To commence a saga with a classic, 'A long time back, there lived a Princess ' comes off as boring and to be truthful, redundant. But well, you see, when we are dishing about something that transpired to a Royal Goddess almost 5000 years ago, we don...
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The sky was appealingly swarthy from where Padmavati had caught a glimpse of it. The sapphire hue that harmonised with the blush stain made it sacrosanct. It was the style of sky you would uncover in a portrayal. A painting that embodies two potent conglomerates combatting for covetousness.
Or perhaps Padmavati was overanalyzing furthermore.
Yes, that was it, the sky was ordinary, just like the day itself. Nothing extraordinary, nothing pristine, just the solace of normalcy that stood now strangling her from the innards.
Rather expected connotation. Well, as expected as the day of the cessation of your brother could be.
Kamalkesha, her older brother, less than a decade senior, was slain by one of the Gandhara princes.
What transpired truthfully was, the state of Padminipur married a landlocked Gandhara and Hastinapur on either side, creating peripheries preferably precarious to traverse.
Her younger brother, ShwasRaj, not even aged adequately to dub himself a teenager, did not comprehend extensively of this, had taken off to the west on his steed, for a day of picnic and unknowingly betrayed the conduit of the fate, passing into the domain of Gandhara and coming upon the princes who had taken hold of him.
Kamalkesha who had come to know of this while Padmavati and her father were out for the city expedition, had speedily rode to Gandhara on his mount. Granted his destiny, he was competent to protect his younger brother but was defeated by his own vigour in the procedure.
As her little brother and father were gone for the cremation tradition, Padmavati knew her blood would rage enough to ignite the entire earth. Her unbeknownst and dignified brother was slain by a charlatan and she had to bring revenge vengeance for that.
She scrutinised the sky again, her tears drying off now, living of consequence on the heat of wrath that her body beamed. The atmosphere again accomplished something. It screamed for a war, for retaliation, it hailed for her.
Without sapping a single second better, Padmavati ascended the horse and took off for Gandhara, as their death.
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
In the exquisite land of Lady Gandhari, now the Queen of Hastinapur, where the flowers bloomed off-season and water flowered forever, there was Death wavering in every corner for the monarchical clan.
A chateau staffer sprinted into the assembly of King Subal, who was attending to not-so-important concerns, blood smeared all over his white angavastra, as he panicked, "Maharaj! Maharaj!" he wailed frantically.
King Subal diverted his alert to the agitated servant, standing at once when he saw the ailment of the attendant, "What has occurred, Das?"
The staffer made an effort to find words, though all proved to parch in his throat as he turned around, gaping at the entrance with dread in his sight, "Maharaj! She! She!" he pointed to the porticoes yet again.
"What are you gabbing about, man?" King Subal boosted his eyebrows in concern, "Who are you referring to?"
But before the staffer made any yonder remark, a piercing, unmistakable, and ominous voice echoed through the galleries of the assembly hall, "It is me, Maharaj!"
The panicked worker took flight away from the assemblage as soon as he heard the voice, and King Subal virtually misplaced his balance, shuddering at the presence before him.
Padmavati stood there, a bloodstained sword in her clasp as she stared verbatim at the King, tears and gashes on her body as she trickled in blood, walking towards the ruler with an extended rope in her hands, whose end wasn't perceptible.
"Princess Vati!" Subal came to his senses and ran to the female, halting shortly, however, fearing for his own life.
"I demand you to make a judgment, Oh Brave King." she voiced, eyes not carrying any emotions, "Right now." her sound lived calm, perverse to her looks or doing.
Before King Subal could ask any further questions, Keshavi pulled the string with all her might, and the King ultimately forfeited his equilibrium as he saw his son washed in sweat and gore, his neck fastened by the rope in her hands.
"What is this behaviour?" He was furious too now, at the woman, at his son, and himself, for entitling the situation to be so harmful.
"This son of yours," she began, "killed my brother, the Crown Prince of Padminipur, when he was unarmed, non-threatening, and fronting his back to him. Not to ignore that they were not at war, and your son had abducted my decade-year-old brother."
Maharaj Subal glanced at his son with humiliation and revulsion but also a flicker of gloom because he comprehended the future of his son now. Padmavati continued to talk, "According to the ordinance of Kingship, he is directly a falter to our court and therefore I retain maximum privilege over him."
Subal kept uncommunicative.
"But I am not like him," she yanked the rope making more saliva and blood come out of the prince's mouth, " I wished for you to catch a glimpse of your son. For all I know you could be entangled in this strategy but I will permit you to catch a glimpse of him before he is taken away."
Maharaj Subal stared at his son, eyes now full of tears, "As you desire, Princess."
Padmavati spun around, the rope tighter than ever in her hands as she was about to depart with the man, before Subal interrupted, "Shree!" she halted, "Whatever you do with him, Gracious! Let me know through a letter for I will consume my whole life in uncertainty if you don't."
Gaurangi turned to Subal one final time, a daunting smile on her face, "Wouldn't that be so much fun?" and she left, leaving the father weeping for his son.
