Duryodhana's question lingered for a moment as the sounds of the training ground continued around them. A mace struck a shield somewhere nearby with a heavy thud, followed by the sharp twang of a bowstring, but neither man paid much attention to it now.
Karna glanced toward him. "It is not that Maharaj Drupada wants to be unfair. Draupadi wishes for her husband to be skilled in archery. That is her choice. In a Swayamvara, the bride is the one who chooses what kind of husband she wants, not her father."
Duryodhana sighed. "I suppose so." He looked toward the archers again, but another thought had already entered his mind. "By the way, there is something I have wanted to ask you for some time."
Karna looked at him.
"Why did you make Rajkumari Draupadi your sister? You said she wants a husband who is skilled in archery. She is the daughter of Agni Dev, and you are the son of Suryadev. Aren't you a perfect match for her?"
Karna shook his head. "No."
The answer came without hesitation. Duryodhana looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
"The marriages I have had with my queens were determined by destiny. They were not things I planned beforehand. Even Dushala's fate became tied to mine through circumstances I never intended. The timing of the incident in which Dushala was caught, my being there while escorting her toward Hastinapur, what happened afterward, the Swayamvara and eventually our marriage… none of those things began because I decided that I wanted to marry her. I was simply caught in the circumstances that brought us together."
His voice remained quiet. "But Draupadi was different. I was there when she was born. I participated in the ritual. I performed the Prana Pratishtha for her. From the moment she came into this world, my actions toward her were those of a kin. Not a potential husband."
Duryodhana stared at him for several seconds. There was genuine confusion on his face. "I really cannot understand the way you think sometimes."
Karna smiled slightly. "Why?"
"Your thoughts are too complicated. Why can't you simply think like an ordinary man? You see a beautiful woman, you like her, she likes you, and then you marry her. After that, you deal with whatever comes in your way."
Karna chuckled. "You make life sound very simple."
"It should be."
"The more special you are, Duryodhana, the more complicated your life becomes. Even your life has not been simple so far. You have spent years dealing with matters that most men would never have to face. Your position, your family, your claim to the throne, the Pandavas, Hastinapur… none of it has ever been simple. If you understand that, then you should also understand that your future will not suddenly become simple."
Duryodhana looked ahead. For several moments he said nothing. Then he quietly replied, "Yes. I suppose you are right."
Karna gave him a small smile. They continued walking.
Later that same day, Karna left the palace and entered the streets of Kampilya. He had changed his clothes before leaving. There was no royal armor, no crown, no royal insignia, and no divine chariot. He wore ordinary clothing, much like the garments worn by merchants or wealthy travelers, allowing him to move through the crowded streets without attracting unnecessary attention.
He was not alone. Indraverma accompanied him. The eighteen-year-old King of Kashi had also dressed simply, following his brother-in-law through the city without any visible sign that he was a ruler.
This was not exactly a tour. Karna had something specific to accomplish. Dhavani had asked him to bring her a special vase when he returned. The request itself was simple. The vase was not. Karna already had the material and design he wanted in mind. What he needed now was someone skilled enough to turn that idea into an actual object.
Unfortunately, Kampilya's potters were overwhelmed. The approaching Swayamvara had created an enormous demand for vessels, ceremonial pots, lamps, storage containers, and decorative items. Royal guests had arrived with large entourages, and the palace itself required hundreds of additional vessels for the upcoming ceremonies. Karna had already asked several potters. They had all refused—not because they did not want his money, but because they simply had too many orders.
So Karna and Indraverma continued asking around. Eventually one of the citizens directed them toward a potter's household on a quieter street. They approached the house and stopped outside. Karna knocked.
After a short while, a woman opened the door. She looked at the two men standing before her with mild curiosity. "Yes?"
Karna folded his hands politely. "I wish to meet Potter Visharma."
The woman looked slightly uncertain. "Why?"
"I need him to make a special vase."
She hesitated. "Many potters are receiving orders because of the Swayamvara. If that is the reason you came here, I am afraid my husband may not be able to accept another order."
"I have already asked several potters," Karna said. "They told me the same thing."
The woman gave an apologetic smile. "It is not that we do not wish to make it. There is simply too much work."
Indraverma stepped forward. "We will pay handsomely." He reached into his cloth pouch and took out several gold coins.
The woman's eyes widened. She had expected silver. Gold was something else entirely. She looked from the coins to the two men. "It is not that we cannot do it," she said carefully, "but if you want such an expensive vase, we have to be very careful. We cannot rush the work. The clay must be prepared properly, the shaping must be done carefully, and it may take several days."
Karna nodded. "Are fifteen days enough?"
The woman's hesitation vanished immediately. "More than enough."
Indraverma smiled. Karna returned the smile. "Then I would like to meet Visharma."
The woman turned toward the interior of the house. "Please wait. I will call him."
For the first time that day, Karna felt certain that Dhavani's vase would actually be completed. The woman smiled nervously when Karna accepted her answer. "Good. Can you take us to your husband?"
"Yes, Maharaj. Please follow me."
She stepped out of the house and led them along the narrow side of the building.
The ground beneath their feet was hard and dry, with patches of loose earth gathering near the walls, and the sounds of the city seemed slightly more distant here.
Kampilya was crowded because of the Swayamvara, yet behind this modest house there was only the soft scrape of clay, the occasional creak of a wooden wheel, and the faint sound of someone working steadily without speaking.
Karna followed without hurry, Indraverma walking beside him, and when they reached the backyard, the woman pointed toward a simple thatched shelter.
A thin man sat there before a potter's wheel, shaping a vessel with both hands. Around him stood rows of pots in different stages of completion.
Some were large water vessels, some were small household pots, while several unfinished ones waited nearby to be dried and fired.
The sight made the situation immediately clear.
The man was busy, very busy, and yet he continued working with the concentration of someone who could not afford to waste even a moment.
Indraverma looked around the yard and said, almost casually, "It looks like this man is also filled with orders."
The woman immediately turned toward him and hurriedly shook her head. "No, no, it is all right. We have helpers to help us. Please come."