The river moved slow and silent that morning. The sky still carried a shade of night, and the early mist drifted above the Ganga like breath holding back a secret.
A small basket floated on its surface — fragile, soaked, and swaying gently with the current.
Inside lay a baby boy.
His wide, dark eyes were open, staring upward at the pale morning sky. He didn't cry. He didn't fuss. He just drifted — calm, silent, and far too aware for someone only weeks old.
Closer to the riverbank, a young boy chased dragonflies with a wooden stick, slicing the air like a warrior in training.
He was ten — lean, sharp-eyed, and barefoot. His skin glowed under the sun. His arms, though thin, carried strength beyond his age.
"Be careful, Karna!" a woman's voice called from behind. "Don't go too close to the edge!"
Karna looked back and smiled. "I won't, Maa!"
But something caught his eye.
A shape in the water. Not driftwood. Not a fish. Something woven.
"Maa?" he said, pointing toward it. "What's that?"
Radha squinted, stepping forward. "Wait here."
But Karna didn't wait.
He followed, curiosity tugging at his feet.
By the time Radha reached the water, the basket was close enough to grab. She stepped in, lifted it slowly, carefully, and looked inside.
Her breath caught.
It was a baby.
A boy, maybe a month old at most — swaddled in soaked cloth, his hair stuck to his forehead, his cheeks slightly cold.
But he was alive.
Her arms trembled. She didn't understand why at first.
Then it hit her.
She had seen this before.
---
Ten years ago, the river had given her a child the same way — one who came with no name, no explanation, no past. That child had golden earrings fused to his ears and a glowing chest plate on his newborn skin. He had been wrapped in royal cloth but left to the mercy of the Ganga.
The infant Karna — found in a basket too, with divine armor fused to his skin, a golden glow surrounding him. They had no idea then that he had been born to Kunti, the princess of the Yadava clan, and blessed by Surya, the Sun God himself.
Out of fear and shame, Kunti had cast her newborn into the river.
And Radha… Radha had picked him up, loved him, raised him as her own — never telling him the truth.
Not yet.
Everyone had whispered their theories — a divine child, a fallen prince, maybe even a curse.
But to her, he was just her son.
She had named him Karna.
And she had loved him every single day since.
Now, the river had brought another.
This one wore no gold. No glow. No divine signs. Just silence — and something deeper behind his eyes. A quiet sadness. A stillness.
Wrapped in simple cloth, blessed with a rudraksha bead near his heart. There were no marks. No names. But Radha didn't need them. She knew.
This child had been abandoned by fate.
Karna stood beside her now, staring down at the baby. "Who is he, Maa?"
Radha shook her head slowly, brushing a wet strand of hair from the baby's forehead. "I don't know, beta."
"Why was he in the river?"
Radha hesitated. She didn't want to say it — not in front of Karna.
But she knew.
This child had been let go. Not lost. Not misplaced.
Left.
Just like Karna once was.
And Karna didn't know. Not about himself. Not about where he had come from. To him, Radha had always been Maa, and that was the only truth he needed. She had never told him anything else. And she never would — not unless she had no choice.
Adhirath arrived moments later — tall, broad, dressed in simple cotton and carrying a basket of firewood.
When he saw what Radha held, his eyes narrowed. Then softened.
"Another?"
Radha nodded. Her voice cracked. "He was floating alone… like before."
Adhirath looked out across the river, toward the faint line of smoke far off on the horizon. "Something bad's happened."
Radha tightened her grip on the baby. "His parents are gone. You can see it in his eyes."
Karna leaned in a little closer. "What will we do with him?"
Radha looked at her husband.
...
Radha, though a suta woman by caste, had the heart of a queen. In the Mahabharat, she is known as Karna's foster mother — the one who raised him not with power, but with compassion. Her love was deep, unwavering, and often forgotten by history. Yet without her, Karna would never have survived.
Adhirath, her husband, was a respected charioteer in the royal court of Hastinapur — once trusted with King Shantanu's very life in battle. Noble in character, patient in nature, he had always accepted the strange turns of fate without complaint. When Karna was found, it was Adhirath who chose to raise him, knowing full well that the child was not ordinary.
Now, he made the same choice again.
Adhirath didn't need to think long. "We raise him," he said.
"He will be my younger brother?" Karna asked, with a boyish grin.
Radha smiled gently and pulled him close. "Exactly and you have to take care of him"
Karna beamed — proud. He always wanted a younger brother and now he gets it. To him, there was no difference between being born and being adopted. He didn't know there was a story behind those words. He loved his parents, and he will love his new younger brother too and will protect him.
And for Radha, that was enough.
She looked down at the new baby in her arms, brushing his cheek softly. "We'll call him Shon," she whispered.
The boy blinked slowly, as if accepting it.
Shon.
Two sons now. One born from a goddess and abandoned in secret. One unknown, unnamed, but alive through fate.
Both chosen by the river.
Both hers.
---
That night, in a small hut near Hastinapur, two children slept side by side — one dreaming of stars, the other not dreaming at all.
And outside, the Ganga flowed as if it had never stopped.
Because fate never does.
---