Ͳաìʂէҽժ Ͳìʍҽ | Rewritten

➼ The Curses are Broken.

☬ Anga ☬

Karna spurred his horse towards the palace, his mind a tumultuous storm of thoughts and concerns.

While he held a deep-rooted certainty that Ramaa couldn't have fallen prey to the Asuras - the eldest Raghuvanshi was known for her vigilance - it didn't mean worry didn't gnaw at him. He had faith in her ability to handle herself, yet the undercurrent of concern lingered.

His instincts whispered that she was unharmed.

Navigating the hallways, he paid little heed to the bowing soldiers and maids, heading straight for his room.

He was grateful that Maharajah Harasimba and his family had returned to their own palace. Otherwise, seeing him would have made their deception of his health clear to them.

His brothers had strategically isolated him in the guest wing of the palace, ensuring that their mother remained unaware of his actual condition. The security measures in his wing had been enhanced precisely for this purpose.

A quick assessment of the palace's occupants reminded him of the absence of both MagadhRaj and Ashwatthama, who had departed for their respective Kingdoms that morning. Their insights would have been valuable in this situation.

With time ticking away, there was an urgency in this situation. There was much to prepare, and he couldn't afford to delay.

"Sainik."

A soldier lowered his head in respect, "Maharajah?"

"Summon the Kuru Princes. Instruct them to come to my chambers swiftly and discreetly."

He had a few plans to make.

☬ Ayodhya ☬

As Dushala sat in the solitude of her chamber, the air felt heavy with the weight of her sorrow; and her tears fell like silent raindrops upon the polished marble floor. The flickering flames of oil lamps cast dancing shadows across the room, but they offered no solace to her anguished heart.

Her slender frame was huddled against the cool stone wall, knees drawn tightly to her chest, as if she was seeking refuge within herself. Each sob that wracked her body echoed in the spacious chamber like a haunting melody of pain and regret.

In the quiet of the night, Dushala's thoughts were a tempest of turmoil. She had unwittingly bound her family to a promise, a promise made in innocence but fraught with consequences she could not have foreseen.

The weight of her words now bore down upon her like chains of iron. In the ancient traditions of the lineage she had married into, a promise was sacred, binding, unbreakable. Everyone knew the most important motto of her family - रघुकुल रीत सदा चली आई, प्राण जाये पर वचन न जायि। (Raghukula Reet Sada Chali Ayi, Pran Jaye Par Vachan Na Jayi.)

And she, in her naivety, had pledged her word to the Asura Guru, Shukracharya, unaware of the peril it would bring upon her kin.

As a princess, as a daughter-in-law, she had failed. She had faltered in her duty to shield her family and to preserve the dignity of her lineage. The realization gnawed at her spirit like a ravenous beast, consuming her from within.

As Luv stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his eyes immediately sought out Dushala's form, illuminated by the soft glow of flickering oil lamps. His brow furrowed with concern as he observed her hurried movements, her delicate fingers brushing away tears that glistened like dewdrops upon her cheeks.

"Dushala," he spoke gently, his voice a tender melody in the hushed silence of the room, "were you crying?"

Dushala's response was a subtle shake of her head, a fleeting attempt to conceal the evidence of her sorrow as she hastily wiped her tear-stained face with the edge of her dupatta.