The basket on the river was not an ending, it was a beginning she could not witness
Kunti was sixteen when she invoked Surya, the sun god, out of adolescent curiosity. She did not expect a child. When Karna arrived, born with divine armour fused to his skin and earrings that caught the light, she had one morning to hold him before she placed him in a wicker basket and set him on the Ashwa river. The Mahabharata does not linger on what that morning felt like. It doesn't need to. You already know.
