41) Chapter

The evening breeze brought a serene calm to the palace, though Pramila's mind was anything but. She was seated near her window, watching the horizon when the sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention.

She turned just as Ereya entered her chambers, his presence both commanding and unexpectedly casual.

"Ah, my lady, here you are," Ereya said, his tone light. "You look as though you were expecting no one."

Pramila stood gracefully, offering a polite smile. "I wasn't, my lord, but your presence is always welcome." She gestured for him to sit, signaling the maids to bring drinks and refreshments.

Ereya lowered himself onto a cushioned seat, stretching slightly. "It seems I'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow to take up the sword again," he began, taking a sip of the drink that was handed to him. "The Kalachurii rebels won't defeat themselves, unfortunately."

Pramila inclined her head, her smile soft but dutiful. "Your duty calls, my lord, as it always does. I trust you'll emerge victorious, as ever."

Ereya chuckled, setting his drink down. "Your faith in me is reassuring. But enough of grim topics. Tonight, I wanted some lighthearted fun before the chaos of battle. How about a game of Chaturanga ( The oldest Chess game, played in ancient India) ?"

Pramila's smile deepened. "Of course, my lord. Let me have the maids prepare the board."

As the maids began arranging the game pieces, Ereya leaned back, watching with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Pramila," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "I'm starting to think you might not be the right opponent for me tonight. You're far too kind to beat me."

Pramila arched an eyebrow. "Do you doubt my skills, my lord?"

Ereya grinned. "Not at all, my lady. I simply think I need a real challenge. What do you say we invite Sir Dananjaya to join us?"

At the mention of Dananjaya's name, Pramila's smile faltered for a heartbeat, memories of the garden encounter flashing in her mind. "A fine choice, my lord," she replied softly. "I'll send for him immediately."

Moments later, Dananjaya entered, his stance relaxed yet confident. His gaze swept briefly over Pramila before settling on Ereya. "You summoned me, my prince?"

Ereya stood, clasping Dananjaya's shoulder warmly. "Of course! Who better to humble me on the board than my best friend? Come, sit."

Dananjaya's gaze flicked briefly to Pramila, who was seated beside Ereya. Her expression was serene, yet her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. Dananjaya masked his emotions with humor.

"If you insist, my prince. Though I must warn you, my victories are more frequent than defeats."

"Bold words!" Ereya said with a laugh, gesturing to the board.

As the game board was set up, Ereya leaned back, stretching his arms. "Dananjaya, you'll find me sharper than the edge of your sword tonight," he said with a grin, gesturing for his friend to take a seat opposite him.

Dananjaya chuckled as he sat down, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Pramila before he adjusted his seat. "Confidence before the first move, my prince? Bold. But it's always satisfying to see it crumble."

Pramila, moved nearby, smiled lightly at their banter. The maids had brought refreshments, and she gracefully handed a cup to Ereya before returning to her seat. "My lord, your opponent seems well prepared to humble you," she teased.

Ereya smirked, moving his first Padati ( Simiar to pawn) . "Let him try. He knows my strategies are unshakable."

Dananjaya countered with his Ashva ( Similar to knight) , giving Ereya a look of mock pity. "Unshakable, yes. But predictable. Devi, remind me, how often does he charge without considering the traps?"

Ereya rolled his eyes. "Careful, Dananjaya. You're forgetting who commands the real battles around here."

The game progressed with playful exchanges, but the tension grew as Ereya leaned closer to Pramila occasionally, asking for her opinion. "What do you think of this move?" he asked, pointing to his Gaja ( Similar to Bishop but moves bit differently).

Pramila tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "It looks strong, my lord. But..." She glanced at Dananjaya's side of the board, smiling mischievously. "...I think Sir Dananjaya has a counter ready."

Dananjaya raised a brow, smirking. "Ah, the lady sees my intent. How fortunate for you, my lord, that she's on your side. But well I must admit, the crown prince's confidence is... inspiring."

Ereya laughed heartily. "You hear that, Pramila? Even he can't deny my brilliance."

Dananjaya smirked, though his gaze shifted briefly to Pramila, his voice lowering slightly. "Brilliance, indeed. It's a wonder how easily some victories come to those who don't realize the cost."

Pramila's smile faltered as his words hung in the air, their meaning cutting deeper than she cared to admit.

Ereya laughed, reaching for his piece. "Pramilas insight is invaluable, as always. But don't get too comfortable, Dananjaya. You're walking into a trap."

Dananjaya moved his Ratha ( Similar to Rook) and leaned back, his tone light but with an edge.

"I'm more worried about what I'm already trapped in, my prince." His eyes briefly met Pramila's, the weight of his words hovering unspoken.

Pramila's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, offering Ereya a playful suggestion for his next move. "Perhaps this one, my lord?"

Ereya followed her advice, capturing one of Dananjaya's Padathi. "See? Together, we're unbeatable." He glanced at Dananjaya with mock triumph. "You've got no chance tonight."

Dananjaya's jaw tightened slightly, but he masked it with humor. "It's clear, my prince, that I'm not just playing against one mind tonight. Two strategists are too much, even for me."

Pramila laughed softly, her tone light yet evasive. "It's hardly a fair fight, I suppose."

As the game continued, Ereya leaned in closer to Pramila again, brushing her hand lightly as he reached for his drink. Dananjaya's gaze flickered to the gesture, his humor sharpening.

"Careful, my lord. Focus on the board, or you'll miss my next move."

Ereya chuckled, oblivious. "Always trying to distract me, aren't you?"

Dananjaya's smile was tight, his voice smooth but pointed. "I wouldn't dare. Distractions, it seems, are already abundant lot tonight."

Pramila shot him a quick glance, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps you should focus more, Sir Dananjaya. You're losing ground."

Dananjaya leaned forward,with a smile his tone almost conspiratorial as he moved his Manthri ( Simlar to Queen).

"Losing ground is a strategy of its own, my lady. Sometimes retreating is necessary... for the moment." His words hung in the air, their double meaning unmistakable to Pramila.

Ereya, unaware of the subtext, laughed. "A strategy of desperation, perhaps! Check." He moved his Ratha, trapping Dananjaya's Raja (king).

Dananjaya studied the board intently, his face a mask of concentration. Finally, he sighed, tipping his king over in a gesture of defeat. "You win this time, my prince. But only this time."

Ereya laughed, leaning back with satisfaction. "It seems I still have my edge. Perhaps you're better suited to the battlefield than the board."

Dananjaya smiled faintly, though his gaze flickered once more to Pramila before he rose from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, my prince, my lady. I must prepare for tomorrow's journey."

Ereya waved him off casually. "Go, then. Rest well, my friend. I'll see you at dawn."

Pramila watched silently as Dananjaya exited, her gaze lingering on the door longer than necessary. Ereya turned to her, still basking in his win. "What did I tell you? There's no beating me when I'm focused."

Pramila managed a smile, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying Dananjaya's words and the tension that had simmered beneath the surface of their playful evening

✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤

After days of wandering through the dense and unyielding forest, Madhavi finally emerged onto a narrow path that seemed to lead somewhere.

Her body was weak from exhaustion and hunger, her steps unsteady, but her resolve had kept her going.

The forest had been her companion for what felt like an eternity, a silent witness to her tears, fears, and moments of quiet determination.

The town she stumbled upon was unfamiliar, its cobblestone streets a stark contrast to the wild, unkempt greenery she had just left behind.

She looked around, her vision blurring from exhaustion, and spotted a sprawling mansion with grand, intricately carves pillars at its entrance.

The building loomed like a beacon of hope or perhaps salvation, its pristine exterior almost glowing against the evening sun.

Madhavi's legs wobbled, and she struggled to take another step. Her saree, once vibrant, now clung to her in damp folds, and her hair hung in loose, wild strands. She tried to steady herself but felt her strength give out entirely.

With one last faltering step, she collapsed on the stone steps of the mansion.

The sound of her fall drew the attention of the passersby. A crowd began to gather, their voices a mix of curiosity and speculation.

"Who is she?" one man asked, peering at her.

"Such beauty... she looks like she's stepped out of the wilderness itself," a woman murmured.

"She's too beautiful to be human," murmured an elderly woman, her weathered hands clutching prayer beads. "Perhaps she's a tree goddess from the forest, come to bless us with her presence."

A man standing nearby nodded, his eyes wide with awe. "Look at her! No ordinary mortal could carry such beauty, even after wandering through the wilds. She must be divine."

But not everyone shared the reverence. A younger woman, with sharp eyes and a skeptical tone, crossed her arms. "Or she could be a ghost," she muttered darkly. "You've heard the stories of spirits that haunt these parts, haven't you? They lure people in with their beauty and then curse them."

The crowd gasped at the suggestion, some backing away from Madhavi as if her unconscious form might suddenly rise and strike.

"Nonsense!" snapped an older man, shaking his head. "If she were a ghost, she wouldn't be lying there like that. She'd have disappeared by now."

"But look at her clothes," the skeptical woman insisted. "She's wild, soaked, and disheveled. She's not from here, that's for sure. How do we know she's not trouble?"

Others were less charitable, whispering about her wild appearance and what trouble she might bring.

Inside the mansion, the mistress of the house-a graceful, middle-aged woman with an air of authority-was alerted by one of the maids.

"My lady, there's a girl outside," the maid said, her voice tinged with both urgency and hesitation. "She collapsed on the mansion steps. You must come see her."

The mistress, intrigued and concerned, rose from her seat and followed the maid to the front of the mansion. When she finally laid eyes on Madhavi, she froze in her tracks, her composure momentarily slipping.

The unconscious girl lying on the steps, her delicate features framed by wild strands of hair, looked strikingly familiar.

A gasp escaped the mistress's lips as she leaned closer, studying Madhavi's face. "She looks... she looks just like her," the mistress whispered to herself, her voice trembling with emotion.

Without hesitation, she turned to the crowd. "Move back!" she commanded firmly. "Give her space!"

The bystanders reluctantly stepped away, murmuring amongst themselves. The mistress knelt beside Madhavi, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. Her heart raced as memories she had long buried resurfaced, unbidden and overwhelming.

"Quickly!" she ordered her maids, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Carry her inside! To the guest room. And treat her with care."

One of the maids hesitated, her brows furrowed. "But, madam... she looks so wild. Are you sure-"

The mistress cut her off with a sharp glare. "Do as I say!" she snapped, her voice like steel. "And show her the respect she deserves. This is my house, and my word is final."

The maids scrambled to obey, carefully lifting Madhavi's limp form and carrying her into the mansion. The mistress followed closely, her mind racing with questions. Who is this girl? How did she come to be here? And why does she look so hauntingly familiar?

Once Madhavi was placed on the plush bed in the guest room, the mistress dismissed the maids with a wave of her hand. "Prepare warm water and fresh clothes," she instructed. "We'll wait for the master to return before making any decisions."

The maids exchanged puzzled glances but said nothing, retreating to fulfill their tasks. Left alone with the unconscious Madhavi, the mistress sat beside the bed, her eyes filled with a mix of wonder and apprehension.

"Who are you, child?" she whispered softly. "And why do you carry the face of someone I thought I'd never see again?"

✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤

Mekala sat gracefully on the stage within the grand mandapam, her sitar resting in her hands. Around her, musicians-players of gandaras, drums, and veena-accompanied her as she began to play.

The delicate notes of the sitar filled the air, and then her voice rose, singing a verse in Sanskrit, a poetic ode to the prince of her dreams. Her song spoke of bravery, beauty, and an undeniable allure.

It was like this :

"Yaḥ śobhate śauryeṇa yaḥ tejasā vibhūtaḥ

Mama hṛdayeśvaraḥ, mama svapnanāyakaḥ"

The audience listened, enchanted, while King Buddharaja, seated on his majestic throne, absorbed the melody with pride swelling in his chest.

Overcome with joy, he stood from his seat and approached the stage, extending his hand to help her descend.

"Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!"

"Such a song, my daughter! "he said with a proud smile, "Your words carry a divine elegance. Who among us can explain the meaning behind them?"

Bhaskar, ever eager to prove his intellect, raised his hand. "Your Majesty, with your permission." The king gestured for him to proceed. Bhaskar stood, his voice steady.

"This is an ode to a hero-one of unparalleled courage and striking beauty. It speaks of a heart captivated by a figure who embodies the virtues of a true warrior and the grace of divinity."

The king, pleased by the interpretation, turned back to Mekala, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Tell me, my daughter, who is the brave prince you sing of? Is it Varuna?" he asked, his voice laced with expectation.

The room fell silent, tension rippling through the air.

Mekala, calm yet firm, replied with a gentle smile, "No, Father. It is Vishnu-the Lord Vishnu, the preserver of this world. I admire His bravery and unmatched beauty. It is He who inspires my heart."

Her explanation seemed to satisfy the king on the surface, and he smiled, but something in her tone left him uneasy.

Mama hṛdayeśvaraḥ, mama svapnanāyakaḥ

He repeated her verses quietly to himself as if trying to decode a hidden meaning.

"Hmm... Vishnu, our lord. Such lofty words of admiration. Perhaps too lofty for a deity who is beyond our mortal eyes?" His tone hinted at doubt, but he chose not to press further.

Eventually, he left the mandapam, his mind still turning over the peculiar performance.

Mekala stood stunned, the weight of her words bearing down on her as unease spread through the audience.

One by one, the assembly left, their murmurings hushed but clear in their disapproval. Varuna was the last to leave-or so it seemed.

He cast one lingering glance at Mekala before pretending to exit. Instead, he lingered in the shadows, watching her closely.

Alone, Mekala returned to the stage, her trembling fingers finding the strings of her sitar. She began to play again, her voice now steady but imbued with raw emotion.

"A heart filled with love, even when you are far away.

Still, your name is the sweetness of my song."

Her movements were unguarded as she swayed to the music, dancing with unrestrained emotion. Her voice confessed her turmoil, her longing, and her love.

"Even when the world stands between us, my heart calls out to you.

Even when the distance is vast, my soul seeks only you."

As Mekala sat on the stage, cradling her sitar, tears blurred her vision. She hid her face in her knees, wishing the weight of her emotions would somehow lift.

Suddenly, Varuna's voice, soft but firm, broke through the silence.

"Mekala," he called gently.

Startled, she looked up, her tear-streaked face frozen in shock. "Varuna... Waht are you doing here ?..did ..did..you... you heard everything?"

He nodded, stepping closer, his expression unreadable but tinged with concern. "I couldn't leave, Mekala. Something told me to stay. And now I see why."

Mekala scrambled to her feet, clutching the sitar tightly. "I... I didn't mean for you to hear that. I... I shouldn't have-"

Varuna interrupted her, his tone calm but filled with unspoken emotion.

"Shouldn't have what? Spoken the truth? Mekala, why are you hiding what's in your heart?"

She shook her head, backing away.

"It's wrong, Varuna. I'm wrong. I don't even understand what's happening to me. My heart feels like it's being pulled in two directions-toward you, toward my duty-and yet... there's this other feeling I can't escape."

Varuna stood still, his hands clenched at his sides.

"I'm not blind, Mekala. I've seen it in your eyes. But I need to hear it from you. Tell me the truth. Is there someone else?"

Mekala hesitated, her lips trembling.

"Varuna... I never wanted to hurt you. You've been so kind, so understanding. I respect you more than you know. But i dont know... my heart..." She stopped, struggling to form the words. "My heart doesn't belong to you, Varuna. I wish it did. It would make everything so much easier."

Varuna's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm.

"It's him, isn't it? The one you sang about tonight. The one you tried to disguise as Lord Vishnu in your song."

Her eyes widened in shock. "How did you-"

"I may not be a poet, Mekala, but I'm not a fool. The way you looked when you sang, the way your voice carried something so personal... it wasn't about a god. It was about someone real. Is it... that man, the one you met on the road?"

Mekala's silence was answer enough. She looked down, her tears falling freely.

"He, well. It's him. I don't even know why, Varuna. I barely know him. But there's something about him, something I can't ignore. It's as if my soul recognizes him, even though my mind tells me it's impossible."

Varuna took a deep breath, his fists unclenching as he stepped closer. "And what about me, Mekala? What am I to you?"

She looked up, her gaze filled with sorrow. "Gods forgive this sinner, You're everything a woman could want, Varuna. You're brave, loyal, and kind. Any woman would be lucky to have you. But I can't lie to you, no more. My heart just doesn't belong to you."

Varuna's face softened, though pain flickered in his eyes. "I've always known you were honest, Mekala. That's what I've admired most about you. And now, even though your words cut me deeply, I can't be angry. You've told me the truth, and I do respect that."

Mekala wiped her tears, her voice trembling. "I don't deserve your kindness, Varuna. I've failed you, failed my father, failed everyone."

"No," Varuna said firmly, taking her hands in his.

"You haven't failed anyone. You're caught between your duty and your heart, and that's not an easy place to be. I won't pretend this doesn't hurt, but I won't let you drown in guilt. If this man is what you truly want, then I'll accept it. But I need to know... are you sure?"

Her voice broke as she whispered, "I don't know. All I know is that I can't stop thinking about him. Even when I try to push it away, it keeps coming back."

Varuna sighed, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Mekala, I don't want to see you sad. Whatever happens, I'll stand by you. Even if it means letting you go."

She melted into his arms, her tears soaking his shoulder. "You're too good to me, Varuna. I don't deserve you."

He held her tightly, his voice steady but laced with quiet pain. "You deserve happiness, Mekala. And if I can't give it to you, I'll step aside. But promise me one thing."

"What?" she whispered.

"Promise me you won't let anyone-your father, this kingdom, or even your own guilt-dictate your heart. Follow it, Mekala. Even if it leads you somewhere unexpected."

She nodded, her tears flowing freely.

They stayed like that for a moment, locked in a bittersweet embrace, before Varuna finally released her. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but his voice was calm.

"Go, Mekala. Play your music. Sing your heart out. I'll be here if you ever need me."