Karna did not answer the Rajguru immediately.
The entire court watched him in silence, as if even the pillars were waiting for his words. Vrishaketu sat quietly on his lap now, his little head tilted, still curious, still innocent, unaware that his question had just shaken an entire hall of ministers and scholars.
Karna could understand Someshwara's concern. In Dakshina Kalinga, Shaivism was dominant. The people were devoted, and their devotion had become part of their identity. Introducing something new, even something meant to unite, could spark unnecessary conflict. Humans had a strange habit of turning even the gods into weapons of argument.
But Karna also knew something else.
A kingdom could not remain dharmic simply by avoiding discomfort.
Dharma was not always comfortable.
Sometimes it demanded change.
Sometimes it demanded courage.
He raised his gaze again, and the calmness in his eyes was the calmness of a man who had already decided.
"I have decided," Karna said, his voice steady.
The hall stiffened instantly.
Even the Rajguru sat straighter.
Karna continued, "I am going to build a Sarvadevalaya at the ghats of the Indravati River."
The words fell into the court like thunder.
"Sarvadevalaya?" someone whispered instinctively.
The ministers exchanged confused looks. Even the scribes paused their writing, unsure whether they had heard the word correctly.
Karna's expression remained calm, but there was something fierce in the certainty of his voice now, like a king who was not announcing an idea but declaring destiny.
"It will be a temple unlike anything that has ever existed," Karna said.
He stood up slowly, still holding his children, and the moment he rose, the hall felt smaller.
"This Sarvadevalaya," Karna declared, "will be dedicated to Tridev, Tridevi, and all their incarnations."
The murmurs in the hall grew louder.
Some ministers looked stunned.
Some looked excited.
Some looked frightened.
Karna's gaze swept across them, as if daring anyone to object.
"It will be a temple where any devotee can feel at home," he continued. "Whether they worship Mahadeva, Narayana, Devi Shakti, Ganapati, Kartikeya, or any form of the divine. This temple will welcome everyone. Regardless of belief, age, gender, caste, or lineage. And around this temple complex, we will build a spiritual town. A place where pilgrims will find everything they need. Food. Shelter. Places for rituals. Wells. Markets. Ashrams. Everything."
The hall was silent again, but it was no longer the silence of hesitation.
It was the silence of shock.
Even Rajguru Someshwara looked as if someone had pulled the ground from beneath his feet.
Then Prime Minister Timmarasu stood up abruptly, his face pale with concern. He was a loyal man, but also a practical one, and his mind immediately saw numbers instead of devotion.
"Maharaj," Timmarasu said carefully, "such a huge project will require immense wealth."
He paused, choosing his words like a man stepping through a field of thorns. "If we use the treasury for this," he continued, "it will become difficult for us."
His voice lowered.
"We are entering summer soon. There may not even be enough rain. If drought comes… our resources will already be strained.
Karna frowned at those words.
"I thought we had enough gold," he said slowly, his voice carrying faint disbelief.
Timmarasu bowed his head respectfully, but he did not retreat. "It is because, so far, we have not collected taxes from our citizens, apart from the merchants. Yet we keep spending on projects and donations. We keep making weapons. Recruiting soldiers. Expanding cities. Feeding the poor. Funding schools. Protecting trade routes."
His eyes lifted toward Karna, careful but firm.
"Our treasury is reducing, Maharaj," he said. "I think… we should begin collecting taxes from the common folk."
The moment those words were spoken, the atmosphere shifted.
Some ministers nodded, as if they had been waiting for this suggestion for years.
Others looked uneasy, because they knew Karna's stance.
Karna's gaze turned cold. "I already told you that my kingdom will remain tax-free for ten years, for the common folk."
Timmarasu lowered his head quickly, but the tension remained.
Karna then turned his gaze sharply toward another man seated on the right side of the court.
"Rajashekara," he called.
The Revenue Minister stood up immediately.
He was a man who always carried a heavy accounts bag with him, as if even his soul was made of ledgers. His eyes were sharp, his mind trained to see patterns where others saw chaos.
"Maharaj," Rajashekara said, folding his hands.
Karna's voice was calm again, but serious.
"Give me rough estimates," he said. "How much are our expenses? And how much can we safely put aside for this Sarvadevalaya project?"
Rajashekara nodded without hesitation. "As you command, Maharaj."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick accounts book, its pages worn from constant use. He opened it carefully, flipping through the sheets with the speed of a man who knew every number by heart. The sound of paper turning echoed strangely loud in the silent court.
He adjusted his stance and began speaking, his voice clear and formal.
"Maharaj," he said, "five years ago, when we established the kingdom, we had a total of fifteen crore gold coins."
The ministers murmured softly at the number, though everyone already knew it. No one speaks of it, but they all knew that such money wasn't given by Uttara Kalinga during partition or something. Karna took a one-time, hefty loan from Lord Kubera.
Rajashekara continued, reading directly from the book.
"Out of that," he said, "we set aside four crore gold coins for construction and all ongoing projects. Another five crore gold coins were reserved for emergencies, in case of war."
His finger traced down the lines of the ledger.
"From the remaining amount," he continued, "during the past five years, every year we provide six lakh gold coins as farmer relief during the three months of summer."
He flipped a page.
"Another two lakh gold coins are given annually for low-income citizens facing financial crises," he said.
The court remained silent, listening.
Rajashekara's voice did not change. He did not sound proud. He did not sound emotional. He sounded like a man reciting an unavoidable truth.
"On average," he continued, "fourteen lakh gold coins are spent annually on miscellaneous expenses. This includes yajnas, new weaponry, feeding elephants and horses, maintenance of forts, and other royal expenditures."
He paused briefly, then turned another page.
"Additionally," he said, "we spend around eighteen lakh fifty thousand gold coins annually to purchase grains and supplies from Kashi, Magadha, and Andhra. These are stored in our godowns in case of emergencies."
The ministers nodded slowly. They knew how carefully Karna had prepared for famine and war.
Rajashekara continued, his finger moving across the page.
"The wages for all employees, soldiers, scholars, guards, builders, teachers, and workers amount to sixty-four lakh seventy-six thousand eight hundred eighty-one gold coins per year."
A few ministers inhaled sharply at the precision.
Then Rajashekara added calmly, "And every year, we put aside twenty-two lakh fifty thousand gold coins as annual interest to Lord Kubera."
The hall remained still, as if the gods themselves were listening.
Rajashekara finally lifted his eyes.
"Overall," he said, "our annual expenses amount to over one crore thirty lakh gold coins to maintain the kingdom in its current state."
He flipped another page, then continued.
"Regarding earnings," he said, "in the first two years, our tax collection was less than five lakh gold coins from the merchants."
His voice grew firmer.
"And by last year, it increased to thirty-seven lakh fifty thousand gold coins."
He paused, then added carefully, as if he was stepping into dangerous territory.
"However, we believe it should be much higher. Investigations should be conducted on merchants and traders for false earnings reports."
Several ministers nodded immediately, as if they had been waiting to hear that.
But Rajashekara's eyes shifted toward Karna and continued. "Maharaj denied my request many times, stating that ours is a newly established kingdom and investigations may scare traders away with unnecessary suspicion."
His voice remained respectful, but the implication was clear.
Karna's mercy had a cost.
Rajashekara then closed the ledger slightly, as if preparing to deliver the final blow.
"That leaves us, Maharaj," he said, "with four crore eighty-two lakh gold coins currently in use."
His eyes hardened.
"And with over ninety lakh gold coins of annual deficit at the moment… we truly cannot afford any other large projects, Maharaj. Or else in three to four years, our Kingdom will face massive financial problems and will start losing prosperity and begin to decline toward poverty.
The hall remained silent.
Not a single minister spoke.
Not a single scribe moved.
Even Vrishaketu, sitting on Karna's lap, looked up at his father as if sensing the heaviness in the air.
The court remained silent, but inside Karna's mind, noise began to rise.