the morning, when she awoke, her body bore the fire of new life.
Scene 5: The Boy of Gold
Interior – Secret Chamber – Nine Months Later
No midwives were called. No servants knew. Kunti vanished for a season under the guise of pilgrimage. Alone in a forest shrine, in secrecy and sorrow, she gave birth to a boy.
And what a boy he was.
His skin glowed like polished copper. Upon his chest gleamed natural golden armor, fused with flesh. From his ears hung divine earrings no smith could craft. His eyes were wide, steady — as if he had already seen the cosmos and returned.
Kunti cradled him with trembling hands, awe and terror mingling.
"My son…" she whispered. "You are more than I could ever deserve…"
But with joy came despair.
What would the world say? What would her father say? A princess, unwed, bearing a child of unknown fatherhood? Even if she claimed divine intervention, who would believe her? Shame, not praise, would await her.
And so—
With tears burning her cheeks, Kunti placed the boy into a sealed box lined with silk and placed a note, half-prayer, half-apology.
She whispered the name only once:
"Karna…"
And with her own hands, she set the cradle afloat on the sacred Ganga.
The water bore him away.
Her cries drowned in the roar of the current.
She returned to the palace, her face composed, her womb empty, her heart broken. The world moved on.
But she had created a sun.
And it had not yet risen.
Scene 6: Found by Fate
Exterior – Riverbanks of Hastinapura – Dawn
The box floated downriver and came to rest among reeds near the charioteer Adhiratha and his wife Radha. Childless and humble, the couple were stunned when they saw the divine infant wrapped in royal cloth, glowing like a miniature sun.
They took him in without question. Named him Karna. Raised him as their own.
He called Radha mother. Adhiratha father.
He never knew the womb that bore him.
But he would rise, one day, to challenge gods and kings.
Scene 7: Return to the Present
Visual Transition – Karna's eyes in the gambling hall – Present day – Hastinapura Court
Karna blinked.
The vision of his mother, her tears, the cradle, the river — gone.
He looked at Yudhishthira again.
And the feeling returned.
"Why do I pity this man?" he wondered.
He did not know.
That the man he laughed at…
…was his brother.
End of Chapter 3