As Karna walked out of the royal court without looking back, the sound of his footsteps slowly faded into the long stone corridors of Hastinapura.
The tension he left behind, however, remained thick in the sabha hall.
No one spoke for several moments. Ministers glanced at one another uncertainly. Servants stood frozen with lowered heads. Even the guards near the pillars seemed afraid to breathe too loudly.
The atmosphere had changed completely. Only a few days earlier, the palace had been preparing for marriage celebrations. Now it felt like a courtroom standing at the edge of something far more dangerous.
At last Bhishma stepped forward. His face remained stern and unreadable, but the heaviness in his eyes had deepened after hearing Karna's accusations.
"Maharaj, for the next three days," he said, his deep voice carrying across the silent hall, "I think Gandhar Raj Shakuni shall remain confined within his own chamber. He is forbidden from leaving his room. And no one shall meet him without permission from the court."
Every eye shifted toward Shakuni. His expression twitched for a brief second—only a brief second, but enough for Vidura to notice.
"Very well..."
Upon the throne, Dhritarashtra nodded in reluctant agreement, though his fingers tightened visibly on the armrest.
The king understood clearly that the matter had already moved beyond private politics.
The moment Karna had shouted Shakuni's name from the sky above Hastinapura, the issue had become public. And public distrust spread faster than fire in dry grass.
Bhishma then turned his gaze toward Duryodhana. The prince stiffened at once.
"The matter is not over yet, Maharaj," Bhishma said. His voice remained calm, yet every word landed with weight. "We have only addressed Karna's accusation against Gandhar Raj. Now… let us speak of accountability."
The court grew silent again.
"Duryodhana. You were the one who took responsibility for constructing that mansion at Varnavata, were you not?"
For a moment Duryodhana looked almost trapped. His throat moved visibly. Then he stepped forward slowly and bowed his head.
"Yes… Grandsire. But I had nothing to do with their deaths."
Bhishma did not answer at once. He descended one step from the elevated platform where the elders stood, hands folded behind his back, as though arranging his thoughts carefully.
Then his gaze sharpened.
"If that is true, then answer me this. Why did the mansion burn so completely?"
Duryodhana's eyes flickered.
"Normal flames cannot reduce an entire palace to melted ruin in such a short time," Bhishma continued. "The walls themselves reportedly melted. It sounded less like ordinary fire and more like destruction caused by a divyastra."
A murmur spread across the court. Duryodhana's face paled slightly.
Shakuni suddenly lifted his head as though a thought had struck him.
"Yes… yes!" His voice came quickly now. "That must be it! An Agneyastra!"
Several people turned toward him. He spoke with growing confidence, like a gambler who had just spotted a possible escape.
"It must have been an Agneyastra that caused such destruction. And how many people in Hastinapura possess such divine capability? Only two."
Even Duryodhana looked startled. Shakuni slowly turned toward the throne.
"One is Mahamahim Bhishma himself. And the other… is Maharaj Karna of Dakshina Kalinga."
Silence exploded across the hall more loudly than any shout. Even the servants looked horrified. Duryodhana's eyes widened completely; he had not expected Shakuni to redirect suspicion so suddenly.
Bhishma's expression darkened at once.
"Gandhar Raj Shakuni." His voice carried unmistakable anger. "You twist facts shamelessly. Are you implying Karna murdered the Pandavas and is now framing you? Do you understand the weight of your own words?"
For the first time since the session began, even Shakuni hesitated slightly under that gaze. But only slightly. He quickly lowered his head respectfully.
"Mahamahim misunderstands me. I do not mean Maharaj Karna committed such an act intentionally." That wording immediately caught Vidura's attention. "I merely say… perhaps he acted mistakenly. After all, he possesses divine weapons and a divine chariot that can cross Aryavarta in one day, when it takes us more than a month. If anyone could accidentally cause such destruction while attempting something else… it would be him."
Several ministers began whispering nervously again.
Shakuni added carefully, "I think he should be a suspect and needs to be questioned too."
Bhishma's jaw tightened. For a long moment he simply stared at Shakuni in silence.
Then, unexpectedly, Dhritarashtra spoke.
"Uncle… though I trust Karna's character greatly…" He paused. "What Shakuni says cannot be dismissed entirely. The destruction of that palace does raise questions."
Bhishma looked genuinely taken aback. Even Vidura frowned sharply.
Before Bhishma could answer, Vidura stepped forward calmly.
"Maharaj." His voice cut through the growing tension like cool water. "Maharaj Karna requested three days to investigate the matter. And Maharaj himself granted that permission."
Dhritarashtra fell silent.
"If, before those three days pass, we suddenly begin questioning Karna based merely on Gandhar Raj's counter-accusation," Vidura continued, his eyes shifting briefly toward Shakuni, "then it would directly contradict Maharaj's own order. In my opinion, Maharaj Karna should first be allowed the time he requested. Afterward, if Gandhar Raj is proven innocent, then his accusations against Karna may also be investigated properly."
A long silence followed.
Bhishma slowly nodded once. Even Dhritarashtra appeared cornered by the reasoning.
Finally, the king exhaled heavily.
"Fine. Let it remain that way."
The matter was temporarily settled. But only temporarily.
*
That same day, Karna mounted his divine golden chariot once more and left for Varnavata alone. He took no attendants, no guards, no servants as usual.
The divine horses moved like streaks of sunlight across the heavens. In no time, Karna reached Varnavata again.
From above, the burnt remains of the mansion looked like the blackened skeleton of something long abandoned. Broken beams jutted from the earth. Melted sections of wall had hardened into dark, uneven lumps. Thin threads of smoke still rose whenever the wind disturbed the ash.
Villagers stood gathered at a distance. No one dared come closer. When they saw the glowing golden chariot descend once more, whispers rose among them.
"It is Maharaj Karna again…"
"Perhaps he came to perform rites…"
"No… look at his face. He looks angry."
Karna paid them no attention. The moment his feet touched the ruined ground, ash shifted softly beneath his sandals. The smell of burnt oil mixed with melted lac filled the air once more. The place still felt wrong—heavy, as if the land itself remembered the screams that had once filled it.
He closed his eyes and activated his divine vision. Golden light flickered faintly behind his eyelids. Fragments of the past rose before him: servants carrying barrels, workers mixing substances in secret at night, Purochana writing by dim lamplight, the hidden tunnel, the spreading fire, the collapsing roof.
Karna's breathing remained controlled, but the muscles along his jaw tightened with every image.
Then something else appeared—a faint hollow space beneath the rubble.
His eyes opened at once.
Without wasting time, he walked to the northern side of the ruins where half-melted pillars still leaned against broken foundations.
Ash swirled around his ankles as he began clearing burnt wood and stone.
The work took hours under the harsh morning heat of the summer season. Sweat gathered along his neck and shoulders, yet he did not stop.
Finally, his hand struck something solid beneath the debris—not stone, but wood.
He narrowed his eyes and kept clearing. Moments later, he uncovered a partially collapsed underground hatch hidden under layers of ash. The flames above had destroyed most of the mansion, but the chamber beneath, surrounded by thick stone, had survived in part.
Karna broke the weakened lock with little effort. The hatch creaked open. A foul smell of stale air, burnt oil, and trapped smoke rushed out. He stepped carefully downward into the hidden chamber while thin shafts of sunlight filtered through cracks above.
The room was cramped and secretive. Several storage jars stood broken near the walls. Half-burnt scrolls lay scattered across the floor. In one corner, beneath a fallen wooden shelf, a small leather-bound record book rested, protected by chance from the flames.
Karna stared at it for a moment, then bent and picked it up. Ash slid from its cover. The leather felt dry and rough beneath his fingers. Slowly he opened it.
Most of the early pages contained ordinary entries—labor payments, construction supplies, transport schedules, servant duties. The deeper he turned, the darker the contents became.
Then he found it.
His eyes hardened as he read the lines carefully.
"Received direct order from Gandhar Raj Shakuni via his personal hawk.
The palace must be burned on the night of Amavasya.
Shakuni promised me gold and protection after the deed is done."
Silence filled the underground chamber. Only the faint sound of wind outside drifted through the cracks above.
Karna closed the book. His face became unreadable once more, but inside him the fury deepened—not merely because of politics or even the Pandavas, but because the entire act reeked of cowardice. A Kshatriya killing sleeping men by fire instead of facing them openly in battle was, to him, filth beneath dharma.
He climbed back out carrying the book firmly in one hand. The villagers watching from afar noticed at once that something had changed in his expression. None dared approach.
Before the sunset, Karna returned to Hastinapura. With the leather-bound book still in his hand, he returned to his room.
The next morning, the court had already assembled once more at Karna's request. Rumors of his acquired evidence had spread through the palace since morning. Ministers whispered nervously. Guards stood rigidly alert beside the pillars.
At the center stood Shakuni. For the first time since all this began, fear was clearly visible on his face.
He never expected Karna to find the evidence in just one day.
What could it be? He had no idea…
And that uncertainty brought panic to the heart of Gandhar Raj Shakuni and Duryodhana.
The great doors opened. Karna entered. His steps echoed across the marble floor while every eye followed him in complete silence. He neither bowed nor spoke at once. Instead, he walked straight to the center table before the throne and placed the book upon it with a dull sound.
Then he spoke.
"Maharaj Dritarashtra, this is Purochana's personal record book. I recovered it from a hidden underground chamber beneath the ruins at Varnavata."
Several ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
Karna opened the book and turned several pages.
"In his own handwriting, Purochana recorded the materials purchased for constructing the mansion." His eyes lowered briefly to the pages. "One thousand kilograms of lac. Ten thousand liters of oil. Six thousand liters of ghee. Four hundred kilograms of resin. Six hundred kilograms of sandalwood. Ten thousand kilograms of dry grass and straw. And over one thousand kilograms of other flammable substances."
The court became deathly silent. Even the soft shifting of servants' feet disappeared.
Karna lifted his gaze again.
"Tell me. What can be created from such materials?"
No one answered.
"A normal residence is not built this way," he continued, resting one hand on the open pages. "This was not construction. It was preparation for a funeral pyre."
A visible chill moved through the court.
Karna turned further through the pages until he reached the critical entry. Without another word, he carefully tore out the page and handed it directly to Bhishma.
"These instructions are repeated multiple times within the book. And the handwriting can easily be compared." His eyes shifted toward Shakuni. "You may compare it with Purochana's previous records and letters. The handwriting is unquestionably his."
Then he turned toward Dhritarashtra.
"Maharaj. You may now ask Gandhar Raj Shakuni why he instructed Purochana to construct a palace made almost entirely from lac and flammable substances if he is not involved in the conspiracy to kill them, along with their Mother."
The sabha hall remained frozen.
Bhishma picked up the page and began reading. With every line, his face darkened further. The veins near his temple became visible. Nearby, Dhritarashtra sat deeply troubled upon the throne, fingers gripping the armrest tightly while silence swallowed the court whole.
Karna finally looked directly at Shakuni. His gaze carried neither shouting nor open rage. That calmness felt far more dangerous.
"Do you still deny it… Gandhar Raj?"