The moment the idea rose, suspicion rose with it—heavy and unwelcome. Karna disliked accusing anyone without proof, especially when all he had were fragments of divine sight and a growing unease.
He exhaled. "I do not have enough information."
The chamber fell quiet again. Outside, the night wind brushed against the windows.
Even if the danger was real, what was he supposed to do?
He had already learned from Yama the laws surrounding divine knowledge. One could alter events. One could try to prevent harm. But death belonged to fate. Interfering with it with such knowledge carried its own consequences.
Unless Kunti herself called for him.
His thoughts turned to the golden amulet he had given her. If she used it—if she decided to send the message willingly—then perhaps the situation would change. Otherwise, any direct interference might itself become an act against destiny.
Karna clenched his fist. His heart felt restless. The Pandavas were not evil men. And despite distance, pride, bitterness, and every complicated truth between them, the thought of Queen Kunti burning alive still disturbed him deeply.
After a long while, he straightened on the bed and closed his eyes. He began to meditate, drawing long, steady breaths until the chaos in his mind settled.
At last he folded his hands.
"Lord Shiva… the Pandu princes are not ordinary men. They were born carrying unusual destinies and powers. Men born with such burdens are usually born for a purpose. I do not believe they have fulfilled that purpose yet."
The lamp flame flickered gently beside him.
"So if it is not truly their fate to die… I pray they survive. Not because they are related to me by birth, but by destiny they need to fulfill in their lives. Hara Hara Mahadev."
The prayer hung quietly in the silent chamber.
When Karna opened his eyes again, the unease was still there, and the fear had not left. But for now he chose to place the matter in the hands of fate and Mahadeva.
He lay back down beneath the dim light of the lamp while the restless winds of Hastinapura moved through the sleeping night.
*
Three days later, in the evening, in Hastinapura, the last light of the sun stayed on the waters of the Ganga when Karna finished his daily Sandhya rites on the riverbank.
Priests continued their chants while devotees offered Sandhya vandanam to the setting sun.
Yet none of it eased the heaviness that had settled in Karna's chest since the visions began.
He walked back toward the palace barefoot, wet hair loosely tied, his upper cloth still damp with river water. Almost at once he felt that something was wrong.
The palace did not feel itself.
Usually the evening corridors of Hastinapura moved with quiet order—servants prepared for the royal dinner, guards changing posts, ministers arriving for court, attendants sweeping the marble floors before the day fully began.
Today there was only chaos.
Maids stood near the entrance hall openly weeping.
Servants hurried past with pale, frightened faces. Some guards stood frozen, as if they had forgotten how to speak.
The whole place felt less like a royal palace and more like a place of mourning.
Karna's steps slowed. A cold unease settled in his chest. He stopped an elderly servant who was wiping tears with a trembling hand.
"What happened?"
The man folded his hands shakily. His voice broke as he spoke.
"Maharaj… the sons of Maharaj Pandu… the Pandu princes… and Queen Kunti… they died. In a fire at Varnavata."
For a single moment, Karna's heart seemed to stop. The sounds around him faded—the crying, the footsteps, everything—until only those words remained.
Then his heart slammed hard against his ribs.
"No."
He turned at once and strode toward the open grounds. Guards moved aside without a word. Within moments, the divine golden chariot descended beside him, radiant as a fragment of the sun. Karna boarded it without speaking to anyone.
The chariot shot upward.
Wind roared around him as Hastinapura vanished beneath the clouds. He did not know the exact location of Varnavata, but he knew the direction. From the sky, all he needed was the mark of destruction.
The chariot crossed forests, rivers, hills, and villages at impossible speed. Karna stood at the front, fists clenched. The cold wind lashed his face but did nothing to quiet the storm inside him.
Why didn't she use the amulet?
He had warned her.
He had given her the means to call him.
Why had Queen Kunti not called?
Guilt pressed in slowly.
Even though he had cut emotional ties long ago, even though he had rejected the truth of his birth and refused to claim them as family, the Pandavas were still his blood.
And beyond blood, they were not evil men.
They are those who follow dharma, who try to protect dharma.
Lord Shiva cannot abandon them like this...
Karna's jaw tightened. "They were so young…"
At last he found it: a vast burnt ruin, smoke still rising faintly into the air.
The chariot descended near the destroyed palace.
Hundreds of villagers stood gathered in horrified silence.
Some whispered prayers. Some wept quietly. Others simply stared at the blackened remains.
What had once been a palace now looked like the corpse of something burned alive. Walls had collapsed inward. Wooden beams were reduced to charcoal. In some places, the ground itself appeared melted. The heavy smell of burnt oil, ash, and death still hung in the air.
Karna stepped down. His footsteps crunched over blackened debris. No one approached him. The villagers moved aside as he walked toward the center of the ruins.
He stopped, knelt beside a collapsed wall, and touched the blackened rubble.
Closing his eyes, he let the divine vision rise.
Fragments came first—warnings, fear, suspicion.
Then clearer images.
Days earlier, the Pandavas received a secret warning.
Digging in secret beneath the palace.
A tunnel.
An escape route.
Then the night of Amavasya: the palace quiet, Purochana moving through the corridors, fire erupting suddenly and spreading with unnatural speed.
The walls ignited as if soaked in oil. The whole structure became an inferno within moments.
And while the world believed the Pandavas trapped inside, they escaped through the tunnel.
Karna's eyes opened. A long breath left him. Relief flooded through him so strongly that for a moment his vision blurred.
"They are alive, after all… I knew that Mahadeva would not let them die like that..."
His shoulders eased. But the relief lasted only moments. He pushed the vision further back, seeking the source of this adharmic act.
He saw it: a message, a secret order. Shakuni instructing Purochana through a messenger bird. The command. The conspiracy. The deliberate burning.
Karna's eyes widened. Fury rose hot and sharp. His fists clenched until the veins stood out on his arms.
"Gandhar Raj…"
He did not look further. Had he continued, he would have seen more—Duryodhana's hand, Dhritarashtra's silent approval. But he stopped at Shakuni as the fire in his chest started burning hotter than the ruins around him. Unable to remain any longer, he rose, boarded the chariot, and returned.
By the time he reached Hastinapura, night had fallen. The city mourned beneath dim oil lamps. People moved through the streets with pale faces. Women wept near temples for the supposed deaths of the Pandavas. Priests chanted for the departed. The whole capital had sunk into sorrow.
Then a blazing golden light appeared in the sky.
People looked up in shock. Karna's divine chariot hovered high above the royal palace like a second sun. His aura burned fiercely. His face was set with cold fury.
His voice rolled across the entire city with divine force.
"GANDHAR RAJ SHAKUNI!"
The sound cracked through Hastinapura like a storm. Windows shook. Birds burst from rooftops. Horses neighed in panic. Guards stumbled. Every street froze. Merchants stopped mid-sentence. Priests fell silent. Weeping servants forgot their tears. The whole city stared upward.
Within moments, the grand palace doors burst open. Bhishma emerged first, urgency written across his face, followed closely by Vidura, Duryodhana, Shakuni, ministers, warriors, and guards.
All of them stopped and looked up at the blazing golden chariot suspended above the palace.