Chapter 56: chapter 56

S A N M A Y I There is a kind of freedom in the anonymity of a common face. The courtiers of Amaravati were ever-watchful, their eyes sharp and their tongues sharper still. It wasn’t just the usual rumors and whispers that dogged us; it was the weight of expectations, the burden of royalty that shaped every move we made. When Ranajay suggested that we slip away from the confines of the palace, I could hardly refuse. To be free, even for a day, was a temptation too great to ignore.We were lovers in disguise, stepping out into the world without the veil of titles, without the grand expectations that had once defined us. For the first time in years, I was not the avenger, not the rebel leader, not the daughter of a fallen queen. I was just a woman, and Ranajay was simply a man.We chose an early morning for our escape, just before the sun had fully stretched its limbs across the sky. With a few simple alterations to our attire, we were no longer royal. I donned a modest saree in, plain and unadorned, and a simple veil that covered my face, leaving only my eyes visible. Ranajay, usually the epitome of princely elegance, wore the plainest dhoti I had ever seen him in—rough-spun, with the colors of a commoner. His princely crown was nowhere to be seen, and he wore his hair loosely, tucked under a cloth cap.The palace gates were easier to slip past than I had imagined. With only a few nods to the guards who knew better than to ask questions, we were on the streets of Amaravati, alone and unnoticed.“Where do we go first?” I asked, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “To the market? The tavern?”“Let’s just wander,” Ranajay replied, his eyes bright with excitement. “Let’s go where our feet take us.”So we did. We strolled through the city’s winding streets, taking in the familiar sights that had once seemed so distant to me—now with a new sense of appreciation. The scent of freshly baked bread from the baker’s stall filled the air, the clamor of the blacksmith’s forge rang through the streets, and the chatter of merchants trying to sell their wares created a constant hum around us. To an outsider, it might have appeared that we were nothing more than a pair of ordinary people, caught up in the pulse of a busy day. But for me, it felt like more than that. It felt like a return to something simple, something pure.At one point, we came upon a small marketplace where vegetables and fruits were sold, and the stalls were crowded with women haggling for the best deals. Ranajay, with his usual sense of playfulness, tugged at my sleeve and led me to a stall where the vendor, a burly man with a thick beard, was selling apples.“Buy some apples,” Ranajay urged, pulling out a few coins from his pouch. “They look delicious.”I raised an eyebrow. “You? Bargain with a vendor? I thought princes didn’t haggle.”“I’m no prince today,” he grinned. “I’m just another man in the market, trying to make a deal.”And so, with great care, Ranajay bargained with the vendor over the price of a few apples, haggling as though his life depended on it. The man, who had no idea he was speaking to the future king of Amaravati, eventually relented and handed over the fruit, muttering about the good-for-nothing princes who were always looking for a bargain.“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, though,” Ranajay said, winking at me as he handed me the apples. “I’ve got a deal for you too. We’ll sit by the river, share this meal, and talk about things that don’t involve thrones.”And so we did. We found a small patch of grass by the river, where the water murmured quietly against the banks, and sat down to eat. For the first time in a long while, there was no pressure, no looming threats, and no duties calling us away. We were simply two people, sharing a meal, enjoying the small pleasures of life.“You know,” Ranajay said, after we had finished the apples and laid back in the soft grass, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like this. To be able to just walk through the city without worrying about someone recognizing you, without the weight of expectations on your shoulders.”“I know exactly what you mean,” I replied softly. “When I was younger, before everything changed, I used to dream of being a commoner. Just for a day, just to know what it would be like to live without the constant pressure of my name.”“And what would you have done?” he asked, his voice rich with curiosity. “If you could have lived like that—what would you have wanted?”I smiled, the question catching me off guard. “I would have wanted to see the world. I would have wanted to know how the people I fought for lived. To walk among them, see their struggles, their joys.”Ranajay’s eyes darkened a little, the weight of his own history pressing down on him. “I think we forget, sometimes. I know I did. When you live in the palace, you see the people only as subjects, not as… lives. I had no idea what it was like for them until now. Until this day.”We were quiet for a moment, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I could feel the distance between us, but it was a distance that was not born of conflict or resentment. It was the distance of two people coming to the realization that there was so much more to life than the roles they had been born into.“I think that’s why we need to change things,” I said, breaking the silence. “The kingdom isn’t just about power—it’s about the people. We’ve been so caught up in our own world, in our own struggles, that we’ve forgotten about those who struggle every day.”“I’ve realized that,” Ranajay said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I want to do more. I want to make Amaravati a better place for the people who live in it. I want to ensure that no one has to go hungry again. I want to see the kingdom rise, not just from the ashes of war, but from the ashes of neglect.”I reached out and took his hand, feeling the sincerity in his words. “Then we’ll do it,” I said softly. “Together.”For a moment, we sat there in silence, watching the rippling water flow past us. It was easy, in that moment, to forget who we were. To forget the palace, the battles, the betrayals. In the quiet of the countryside, with the sun shining softly down on us, we were just two people—together. And that was enough.As the day wore on, we continued to explore the city, visiting small taverns where the common folk gathered, talking to the old women who sold their wares, and listening to the stories of the people we had long forgotten. With each step, our bond grew stronger, and I found myself seeing Ranajay in a new light. Not as a king, not as a man burdened with the weight of his father’s crown, but as a person, as someone with dreams, with hopes, and with a deep desire to make things right.When we returned to the palace that evening, the weight of our titles settled back upon our shoulders, but there was something different about us. A new understanding, a new sense of unity. We had walked through the streets of Amaravati as commoners, but we had also seen it through the eyes of those who struggled every day. And we would carry that vision with us, as we began the difficult work of rebuilding the kingdom—together.