The arena of Hastinapur pulsed with tension, the crowd's earlier cheers now a hushed murmur as Karna stood defiantly before Guru Dronacharya and Arjuna, his Vijaya bow still in hand after freeing Duryodhana from the glacial bindings. Bahubali, seated on the podium, watched with pride. The Kuru royals—Maharaj Dhritarashtra, Mata Gandhari, Mata Kunti, Mahamahim Bhishma, Kula Guru Kripacharya, Gandhar Naresh Shakuni and Mahamantri Vidura—sat frozen, their expressions a tapestry of shock, intrigue, and unease.
Karna's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the arena's charged silence. "Guru Dronacharya, how can a fledgling like Arjuna be proclaimed the greatest archer in Aryavrat? He is not even the best among those present in this stadium! Can he surpass you, his own teacher? Or Mahamahim Bhishma, whose bow has felled armies? What of Magadha Naresh Bahubali, who slew the immortal Jarasandha with his might? And do not forget Lord Parashurama, my guru, whose archery is legendary. Or dare you claim Arjuna could rival Mahadev Almighty, the supreme archer whose valour humbles all? To call your student the greatest is hubris, Guru, and I will not let it stand unchallenged!"
Dronacharya's face flushed red, his pride stung, though deep within, he knew the truth in Karna's words. Arjuna, standing beside him, bristled with anger, his hand tightening on his bow, his eyes blazing at the stranger's audacity. The crowd murmured, some in awe, others in disbelief. Duryodhana and Shakuni, seated among the Kauravas, exchanged sly smiles, sensing an opportunity in the chaos. Bhima, on the sidelines, clenched his fists, his temper rising, while the other Pandavas—Nakula, Sahadeva, and Yudhishthira—furrowed their brows, their pride pricked. Mahamahim Bhishma remained silent, his wise eyes acknowledging the truth in Karna's words, though he chose restraint. Dhritarashtra's face was thoughtful, weighing the diplomatic implications, while Vidura and Kripacharya exchanged concerned glances, sensing the delicate balance of the court teetering.
Karna pressed on, his voice resolute, his gaze locked on Dronacharya. "If you believe Arjuna is a great archer, then let me prove him wrong. I challenge him to a duel, here and now, to test his skill against mine. Let arrows, not words, decide who is worthy of such a title!"
Dronacharya, seizing a chance to shift focus, demanded, "Who are you to issue such a challenge? Declare your name and lineage!"
Karna stood taller, his voice unwavering. "I am Radheya Karna, disciple of Lord Parashurama."
Drona asks "What kul are you from?"
Karna replies "My kul is that of a suta, born to Adhiratha and Radha"
A ripple of shock swept through the arena. Bhima, unable to contain himself, burst into mocking laughter from the sidelines. "A suta challenging us Kshatriyas? Ha! Go back to your horses, suta, and fix chariots where you belong! Lifting weapons is adharma for your kind!"
The Pandavas, except Yudhishthira, joined Bhima's laughter, their scorn echoing. Nakula smirked, "A charioteer's son daring to face Arjuna? This is a jest!" Sahadeva chuckled, shaking his head, while Arjuna's lips curled in disdain.
Bahubali, seated on the podium, rose abruptly, his presence suddenly menacing, a storm of righteous anger radiating from him. His voice thundered, silencing the arena. "BHEEMSEN!" The crowd froze, startled by the Magadha Naresh's roar, every eye turning to him. His gaze bore into Bhima, his words sharp as a blade. "Mind your words, prince, or there will be no tongue left to speak then! You mock my senapati, my brother, for his birth? I will not tolerate such insults in my presence!"
Bhima, undaunted, yelled back, his temper flaring. "Who are you to tell me how to speak, stranger? All I said was the truth! He's a suta, and it's adharma for him to wield weapons. What right does a lowborn have to challenge a Kuru prince?"
Bahubali's eyes blazed, his voice cutting through Bhima's defiance like a divine arrow. "I am Bahubali, Maharaj of Magadha, who slew Jarasandha, the immortal tyrant, and reshaped a kingdom for dharma. As for your claim of adharma, show me one verse in the Vedas that forbids a suta from wielding weapons. One verse, Bheemsen, or hold your tongue! Your mockery shames not Karna, but the teachings you claim to uphold!"
The arena fell silent, the crowd and royals stunned. Bhima opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to cite a Vedic verse, his face reddening. Yudhishthira remained silent, while the other Pandavas shifted uncomfortably. Dronacharya's expression tightened, his embarrassment palpable.
Bahubali turned to Dronacharya, his voice steady but piercing. "Is this the teaching you impart, Guru Dronacharya? To mock and belittle others based on birth? You proclaim your student the greatest, yet fail to instill humility and patience, the cornerstones of dharma. Teach your princes to honor all warriors, not just those born to privilege. As for Arjuna, let him accept Karna's challenge and prove his worth, if he dares."
Duryodhana, seizing the moment, called out from the sidelines, his voice laced with provocation. "Yes, Arjuna, accept the challenge! Show us your skill, or let all Aryavrat know you feared to face him!"
Arjuna, his pride wounded, stepped forward, his voice taut with anger. "I accept the challenge! I'll show this suta his place with my arrows!"
Bahubali's gaze sharpened, his tone firm. "Take permission from your king or guru before accepting, Arjuna. Respect the protocols of this court."
Arjuna's eyes flashed, ready to retort, but Dronacharya raised a hand, his voice strained but authoritative. "I permit the duel. Let Arjuna and Karna face each other. Let their skill decide the truth."
The arena was cleared, and the duel began. Karna and Arjuna faced off, their bows drawn, the tension palpable. Karna, honed by six years of training with Bahubali, had learned the five methods of archery under Lord Parashurama's lingering guidance and mastered them while practising with Bahubali. Arjuna loosed a flurry of arrows, each one a testament to Dronacharya's training, but Karna countered with effortless grace. His arrows met Arjuna's mid-air, splitting them with pinpoint accuracy, a display that drew gasps from the crowd.
Karna invoked the Vayvayastra, summoning a gust that deflected Arjuna's fiery Agneyastra, scattering embers harmlessly. Arjuna responded with the Nagastra, serpentine arrows hissing toward Karna, but Karna's Garudastra summoned an illusory eagle that devoured them. The duel escalated, Karna's arrows weaving a relentless barrage, his movements fluid from years of sparring with Bahubali. Arjuna, though skilled, struggled to match Karna's versatility, his face tightening as Karna's arrows pinned his armor, grazed his shoulder, and shattered his quiver's straps without drawing blood.
As sunset painted the sky in hues of crimson, Dronacharya, sensing Arjuna's disadvantage, raised his hand abruptly. "Enough! The duel is a draw, halted by the setting sun. Both warriors have shown great skill." The crowd murmured, many aware that Karna had held the upper hand, his archery a notch above Arjuna's. Every warrior in the arena—Duryodhana, Ashwatthama, Bhishma—knew Karna's superiority, but Bahubali and Karna remained silent, their purpose not to prove dominance but to uphold dharma.
As the crowd dispersed, Duryodhana, his brothers, and Ashwatthama approached Karna, their faces alight with admiration. Duryodhana clasped Karna's arm, his voice warm. "Your archery is unparalleled, Senapathi Karna! I've never seen such skill. You've humbled Arjuna and honored this arena."
Karna bowed slightly, his tone gracious. "Pranipat, Prince Duryodhana. Your valor with the mace was equally impressive, a force to rival any warrior. I thank you for your kind words."
Ashwatthama nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Your arrows were like lightning, Senapathi Karna."
The group moved toward Bahubali, who awaited Karna near the podium, his presence calm yet regal. Duryodhana offered greetings, his voice respectful. "Pranipat, Maharaj Bahubali. Your senapati's prowess reflects your own greatness. Magadha's name shines brighter today, and I am honored to meet the king who felled Jarasandha."
Bahubali returned the greetings, his smile warm but measured. "Pranipat Prince Duryodhana. Your strength and spirit honor Hastinapur. May our kingdoms walk the path of dharma together."
On the other side of the arena, the Pandavas moving to their quarters, their pride bruised. Arjuna, his face stormy, muttered to his brothers, "I could have defeated that suta if the sun hadn't set. A few more moments, and Gandiva would have proven my worth!"
Bhima scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Of course you could, Arjuna! What skill does a suta have? I thought Jarasandha ruled Magadha, and how did he kill him?"
A servant nearby, overhearing, spoke softly. "Prince Bhima, Maharaj Bahubali became king after slaying Jarasandha, the immortal tyrant by tearing him in half and throwing the parts on opposite sides, and He, too, is a suta, like Senapati Karna."
Bhima's eyes widened, his voice rising. "A suta king supporting a suta warrior? Of course! What they're doing is adharma, defying the order of varna! They mock our Kshatriya honor!"
The Pandavas continued talking, their anger simmering as they retreated to their quarters, the sting of the day's events lingering.