In the courtroom, Karna sat on the royal throne with the calm authority of a man who had ruled for years without ever letting power poison his mind. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, moving from minister to minister as reports were presented.
The session was already deep into its discussions.
One minister spoke about the progress of new roads connecting Kanipura to the outer districts.
Another spoke about irrigation canals being carved into dry lands, turning barren soil into farmland.
Maps were unrolled, plans were read aloud, and scribes recorded every decision with quiet discipline.
Then the talk shifted to the larger projects.
New towns were being planned near the northeastern border shared with the Suhma kingdom, where merchants often stopped but never settled due to the heavy activity of bandits in those mountain areas. Karna listened carefully as the architect described the placement of wells, granaries, defensive walls, and temples...
After that came trade.
An envoy from the Vidarbha kingdom had arrived weeks ago with proposals of silk exchange, metal shipments, and a long-term agreement to allow Dakshina Kalinga merchants access to Dantapur Town Port so that they can travel on the ships of Kalinga to travel to the Vanga kingdom through the sea, as inland travel is difficult due to mountainous areas and underdeveloped roads. Karna asked questions patiently, not rushing the discussion.
The court was steady, professional, and focused.
Until the doors opened.
The guards standing at the entrance immediately straightened, their spears striking the ground in unison. The ministers paused mid-sentence. Heads turned instinctively as Queen Sumedha entered.
She walked in with her usual composed grace, wearing royal attire that suited her sharp mind more than her beauty. But what drew every eye was not her. It was the three children walking beside her, holding her hands and tugging at her sleeves as if the royal court was just another room in the palace.
Two girls.
One boy.
All three were only three years old.
Their steps were small and uneven, their faces bright with curiosity. The boy's hair was tied neatly, his forehead marked with a small Surya tilak. The girls wore tiny ornaments that jingled softly as they walked. One of them kept looking around as if she were counting the pillars.
Sumedha stopped in the center of the court and bowed slightly, her voice calm as always.
"Maharaj," she said, "I apologize for the disturbance. But the children insisted on coming. And your son has an interesting question to ask."
The entire court rose instantly in respect, not only for the queen but also because royal children had entered. Even the oldest ministers, men who had once argued fearlessly with kings, stood with folded hands, their expressions caught between formality and disbelief.
Karna, who had been in the middle of discussing trade routes, looked up.
And his face softened.
A genuine smile appeared, the kind that never showed itself during war councils or political negotiations. His eyes warmed as he watched the children approach him with the shameless confidence only children could possess.
Sumedha guided them forward and then moved to sit on the queens' platform. Unlike most kingdoms where only one queen, who is the Chief Queen, could sit beside the king, Karna had built a special arrangement, a wide throne-like seat where multiple queens could sit together without hierarchy poisoning their presence.
Karna leaned forward, arms opening.
The children rushed to him immediately.
He lifted them with ease, settling the boy on one knee and one of the girls on the other. The second girl climbed onto his lap by herself, stubbornly squeezing between them as if she refused to be left out. Karna laughed softly and adjusted them so they wouldn't fall.
The court watched in silence.
A king who could discuss city construction one moment and hold toddlers the next, without losing dignity, was still something rare enough to feel unreal.
The boy born through Queen Sumedha and carrying the bloodline of Kamsa and Lord Surya, Prince Vrishaketu, looked up at Karna with wide eyes. Even at three years old, his gaze carried an unusual clarity. His words came out in a childish tone, but they were properly formed, as if his tongue had already learned discipline.
"Father," Vrishaketu said, "today Mother taught us about Tridev, their origins, and their importance in our lives. And their relationship with devotees."
Karna blinked and glanced sideways at Sumedha.
The look in his eyes was clear.
Do three-year-olds really need to learn about such heavy things?
Sumedha only looked back calmly, her expression unreadable, as if she was silently saying: if he can walk, he can learn.
Vrishaketu continued without waiting.
"And then I asked her…" he said, pausing briefly as if gathering his thoughts, "I love Father. And I love Mother."
He pointed at Sumedha proudly.
"I also love Mother Mrinalini," he added. "And Mother Dhavani."
Then Vrishaketu tilted his head, confusion written plainly across his young face.
"Father, if I can love Father and my three mothers," he asked, "then why can't people devote themselves to both Mahadeva and Narayana too?"
The court remained still.
Vrishaketu's voice continued, innocent but serious.
"Why can't there be temples with both Mahadeva and Narayana idols together?" he asked. "Why are there separate temples? Why are there separate sects?"
Karna's smile faded slowly.
Not because the question offended him.
But because it struck something deep, something old.
For a long moment, not a single sound existed in the assembly hall.
Even the oil lamps seemed to flicker more quietly.
The ministers, the scribes, the guards, the advisors… everyone froze as if time itself had been stunned.
A three-year-old prince had just asked a question that many scholars spent their entire lives arguing about. Some of the older ministers exchanged glances, their faces caught between amazement and confusion. A few looked almost embarrassed, as if the child had exposed their own lack of understanding.
Karna sat completely still.
Vrishaketu stared up at him, waiting patiently, his small hands resting on Karna's arm. One of the little girls leaned against Karna's chest, already bored, while the other swung her feet lightly, fascinated by the court's sudden silence.
Karna's eyes remained fixed ahead, but his mind had already traveled far away.
Because he had heard this question before.
Not from any scholar.
Not from any priest.
But from himself.
He remembered being a child, sitting beside his father, asking the same thing with the same innocent confusion. I love Father and Mother equally, so why can't I worship Narayana and Mahadeva equally too?
It took him years to realize the answer, and that too, when he witnessed Lord Shiva's mighty form with his own eyes.
But back then, he wondered why his father didn't give him the straight answer.
Now he realized why.
It's because the true answer goes too deep for a three-year-old. It was tied to the nature of Para Brahman, the way humans created duality to understand what was beyond understanding. Moreover, the answer his son wanted goes even deeper. It was tied to politics, ego, identity, and the hunger to feel superior even in devotion.
Karna could answer it.
But not fully.
Not in a way Vrishaketu could grasp.
Still, Karna's heart warmed slightly.
While thinking of a proper way to answer his son, Karna decided to extend some time. His eyes immediately shifted to the ministers who were watching him.
Some looked nervous, as if they feared the king would test them.
Others looked hopeful, as if they wanted him to provide an answer that would sound wise enough to be remembered for generations.
But Karna noticed something else, too.
Many of them looked clueless.
Their mouths were closed, their faces blank. Men who managed trade, law, and diplomacy could not manage the simple innocence of a child's question.
And that amused Karna.
This is what happens when knowledge becomes limited to rituals, he thought. People learn rules, but forget to ask why.
A small smile returned to Karna's face.
He adjusted Vrishaketu slightly on his lap and then looked toward the ministers as he caressed his daughters' heads.
"You heard his question," Karna said calmly, his voice echoing gently through the hall. "Is anyone willing to state their opinions?"