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बदलते हुए रंगों की छाँव में,

हर घड़ी एक सच्चाई छिपी होती है।

साँप की तरह छुपी हुई है जो महाकाल की राह में,

वो ही जहर की तरह, दिल में समाई होती है।

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"Maharaj, there is good news from Malwa," Sharad Varman said to Hridayveer, who was getting ready for court. Sharad continued with his daily responsibility of delivering important information to the king. After all, he was the royal advisor and one of the most trusted and loyal men in whom Hridayveer had unwavering confidence.

Sharad had earned this trust by saving Hridayveer's life and resolving several crises for the kingdom. He had stood by Hridayveer's side since the very first foundation of this empire was laid. Standing tall at 6'1" with a rugged physique, hawk-like sharp brown eyes, and a mind as sharp as a dagger, Sharad was not only an Adonis but also the shield of the Aryavart Empire.

Hridayveer stood in the center of his grand chamber, an opulent room befitting the ruler of a vast empire. The walls were adorned with intricate murals depicting great battles and the victories of Aryavart, while large gold-framed mirrors reflected the soft glow of burning oil lamps. Ornate pillars supported the high ceiling, and heavy curtains of rich velvet, in shades of deep maroon and gold, framed the expansive windows. In one corner, a massive wooden desk, engraved with symbols of power and royalty, held numerous scrolls and maps—evidence of a ruler deeply involved in the affairs of his empire. Hridayveer's armor and swords, polished to perfection, gleamed on a stand nearby, ready for immediate use.

He gestured for Sharad to continue as he slipped into his overcoat, a regal garment embroidered with threads of silver and gold.

"Kunwar Yugraj has won the battle of Malwa, and our informers have confirmed that he is ready to return home," Sharad said, noticing the slight smirk forming on Hridayveer's face.

"We were meant to win this war, Sharad. After all, Aryavarts are destined to rule. Woh samay shīghra hi aayega jab Aryavart ko vishwaguru ke roop mein jaana jayega. Prepare for Kunwar Yugraj's arrival and ensure that no disturbance occurs," Hridayveer commanded.

(The time will soon come when Aryavarta will be known as the world leader.)

"Jī, Maharaj, jaise aapki āgya." Sharad said, bowing his head.

(Yes, Maharaj, as per your command.)

Hridayveer, while fastening the rings onto his fingers, turned to Sharad again. His expression shifted from calm command to one of intense focus. "What is the situation in Ratanpur?" he asked, his voice stern.

Sharad's face darkened. "Maharaj, the bandits there are still out of control. They continue to rob the commoners and disturb the peaceful environment of the region," he said, clearly frustrated by the persistent unrest in Ratanpur.

Hridayveer's eyes glinted with restrained fury. His hand paused mid-motion, hovering over the last ring. He let out a low, sharp breath before speaking, his voice cold and authoritative.

"Aap sab se toh kuch hua nahi. Ab humein swayam hi Ratanpur jaana padega. Chaliye dekhte hain, in lootero ke andar itna sahas kahan se aya. Kaun hai jo inhe sharan de raha hai? Kaun hai jo inhe sahas de raha hai? Aryavart ke viruddh in vidhrohiyon ko chingari kaun de raha hai?" Hridayveer said, his tone laced with a dark smirk that could send shivers down even the hardest warrior's spine.

(None of you could handle this. Now, I must go to Ratanpur myself. Let's see where these bandits have found such audacity. Who is sheltering them? Who is giving them courage? Who is igniting the flame of rebellion against Aryavart?)

He stood still for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. His lips curled into a sinister smirk, one that carried a promise of devastation.

"Inka sahas tohdenge hum, apne haathon se," Hridayveer continued, his voice now quieter but filled with lethal intensity. His tone carried a chilling finality, as if the fate of those bandits had already been sealed.

(I will break their courage with my own hands.)

Sharad, standing by, lowered his head in shame. He felt a deep sense of guilt—perhaps if he and the other officials had been more effective, their Maharaj wouldn't need to dirty his own hands with such matters. There was no greater failure for a trusted advisor than seeing his king forced to take matters into his own hands.

"Maharaj, kripaya hume ek mauka dein. Hum apna jeevan daan kar denge in banditon ko mitaane ke liye," Sharad said, his voice trembling slightly, but filled with resolve.

(Maharaj, please give me a chance. I will dedicate my life to eliminating these bandits.)

Hridayveer, now fully dressed in his regal attire, placed a hand on Sharad's shoulder. "No, Sharad. This fight has now become mine. Hum dekhenge ki inka ant kaise hota hai."

(I will see how their end unfolds.)

"Yeh kya sun rahe hain hum, Veer? Aap Ratanpur swayam jaana chahte hain? Aapne jo humein vachan diya tha, wo aapko smaran hai na?" Ahilya Devi, Rajmata of the empire and the mother of King Hridayveer Aryavart himself, entered the chamber with a deep frown etched on her regal face.

(What is this I'm hearing, Veer? You wish to go to Ratanpur yourself? Do you remember the promise you made to me?)

Ahilya Devi was the epitome of grace and strength. She had lost everything when she lost her husband, but even in her sorrow, she rose. She fought her own battles with her in-laws, society, and anyone who dared to stand in her way, all for the sake of her children. She ensured that her sons were given the finest education, etiquette, and a solid foundation of ethics and values. At the age of fifty, her grace was unparalleled, rivaling the beauty and dignity of women half her age. The glow on her face and the fire in her eyes were a testament to her inner strength—a woman who gave birth to the emperor of Aryavart.

She had overheard the conversation between Hridayveer and his trusted general, Sharad, and it had sparked her ire. As she entered, both men turned to greet her. Hridayveer immediately touched her feet as a sign of respect, while Sharad folded his hands in a traditional gesture of reverence. She blessed them both wholeheartedly, but the sternness on her face remained.

"Maa-sa, I remember the promise I made to you. I swear I will be present on the day of the Shukla Paksha when the festivities of Gangaur conclude," Hridayveer said with calm assurance. "I simply wish to give you one more reason to celebrate this Gangaur with grandeur."

His words softened her features, and a smile broke through her stern expression. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead lovingly.

"Sab khel samajhte hain hum aapke," she replied, her tone still firm but laced with affection. "Aap yun hi har baar chhal se apni har baat poori karwa lete hain. Maan li humne aapki baat."

(I understand all your games. Every time, you use trickery to get your way. I've accepted your request.)

Hridayveer chuckled softly at her words, and even Sharad couldn't help but smile. The bond between mother and son was strong, forged in love and mutual respect.

"But remember," she added with a warning edge to her voice, "if you are late, then I will be very angry. This Gangaur, you will have to choose my daughter-in-law no matter what. This year, I have invited all the princesses and royal families from different kingdoms to celebrate Gangaur together. You must choose our queen—the entire empire is waiting for their empress."

"Jo hukum Maa-sa," Hridayveer responded with respect, "aap jaise chahti hain, waise hi hoga."

(As you command, Mother. Whatever you wish will be done.)

He knew his mother was right. The kingdom needed a queen, and soon, an heir to ensure the continuity of the Aryavart empire. The burden of duty weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he was prepared.

"Take care of yourself and her in my absence. Aap jaanti hain na, humari jaan basti hai aap dono mein," Hridayveer said softly, his affection for his mother clear in his voice.

(Take care of yourself and her in my absence. You know well, my life resides in the two of you.)

Ahilya Devi nodded, understanding the depth of her son's words. His love for her and the mysterious woman they were speaking about was evident.

Hridayveer then turned to Sharad, his demeanor shifting from that of a son to a ruler. "Healer Sushruta has arrived or not?" he asked with a sharp, authoritative tone.

"Ji Maharaj," Sharad responded promptly, "He arrived with his family yesterday. They have been provided with rooms and every other facility you instructed."

"Good," Hridayveer nodded, his eyes darkening with thought. "Make sure nothing is lacking in their hospitality. He has come at our special request, so his care is of utmost importance. But remember—keep an eye on them. I don't trust anyone with her. No one, except the healer, should be allowed to enter her wing. Inform Abhilasha that she is to be by her side twenty-four-seven. No mistakes will be tolerated."

Sharad nodded again, fully understanding the gravity of the king's orders.

"Make the necessary arrangements. We leave for Ratanpur early tomorrow morning," Hridayveer commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Sharad bowed and quickly left to carry out his orders, leaving Hridayveer and Ahilya Devi alone. The weight of the upcoming days hung heavily in the air, but Hridayveer was ready—both for the challenges ahead and the duty that awaited him.

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"Divya, chalo na baahar, Gangaur ka utsav dekhte hain. Humne bahut suna hai ki yah Utsav Aryavart ke mehal mein sabse uttam hota hai," Nayantara said, pestering Divyanshika to come with her.

(Divya, let's go outside and see the Gangaur festival. I've heard that this festival is the grandest in Aryavart's palace.)

"Abhi nahi, Nayan. Pita-shree ne hume yah aushadhi taiyaar karne ka aadesh diya hai. Pehle ise pura kar lein, phir hum utsav mein chalenge," she replied calmly, making Nayantara pout.

(Not now, Nayan. Baba has asked me to prepare this ointment, let me finish it first, then we'll go.)

"I don't know why Baba isn't telling us about the person he had come to heal. Maa, Baba, and Bhai-sa met the Rajmata, but they didn't even take us with them. We are their guests, not prisoners," she said huffing, making Divyanshika frown.

"Yeh unka dosh nahi hai Nayan, yah raja ka aadesh hoga. Paapi apna paap chhupaaye bina nahi rahte. Nishchit roop se kuch to aisa hai jo woh dusht chahte hain ki kisi ko pata na chale," Divyanshika said, thinking of many possibilities.

(It's not their fault, Nayan, it must be the king's order. The wicked will always hide their sins. Surely, there's something the villain doesn't want anyone to know.)

It had been a week since they arrived at Aryavart, and the festival of Gangaur had already started, but they hadn't had the chance to see the celebrations yet. They performed their prayers privately in their chambers, away from the crowd. Divyanshika had kept a low profile, knowing that soldiers were watching their every move.

The palace was vast, and Divyanshika had caught glimpses of where Sushruta, the royal healer, worked when she delivered medicines she had prepared, though she wasn't allowed inside the healing chambers.

She memorized the hallways and secret passages leading to her room with ease, as she had been trained for such things. Her movements were cautious, ensuring not to make any errors in haste.

"Pata nahi tumhe Maharaj kyun nahi pasand, Divya. Humne to suna hai ki woh mahaan raja hain, praja ke hit mein sadaiv pravritt rehte hain," Nayantara remarked.

(I don't understand why you dislike the king, Divya. I've heard he's a great ruler, always working for the welfare of his people.)

"Har suni-sunayi baat satya nahi hoti, Nayan. Accha, ye chhodo, aushadhi taiyar hai, pehle ise pradaan kar aate hain, phir hum aaj ke utsav mein darshan karne chalenge," Divyanshika said, making Nayantara smile.

(Not everything we hear is true, Nayan. Anyway, leave this now. The medicine is ready. Let's deliver it and then we can go to the festival.)

The two girls exited their chambers and walked through the grand hallways toward the wing where the royal healers worked. They handed the medicine to a guard, who nodded in acknowledgement, and then made their way to the royal garden where the Gangaur celebrations were in full swing.

As they approached, the grandeur of the palace's decorations became even more breathtaking. The entire palace was adorned with strings of marigolds and jasmine, their fragrance mingling in the air, while colorful draperies fluttered gently in the breeze. The courtyard was illuminated with hundreds of clay lamps, each casting a warm, golden glow that bathed the marble pillars and arches in an ethereal light.

However, the royal garden, where the main celebration was held, was otherworldly in its beauty. The garden was transformed into a paradise, with intricate floral designs made of fresh blossoms covering every available space. A shimmering canopy of silk stretched above, lined with mirrors that reflected the soft light of the lamps, making the entire place look like a starlit sky.

Women dressed in the finest traditional attire—vibrant lehengas adorned with intricate gold embroidery—danced gracefully to the sound of folk songs being played on traditional instruments. Their wrists were adorned with jingling bangles, and their necks were draped in heavy jewelry that sparkled with every movement. The air was alive with laughter, chatter, and the sweet smell of saffron and sandalwood incense.

As Divyanshika and Nayantara stood amidst the royal splendor, memories of the quiet ritual they had performed earlier in their chamber with their mother came flooding back. Just that morning, they had celebrated Gangaur in a much more intimate setting. Their chamber, had been transformed into a small sanctuary filled with devotion and reverence.Their mother, serene and poised, had guided them through the rituals. They had dressed the small clay idols of Gauri and Shiva, just as the women outside had done, decorating them with vibrant flowers and delicate fabrics. Together, they applied mehndi to their hands, praying silently as they traced intricate designs across their skin.

The girls exchanged glances, both captivated by the beauty and energy around them, but still feeling a sense of separation from this world of grandeur.

"Yeh jagah to swapn jaisi lagti hai, Divya," Nayantara whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.

(This place feels like a dream, Divya.)

Divyanshika nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel that something was amiss beneath the surface of this celebration. Her instincts, sharpened by years of training, told her that the glitter and gold were hiding secrets too dangerous to ignore.

Gangaur, was celebrated with great fervor by women across the kingdom. The festival, dedicated to Goddess Gauri—an incarnation of Parvati—symbolized marital bliss and devotion. Women, both married and unmarried, worshiped the goddess to seek blessings for a happy and prosperous married life. For the unmarried, it was a prayer to find an ideal husband, just like Lord Shiva, who was Parvati's consort.

As Divyanshika and Nayantara made their way deeper into the royal garden, they saw women carrying beautifully adorned clay idols of Gauri. These idols were placed in baskets covered with flowers and carried on the heads of the women as they performed the Gangaur rituals. Married women prayed for their husbands' long life and well-being, while the young girls prayed for a future filled with love and prosperity.

The celebration involved several rituals. On the first day of Gangaur, women crafted clay idols of Shiva and Parvati, which they would worship throughout the festival. The idols represented the divine couple, symbolizing the ideal marital relationship. Women adorned themselves in their finest clothes, mostly lehengas or sarees in bright hues like red, orange, and yellow, colors that symbolized life, passion, and energy. They applied mehndi (henna) on their hands, a customary practice believed to bring good fortune.

The ritual of "jal bhara" was also in full swing. In this part of the festival, women fetched water from nearby lakes or rivers to bathe the idols. The act was not just a symbol of purification, but also of Parvati’s love for Shiva. Even in the garden, a beautifully decorated vessel was placed near a fountain, where women took turns offering water to the clay idols, while singing folk songs that invoked the blessings of the goddess.

In the background, priests chanted mantras, invoking the blessings of Parvati and Shiva, while the women closed their eyes in silent prayer, seeking love, happiness, and stability in their relationships.

As the evening progressed, women released the idols into a nearby river, symbolizing the return of Gauri to her home in Mount Kailash with Lord Shiva. The sight of the floating idols, bathed in the glow of the setting sun and surrounded by flowers, was enchanting. It marked the culmination of the festival, a moment of peace and reflection after days of celebration.

Divyanshika and Nayantara quietly observed the rituals, their hearts touched by the devotion, yet their minds aware that behind the prayers and songs, something darker loomed. Divyanshika’s instincts told her that this festival was merely a facade, masking secrets that no one dared to uncover.

Still, for now, she chose to let the beauty of the celebration linger in her heart, even if only for a moment.

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The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, crimson shadows over the battlefield. Maharaj Hridayveer Aryavart, donned in his gleaming armor, surveyed the chaotic scene before him. His army clashed fiercely with the bandits of Ratanpur, but something was different this time. The bandits were far more organized, and their numbers swelled beyond what mere outlaws could muster. Arrows whistled past his head, the clang of swords and the screams of battle echoed all around. He fought with unyielding resolve, slashing through waves of enemies, but a nagging thought sat heavy in his mind—how had these bandits grown so bold?

Hridayveer rarely ventured down for hunts; he found no necessity in it. Yet, when he did, the moniker "The Veiled Predator" embodied him completely, cloaking him in an air of formidable power and stealth. His presence alone sent shivers down the spines of those who crossed his path.

As the bandits laid eyes on him, they saw not just a king but the embodiment of death itself, a relentless force ready to exact vengeance. With every calculated move, Hridayveer dismantled their defenses, his strikes precise and unforgiving. The chaos that ensued was like a tempest unleashed, as he tore through their ranks, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake. The bandits realized, too late, that they had awakened a primal fury, and there would be no mercy for those who dared threaten his realm.

As he cut down another attacker, he spotted the leader of the bandits, a menacing figure cloaked in black, retreating into the forest. Hridayveer’s eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary skirmish. Without hesitation, he mounted his horse and pursued the leader deep into the woods, his soldiers following close behind.

After a relentless chase, Hridayveer cornered the bandit leader near a rocky outcrop. Dismounting from his horse, he advanced slowly, his sword glinting in the fading light. The bandit leader, breath ragged, leaned against a tree, gripping his side where blood seeped through his torn clothes. Still, the man smirked as though he had nothing to lose.

Hridayveer strode forward, pointing his sword directly at the leader’s throat. "Kaun hai jo tumhara saath de raha hai." he growled, his voice as cold as steel. "Koi saadharan daku itni shakti nahi juta sakta. Satya kaho, anyatha yahin tumhara ant hoga."

(No ordinary bandit could gather such strength. Speak the truth, or this will be your end right here.)

The bandit leader’s smirk widened, a glint of madness in his eyes. "Aap vishdhar ko paal rahe hain, Maharaj. Kintu kitna bhi amrit pilaayein, vah sada vish ugle ga. Avasar milte hi vah apne paalak ko dasega."

(You are nurturing a serpent, Maharaj. But no matter how much nectar you give it, it will always spit venom. Given the chance, it will bite the one who feeds it.)

Hridayveer’s jaw tightened. "Spashta bolo!" he ordered, pressing the blade harder against the man’s skin.

(speak clearly.)

The bandit leader chuckled darkly. "Aapke swajan... Veerendra Aryavart. Varshon se vah aapke viruddh shadayantra rach raha hai, aapke naam aur sena ka durupyog kar raha hai. Jo kuch Patliputra mein ghatit hua, vah usi ka kritya hai. Aap jo samajhte hain, uske vipreet vah aapke viruddh jaal bun raha hai."

(Your own kin... Veerendra Aryavart. For years, he has been plotting against you, using your name and your army for his own gains. What happened in Patliputra was his doing. He’s been weaving a web against you, even as you trusted him.)

The bandit’s eyes gleamed with triumph. "Patliputra mein jo kuch hua tha, uska moolya sabko chukana hoga. Vah apna pratishodh aarambh kar chuki hai, aur ab usse koi rok nahi sakta. Hum to keval uski pratishodh ki agni mein jalne wale eendhan hain."

(What happened in Patliputra, everyone will pay for it. She has already begun her revenge, and now no one can stop her. We are merely fuel for the fire of her vengeance.)

The bandit chuckled, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, and the sound drove Hridayveer over the edge. With a roar, he thrust his sword through the bandit’s neck, silencing him forever. The man’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless, but his words lingered like poison in Hridayveer’s ears.

He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, staring at the dead bandit. The battlefield noises around him seemed distant now. His mind was already racing—could it be true? Could his own brother, Veerendra Aryavart, be conspiring against him?

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