5. The One Who Know
1398 Words
Agnivardhan slowed his steps as the corridor narrowed.
The stone beneath his feet felt older here, smoother, worn by years of quiet movement. Lamps were set low into the walls, their light dimmer, softer. With every step forward, the scent of incense thickened—sandalwood, ash, something faintly bitter and grounding.
The corridor curved.
And then, without any threshold or door, the space opened.
The temple.
It did not separate itself from the palace. It simply existed within it.
Oil lamps lined the floor in careful circles, their flames flickering gently. Rangoli patterns spread across the stone—formed from colored powders and flower petals—alive with light. Marigold and rose petals lay scattered everywhere, their scent mingling with incense and warm ghee.
The sanctum stood at the center, quiet and steady, brass lamps burning on either side. Tridents rested nearby, not as decoration, but as guardians.
The air felt still.
Vritra Devi knelt near the sanctum.
She wore a simple white sari, its folds neat, untouched by ornament. Her silver hair was tied back cleanly. Though age had lined her face, her posture was straight, her breathing calm and even. At seventy, her body carried discipline rather than decline.
Agnivardhan stopped a few steps away.
For a moment, he only watched.
She did not turn immediately.
She finished adjusting a lamp, pressed her palms together briefly, and then rose without effort.
Only then did she look at him.
Her expression softened instantly.
Without ceremony, she stepped forward and drew him into her arms.
No pause.
No hesitation.
“You came,” she said warmly, her voice low and familiar.
He returned the embrace instinctively, the tension in his shoulders easing before he realized it.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m home.”
She pulled back just enough to look at his face, her hands still resting on his arms.
“You look thinner,” she said at once. “Are you eating properly?”
He smiled faintly. “I am.”
“Hm,” she said, unconvinced, then smiled herself. “Come. Let’s walk.”
______________________________
They moved away from the temple together.
The incense faded slowly as the corridor opened into the backyard garden. The change was immediate—the air cooler, lighter, filled with the scent of flowers instead of smoke.
The garden stretched wide and calm.
Stone paths curved gently through blooming rose bushes and tall blue and lavender flowers. White arches stood draped in climbing vines. At the center, a small fountain murmured softly, its sound soothing, constant.
White-painted chairs rested beneath a flowering canopy, a small table between them already prepared.
This was not a place of politics.
This was where conversations happened honestly.
Vritra Devi guided him to sit beside her, not across.
A servant arrived silently, setting down warm tea and light snacks, then left without a word.
She picked up his cup first and placed it in his hands.
“Drink,” she said. “You’ve always thought better after tea.”
He obeyed.
She watched him as he did, her gaze warm, familiar, affectionate.
“You stayed away because you wanted to understand the world,” she said after a moment. “Not because you were lost.”
He glanced at her. “You knew.”
“I raised you,” she replied simply.
He set the cup down.
“I met someone,” he said. “A girl. She remembers nothing except her name.”
Vritra Devi did not interrupt.
“When I was near her,” he continued thoughtfully, “something inside me reacted. Not suddenly. Not violently. As if it recognized something.”
Curiosity, not fear, shaped his voice.
“I want to understand it,” he said. “Why it happened. Why to me.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his.
Warm. Steady.
“So,” she said gently, “you finally found her.”
He exhaled slowly. “You already knew.”
“Yes,” she said. “I knew this moment would come.”
She leaned back slightly, looking toward the darkening sky.
“There is a place,” she continued. “A kingdom older than Aryavan. Hidden so deeply that even history avoids speaking of it.”
Agnivardhan leaned forward, interest sharpening.
“And it’s connected to her,” he said.
“And to you,” Vritra Devi replied.
The lamps along the garden paths flickered to life as dusk settled fully.
Agnivardhan sat back, thoughtful.
“I don’t feel afraid,” he admitted. “Just… aware.”
She smiled at him then—warm, proud, certain.
“That,” she said, “is exactly how it should feel.”
The fountain continued to murmur.
The flowers stirred in the evening breeze.
And somewhere, beyond memory and time, something ancient listened.
___________________________________
The dining hall glowed with soft lamplight.
Long brass lamps lined the walls, their flames steady, reflecting off polished stone. The table was set simply but generously—warm rotis wrapped in cloth, bowls of steaming lentils, vegetables cooked with quiet care, sweets placed at the center as an afterthought
that everyone noticed.
This was not a feast.
This was comfort.
Mrinalika sat at the head, calm and composed, her presence steadying the room. Veerendra sat beside her, listening more than speaking, the quiet strength of a king who ruled without needing to announce it.
Agnivardhan took his place across from them.
Nayantara sat the moment she could—too close to him—eyes bright, clearly determined not to waste a single moment now that he was back.
Vyomraj arrived last, deliberately slow, already wearing the faintest smile that promised trouble.
Dinner began quietly.
It didn’t stay that way.
“So,” Nayantara said suddenly, reaching for a bowl before Vyomraj could, “did you miss us?”
Vyomraj scoffed. “He missed silence. That’s why he stayed away.”
Nayantara shot him a look. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Vyomraj replied, calmly taking the bowl from her hands anyway. “He’s sitting peacefully. That’s proof.”
She gasped. “You stole my food.”
“You were going to spill it,” he said mildly.
“I was not!”
“You always do.”
She turned to Agnivardhan. “Tell him.”
Agnivardhan smiled—small, but real. “You spill it,” he said.
She stared at him, betrayed. “You’ve changed.”
Vyomraj laughed under his breath.
Mrinalika shook her head, trying—and failing—to hide her smile. “Eat,” she said. “Both of you.”
Veerendra glanced at Agnivardhan. “They haven’t changed,” he said quietly.
“I noticed,” Agnivardhan replied.
As the meal continued, Nayantara leaned closer to him. “Are you really staying this time?”
“I’m here,” he said. “That’s not nothing.”
She accepted that, nodding seriously—then immediately flicked a grain of rice at Vyomraj.
He retaliated without looking.
A small chaos followed.
Nothing loud. Nothing disrespectful. Just siblings being themselves.
Agnivardhan watched it all with a softness he didn’t comment on.
For a moment, everything felt… whole.
Then, as plates were nearly cleared and the noise settled, Agnivardhan spoke.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said.
The words were quiet.
They landed anyway.
Nayantara froze. “Leaving?”
Vyomraj’s smile faded. “Where?”
“To Aryavan,” Agnivardhan replied. “For a while.”
Mrinalika set her cup down slowly. “So soon?”
“Yes.”
Veerendra studied him. “Is it necessary?”
“It is,” Agnivardhan said. No urgency. No drama. Just certainty.
The table fell silent.
Nayantara looked at him, disappointed but trying to hide it. “You just came back.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I won’t be gone long.”
Mrinalika reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “Come back safely,” she said. Not a request. A reminder.
“I will,” he replied.
Vyomraj leaned back, watching him closely. “Aryavan doesn’t stay quiet,” he said. “Be careful.”
Agnivardhan met his gaze. “I will.”
Dinner ended soon after.
Not heavy.
Not broken.
Just paused.
And for that night, the palace slept with something rare within its walls—
Peace.
For now.
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- Writer
