Seducing the princess

Romance, in the air

Step back in time.

Walk the roads softened by nature’s hand. Wander through pages of history where the sound of Rudalis can almost be heard, where water upon a sword reflects the strength of its keeper. Roses lie upon the bed on the first night, and eyes converse in a language older than words. Faith in God and faith in man walk side by side.

A great civilization—grand and enlightened, instructive and profound.

Books were not bound publications but encrypted within the minds of people, shaping a society rooted in equality, justice, and peace.

Prince Ashok rode in his chariot, surrounded by a battalion of guards, on his way to Kashi for the anniversary of Yogiji Maharaj. The occasion itself was not entirely in accordance with the saint’s wishes; the organisers believed the valedictory ceremony for the dignitaries’ children should conclude with a reaffirmation of faith.

The Das Dwar—the ten gates—stood opposite the Dual Dwar, the two main entrances. One led to the students’ quarters; the other opened towards the Mandovar, the outer wall of the temple. At its far end lay a space of pure devotion and spiritual bliss, a threshold where the mortal met the Divine.

Ashok was unhurried, yet a sense of anticipation lingered within him—something unexpected, yet welcoming. He walked straight towards the Yog Guru’s residence, offering only polite acknowledgement to the assembled princes, princesses, ministers, and dignitaries. These were values inherited from his forebears: the discernment to recognize the true pearl among many.

Ashok, son of King Siddharth and Queen Dharma, Prince of the state of Amartya, an Asian nation stretching from the Arabian Sea to the Bay of Bengal. The land was famed for its swordsmen, warriors, goldsmiths, architects, and sculptors. Agriculture sustained its people, and Lord Indra favored them generously. Nellore served as the capital and royal residence.

The tales of King Siddharth—once Prince Veer—and Queen Dharma, once known as Prigha, were well known. During a tour of his kingdom, Prince Veer had once witnessed Prigha tending to an infant. Unfazed by unfamiliar eyes upon her, she stepped forward before the council and calmly requested a revision of their decision. After the discussion ended, she congratulated a woman nearby and placed the infant gently in her arms.

As she walked past, the Prince followed.

Prigha was the magistrate of the north-western region of Akola—wise, resolute, and strikingly composed. She possessed every quality he desired. He wanted her—not merely as a queen, but as his equal. Marriage posed no obstacle; he wished to be hers as much as he wished her to be his.

For days, the pursuit continued—unbeknownst to her. The Prince knew her heart would not yield easily, nor would she run willingly into his arms. Yet time was scarce. He was to ascend the throne within a month.

Shortage of time, impatience, and royal blood—together, they birthed a possessive resolve.

One day, when his restraint faltered, Prince Veer abducted Prigha from her father’s home in broad daylight. The entire town witnessed him lifting her onto his horse and riding towards the palace. No one objected. Cheers filled the air, celebrating what they believed to be a destined union.

Prigha was frightened and overwhelmed by the spectacle, but none of it mattered to the Prince.

He was the happiest man in the kingdom, proud to claim his queen. Throughout the ride, he touched her under the pretext of steadying the horse, and her face burned crimson. She could neither confront him nor resist.

The very next day, Prince Veer was crowned King Siddharth—a name bestowed by the people, as tradition dictated in Amartya, symbolizing their affection for their ruler. The day after came the wedding of King Siddharth and Prigha. On the third day, the Queen was ceremonially named Devkanya, though the people would later call her Dharma.

Nine months later, a prince was born, followed by three more sons, each a year apart. The King somehow convinced the Queen each time that pregnancy suited her. Each announcement arrived at the dawn of a new year, and each time, the citizens reacted as though it were the first such joy they had known.

Even the former Queen—Siddharth’s mother—teased her daughter-in-law openly, even in the presence of her grandchildren. Dharma’s nature had not changed since her first day in the palace; she blushed endlessly. The King would intervene, though never before enjoying the moment himself during a slow walk through the palace corridors.

He delighted in her flushed cheeks, asking his mother to cease her teasing—though without genuine seriousness—before escorting the Queen away, claiming urgent matters to discuss. The knowing smiles of the court followed them, for everyone understood that such “important matters” would not conclude before dawn.