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Chapter Text

QUEEN mother Sivagami Devi stared at the myriad scrolls that were scattered across the table in front of her. A few of the women she'd looked at had been quite satisfactory, but none fit for her son. No, she would continue her search, she decided resolutely. She would continue until she laid her hands on an exquisite bride, a woman of no flaws. Exhaling sharply and gently rubbing her temples, she began going through yet another set of scrolls. She would look at women from far and wide, from every nook and corner of Bharatvarsha if it would ensure that she found the flawless bride.

"Your Highness," her lady-in-waiting began timidly. "Surely no woman in the whole of Bharatvarsha is flawless..."

Sivagami raised a hand and silenced the woman. "It is incredibly difficult to find a woman of no flaws. However, it is vital that she possesses the qualities that my son does not."

"Possess a quality that Yuvaraja Baahubali does not?" the woman sounded rather astounded.

"My son is exceedingly naive," Sivagami sighed. "He trusts too easily...and I often find that he puts his faith in the wrong people...even though his heart is in the right place. If Parameshwara is kind, I will find a bride who compensates his flaws. A woman who will partake in political, social and economic decisions. A woman who is well versed in the Upanishads and Smritis. A woman who will stand up for what is right, a woman who will speak her mind. A woman whom Mahishmati will idolise."

The ministers in the room, who had thus far remained silent, nodded in agreement and exchanged glances before man amongst them stood hesitantly and spoke. "Your Highness."

"Dandanayaka," Sivagami consented, gesturing for him to continue.

"I hear of a princess from the kingdom of Kunthala. She holds her head high, makes her own decisions and is fearless in the face of danger. I can arrange for her portrait if Your Majesty wishes."

"Of course," Sivagami said. "And her name, Dandanayaka?"

"Devasena, Your Highness. Named after the daughter of Indira. Roughly translates to the army of the Gods."

"Devasena," Sivagami smiled. Only time will tell if she can do justice to her name."

She dismissed the gathering with the wave of her hand and left to attend to her royal duties.

♛ ♛ ♛

YUVARAJA Baahubali panted for breath as he let his sword slip from his sweaty palms and land on the ground with a heavy thud. He had just finished with an intense practice session with Kattappa. He quickly gulped down the glass of water that an attendant had handed him and splashed a handful on his sweaty face. He sat beside Kattappa under the shade of the century old banyan tree that stood on his training ground.

"Excellent," Kattappa clapped him on the shoulder. "You've proven yourself to be a worthy heir of Mahishmati."

"No greater honour, mama," Baahubali smiled. "Amma always said that I should strive towards becoming an Emperor that people revere and look up to."

Kattappa chuckled. "You've done your mother proud. Her happiness is immeasurable. She told me just last night that once she's found you a bride, everything is set and sorted."

Baahubali sighed frustratedly. "How is it that I have no idea of what is going on in this kingdom? I'm heir apparent, why is it that I remain blissfully unaware of everything?"

If Kattappa was taken aback by Baahubali's mild outburst, he did not show it. "We assumed you would know. It is currently Rajamatha's sole commitment. She is inspecting portraits of girls from far and wide, she is enquiring about princesses from neighbouring countires, she is sending word to kingdoms all across Bharatvarsha so as to find a befitting bride."

"I want to marry for love. Not for a political alliance or economical benefit or anything of that sort. I want to marry a woman whom I can worship and admire," Baahubali declared.

"Rajamatha agrees," Kattappa continued. "She searches for a woman well trained in the shastras, a woman who embodies knowledge and wisdom, a woman who can demonstrate physical and mental prowess. And she did specify that you will be empowered enough to have the final say."

"I will speak to mother regarding this," Baahubali said stiffly. "I remain incredibly doubtful."

"All will be well if Parameshwara intends for it to be," Kattappa muttered pensively, before gathering his sword and moleskin pouch and excusing himself.

♛ ♛ ♛

WHEN Dandanayaka whisked away the velvety red curtain and revealed a massive portrait of Princess Devasena, Rajamatha Sivagami's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened in amazement and she took a step back from where she was standing. "Parameshwara," she breathed, continually gazing at the painting. "Her elegance and class will put beauty to shame! She is enchanting! Simply divine!"

"Yuvarani Devasena of Kunthala, Your Highness," Dandanayaka proclaimed. "A fine woman, enticing indeed."

"Send for Baahubali immediately," Sivagami instructed. "Tell him it is a matter of utmost importance, but reveal no more."

An attendant nodded, bowed swiftly and left the room to summon the crown prince. He returned with the Yuvaraja almost immediately. Baahubali was clad in only an angavastram and silk dhoti, indicating that he had just said his prayers and performed invocations. He bowed deeply to his mother before addressing her. "Amma, you sent for me?"

"Certainly," she conceded. "As you are already aware, I would like for you to marry at the earliest. I do hope you intend to tie the knot soon."

"I do," he admitted. "I intend to marry an intellectual woman. A woman who will face war and battlefield fearlessly. A woman who personifies courage and chivalry. Fundamentally, a woman whom I respect and love."

"Might I say that I have succeeded in finding a suitable woman?" Sivagami intervened. "I have been fortunate and blessed to have come across the portrait of Yuvarani Devasena of Kunthala." She stepped aside to give Baahubali a distinct view of the portrait that adorned the wall behind her. "They say she is the best warrior in her kingdom."

Baahubali surveyed the portrait carefully, his eyes sweeping across Devasena's alluring features. He took in her steel blue saree, her fiery eyes, her determined expression and her precisely drawn bindi. If he was roused, impressed, or even taken aback, his face did not betray it.

"I wish to meet the Princess before I take a stand," Baahubali affirmed. "I intend to be in a successful marriage and taking hasty decisions will lead to nothing but turbulence."

"Well said, Yuvaraja!" a few ministers clamoured encouragingly.

"Indeed," Sivagami nodded in concurrence. "I will consult the royal priest and arrange for the meeting to happen in an auspicious muhurtham."

"No," Baahubali shook his head in dissent. "I am afraid that will not do. I wish to meet her anonymously."

"What good will that do?" Dandanayaka questioned.

"I wish for her to look past the wealth, riches, the power and the title that I possess. I want her to fall in love with the person I am. And I intend to proceed slowly."

"So be it," Sivagami stated in resignation. "Tour the kingdom. Take Kattappa with you. Meet Yuvarani Devasena in Kunthala and proceed in any way that you deem fit. I will await your response."

Baahubali kneeled at his mother's feet promptly to take her blessing. She ruffled his tresses and smiled warmly as she watched him accompany Kattappa down the palace corridor and into the wide courtyard.

♛ ♛ ♛

YUVARANI Devasena looked a thousand times more ravishing in person, at least through Baahubali's eyes, simply due to the fact that she could wield a sword with unerring ease. His jaw dropped as he observed her cut through the curtain that shielded her palanquin and stab two attackers. In the process, she unveiled her stunning features: deep set eyes that bore a determined gaze and a persevering smile. He moved forward to take a closer look, ensuring that he remained cautiously hidden behind the dense foliage.

"Fire in her veins and embers in her eyes!" Kattappa remarked heartily, eyeing Devasena with admiration. "A fine woman, a fine woman indeed."

Baahubali smirked slightly, his gaze still fixed on her movements, and said, "You must do a great deal to ensure our union, mama."

Kattappa chuckled, clapping Baahubali on the back. "Marriages are made in heaven. If it is meant to be, it will always find a way."

♛ ♛ ♛

IT was surprisingly unchallenging for Baahubali to masquerade as a simpleton. The kingdom of Kunthala had surprised him in multiple ways. It was a city of marble, unlike Mahishmati, which was predominantly made of sandstone. Princess Devasena, he learned, was a follower of the Srivaishnava faith and an adherent devotee of Lord Krishna.

He had never pursued religion wholeheartedly, despite the fact that his mother was a devout Saivate, because he was a stubborn believer of kshatriya dharma, which did not speak of disciplinary worship. It spoke only of prayer, which he adhered to every day, and knowledge of the shastras and vedas, which he had possessed since time immemorial. It spoke of a ruler's duties and the responsibilities of kingship in great depth. He had practiced Saivism with his mother, but it did not occupy the place that kshatriya dharma did in his heart.

Kunthala, it turned out, was also very chauvinistic. He overheard Raja Jayasena talking about how Devasena had not given any formal training because she was a woman. It had infuriated him, but on the other hand, his admiration for the Princess grew. Despite being denied tutelage, she strived to practice to the best of her abilities, and she had become Kunthala's best archer, second to none.

He had watched her practice her archery from afar and appreciated her persistence and dedication, for she had refused to stop until her sister-in-law had given her a stern telling-off and dragged her away. He had to make every effort to restrain himself from showing her how to release three arrows simultaneously, for it would break his masquerade. He vowed to teach her as soon as he could, and genuinely hoped that the right moment would present itself in due course.

He knew deep down that the Princess had seen through his facade: she had eventually figured out that he was not who he was claiming to be, but continued to play along. He enjoyed playing the fool and she was insistent on catching him.

He spared no effort in acting like a simpleton, but couldn't help but occasionally hint otherwise: when the Princess had tripped over a protruding stone, he had subconsciously caught hold of her waist, and she had examined his scarred and bruised hand with utmost suspicion. She would often go out of her way to set traps for him: she insisted that he accompany her on a wild boar hunt, after which she challenged him to face an untamed bull with a spear in his hand. It had run into him headfirst, but he had faced worse injuries in battlefields, and it would indeed be rewarding if it won Devasena's heart.

She had, to his absolute delight, hinted at a confession during the Krishna Puja she had performed on the previous full moon, and apologised for letting the wild bull run at him. The antapura was rife with gossip: the girls told one another various versions of the wild bull story, each more dramatic than the last and placed bets on whether the Princess was smitten with the innocent simpleton.

He was in no rush to disclose his identity. They had their entire lives in front of them, years and years in which they could talk. She would birth his children, accompany him to battlefield, sit beside him, as his equal, in his court. She was, in short, everything he wanted in a life partner. He decided that he would wait until the right time presented itself, and until then, he would content himself with milking cows and churning butter in the Kunthala kitchens.

♛ ♛ ♛

KATTAPPA idolised and revered Rajamatha Sivagami and believed without a shadow of a doubt that she could do no wrong, until that afternoon. He stood outside Raja Jayasena's court in the sultry heat, tending to Kunthala's sprawling lawns. A familiar voice caused him to pull out of his dreary errand and listen to the proceeding that was taking place inside the court.

"Rajamatha Sivagami Devi sends her greetings from the Empire of Mahishmati," Nikumba, one of Mahishmati's royal messengers, announced pompously. "She sends well-wishes and compliments to Raja Jaya Varma and the people of Kunthala."

Kattappa's shrewd eyes fell on the truckloads of presents that had been brought along. There were chests filled with the finest and most exquisite jewellery, necklaces of gold and diamond, ornaments specked with ruby and emerald, trays of magnificent silk attire studded with expensive gemstones, cartons holding weapons of indestructible strength: swords with hilts made of diamonds, bows which could fire targets thousands of yards away, spears and shafts made of the most durable material.

"I intend for my son," Nikumba continued haughtily, "Amarendra Baahubali, the warrior of warriors, a man of virtues, unparalleled in strength and chivalry, to make your sister, Yuvarani Devasena, his life partner. Kindly have her abide by the rituals of kshatriya marriage and tie a sacred thread to my son's ceremonial sword and arrange for her travel to Mahishmati at the earliest. Yours Truly, Rajamatha Sivagami Devi."

"A large number of empires and vast kingdoms wish for an alliance with Mahishmati," Nikumba's tone was arrogant and patronising. "But our Rajamatha's pitiful eyes have fallen on your minor kingdom. Princess Devasena is indeed blessed!"

Kattappa buried his face in his palms. From afar, he could see the Princess's temples reddening considerably, and her face contorting into a bitter frown.

"Take a look at the gifts Rajamatha sends!" Nikumba gestured towards the presents that were spread across the courtyard. "Surely you have never laid your eyes on such immeasurable riches!"

Devasena held up a hand, silencing Nikumba. She stood in a contemptuous manner and spoke with the impetuosity of a true Princess. "Is it just you and your Rajamatha, or everyone in the kingdom of Mahishmati?"

Nikumba looked dumbfounded.

"People of your kingdom may behave like a pack of dogs, eyeing riches like these," she waved a hand towards the heaps of gifts, "but I find it equivalent to the dust that settles at my feet!"

"Devasena!" Nikumba exclaimed, thunderstruck by the Princess's nerve.

"Silence!" she retorted powerfully. "If your Prince had an ounce of your pride...I would've respected him for being a man! Lay aside the women, even the dogs in my kingdom would not approve of such shameful behaviour!"

"Devasena," her sister-in-law sounded shaken and unnerved, but the Princess remained unmoved as she instructed a scribe to put down a befitting reply.

"Yuvarani Devasena sends her greetings to Rajamatha Sivagami Devi in the utopian empire of Mahishmati. It is disgraceful that your son does not have the basic respectability to rendezvous with me in person. I have come to know his true colours through this cowardly gesture. I send with my messenger my ceremonial sword. Kindly have him tie the sacred thread around it. Bedeck him in jewels of gold and arrange for his travel to Kunthala, where I shall look after him diligently. Yours sincerely, Princess Devasena."

Kattappa could not help but admire the young woman's audacious and daring response.

♛ ♛ ♛

BAAHUBALI was churning buttermilk in Kunthala's kitchens in the late hours of the night when Kattappa approached him with wonderful as well as dreadful news.

"Which would you like to hear first?" he questioned.

"Tell me both," the Prince said indifferently. "I shall decide which is wonderful and which is dreadful for myself."

"Rajamatha Sivagami sent a messenger to Kunthala, asking for Devasena's hand in marriage," Kattappa chose his words carefully, not intending to elaborately describe the disastrous scene that had followed. "But the Princess rejected the proposal and wrote a wrathful response."

"Parameshawara," Baahubali sighed. "I asked mother not to intrude."

"Rajamatha cannot do wrong," Kattappa defended instinctively.

"No," Baahubali concurred. "She cannot." The prince's lips curved into a heartfelt smile before he said, "The fact that Devasena rejected the proposal is wonderful news indeed. She has fallen in love with the good-natured simpleton Shivu, and consequently, she has rejected Yuvaraja Amarendra Baahubali!"

Kattappa chuckled heartily. "Of course."

Baahubali's smile was, however, short-lived. He sensed the swift but heavy movement of feet, the rhythmic clatter of swords and the distinctive sound of heavy artillery. An army was approaching.

He held out his right hand spontaneously, demanding his sword, and descended the marble staircase to alert the Princess.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE sound of the warning bell jerked Princess Devasena awake. She dressed hastily and left her apartments with only her bow and a quiver of arrows. She moved attentively, listening for sounds of approaching attackers. She turned a corner and was distressed to see a contingent of soldiers coming her way. She acted impulsively and went about shooting her arrows one by one, but she realised that she was largely outnumbered and her quiver was emptying at an alarming rate. Panic and agitation thundered through her nerves in equal measure and she uttered a desperate prayer as she continued taking the soldiers down.

As though miraculously, the three soldiers charging towards her collapsed instantaneously on the marble floor. Arrows longer than her own were protruding from their chests and they were bleeding heavily, staining the white marble in hues of red. She spun around abruptly to catch a glimpse of her saviour and was most astounded when she saw Shivu.

"In the name of Lord Ram," she whispered with quiet intensity. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw him release three arrows with such impeccable ease. He was much more swift, much more self-assured. Each of his moves were imperturbable, and without a doubt, they were the result of years of training.

"Yuvarani," he addressed her. "Four fingers, not two."

She held out her hand, cautiously replicating his moves.

"Turn the wrist facing outwards," he demonstrated with deliberate simplicity. She observed him with utmost concentration and copied his gesticulation flawlessly. Once she'd perfected the movement, he instructed her to shoot.

"And release!" he commanded with vigour. Her arrows struck their respective targets with incomparable accuracy. They continued taking down the soldiers, each of their moves perfectly coordinated, their actions synchronised. When Baahubali lost his bow to a man who had pounced on him with a sword, he took Devasena's hand and spun in a double pirouette, using her bow to release not three, but six arrows simultaneously.

Devasena inspected the damage warily, ensuring that there were no more attackers coming their way, before she spoke faintly, "Who are you?"

Baahubali considered telling her the truth, for he did not want their relationship to be built upon secrets and lies, but decided against it almost immediately. "This isn't the time and place, Princess. Come along."

She followed him down the sleek marble staircase, ensanguined with the blood of martyred soldiers, and into the battleground, where they would encounter the rest of the army together.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE tip of Devasena's sword was dangerously close to Baahubali's chest. "I trusted you," her voice was barely audible, but exceptionally fierce. She touched the sword to his chest, but it did not draw blood. "Tell me, who are you?"

"Even the sweetest of fruit taste awfully bitter when you are irked," Baahubali maintained his calm demeanour.

She thrusted the sword further into his chest and sensed it meet his armour. "Answer me," she repeated through gritted teeth. His undisturbed state of mind provoked her further.

"Once your anger vanishes," he repeated serenely, looking her in the eye.

Her fury knew no bounds. She acted on impulse, like she had on innumerable occasions, and grabbed the burning torch that stood behind her. She flung it onto his robes and watched in bewilderment as the fabric burnt away, revealing the crest of Mahishmati emblazoned on his armour.

"Heir to the throne of Mahishmati!" Kattappa cried, the pride in his voice immeasurable. "Rajamatha Sivagami Devi's dearest son! The vanquisher of the Kalakeyas and the warrior of warriors!"

"Sriman Narayana", Devasena murmured quietly, eyeing the crown prince with incredulity.

"Amarendra Baahubali," Kattappa announced in conclusion, and instantaneously, Devasena heard the clattering of swords. The soldiers had fallen on their knees with their hands crossed on their hearts as a token of reverence. Her brother and sister-in-law proceeded to kneel, but the Prince advanced towards them and spoke, "Warmth and affection is sufficient amongst kinsmen, Your Highness. Respect is non-obligatory."

They exchanged delightful smiles before rising to their feet.

He gestured towards the other soldiers, instructing for them to rise, before he addressed the Princess once more. "My mother has not wronged thus far, Devasena. I can assure you that there must be a reasonable motive and rationale behind her actions. It is highly probable that a miscommunication has taken place. Come with me, be my captive."

Devasena eyed Baahubali with respect and admiration. "My heart beats for you, Yuvaraja. Ask me to accompany you as your bride, and I shall come joyously." She felt blood rush into her face as she uttered the words. "But to lose my honour and follow as a captive? I would never."

The prince's eyes swept over her undaunted features before he nodded. "From this moment onwards, until death do us apart, I am yours, Princess. I swear on the kshatriya dharma that is instilled in me. I promise you, I will protect your dignity and honour at all costs."

She smiled contentedly as he placed his hand on hers, consummating his vow.

♛ ♛ ♛

"Devasena is treasured by her family and the people of Kunthala alike," her sister-in-law told Baahubali. "She is our pride, Yuvaraja."

"I will ensure that no harm befalls her," Baahubali reassured the older woman. "Trust me." He touched her feet before taking her leave.

Devasena proceeded onto the plank that lead to the rowboat that would take them to the harbour, from where they would sail Kunthala's Hamsa Naava or swan boat through the waters of the mighty Mahishi river. She was wearing a sapphire blue saree, heavier than what she was usually accustomed to, and bedecked in the finest ornaments: massive earrings studded with blue diamonds, hefty necklaces plated with gold, thick ropes of pearls, stones of sapphire embedded in her hair, and a number of jewel-specked rings on both hands. She glanced at Yuvaraja Baahubali and noticed that he was dressed in robes of a similar shade of blue. She had to admit that she found the Prince impressive. He was a potential emperor, and yet, he had put on a facade to win her heart. He wanted her to appreciate him for who he was. And she could not help but admire that.

It was, at that unfortunate moment, that the plank she stood on split it two. She tripped over the end of her saree and caught herself before she went slipping into the water. Her ladies-in-waiting gasped, rushing to her aid, but none of them were a match to the Prince's swiftness. He jumped out of the canoe without hesitation, soaking his royal blue robes in the process, and dragged the canoe towards where she squatted.

"Princess," he addressed her. "I do hope you haven't sustained an injury."

She shook her head, her astonishment clearly visible on her delicate features.

He smirked mischievously and spoke, "Your thoughts are elsewhere, Yuvarani."

He gestured with his eyes for her to walk across his massive shoulders. She raised her eyebrows, holding back a smug smile, before she made her way onto his broad frame. She was benumbed by his strength; he did not waver or flinch as she walked across. He did complete justice to his name, she thought. Baahubali, the one with strong arms.

The Yuvaraja joined her in the canoe once she was safely seated and they set off for the harbour, hurriedly bidding their final goodbyes to the Princess's wonderstruck family.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Devasena stood on the foremast of the swan boat, draped in an emerald green saree, paired with a wine-red blouse. She adorned a great amount of jewellery: a set of hefty bangles that tinkled when she moved her hands, a variety of rings studded with precious gemstones, bulky necklaces of shimmering gold and massive anklets that embellished her feet. She was tremendously nervous, for she had insulted Rajamatha, and written an insolent response to the wedding proposal. Kattappa seemed to have sensed her anxiety, for he spoke gently, "Rajamatha will treat you like a daughter. Do not fret, Princess."

She smiled in gratitude, her tense demeanour immediately vanishing.

"Mahishmati," there was immense pride in the Prince's voice as he spoke the word and gestured towards the large sandstone elephant that marked the entrance to the Empire.

Devasena's eyes widened as she gaped at the mighty sculpture. She opened her mouth to express her astonishment, but no words came out.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE massive doors that led to Mahishmati's court were opened by a set of guards, making way for the crown prince and his bride-to-be. The courtiers and noblemen whispered to each other excitedly when they caught sight of the Vaishnavite princess, for they had never laid their eyes on such an exquisite woman.

The prince made his way across the lengthy courtroom, removing his silk turban as he approached the dais where his mother was seated. He nodded to the Princess at the bottom of the sandstone steps, signalling for her to wait below.

He paid obeisance to his mother by promptly kneeling at her feet. The court performed a salutation to the Prince, adhering to royal protocol. Princess Devasena stood below the large dais, at the foot of the sandstone steps, head hung in shame, waiting for the Queen Mother's command.

When Sivagami Devi instructed her to speak, she did so in hushed tones. "I spoke out of turn, Your Highness. It was injudicious of me to write an insolent response. Forgive my arrogance, Rajamatha."

The Queen Mother's perfect circle of a face split into a warm smile. "A smidge of arrogance makes Sivagami Devi's daughter-in-law beautiful, beautiful indeed."

The courtiers cheered, the Prince's eyes met Devasena's and they exchanged subtle smiles.

"Come," Rajamatha beckoned. "Stand beside my son. Let Mahishmati see for itself and decide whether my decision is apt or not."

Devasena advanced towards the dais where Baahubali stood, ascending the sandstone steps with her head held high. She touched Rajamatha's feet just as he had done earlier before taking her place on the Prince's right.

The noblemen whistled encouragingly, the courtiers hooted in joy. She was a suitable bride, they whispered amongst themselves, apt for the crown prince.

And it was with the heartfelt approval of the citizens of Mahishmati that Rajamatha declared, "Let the ceremonies of the Kshatriya Vivaham commence on the very next auspicious muhurtham."

♛ ♛ ♛

THAT night, the Princess dined with Baahubali's family. She sat beside the Prince, choosing not to speak unless spoken to. Her shrewd and calculating eyes swept across the table, carefully observing each member of the royal family. There was Prince Bhallaladeva, who was a fist taller than Baahubali, as well as more muscular and robust. And Bhallaladeva's father, Bijjaladeva, a handicapped man whose inept arm was hidden beneath a velvety fabric. Kattappa, she noticed, did not break bread with the family, for he was a mere slave.

But Devasena found Kattappa the most fascinating: he told her the most thrilling tales, tales of his travels across the world, stories of Emperors he'd met, Princesses he'd seen, and most importantly, tales of the Prince's childhood. He explained the most complicated vyuhas employed in war and the working of Mahishmati's court. And Devasena truly did owe Kattappa everything, for he was instrumental in her union with the Prince.

Dinner was served on the finest silverware Devasena had seen. Warm and golden fritters, platters of rice and lentils, an assortment of spicy curries, and for dessert, a plump chestnut brown sweet filled with a sugary syrup.

"It is a gulab jamun," Rajamatha said, "A Persian dessert."

Devasena had never tasted anything so divine. Once they had finished their meal, brass bowls filled with warm water, accompanied by precisely sliced lemons, were brought out by the attendants. Bijjaladeva and Bhalla rose to leave first, and just as Devasena was about to follow, Rajamatha called her name.

"I would like a word, Princess," she said in an unassuming tone. Her eyes fell on Baahubali, who continued to linger by her side. "Alone."

Devasena glanced at the Prince in alarm. Had she offended the Queen Mother once more? Beneath the table, Baahubali slipped his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze before bowing to his mother and exiting the room. Sivagami nodded to the attendants who stood beside them; they bowed low and took their leave.

"I have heard," Rajamatha began, turning swiftly to check if they were being overheard, "from a trusted source that my husband and Prince Bhallaladeva intend to usurp the throne, and in the process, break your marriage."

Devasena stared at her in disbelief.

"Baahubali is innocent and unsuspecting, Devasena. I fervently hoped for a shrewder, perceptive, daughter-in-law, and might I say that I have been blessed?"

The Princess smiled timidly.

"I sent the marriage proposal to Kunthala to check whether your allegiance could be bought," Sivagami Devi continued, "and I was pleased, pleased indeed, upon hearing your response, as insolent as it was. The fact that your loyalties lie with your husband comforts me exceptionally."

"Now," Sivagami Devi resumed after a pause for breath, "I wish to speak of more...sensitive matters."

The Princess nodded, listening raptly.

"Baahubali has an excellent spy network outside the palace, but it is rather upsetting that he refuses to maintain one within. He firmly believes that nobody would dare swerve from the path of kshatriya dharma and he remains blissfully unaware of matters inside the royal family. Bijjaladeva will use that to his advantage."

"Of course," Devasena whispered aloud, putting two and two together in her mind.

"I wish for you to set up a spy network within the palace, for you must be well informed. And I must warn you, child, always be alert, always. The palace is heavily guarded and the security is exceptionally good, I can assure you, but there have been breaches in the past." Rajamatha showed her the dagger hidden in the folds of her silk saree and spoke, "I do not leave my chambers unarmed and I highly recommend you do the same."

"Certainly, Rajamatha," she answered, nodding obediently.

"There is one more thing," Rajamatha added. "Poisoning."

Devasena raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, but she did not speak.

"We are surrounded by foes and enemies. The most unexpected people can turn into traitors, one can never tell. Baahubali's food has been poisoned, gradually, from his childhood, in order to ensure that he is immune to most toxins and venoms. It is a must for you to do the same, Princess."

"Without a doubt, I will," Devasena spoke with assertiveness, but her features were laced with apprehension.

"Good," Sivagami said. "The poisoning will begin tomorrow morning. We will, of course, start off with a negligibly small quantity, but I must warn you that your body may not take to the poison immediately. There is a high chance that you will develop a severe fever, or nausea and body aches, but they will cease in a few days' time. I intended for your poisoning to start on a later date, but it is essential that we start tomorrow, so the wedding festivities can proceed unhindered."

Devasena nodded in assent. The gravity of the situation dawned on her abruptly. She felt as though the weight of the world had sunk onto her fragile shoulders. She was to be Mahishmati's Empress in less than ten days, and she had to prepare herself for the entire ordeal: she had to become accustomed to Mahishmati's Saivate traditions, ensure that she was armed at all times, set up a seamless spy network, accompany the Emperor on his entourages, and perhaps even to the battlefield. It was a life of service, she realised, service to the people of the Empire.

"You may leave now, Princess," Rajamatha gestured towards the door. "A warm and comfortable bed awaits you in your quarters. I am certain that the maidservants and ladies-in-waiting will tend to your needs, but if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me personally."

When Devasena rose to leave, Sivagami spoke once more. "Devasena—not a word about this to the Prince. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely," Devasena murmured.

"He would never forgive me if anything happened to you," Sivagami said truthfully. "Sleep well, Princess."

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA was astounded to see the Prince waiting for her in her chambers, seated on the bed that had been arranged for her.

"Yuvaraja!" she exclaimed softly.

"Princess," he responded, his voice equally hushed. "Come."

He held out his massive arms and pulled her into a warm hug, rubbing her back gently. "You look awful, Princess," he said in the same quiet tone he had used earlier. "What did my mother say to you?"

"I do not wish to tell you," she whispered into his sturdy shoulders, disappointed that her face had betrayed her anxiety. "Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies."

He laughed delicately. "I would regret to find out from someone other than you."

"I can assure you that you will not," she responded, "because the only other person who knows of our conversation is Rajamatha herself."

"Even the walls have ears in Mahishmati, Princess," he said gingerly.

"And still you refuse to maintain a spy network within the palace!" she countered, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Oh," he sighed. "I have a fair idea of how your conversation went, Princess. I would like to make it clear, clear to a very great degree, that I trust the members of my family with my life. And nothing will change that."

"So you refuse to believe that Bhallaladeva would plot against you for the throne?" she demanded, anger surging through every nerve in her body.

"Princess," Baahubali sighed in exasperation. "I have neither the energy nor the inclination to understand your point of view."

"Brilliant," she whispered scathingly, her voice dripping with heavy sarcasm. She wrestled herself out of his arms and stood, gesturing towards the enormous double doors. "Good night, Yuvaraja."

He left the room, just as enraged as she was, in a stiff and threatening gait.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Devasena's breakfast was brought to her apartments the next morning by the Queen Mother herself, accompanied by a trusted servant.

"I heard of your quarrel with the Yuvaraja last night," she spoke with indifference as she placed the breakfast tray on the table that stood before the Princess's bed.

"He will not listen, Yuvarani. I have known him for years, trust my judgement. I have entrusted you with the job, Princess, do not bring it up in front of him. I advise you to let go of the matter."

Devasena remained silent, eyeing her breakfast tray: there were rotis of rice flour, crisp and warm, an assortment of spicy chutneys, marinated with ghee, a bowl of freshly sliced mangoes, golden coloured and honey-sweet, and a goblet of almond milk, infused liberally with saffron.

Rajamatha wisely ignored the Princess's silence. "We intend to proceed as discussed last night. I have personally overseen the process. It is likely that you will develop a fever in the early hours of the afternoon. The rajvaidya is informed of the situation and she will attend to you at your summon."

"Thank you, Rajamatha," Devasena said, before she proceeded to eat. Her hand mildly trembled as she tore off the first piece of the snowy white roti, dipped it into the bowl of lush green chutney and brought it towards her mouth. She could not taste the poison, nevertheless, the thought of falling horribly ill was painstaking. Her feeble agitation did not go unnoticed by Rajamatha's prying eyes.

"I know it is burdensome," she said tenderly. "It is a gruesome process, nastily painful. I felt like succumbing to the nausea. It will not be easy. But trust me, it will be worth it."

Devasena finished her meal with relative ease upon hearing Rajamatha's words.

♛ ♛ ♛

IT was two in the afternoon when the first bout of nausea came. She threw up incessantly, struggling to even breathe in between.

"Summon the royal physician," she croaked, and as soon as she finished saying the words, an attendant left the room immediately.

She was put to rest by her maidservants and a silk handkerchief, dripping with chilled water, was placed on her warm forehead.

The rajvaidya was a young woman named Yamuna. Her luscious black hair was held back in a crisp bun and she was neatly clad in a saree of ivory coloured silk. "You are doing very well, Your Highness. The nausea will cease in the evening. The fever, however, may trouble you for longer."

"How long?" Devasena wheezed.

"It varies, Your Majesty. It may cease tonight, or stay for upto three days," Yamuna replied.

"Thank you, Yamuna," Devasena whispered hoarsely, her throat aching terribly after speaking. Her eyes drooped shut and she fell into a disturbed sleep, waking minutes later, when she felt the bile rise in her throat.

She jolted upright and leaned forward to throw up, when she felt a comforting hand massage her back smoothly.

"Yuvaraja?" she was mildly bewildered to see the Prince by her side.

"In the name of Parameshwara," he responded gravely. "You look dreadful, Princess."

She wanted to deny it, but the fact that she was as pale as the snow that settled on the Himalayan mountains and that she regurgitated the contents of her breakfast once more did not help convince the Prince otherwise.

He took her feet in his hands, instructing the servants to warm a bowl of sandalwood oil. "You should have summoned me earlier." He poured the warm oil that was handed to him on her feet, kneading it thoroughly into her soles. "Is something causing you trouble?"

She shook her head.

"No?" he asked in disbelief. "You are distressed, Princess, and do not try to convince me otherwise."

She did not speak, for she knew that her arguments would go unheard. Moreover, she was too weak to vocalise her thoughts.

"You worry too much," he continued. "Nothing untoward can happen as long as you are by my side. Trust me."

♛ ♛ ♛

THE Princess recovered in three days' time under Baahubali's watchful eyes. He suspected that she had consented to poisoning, so as to develop immunity towards venoms, but he did not give voice to his thoughts until the Princess had healed completely.

He cornered her after she had finished her swords practice with Kattappa. "You agreed to the poisoning, didn't you?"

"Yes," she replied without an ounce of hesitation. "I did."

"And you were fully aware that it would cause you discomfort?" he asked.

"Yes," she assured him.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? Not a single word, in all the hours I sat beside you?" he questioned.

"No," she admitted. "Because I knew—and Rajamatha agreed—that you would not permit it to happen now, and we saw no point in delaying the process."

"I see," the Prince said. "I will have a word with my mother regarding this." He turned around abruptly, to leave in the direction of his mother's chambers, but the Princess placed her hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"I did it out of my own accord," she said firmly. "Because we are surrounded by foes—men who want to usurp the throne, ministers claiming themselves worthy heirs. I am to be an Empress, and I wish to prepare myself in every possible way. I will refine my swordsmanship, practice my archery for hours into the night if I have to. I agreed to the poisoning knowing fully well that I would undergo three torturous days. I did not choose this life, Yuvaraja. Neither of us did. This life is for the people, and I will strive to become the best version of myself, even if it means I have to pay the price with my own life. Isn't that what kshatriya dharma preaches?"

The words kshatriya dharma seemed to have a hypnotic effect on the Prince, because he nodded affirmatively and mumbled, "Of course, Yuvarani. Do as you deem fit."

♛ ♛ ♛

THE streets of Mahishmati were usually deserted during the summer months, for the weather was blazing hot and sultry. But that day was different. The kingdom was celebrating the coronation of Yuvaraja Baahubali, and no amount of heat or dust could keep the throngs of people inside their homes.

They watched in admiration as Sivagami Devi applied a tilak of vermillion on his forehead. The royal priest rapidly chanted mantras in Sanskrit as she reached for the much revered crown, which sat on a tray of gold held by Princess Devasena. She lifted it with both her hands, for it was quite heavy, and stood on the tips of her toes to place it on the Prince's head.

An attendant brought out a scroll that contained his ceremonial speech and kneeled before the Prince. The Prince, however, held out his hand, refusing to take it, and spoke straight from the heart: "I, Amarendra Baahubali—"

The crowd assembled did not allow him to proceed further. They erupted into cheers, calling his name, beating their chests as they cried for his victory.

"I, Amarendra Baahubali," he thundered, his deafening voice overpowering the ear-splitting cheers, "pledge that in my duty, as the guardian of the health, wealth and lives of the people of Mahishmati, I will never hesitate to lay down my life for the Empire and its people. This, I swear in the name of Rajamatha Sivagami Devi!"

And the Queen Mother declared him coronated as Mahishmati's Emperor.

♛ ♛ ♛

BAAHUBALI and Devasena's wedding rituals began three days after the coronation had taken place. Their engagement took place outside the shrine of Lord Shiva that was situated in the palace grounds, in front of a mighty fire with Lord Agni as their witness. Devasena wore a saree of a creamy white. Baahubali wore a dhoti of a matching shade, but his chest was bare except for his angavastram and sacred thread.

"Do you, Princess Devasena of the Kunthala kingdom, agree to take Maharaja Baahubali as your lawfully wedded husband as per Saivate traditions, on the aforementioned day, at the specified muhurtham?" the priest asked.

"I do," Devasena responded diligently, looking Baahubali in the eye.

"And do you, Maharaja Amarendra Baahubali, agree to take Princess Devasena as your lawfully wedded wife as per Saivate traditions, on the aforementioned day, at the specified muhurtham?" the priest reiterated to Baahubali.

"I do," Baahubali replied with equal sincerity.

"Then you may exchange rings," the priest declared.

They did as they were told, exchanging rings of delicately cut diamond, plated in shimmering gold. The Princess had asked for rings of jade, for they embodied happiness and harmony in relationships and stood for the ideals of nobility and kingship. However, Rajamatha Sivagami had insisted on diamonds, believing that they were an emblem of commitment and faithfulness, and stood for invincibility and intellectual knowledge. The Princess agreed, though reluctantly.

"I declare you officially engaged! May your marriage bring peace and prosperity to Mahishmati and its people!" the priest announced.

They made their way to the palace balcony, hand in hand. Devasena raised a hand, covered in elaborate designs of henna, and waved to the assembled crowds, displaying the ring of diamond. The couple were showered with grains of rice soaked in sunshine coloured turmeric water and petals of roses and golden chrysanthemums.

They were ushered back into the palace grounds by Rajamatha, who muttered, "Parameshwara! I must ward off the evil eye!"

She proceeded to do so by lighting a piece of camphor placed inside a large raw pumpkin.

Their wedding took place on the day that followed, in the mandap within the palace. Words could not do justice to the extravagance of the ceremony, Devasena thought. Rajamatha had invited kings and queens, noblemen and aristocracy from kingdoms far and near. She had made use of the opportunity to showcase Mahishmati's boundless wealth: guests were gifted lamps of silver and pouches of finely cut diamond upon their arrival. They were served elaborate meals on platters of gold: pearly white rice, cooked to perfection, lentils spiced with Kashmiri chillies, curries marinated in large quantities of melted butter, kebabs of paneer, sprinkled with a variety of spices and grilled until crisp, rotis and boats of steaming gravies, the choicest meats, an assortment of mouth-watering milk sweets, along with the Princess's favourite gulab jamuns, wine fresh from the foothills of the Himalayas, and chilled milk, tinted with haldi and saffron.

Rajamatha declared that the people of Mahishmati would be fed elaborate meals outside the palace grounds, free of cost, to honour the royal wedding. Sarees of silk and dhotis of velvet were distributed to common folk in large numbers.

The Princess had been gifted with a vast quantity of jewellery and riches: she was bedecked in diamonds and sapphires, matching the colour of her blouse. Her fingers adorned a great many rings and her wrists were filled with numerous bangles that tinkled when she moved her hands, and gleaming bracelets of gold. Her shoulders were encased in hefty chains of gold, studded with diamond, suiting her ivory coloured saree. She wore a carefully crafted choker of precious diamonds and a number of necklaces made of expensive pearls. Her waist was decorated by a girdle of gold, with a single shimmering sapphire in the centre, and her feet were embellished by a pair of jingling anklets. Her thick mane of hair had been left to tumble down her shoulders, sprinkled with ornaments of expensive white stones. The queen mother had granted her an income of a lakh rupees and declared lands in her name. She was gifted with a ceremonial sword, whose hilt was bejewelled with stones of diamond.

The wedding proceeded as planned: the Maharaja and Devasena took the seven sacred oaths of marriage in front of Lord Agni. Baahubali tied the mangalsutra around Devasena's neck, making their union official. The bride and groom were showered generously with grains of rice and petals of chrysanthemums, as the music of the nadaswaram was played by the well-trained orchestra.

Devasena entwined her little finger in Baahubali's as they proceeded offstage to receive the blessings of the onlookers present.

Amongst the spectators who had come for the wedding were the Persian King, Padshah Aslam Khan, and his daughter, Princess Meher. Her large blue eyes were not focused on the Maharaja and his bride. Instead, she was looking at Prince Bhallaladeva.

Chapter Text

THE Maharaja rested his head on Devasena's lap, smiling warmly as she stroked his long tresses of hair. Fresh lotuses and garlands of fragrant jasmine adorned their bed frame for their nuptial night.

"Did you notice Princess Meher?" she asked. "Padshah Aslam Khan's daughter?"

"I only have eyes for you, Devasena," he said, his voice low, making her go crimson.

"She was quite...fascinated by Prince Bhallaladeva," Devasena continued, choosing her words with utmost caution. "Do you think it is a pressing matter?"

Baahubali paused, taking the situation into consideration. "There is no point dwelling on it. You distress yourself too much."

"And you remain far too undisturbed!" she countered. "Forgive me for saying this, but it is not right for an Emperor to remain blissfully ignorant!"

"Devasena," he maintained an unusually calm demeanour, "I will discuss this with you, I promise. But this is not the time and place."

She could not do anything but nod obligingly. She remembered Rajamatha's words: the task of keeping an eye on matters within the palace had been bestowed upon her, taking them up with her unsuspecting husband would do absolutely no good.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Meher interested Bhallaladeva just as much as he interested her. He wondered what her face would look like behind her veil. He wondered if she could wield a sword, like Princess Devasena could, or perhaps destroy things with her bare hands. Or, he thought bitterly, she may not possess any physical prowess at all. He instructed a trusted servant to arrange for her painting.

"This must remain between you and me," he said. "Do not divulge this information to anybody. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, Your Majesty," the servant responded, bowing low.

Bhallaladeva dismissed him with an approving nod.

The princess's portrait was brought to him in two days' time. He took the scroll from the servant, broke the seal impatiently and unrolled it. His goblet of wine slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the sandstone floor when he saw the painting.

It was exquisite: a side profile of the Princess had been painted, revealing the face beneath the veil. Her eyes were deep set, large and periwinkle blue, her eyebrows soft and rounded. Her skin was milky white, like that of the snow that settled at the foot of the Himalayan mountains, and her lips a deep blood red. Her jawline was elegant and sharp and her cheekbones oblique and prominent.

"Parameshwara," he breathed. It was a rare moment, for Bhallaladeva never took the name of his family deity. "She will put Devasena to shame."

He tucked the scroll into the folds of his cummerbund and rewarded the servant with a pouch of gold coins.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Meher smiled triumphantly. She had won, without much effort at all, Prince Bhallaladeva's attention. Her spies had informed her that he was in search of her portrait, that he yearned to see the face behind the veil, and so she had given it away and ensured, through her network of spies, that the painting reached Mahishmati.

"Are you fully aware of what you are doing?" her brother, Crown Prince Abul, asked her.

Meher nodded.

"You are risking your life, do you know that?" he asked. "If Bhallaladeva finds out your true intentions, he will have your head. In the most painful manner. There are stories of his monstrous behaviour and atrocities."

"I have heard them," Meher said distantly.

"And yet, you wish to do this?" her brother pressed on.

"Yes," she responded. "For Persia and the crown."

"The decision is yours, Princess," he said, evidently perturbed by her ease. "I admire your courage. But I must warn you: for the love of God, Meher, careful."

She nodded, her blue eyes still fixed on an invisible point far ahead.

♛ ♛ ♛

"SHE is a...Persian Princess?" Rajamatha Sivagami asked her son, who had presented to her a portrait of Princess Meher.

"Yes, Mother," he said quietly. "She was invited to Maharaja Baahubali's wedding."

"Padshah Aslam Khan's daughter," she recalled, pacing the room. "Yes, he is a fine king...a fine king indeed."

Bhallaladeva knew that it was best not to utter a word and waited with excruciating patience for his mother to come to a conclusion. She paced the room for ten, fifteen minutes, her hand occasionally rubbing her temple.

"Do you desire this Princess, Bhalla?" she asked finally, eyeing her son with apprehension.

"I wish to marry her, Mother," he responded gently, with a tone he used only on the rarest of occasions.

"If that is what you want," Sivagami said, her voice mildly stiff, "I shall arrange for it."

"Thank you, Mother," Bhalla bowed. "I am forever indebted."

Sivagami did not know that by giving her blessings to their marriage, she would nearly wipe out the face of the empire of Mahishmati off of the surface of the planet.

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA was practicing her swordsmanship with Kattappa in what used to be the Maharaja's training grounds. She had found in the slave not only an excellent guru, but also a caring father figure.

"Brilliant, Maharani!" Kattappa said encouragingly, when she had pulled off a particularly difficult move with ease. "It took Baahubali five days to master that movement. You grasped it much faster."

She beamed at his compliment. "Thank you, Kattappa."

"Shall we stop here, Maharani?" the slave asked her. "You look exhausted."

She nodded and sat under the shade of the century-old banyan tree that stood mightily in the centre of the training ground and splashed a handful of water on her sweaty face. Her white saree stuck to her damp body. She gestured for Kattappa to join her.

"What do you know of Padshah Aslam Khan, Kattappa?" she asked him.

"The Persian King, Your Highness?" he questioned.

"The very same," she responded.

"He is an old acquaintance of mine," Kattappa said. "He presented the armoury a sword, christened Sikander a few years ago. I rejected it."

"May I ask why?" Devasena questioned curiously.

"It was an exceptional sword, without a doubt, but far too heavy for the average soldier to wield with ease. It would have become a liability on the war field," Kattappa explained.

"I see," Devasena was deep in thought. "May I ask you one more thing, Kattappa?"

"Ask away, Your Majesty," Kattappa consented.

"I have been informed from a...source," she selected her words with extreme care, "that Rajamatha Sivagami is in search of a bride for Prince Bhallaladeva. Is this true?"

"Not entirely," Kattappa acknowledged. "Bhallaladeva has chosen a Princess himself."

"Who is the unfortunate woman?" Devasena inquired.

"The daughter of the very King we were just discussing," Kattappa said. "Princess Meher."

"Excuse me, Kattappa!" she exclaimed, lifting her skirts and running across the dusty training ground, across the length of the vast palace courtyard, and into her husband's apartments. She could not help but smile jubilantly. She had been right all along.

♛ ♛ ♛

IT was raining torrentially when Princess Meher arrived in Mahishmati. The sandstone elephants and sky scraping buildings did not impress the Princess, for she had seen taller, more massive structures in her own kingdom in Persia. The only thing that seemed to fascinate her was the Prince whom she intended to meet.

She was ceremonially welcomed by Maharaja Amarendra Baahubali's court and presented with a wide variety of gifts: jewellery of the finest kind, shining gold and glittering diamonds, books about Indian history and Mahishmati's links to Persia, silk sarees held together with threads of gold, bottles of wine from the valleys of the Himalayas.

She was drenched thoroughly as she stepped through the double doors that led to the courtroom. Her veil stuck to her damp face and drops of water clung to the ends of her hair. Her red choli left tracks of water on the floor as she moved forward. A group of attendants rushed to the Princess's aid, but she held up a pale hand, gesturing for them to leave.

"I shall attend to my own needs, thank you," she spoke, her words a mixture of Persian and the language of the court. "Salaam Alaikam, Maharaja." She greeted Baahubali, who was holding court, and bowed with respect.

The Emperor smiled warmly and responded, "Namaskaram, Princess. Welcome to Mahishmati. Please do as you wish. If anything troubles you, kindly approach my mother or Maharani Devasena personally, without hesitation."

"Thank you for your warm welcome," she said. "I am honoured to be here."

She was then escorted to the topmost apartments in the palace, where she would rendezvous with the Prince. Bhallaladeva was resting on a divan, eyeing the Princess with curiosity when she entered.

"Did I keep you waiting, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice quiet but alluring. She carefully undid her veil, with deliberate and slow movements, revealing the pale face that was hidden beneath it. She smiled invitingly, looking at Bhallaladeva boldly in the eye.

"Of course not," Bhallaladeva whispered, amazed by her majestic features. "I hope your journey did not tire you."

"No," she responded. "But the weather," she glanced furtively at the window, through which she could see rain pelting down, "was unforeseen."

"It was most unfortunate," Bhallaladeva said. "Would you like a drink? Almond milk? Wine, perhaps?"

Meher shook her head politely.

"You mustn't refuse, Princess. I insist." Bhallaladeva snapped his fingers, and immediately, an attendant arrived with a tray of brass, holding two glasses of wine.

Meher held out her hand, but almost instantly withdrew it in hesitation. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Bhallaladeva, who spoke, "Do not fret, Princess. It is not poisoned. My slave tasted the drinks before they were brought out."

Meher smiled feebly before accepting the drink. But she still refused to sip it. "You are Rajamatha's eldest son?" she asked, although she knew the answer.

"Yes," he whispered contemptuously. "I happen to be."

"Then why—" she began.

"Am I not the Emperor?" he intervened. "The laws of succession are not the same as that of Persia, Princess."

The Princess raised a soft and rounded eyebrow, eyeing the Prince with suspicion.

"There is a story," Bhallaladeva admitted, "behind Baahubali's accession to the throne. But it is rather unpleasant. And dreadfully lengthy."

"We have plenty of time, Prince," she assured him. "I would love to listen to this tale."

Bhallaladeva sighed in resignation. "Fine. If that is what you want."

And he told her everything there was to say: how, twenty-five years ago, his father Bijjaladeva was denied the throne due to his handicap, how his uncle, Prince Mahadeva, had been crowned Emperor, and how Sivagami Devi had shouldered the burden of the Empire after the Emperor's untimely death.

"Mother always loved Baahubali more than me," he spoke with a melancholic tone. "Bhallaladeva is my pride, but Baahubali is my joy, she would say."

Princess Meher placed her pale hand on Bhallaladeva's massive shoulder in consolation. She knew his version of the story was heavily biased: she had heard a version that was poles apart from his, she had heard travellers' tales and merchants' stories that were far different. But she feigned sympathy, for if the cards were played right, both of them would profit.

Bhallaladeva continued with his narration, spinning tales about Baahubali being given better training, Baahubali being favoured because he was the younger Prince. "The war with the Kalakeyas," he told her, "was supposed to decide which one of us was to be Emperor. My mother's instructions were clear: whoever killed the Kalakeya chief would be Crown Prince, the other, commander-in-chief."

"And?" Meher asked anxiously.

"I killed him," Bhallaladeva said, as though it was obvious. "But my mother went against her word. She declared him Crown Prince."

"Is that not against your code of honour?" Meher asked authoritatively. "You are entitled to demand justice!"

Bhallaladeva smiled woefully. "Yes. It is indeed against the very kshatriya dharma that my mother preaches. But I was helpless, Princess. Only my powerless father spoke in my favour. The nobles at court, the ministers, they sided with him."

Meher stared at Bhallaladeva's feet as she spoke, uttering each word with immense care. "The events of the past are most unfortunate." Her soft blue eyes met Bhallaladeva's intense dark ones when she said, "But the events of the future can be turned in your favour."

"How is that?" Bhallaladeva questioned curiously.

And it was at that precise moment that Meher began to unfold her elaborate plan.

♛ ♛ ♛

SIVAGAMI couldn't help but notice the great many differences between her daughter-in-law and the Persian Princess who had caught her son's attention. Meher, she realised, was not the least bit impressed with Mahishmati's grandeur, unlike Devasena had been in her initial days.

Devasena chose to make the best out of the empire: she underwent rigorous training with Kattappa, learned about the various vyuhas employed in war. She sat beside the Emperor when he held court, refusing to leave his side, and participated in matters of the state to the best of her abilities.

Meher constantly talked of the fame of her own kingdom, boasting of its palaces, its buildings, its wealth and its people, but never openly in court, only in her private chambers to the Prince to whom she was betrothed. She spent her days in the imperial antapura, entertaining herself for hours on end with music and dance. She had her silky brown hair washed and smoked with heavily scented sambrani, and her pale skin adorned with exquisite designs of henna.

However, Sivagami did not utter a word. Bhallaladeva, she reasoned, had given up the throne, his birthright, and therefore, deserved to have the woman he fancied. But the Queen Mother remained disturbed ever since the Princess's arrival. An unpleasant feeling that something untoward was going to happen haunted her, and her constant nightmares only added to her unceasing anxiety.

Maharani Devasena was the first to notice Rajamatha's agitation.

"It is Meher," Sivagami admitted to her daughter-in-law. "I still...have my doubts about the Princess."

"But Padshah Aslam Khan is one of our sworn allies," Devasena rationalised. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything," Sivagami responded gravely. "Everything could go wrong."

How very accurate she was.

♛ ♛ ♛

MAHARANI Devasena had taken her mother-in-law's advice and set up an efficient spy network within the palace. It constituted of trusted maidservants and ladies-in-waiting, musicians from the antapura, two trained dancers, and rajvaidya Yamuna. No piece of news, significant or not, went unreported. However, Devasena faced a new challenge within a few weeks after Meher's arrival: Meher had her own spies, her servants from Persia, who were well-trained and far more experienced.

She brought up the matter with Rajamatha in the late hours of the evening, after Maharaja Baahubali had dismissed the court for the day.

"I am unable to invest time on my spies," she explained. "My husband insists that I accompany him to court, after which my training takes place, and then I have a sitting with the royal priest to learn the shastras. Meher, however," she paused, "chooses to spend her time differently. She has better spies, spies she has brought from Persia. What am I to do?"

Sivagami's brow furrowed in concentration. "You are well informed, Devasena. I do not think there is a requirement for you to put more time aside for your spies."

"I highly doubt that, Rajamatha," she said truthfully. "There are rumours about Princess Meher, rumours that I find quite absurd, really. And moreover, I cannot report anything without legitimate proof..."

"Spies will rarely provide you with legitimate proof," Sivagami said. "You will hear silvers of information, with which you must put together two and two."

"But I could go horribly wrong there!" Devasena exclaimed. "It is highly probable that I will come to the wrong conclusions, accuse the wrong people!"

"You must simply develop an intuition," Sivagami advised. "It is similar to your swordsmanship or archery. It comes with years of practice and experience."

"What if something were to go wrong tomorrow, then?" Devasena demanded. "I haven't got years of practice...or experience!"

"But I have got plenty of both," Sivagami said gently. "My son is right, Devasena. You distress yourself too much. Perhaps you should consult Yamuna for a tonic to calm yourself. I shall arrange for a shirodara. A head massage can do wonders. Now, leave for your chambers and rest, Maharani. You are overworked. It is a command, do not disobey me."

Devasena did retire to her apartments, just as Rajamatha had ordered, but she refused to rest. She sat at her desk and opened the leather-bound book that she had taken from the imperial library. It spoke of war in detail: ethics and rules, weapons used, formations and techniques employed. She was reading about the Chakravyuha, or the disc formation, when the Maharaja entered her chambers after his evening bath and prayers. His chest was bare except for his sacred thread. He was clad in a creamy silk dhoti and matching angavastram.

"May I ask you something?" Devasena questioned, looking up from her book when he entered.

"Of course," he rested himself on the divan opposite her, stretching ostentatiously.

"Didn't you use the Trishulvyha, the trident formation, on the war field with the Kalakeyas?"

"I did," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"How did you have the courage," she asked, "to use a formation that hadn't been used ever before? The trident formation is clearly just one meant for the textbooks, to learn in theory..."

"I was young, Devasena," he admitted. "Young, rebellious and recklessly brave. But most importantly, I did not have anything to lose if something went horribly wrong. I would never dream of using it now."

"Why?"

"Because it is imprudent, unwise," he said simply. "And I do not wish to die anytime soon. I want to have children and watch them grow into fine young men and women. I want to enjoy your company for years and years, Devasena, for I will never grow tired of it. But above all, I wish to serve the people of Mahishmati to the best of my abilities. This life belongs to the people, and I have absolutely no right to gamble it on a battleground by experimenting with a new formation."

Her admiration for him grew a thousandfold. "What do you know of the Chakravyuha?" she asked.

"Why do you ask?" he frowned slightly.

"Because I've been reading about it," she explained, showing him the book she was perusing through, "and it's quite fascinating."

"Bhallaladeva and I were only taught the theory behind the formation," he said. "We were told that we would never use it, for it needs a minimum of a hundred and fifty thousand men and a battleground ten times the size of our own."

"But you know the theory completely?" she persisted.

"I think so," he responded modestly. "Would you like to discuss something that you've read?"

She nodded enthusiastically, a glint of eagerness clearly visible in her dark eyes. He stood from the divan and sat by her side, looking into the book she was reading so passionately. "In essence," he said, "the Chakravyuha is a defensive formation that looks like an unfolding disc when viewed from above, and hence the name. It resembles a labyrinth of multiple defensive walls and it is used to trap enemies in the very middle. It is often confused with the Padmavyuha, and though both do share similarities, they are quite different from one another. There are various kinds of Chakravyuhas and each serve a unique purpose."

"But how does one escape the formation?" she asked, her brows knit together in deep concentration.

"I am afraid that would be a laborious task. The Chakravyuha is a military marvel. It was used for the first and last time thousands of years ago, Devasena—"

"In the War of Kurukshetra," she completed his sentence. "On the thirteenth day of the battle. And Prince Abhimanyu lost his life trying to come out unharmed."

Baahubali was impressed by her extensive knowledge. He had never read the ithiasas in detail, for they were highly debatable texts, but he was sure that Devasena, an adherent practicer of the Srivaishnava faith, had learned the verses of the Mahabharata and Ramayana by heart. "Yes. He was sixteen, he was just a boy. And I've heard he was killed in the most brutal way..."

"Karna shot an arrow that broke the boy's bow. He did it on Guru Dronacharya's advice. Then he was attacked from behind." Devasena's large eyes were glued to the sandstone floor as she spoke in an unusually low voice. "His chariot was broken into pieces and his charioteer was killed. At the time of death, he used only the chariot's wheel as a shield?"

"Forgive me for asking, but is that not unethical? Doesn't it violate kshatriya dharma to attack such a young boy when he was so unjustly outnumbered?" he asked her.

"In a war," Devasena looked her husband in the eye, "it is the outcome that matters, above the ethics."

"But Abhimanyu was innocent! He was righteous!" Baahubali reasoned.

"And that is why he was killed through deceit, in such a heinous manner," she explained gently. "Up till that point, the men on Abhimanyu's side had followed all the ethics of war and they were not fighting to their full potential."

"They weren't fighting to their full potential because they had followed the code of war?" he asked incredulously.

"No, no," she shook her head rapidly. "I never said that. They had followed the code of honour and they happened to not be fighting to their full potential. Abhimanyu's death was a turning point in the war. His men were driven by a hunger for revenge and that turned the tide in their favour."

"But the Chakravyuha resulted in the death of an innocent boy, Devasena," Baahubali argued. "Do you really think that can be justified?"

"Numerous innocent men are murdered in war. It is an inevitability," Devasena testified. "How many deaths have you been responsible for?"

"Only those that I have been unable to prevent," Baahubali snapped. "I've never in my life been the first to commit an offence on a battlefield."

"In that case, our opinions on this matter will differ vehemently," Devasena refused to change her stand. "By your own admission, the Chakravyuha is a military marvel, and I cannot help but be amazed by its efficiency."

"And I cannot help but be deeply saddened that it caused the death of such a young boy," Baahubali repeated.

"Perhaps I have heard the tale far too many times for it to dishearten me," Devasena suggested. She was surprised, to a very great degree, that a warrior like her husband would brood over a mere battlefield causality. And Baahubali was equally surprised that his wife brushed off the death of such a young and innocent boy as an inevitability. Perhaps they still had a great many things to learn about each other.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Meher and Bhallaladeva's wedding took place in the very same mandap as Baahubali and Devasena's had. Sivagami Devi had not disappointed in the lavish decorations. Protocol was followed and sarees of silk were distributed to all women citizens, whereas dhotis were handed out to men in large quantities. The people of Mahishmati were fed splendid, elaborate meals outside the palace on the days of the wedding.

The wedding took place as per Meher's Persian customs. The bride and groom were separated ten days before the wedding, and went through the festivities individually. Their marriage contract was signed in a nikah ceremony, in which Bhallaladeva formally asked for Meher's hand in marriage. His mother and Prince Abul, Meher's brother, served as eyewitnesses. Meher and Bhallaladeva fed each other a piece of golden, honey-sweet mangoes, still hidden from one another by a velvet veil, after which they were declared man and wife.

This was followed by the ritual of Arsi Musharaf, in which Bhallaladeva and Meher finally looked at each other through a mirror kept in between them. Bhallaladeva regretted the fact that tears rolled down her pale cheeks as she waved goodbye to her family during the Rukhsat. He reached beneath her veil and wiped them off, his rough hands caressing her soft skin. Meher was gifted a copy of the holy Quaran, an ancestral copy, one that had been in the family for thousands of years. Its pages were yellowed and wrinkled, some were torn, water had smudged the fine print, but she still cherished it, for it was a piece of Persia, a piece of home.

As soon as the wedding was over, Bhallaladeva met Prince Abul in his heavily guarded private quarters. They spoke in hushed tones of Meher's plan, contemplating and plotting carefully to dethrone the Maharaja and spark rebellion in the Empire.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE following week, Rajamatha Sivagami summoned the Maharani to her palace, simply on the pretext of having an enjoyable conversation. Chilled almond milk and warm fritters were brought out by attendants for the occasion.

When Devasena arrived for their meeting, Sivagami was appalled to see the Maharani pale and fatigued. There were dark circles under her usually effervescent eyes, indicating that she had not slept sufficiently for days, and she appeared to be immensely overworked.

"Maharani!" Rajamatha exclaimed. "Are you not well? You look awfully worn out. Has my son been keeping you at court for too long? Or perhaps Kattappa is training to far too vigorously. I shall have a word—"

"Oh, no," Devasena said wearily. "It is nothing of that sort, Rajamatha. Just lethargy."

"I shall, nevertheless, have a word with Yamuna. She will find you a helpful tonic," Rajamatha said with authority, and Devasena could do nothing but oblige. "Now, I would like to ask you...have you had the chance to speak to Princess Meher in recent times?"

Devasena shook her head. "She approached me with certain...complaints, and I saw to them. That was all."

"Oh?" Sivagami asked. "I must admit, her complaining is incessant! Either the food is not cooked to perfection—"

"Or the servants are unable to attend to her needs, or the heat is unbearable," Devasena completed dryly. "Speaking of Princess Meher, there is a rumour that has been brought to my attention..."

Devasena told Rajamatha everything she had heard, without leaving out the smallest of details. Meher had married Bhallaladeva with the intention of usurping Mahishmati's throne, she explained, and she would create a situation favourable to both of them: Bhallaladeva would become Emperor, she would be an Empress, and Persian trade would flourish, benefitting her own kingdom.

Sivagami's eyes widened when she heard her daughter-in-law's words. "You are...sure?" she asked Devasena, fervently hoping that the Maharani was not.

"It is a mere antapura rumour," Devasena said dismissively. "The antapura is always brimming with baseless rumours and gossip, surely you are aware..."

"Of course," Sivagami agreed. "But there is a chance...a slight chance...that there is some truth behind it."

"That is why I chose to bring it to your notice," Devasena said. "But surely...Princess Meher would never...she wouldn't dare..."

"Oh, you mustn't underestimate the silent," Sivagami counselled. "She can manipulate and exploit, rule from behind the veil, utilise her position in the royal family to exert control...without anyone suspecting a thing."

And as soon as she uttered the words, an attendant rushed into the quarters, a scroll enclosed in his sweaty palms. "Padshah Aslam Khan's son has declared war on the Emperor of Mahishmati and he has commander-in-chief Bhallaladeva's full support! Our commander-in-chief and his wife left for Persia in the early hours of the morning!"

♛ ♛ ♛

"A war?" Maharaja Baahubali demanded. "Without a commander-in-chief?"

"I believe I have found a suitable replacement," Sivagami declared.

"May I ask whom, Rajamatha?" Devasena questioned.

"You, my child." Sivagami smiled profoundly. She thanked Parameshwara for giving her such a talented, skillful daughter-in-law, everything she had wanted for her younger son.

"I will not permit it!" Maharaja Baahubali roared. "This is atrocious!"

"May I remind you that the authority to decide that remains with me?" Sivagami pointed out eloquently. "And moreover, the Maharani herself consented to participate in this war! We cannot proceed without a commander-in-chief!"

"There is Dandanayaka! And Setupati!" Baahubali retorted.

"I must say, neither of them are even half as capable as your wife!" Sivagami snapped.

"She will not be participating!" Baahubali was resilient. "No, I will not hear of it!"

"Oh, yes you will," Devasena lashed out powerfully. "I am empowered enough to make my own decisions. And I chose to fight."

"And if you lose your life?" Baahubali demanded.

"I will be immensely proud that it was lost for a worthy cause," Devasena held her head high. "Is it not the duty of a kshatriya to protect her people? Or have you forgotten the preachings of kshatriya dharma altogether?"

Baahubali was at a loss of words. He could utter nothing in his defence, so instead, he remarked, "Your tongue is as sharp as your sword, Maharani."

Devasena smiled triumphantly, her fingers curling around the hilt of her sword.

♛ ♛ ♛

PREPARATIONS for the war were in full swing. Kattappa oversaw the workers of the armoury polish and sharpen weapons, oil war machinery and equipment, test the efficiency of swords and the effectiveness of armour. He also supervised the Maharani's training: she was practicing her swordsmanship with more vigour than ever, she spent hours perfecting her archery and sleepless nights reading of vyuhas.

When she asked Kattappa if he could help her out with a particular move she wasn't very good at, he responded, "We do not have enough time, Your Highness. It will take months to perfect that move."

"But of what use will I be in the war field without it, Kattappa?" she moped like a child being denied sweetmeats and candies.

"You are equivalent to Mahishmati's army!" Kattappa exclaimed, and seeing the doubtful look on her face, he added, "And no, Maharani, this is not false flattery. You are, truly, the army of the Gods, better than the Maharaja himself. But I beg of you, do not tell him I said that, he will have my head!" Kattappa chuckled.

Devasena smiled timidly. "I must thank you, Kattappa, for the hours you've spent training me. I truly owe you everything."

She bent in gratitude and touched the slave's mud-caked feet. When she rose, she could see tears glistening in his dark eyes.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE Maharaja's mind was in turmoil. He did not know how to weed out Bhallaladeva's men, for there were a great many in his army. He would never know which soldiers were Bhallaladeva's spies, which men would turn traitors on the battlefield.

He regretted disregarding Devasena's words: perhaps it would have been prudent to maintain another set of spies, perhaps he would've made a better king if he had not remained so gullible. It was shameful, he thought, that he had not suspected Bhallaladeva, shameful that he trusted his cousin, for now it had resulted in war, and not one or two, but thousands of innocent lives would be taken on the battlefield.

He sat in his quarters, roughly sketching an aerial view of the Mandala vyuha or the galaxy formation. It was a defensive formation, approximately circular, and very difficult to penetrate. The commander-in-chief would be situated at its centre, he recalled. This would minimise to a great degree the chances of Devasena befalling harm. She would lead the army surrounded by several smaller groups of soldiers, each group lead by a General.

He presented it to Rajamatha Sivagami later that evening, when they met the council of ministers to discuss the war. "It has been used multiple times, it is tried and tested," he explained to everyone present.

"Does that not mean they will be expecting it?" Dandanayaka asked.

"Most certainly not," Baahubali countered. "They will expect us to attempt something new, something that has not been experimented with."

"I approve," Sivagami proclaimed. "Unless there are spies," her shrewd and calculating eyes swept the room, "they will not find out."

"Even the walls have eyes and ears in this kingdom, Rajamatha!" Devasena raised her voice. "It is unwise to think they will not be informed of our plans. Does Bhallaladeva not possess every detail of Mahishmati's military? It would be abysmally foolish of us to think that he hasn't divulged all the information that he possesses. And even more foolish," her eyes swept the room just like Rajamatha's had, "to assume his cronies have left the court. He will be well-informed."

"I am afraid that is true," Sivagami admitted, looking crestfallen. "What do you suggest we do, Maharani?"

"My spies have come to me with useful information," Devasena spoke. "I have learned of Persian battle tactics in recent times: cavalry will be used in large numbers, there will be chariots and horsemen, thousands and thousands of war elephants. There will be ten thousand men armed with spears, swords and bows, and a separate set of archers firing waves of arrows before the battle. The Prince favours chariot attacks...he intends to scatter our army and take on either the Maharaja or me single-handedly."

"So we will prepare accordingly," Baahubali declared. "We cannot afford to lose. The Empire and its people are at stake."

Devasena spent hours with the men of the army: she trained the newcomers in whatever little time they had left, she practiced the galaxy formation until they could do it with their eyes closed and she inspected the weapons in the armoury.

"I have heard that the Persians possess an unbeatable sword!" one of her soldiers exclaimed. "Legend has it that it is called Sikander, passed down from generation to generation. The soldier wielding the sword is said to be invincible! How are we to fight an army incapable of being conquered?"

Devasena held up a hand, instantly silencing the man who spoke. "A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage!" she proclaimed, her tone powerful and authoritative. "These are baseless rumours, spread to intimidate our men. Pay no heed to them and concentrate on the task at hand!"

Kattappa, who was tending to the weapons at the armoury, added, "Years ago, Padshah Aslam Khan offered to sell twenty-thousand Sikanders to Mahishmati's imperial army. It was I who refused, for the Sikander is far too heavy for any of you to even lift, let alone wield! Trust me, it is no legendary sword: in fact, mine could slice its blade straight down the middle! Besides, with Maharaja Amarendra Baahubali and Maharani Devasena on our side, each one of us are an immortal army, an Amarasena! Jai Mahishmati!"

The soldiers raised their swords in unison and repeated the phrase with a newfound fervour. The war could not be lost.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE Persian army was expected to arrive at Mahishmati in two to three days, as per Kattappa's careful calculations. Commander-in-chief Devasena did not turn up in the training grounds that morning. The soldiers were scattered, they spoke amongst themselves and made merry until the Maharaja approached their training grounds. Immediately, they stood in an orderly fashion and a still silence fell upon them. When they saw the Emperor, they bowed in respect, dropping their swords to the floor and crossing their right hands over their chests.

The Maharaja nodded and gestured for them to rise. "Where is the commander-in-chief?" he demanded, his eyes searching the grounds for Devasena.

"Her Highness has not arrived, Your Majesty," one of the soldiers spoke, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the sandy ground.

Baahubali frowned. He knew that nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop the Maharani from arriving at the training grounds on time. Unless something untoward had happened. He turned abruptly, sprinting across the dusty grounds and through the grassy courtyard towards the Maharani's personal quarters.

He was terrified when he couldn't find her there. He sent for trusted servants immediately, instructing them to search the palace gardens and the antapura. He checked in the imperial library, his mothers' quarters, the court, and even the kitchens, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Fear crept over him: where had she gone? If something dire had happened, he would be solely responsible, nobody else was to blame. If she was injured, or harmed, he would have to answer her family in Kunthala. She had asked him for his opinion on a book she'd read about Persian warfare, he had promised her that they would discuss it together, but now that moment would never come, he realised.

And suddenly he could visualise it in his head: Devasena's dead body, lying in a pool of blood on the sandstone floor, her legs spread out in awkward angles, her hands tied behind her back, her dark eyes still and unfocussed. The thought haunted him: he felt immeasurable fear surge through every vein in his body, and it took him great strength to fight it and continue his search.

He looked in corridor after corridor, chamber after chamber, but the Maharani was nowhere to be found. He nearly cried out in desperation, but he stopped himself, for what good would it do? His soldiers would lose their newfound determination, and without enthusiasm, they would surely lose the war. Mahishmati would fall in the hands of his tyrant cousin and the people would suffer Bhallaladeva's wrath. No, he decided firmly, he would not allow that to happen. He would do everything in his power to ensure the welfare of the people, and for that, winning the war was essential.

He climbed a sandstone staircase, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and kicked open the double doors that lead to the highest balcony. He saw the Maharani, and relief flooded through his veins in an enormous measure. However, his face contorted into a frown when he realised that she was weeping.

He had never seen her shed tears, not once in their many months of marriage. She had not cried when she was largely outnumbered by the Pindari soldiers in the battle that had taken place in Kunthala, she had not cried when she left her home behind for him, unlike Princess Meher, who had weeped throughout her wedding. She had not cried after their bitter arguments, or even when war had been declared. She was his strength, his drive, and he could not help but wonder what had reduced her to tears.

"Devasena," his voice was soft but husky. "It's okay if you do not want to take part in this war. We can find a replacement even now, it is not too late, there is Dandanayaka, there is Setupati..."

"I would like nothing more than to partake in the war!" she turned, facing him, and he was disheartened to see her face drained of all colour. She was horribly pale, he could see dark circles beneath her eyes, she looked fatigued, tired and drained of all energy, but her eyes remained bold and effervescent. "I would do it even if it were the end of me! But..." her gaze faltered and her voice cracked. "I cannot." Tears cascaded down her pale cheeks, alarming the Maharaja.

He eyed her in confusion, but nevertheless, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and pulled her close to him. "What is wrong, Maharani?"

"Oh, I'm...I'm pregnant!" she finally admitted. "It is not right for me to risk the life of an heir of Mahishmati, a potential emperor, for this war, otherwise I would've done so without hesitation..."

But the rest of her words went unheard, for the Maharaja had wrapped his arms around her and silenced her with a gentle kiss on the lips.

♛ ♛ ♛

Chapter Text

RAJAMATHA Sivagami was delighted upon hearing the wonderful news of her daughter-in-law's pregnancy. She raised a hand to bless Devasena and smiled warmly at her son and his wife, her face radiating with happiness. However, she almost immediately turned grave and spoke in a low voice, "Nobody must know of this news."

"But why?" Baahubali asked. "I must tell mama, and Devasena's family in Kunthala have every right to know, Raja Jayasena, Kumara Varma..."

She shot her son a meaningful look and said, "There is a war going on! Do you not think our enemies will take advantage of the political instability? There are thousands of possibilities, why, the child could be killed before it is even born! Bhallaladeva will instruct his men to eliminate the child, for he is an heir to the throne, a potential Emperor! By announcing this news, as wonderful as it may be, you will put your wife and child in grave danger!"

Devasena could not agree more. This was a game of chaturanga, she realised, and there was only one end goal: survival. She would have to make her moves with utmost caution in order to safeguard her family and protect the throne of Mahishmati. One wrong move could result in peril.

"Rajamatha is correct," she told her husband. "We have already underestimated Bhallaladeva once. We know what he is capable of. The announcement can wait."

"Alright," Baahubali agreed, though reluctantly. "What will we tell the Mahasena?"

"Spin a believable story," Sivagami instructed. "Tell them the commander-in-chief is ill with jaundice, or perhaps smallpox, and she will be replaced by someone of equal calibre! And Maharani," her eyes met Devasena's, "You carry with you an heir of Mahishmati. For the love of Parameshwara, careful."

Devasena nodded obediently. She vowed to herself that she would protect the child, even if it was the last thing she lived to do.

♛ ♛ ♛

"I will send word to my brother," Devasena told her husband. "He will provide us with extra defences, a cavalry of five thousand men."

"We do not need to spill any more innocent blood, Devasena," he replied to her. "I know what you are about to say," he added, as she showed every sign of interruption, "that death is an inevitability in war. Think of the martyred soldiers! Their families! They have wives and young children, ageing parents, families to feed! If they die, due to some foolish squabble for power, who will tend to their loved ones?"

"Still," she persisted, "it is better to spill blood than to lose the empire to a tyrant like Bhallaladeva! He will unleash his wrath on the people of Mahishmati, how would you like that? He will heavily tax his citizens, grab their gold, make their lives miserable while he enjoys the luxuries of royalty, wine and the women of his harem!"

Baahubali had no choice but to grudgingly agree, for there was truth in her words: the Empire could not fall in Bhallaladeva's hands. Years of his mother's toiling would be put to waste, he would let down Kattappa mama and the people of Mahishmati. So he instructed a scribe to put down a letter to Raja Jayasena for troops and sent a trusted messenger to the kingdom of Kunthala. Raja Jayasena's response came the following morning: he would be able to provide a battalion of seven thousand men, they would arrive at Mahishmati that very evening.

The Maharaja announced that their commander-in-chief had, most unfortunately, contracted jaundice, and she was being looked after by Rajamatha Sivagami Devi and rajvaidya Yamuna with utmost care. Kattappa was to replace Devasena as commander-in-chief, while Dandanayaka would take up Kattappa's position. They went through their plans once more, checking for loopholes, discussing tactics, and planned carefully for the following morning. The Persian troops were expected to arrive in the early hours of the next day.

Nobody knew what the coming weeks had in store, the war could last just a day, like the one with the Kalakeyas had, or perhaps stretch into weeks and months, like many wars had in the past. Soldiers would die in thousands, the war would leave behind unfathomable damage, but like Maharani Devasena had said on multiple occasions, it was an inevitability. It was the duty of a true kshatriya to face war fearlessly, and nothing less was expected from the men of Mahishmati's army.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE Maharaja was in distress that night. He was not allowed to return to his chambers, for they had to camp on the war ground on the outskirts of the kingdom. His thoughts remained with the Maharani and his child. If the war stretched into months, would he be able to look after her? If he lost his life in the battlefield, he would never see his child, hold its hand, praise its swordsmanship. His mother would shoulder the burden of the kingdom once more, like she had done for twenty-five years, with Devasena by her side. And Devasena! He had wanted to tell her a thousand things, but he had had the opportunity only to say a brief goodbye, for she was hidden She would be widowed young, he thought ruefully, her suffering would be immeasurable. He pledged to himself that he would not allow that to happen. He would fight, take on Bhallaladeva and his standing army of fifty thousand men, for Devasena and for his unborn child. He would emerge victorious.

Kattappa entered the tent at that very moment and spoke to the Maharaja in a low voice, "Rajamatha Sivagami told me in private. Congratulations."

The Maharaja smiled weakly. "Thank you, mama."

His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Kattappa placed a firm hand on his shoulder and said, "Do not distress yourself. Maharani Devasena is in the company of Rajamatha Sivagami and rajvaidya Yamuna. She is healthy and wholesome, in fact, fit enough to oversee matters of the state in your absence."

"She is leaving her chambers?" he asked Kattappa in alarm.

"Of course not," Kattappa said. "Her spies are efficient enough to do her work even when she is not around."

Baahubali smiled. His wife had succeeded in doing what he could not, set up a close ring of trusted servants and spies who could fill in for her when she was incapacitated. "She is brilliant."

"Indeed," Kattappa nodded in agreement. "She does not say it aloud, but she worries for your safety. Perhaps you should send a message through a servant, or write a few words..."

"As long as you are by my side, the man who can kill me is yet to be born, mama!" Baahubali smiled. "Yes, I will write to her, she mustn't dwell on this."

He found himself some spare parchment and dipped his eagle-feathered quill in the pot of ink that sat atop his makeshift desk, and began curving letters into words:

Devasena—

I have been informed of your well-being, and nothing, nothing gives me more relief. I beg of you, do not distress yourself, it is only a war, which is, by your own admission, an inevitability. This too shall pass, Devasena, and we shall be together before you know it. Had the situation been different, you wouldn't have left my side, I am sure of that. Take good care of yourself and please, please do not worry for me. I have faced the Kalakeyas, the savages, on this very battlefield years ago, the civilised Persian army will be no challenge to our capabilities. I swear in the name of Parameshwara that I will emerge victorious, kindly do not get worked up, given your condition, it will not do any good.

Yours,

Amarendra

He placed his royal seal beside his signature and carefully rolled and sealed the scroll with melted wax. He was about to call out to an attendant...but he stopped himself. The letter could be intercepted, and if read in between the lines, anyone could figure out that there was a child. He requested Kattappa to give it to Devasena himself, for he trusted nobody more, and Kattappa gladly agreed to do him the favour.

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA ripped the envelope open, nearly damaging the parchment enclosed inside. Her eyes moved across the letter rapidly, taking in her husband's neat and curvy handwriting, he had written it for her himself, he had not instructed a scribe to do it. She caressed the parchment with her hand and smiled gently. This too shall pass, he had written, I will emerge victorious. She had complete faith in his capabilities, but she doubted his heart. Would he hesitate to kill Bhallaladeva? Would he spare Bhallaladeva's men to avoid bloodshed? Questions plagued her mind and she was left unsettled when she penned her reply:

Amarendra,

I have complete faith in you and the Mahasena that I have spent days training. I can assure you that I am not at all distressed. Do not divert your attention from the task at hand, the empire and its people are at stake. I am in the company of Rajamatha Sivagami and rajvaidya Yamuna. Nothing untoward will happen within the palace walls.

I have heard stories of your recklessness on the battlefield in the war with the Kalakeyas. Rajamatha tells me that you slashed your right hand minutes before the war, to offer blood to the war goddess. It was a foolish thing to do, barbaric, in fact, and if you thought it was an act of heroism, you were wrong! Please, for my sake, do not do something as mindless as that. I will pray for your victory.

Yours truly,

Devasena

She read the letter once before stamping her royal seal on the envelope. She handed the scroll to Kattappa and said, "He must prioritise the war, Kattappa. Ask him not to lose sleep over me."

Kattappa nodded in obligation. "Of course, Your Highness."

"And one more thing," she said, "Please ensure that he does not do anything reckless. He has a family this time round, he is no longer a Prince, he is the Emperor of Mahishmati!"

"I will tell him," Kattappa assured her. "You must rest, Maharani."

He bowed to her and took her leave, carefully tucking the letter she had given him into his cummerbund.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE pre-war rituals were being conducted with extreme vigour: the royal priests sat at the feet of the massive statue of Nisumbasudini, chanting Sanskrit mantras rapidly, offering the war goddess a mixture of vermillion in rose water, saffron in buffalo's milk, camphor mixed in the holy waters of the Mahishi river, rich sandalwood paste and golden turmeric water. The royal priest called for the Maharaja to perform the sacred blood sacrifice of the bull.

"I will not permit the bloodshed of an innocent animal!" he declared, just like he had during the war with the Kalakeyas, "when my own boiling blood can quench the Goddess's thirst!"

"That is a mindless thing to do!" Kattappa whispered to him. "Please don't...think of Devasena...what will she say?"

"I cannot go without sacrificing my blood," Baahubali protested. "We won the war last time, did we not?"

"Maharani Devasena asked me personally," Kattappa pressed, "to ensure that you do not do anything reckless. And I must obey her order, for my ancestors have sworn to serve the royals of Mahishmati!"

"She requested you," Baahubali corrected. "She did not command you. There is a difference."

"I assured her that you would not do anything barbaric!" Kattappa exclaimed.

"It is not barbaric," Baahubali replied indifferently. The fervour of war had made him completely deaf to his wife's words. Blood had to be spilled, the approaching army had to be conquered, that was all that mattered. "It is a time-honoured ritual."

Kattappa was beyond helpless when the Maharaja took his sword and sunk the blade deep into the centre of his right palm, drawing a substantial amount of blood. He flung his hand in the direction of the massive stone statue of Nisumbasudini, the war goddess his family had worshipped for centuries, and watched in satisfaction as droplets of blood struck the goddess's feet.

"In the name of Parameshwara!" Kattappa cried. "What will I tell Maharani Devasena?"

"That I was doing my duty, following the rajadharma of a true kshatriya."

Kattappa sighed in frustration. Rajamatha and the Maharani had been highly accurate: the Maharaja's heart was in the right place, but he could be thick-headed at times, and it was not right for an Emperor to remain so.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Meher paced restlessly in her tent. The Persian army had arrived in Mahishmati in the early hours of that morning, and the lengthy journey had tired everyone. The soldiers wanted to be fed, for they had not had a full meal in days, they were famished, and the idea of fighting a battle appealed to nobody. She decided that they had to invoke a certain vigour in them, a particular zeal that would drive them to fight for their country, and quickly, because they would launch their first attack within minutes.

The rituals were proceeding steadily: both Persian customs and Indian practices were being observed. A large statue of Bhallaladeva's war goddess, whom he called Nisumbasudini, had been erected in front of their tents. A wide variety of offerings were made to please the Goddess: odd combinations of expensive commodities were showered on her feet and the blood of a large bull was splashed liberally on her stone body.

Meher held the brass tray that contained Bhallaladeva's ceremonial sword. She presented it to him with her right hand, as per tradition. Her soft blue eyes met the Prince's intense, dark ones when she spoke, "Come back victorious, or do not come back at all."

He accepted the sword with his right hand, and kneeled at her feet as per custom, and whispered, "Of course, Princess."

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA was tremendously restless on the morning of the first attack. Rajamatha Sivagami Devi had left to the campsite, for there were tedious protocols to be followed, and rajvaidya Yamuna too had accompanied her, for she needed to tend to injured soldiers.

She continued to read the book she had borrowed from the imperial library, but her eyes simply swept through the text without taking in the words or their meanings. Her thoughts were on the battlefield. Which phase of the attack had been launched? Which method had the Persians used to defend themselves? How many men had been injured, and how many lost?

Amarendra, she knew, was practically immortal on the war field, doing complete justice to his name. No weapon could touch him, nobody even dared to near him when he was on the battlefield. And Kattappa would be beside him, Kattappa would never leave his side. The only form of injury he would sustain would most probably be self inflicted: she knew he would've slashed through the flesh on his hand and ceremonially sacrificed his blood, in the fervour of war, her words would've gone unheard.

She went to her personal puja quarters and sat helplessly, deep in prayer. She put together a setup suitable for puja: a miniature statue of the war goddess, Nisumbasudini, sat upon a silver plank, there were sacks containing petals of roses and chrysanthemums, waiting to be offered, incense sticks of sandalwood burning, leaving swirls of bluish grey smoke in the room, earthen pots of turmeric water, sandalwood paste, water from the holy river of Mahishi, a mixture of jaggery and rose water, camphor infused in milk, thick yogurt and freshly melted butter, extract from the leaves of the holy basil. She softly chanted mantras in Sanskrit, occasionally referring to scrolls she'd taken from the library earlier, for she was still unaccustomed to Mahishmati's traditions. The worship of a war goddess was entirely new to her: the only one she'd ever worshipped was Lord Narayana. She had adored him in his various forms: the seven avatars, Lord Srinivasa at the sacred hills of Tirupati, Lord Ranganatha at the island of Srirangam. The idea of worshipping multiple Gods overwhelmed her. The royal priest had advised her to pray to the larger power, or the Paramathma, for all the Gods were one. The Paramathma assumed different forms to please different people, he had said. But she still remained confused and muddled.

The final offering called for blood, so she took out her own dagger, which was hidden beneath the folds of her silk saree, and pressed it against the skin on her thumb. She held out a vial, collecting the dripping blood with utmost care. When the bleeding ceased, she realised that the vial was only half-filled. Exhaling sharply, she ran the edge of the blade through the palm of her hand, drawing more blood than she had the first time round. She placed her heavily bleeding palm on the statue of the Goddess and watched, with immense satisfaction, as the blood dripped down Nisumbasudini's face, the slope of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and onto her perfectly sculpted feet.

"Jai Mahishmati," the Maharani whispered, completing the ritual successfully.

♛ ♛ ♛

A heavy downpour had temporarily halted the war that evening. Maharaja Baahubali and his men were rejoicing, for they had eliminated much of the Persian army in the first two attacks: their defences had been excellent, and their offensive moves equally good, if not better. The army retired to their tents early, for it was against the code of war to fight in such extreme weather, they would have to wait for the rain to cease. They were fed steaming hot food, and rajvaidya Yamuna, along with her team of physicians, tended to their injuries.

Yamuna was assigned the Maharaja's tent. She bandaged his bleeding hand and gave him a stern telling-off, for she knew that Maharani Devasena had asked him particularly not to slash at his flesh.

"Maharani Devasena will be very disappointed in you," she said severely. "She will not approve of this. As it is, she is losing sleep. What she will do when she hears of this, I do not know..."

"She is losing sleep?" he asked her, rising from his seat.

"She is wholesome and healthy, Your Highness, there is nothing to worry about..." Yamuna began, but the Maharaja had thrown a cloak over his head and left the tent already.

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA had been overcome by a sudden childish desire to stand in the rain. There was something real, something raw about the rain: she was fascinated by the way it pelted onto the sandstone floor like hailstones, intrigued by the way it felt against her warm skin. So she stood in her balcony, rejoicing the smell and taste of the rainwater that had come after so long, until she felt a pair of strong hands wrap themselves around her waist.

Her eyes widened, but she regained her composure as soon as she realised that it was her husband. "Amarendra!" she whispered softly, thanking her stars that he was home, beside her, holding her in his arms.

"Maharani," he said in an equally quiet voice, gently pressing his lips against her earlobe. He held her close to him, wrapping both his arms around her, and neither of them seemed to mind the heavily pouring rain.

But the euphoria of seeing her soon wore off, for he said sternly, "It is unwise for you to stand here, Devasena," and escorted her back into her chambers. "What if you had slipped? Are you aware of what you are risking? You might catch a cold, develop a fever..." he rested her on the divan, and his eyes fell on the cut across the palm of her hand. He took her hand in his and traced his fingers along the mark that it had left. "Explain this, Devasena." His voice was dangerously quiet and his eyes looked as though they would emit sparks.

She simply glanced at the bandage that was wrapped around his hand and raised a sharp eyebrow. "You owe me an answer first. I specifically asked you not to offer blood."

"That was different!" the Maharaja was seething. "I had an obligation towards my people, it is kshatriya dharma, you do not understand!"

"Oh?" she asked him. "I do not understand?"

"You are evading my question!" he exclaimed angrily, but his tone softened considerably when he said, "Answer me, Maharani."

"It was nothing," she attempted to brush it off, but he shot her a menacing glare and she recoiled. "I performed a ritual. For Nisumbasudini. And the last offering called for blood."

"So you offered your own?" he demanded furiously.

"Just like you did!" she retorted indignantly.

"As much as I would like to treat you as my equal, you must bear in mind your condition," his tone had softened once more, and he emphasised on the last word, his eyes lingering on her stomach.

"What is going on here?" Rajamatha Sivagami had entered their chamber hurriedly, only to find her son and daughter-in-law in a heated argument. "Baahubali—are you not required at the campsite?"

"I was informed that Devasena was losing sleep," Baahubali said quietly. "I could not go without seeing her."

"Then what on earth were you yelling at her for?" Sivagami demanded. "Surely you are aware of her condition?"

"Look what she has done to herself!" Baahubali yanked Devasena's pale hand and lifted it up for Sivagami to see the drying blood and the ugly scar that ran through the middle of her palm.

"Devasena!" Sivagami exclaimed. "I thought you'd know better..."

"He has done the same!" Devasena defended herself. She wrestled her hand out of his and showed Rajamatha her husband's bandaged hand. The blood had soaked through the bandage and it threatened to drip onto his robes. "In fact, he's slashed at his flesh, the cut is much deeper! See, it won't stop bleeding!" she yelled shrilly. "And tomorrow morning, he will be wielding a sword...whereas I will sit here, without knowing who is alive and who is dead..."

Baahubali immediately wrapped his arms around his wife. "I'm sorry, Maharani...for being harsh. But you must understand...please do not do anything reckless...for me, for our child!"

"I told you the exact same thing!" Devasena was relentless. "I wrote to you...asking you specifically not to offer your blood, and you did exactly that!"

"I am sorry," Baahubali said diligently. "I truly am. It was the fervour of war...I longed to lead my men to victory, and spilling blood seemed to increase their drive by a thousandfold."

Devasena did not have the strength to say anything more, so she simply accepted his apology, for he had seemed sincere, and moreover, he would be leaving again in a few hours' time, he could be gone for days or weeks, or, God forbid, months. She decided that it was best to enjoy her husband's company when she could, fighting would not do, not in times like these. So she allowed him to tear off a portion of his robes and wrap it around her injured hand.

"I cannot prevent the scarring," he said disdainfully. "But this should clot the blood."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Will you sleep well, Maharani?" he asked.

"Will you survive tomorrow's battle?" she questioned.

Neither of them could say for sure. She rested her head on his chest and prayed that the war would come to a close. He placed his hands gently on her stomach, praying that nothing should tear his family apart.

♛ ♛ ♛

AMARENDRA returned to the campsite that night, for the rain looked as though it would cease by the dawn that followed. He genuinely hoped Devasena had slept, he hoped she would take care of herself, for both his mother and rajvaidya Yamuna would be in the campsite until the war came to an end.

He had let Devasena keep his ceremonial sword. He had needed it only for the first days' rituals, and she had presented him with hers in return. They had promised each other, with Rajamatha as their witness, to try, to the best of their capabilities, not to shed any more blood.

He had discussed the war with her, and she had supplied him with ideas for strategies and formations.

"You must kill Bhallaladeva," she had said, "He is the reason they are able to fight this war. If he is eliminated, they will surrender and retreat back to their own land."

"He is my brother," Baahubali had said quietly. "He only just married, he has a wife who worries for him the same way you worry for me..."

"Do you know that his wife is the mastermind behind this war?" she had snapped. "She was the one who suggested that they flee to Persia and declare war! She is working for her motherland, not for Bhallaladeva, not for Mahishmati! You must harden your heart, you are no longer a Prince, you are an Emperor!"

He sighed recalling their conversation, realising, deep down, that there was some truth in her words. Bhallaladeva had to be killed, and if he did not do it, he was sure that she would.

The war raged on for five days more without a clean outcome. Neither side wanted to surrender, so they launched attack after attack, and soldiers died in thousands. On the sixth day, however, Baahubali's army faced the first challenge. Bhallaladeva had employed the Chakravyuha.

"It is only right that I penetrate through the formation!" Baahubali told Kattappa. "I am the Maharaja, it is my duty!"

"Stop talking nonsense," Kattappa snapped at him. "It is nearly impossible to come out of the Chakravyuha, surely you are aware..."

"Nearly impossible," Baahubali said. "Not completely."

Kattappa sighed in resignation. He knew that nothing could change the Maharaja's mind now, arguing with him would be futile. He helplessly adhered to protocol and announced the formation that they would be using in defence: the Garuda vyuha, with Maharaja Baahubali leading the first thousand men, Dandanayaka leading the next thousand, and himself leading the last set.

They were, he realised, taking an enormous risk. The likelihood of even thirty percent of their men surviving was extremely slim. But the Maharaja refused to take back his command.

♛ ♛ ♛

DEVASENA had not left her chambers in six days. Rajamatha visited her if she was not at the campsite and they had lengthy conversations: they talked of the war, of the Maharaja's younger days. They talked about Devasena's child, wondered whether it would be a son or a daughter, debated about who the child would take after.

But these conversations were rare, for Rajamatha was fully occupied at the campsite for hours on end, and if she did return to the palace, she was drained and overworked, far too exhausted to share a full length exchange with her daughter-in-law.

Devasena suffered from boredom. Her life had turned mundane, for she was not allowed to step out of her chambers. She was not allowed to roam the palace gardens, or spend long hours at the imperial library, or even wander the palace's long and winding corridors. She had been given a stern telling off for just standing at her balcony. It was not worth risking, Rajamatha had told her. The servants would realise that she was not ill with jaundice, after which they would put two and two together and conclude that she was carrying a child.

The story would spread like wildfire, even the neighbouring kingdoms would come to know, and there was a possibility that somebody, working from behind the scenes, would attempt kill the child before it even saw the face of the earth. Devasena did not want to take the risk, but her monotonous routine was leaving her frustrated and short-tempered. When she could no longer bare her foul mood, she asked Rajamatha for permission to visit the bazaar on the outskirts of the capital city. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she could catch a glimpse of the Maharaja at the campsite. Rajamatha had agreed, though reluctantly, on the condition that the Maharani went in disguise.

Devasena dressed as a fortune teller: her silk saree was replaced with a flowing cotton choli. She covered her face with a translucent veil, allowed her hair to cascade down her shoulders and removed all her jewellery. She genuinely hoped that she would blend into the bazaar, relying on the crowds of the market to camouflage her height, her commanding nature and royal aura.

She surreptitiously left the palace and reached the bazaar on her horse, a white Arabian stallion. She regretted it as soon as she reached the markets: her horse's well-groomed, sleek fur and glinting hooves drew attention, and it was quite evident that she was no commoner. A crowd had gathered at the marketplace's entrance, refusing to budge. Devasena stood on the edge of her toes, craning her neck to see what was holding the crowd.

They were whispering animatedly amongst themselves, and Devasena could not help but catch a few words here and there: "...they say Bhallaladeva is dead!" a balding man told his stout wife.

"...he employed the Chakravyuha! Maharaja Baahubali penetrated through..." a merchant chattered away to his customers.

The Chakravyuha! Surely not, Devasena thought. The war-ground was too little, there were not enough men. And Maharaja Baahubali had penetrated through? She did not know whether she would tell him off for being reckless or simply admire his bloodcurdling courage. The Persian army would be retreating, she knew, and they wouldn't dare return, for without Bhallaladeva, they were impotent on the war field. Padshah Aslam Khan was too old, too weak to lead troops, Crown Prince Abul was too young, too inexperienced, and Meher could not tell one end of a sword from another.

She contained her excitement with great difficulty: she repeated to herself that these were rumours, mere merchant tales, she could not be sure of Bhallaladeva's death until she saw his lifeless body herself, she could not be sure of Baahubali's victory until she saw him with her own eyes. She parted the crowd hurriedly, it was fairly easy for her to do so because of her towering height, and proceeded towards the front. She saw Kattappa first, seated atop his horse, his armour was dented and sword covered in blood. Blood dripped from his balding head and scarred hands, making the Maharani slightly nauseous. Her eyes swept across the standing army, hoping to spot the familiar face she was looking for, but she could not see him.

Her breathing shallowed, she felt numbness surge through her veins. Had he been killed? I will not hesitate to lie down my life for my people, he had said during his coronation. Had he done just that? Grief would not come, she was too numb to feel upset or angry. Everything surrounding her seemed to abruptly stop: she could no longer hear the crowd's whispers, she could not hear the merchants calling out their wares, she could not smell the aromatic tea that the chai sellers sold, she could not see the colourful silks that were on display at the shop opposite her. Pearls of sweat formed on her hairline and her veil came sliding off, revealing her expressionless face. Kattappa was the first to see her, and almost immediately, he rode towards her, saying, "He is alive, Maharani."

Relief poured through every nerve, vein and fibre of her body and she regained her senses instantaneously. She wanted to ask Kattappa a thousand questions: where was the Maharaja? Why wasn't he here? Was he injured? Did he lose a limb? But the slave ushered her out of the crowd, for they clamoured to see her, they would lose control and knock her off her horse.

"He is still alive, Maharani," Kattappa repeated. "Come."

There was, however, something unsettling about Kattappa's tone that alarmed Devasena.

"Still alive?" the Maharani questioned, her voice unsteady. Kattappa did not respond.

They rode out of the bazaar safely, just managing to escape the commotion of the crowd, and rode towards the campsite where the soldiers had stayed during the war. Kattappa escorted her to the Maharaja's tent.

He was lying on a makeshift divan, his eyes were still open. Devasena could hear his shallow breathing. There was blood all over his broad chest, blood oozing out of a cut on his forearm, blood spilling from a deep gash on his stomach. Rajvaidya Yamuna, along with her team of physicians, were working frantically: they wiped the blood with sterilised cotton cloths, they cleaned minor grazes on his arms and face, they bandaged his wounds, but the bleeding would not stop. He whimpered in protest, begged them to stop, but they paid no heed to his disapproval.

"Give it here!" Devasena went forward and grabbed a bandage from rajvaidya Yamuna. She looked at the blood on her husband's body and added, "Bandaging will not stop this bleeding!"

"We normally use a paste of turmeric and ginger," Yamuna told her, "But we are low on supplies, Your Highness."

"Bring me whatever you have!" she ordered, her voice shrill and high pitched. Immediately, a pair of attendants left the tent, and returned with the required supplies. She took it from them impatiently and hurriedly made a paste out of the handful of turmeric powder and essence of ginger. She smeared it on a wincing Amarendra, muttering a sincere prayer to her family deity as she did so.

He began coughing loudly, and with immense difficulty, sat up. He spat out blood, staining the creamy cushions of the divan and the Maharani's skirt.

"Sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible, his throat evidently sore.

"Shut up!" Devasena screamed. "Do not speak to me, it will weaken you..."

She continued tending to his wounds; he slipped in and out of consciousness, losing blood at an alarming rate. The colour was rapidly draining from his face, he grew paler and paler with every passing moment.

It was only after cleaning his wounds a second time that she noticed a small arrowhead protruding from his chest. "Why wasn't this removed?" she demanded angrily. "What if it had turned septic and infected his bloodstream?"

Rajvaidya Yamuna set to work immediately: she carefully removed the arrowhead using her equipment, cleaned the wound with plenty of water and applied a paste of turmeric atop it.

"There is nothing to worry about, Your Highness," she assured Devasena. "He has faced worse, lost more blood, sustained more injury, on previous occasions. He will recover in no time."

She thanked Yamuna sincerely and awarded the young physician with a pouch of gold coins. She then turned to speak to Kattappa, "This was Bhallaladeva's doing, was it?"

"I am afraid so, Your Highness," he responded. "Baahubali decided to penetrate through the Chakravyuha, knowing fully well that it was practically impossible to come out. I tried talking him out of the idea...but he refused to listen."

"Kattappa," Devasena interrupted. "How did Bhallaladeva's men employ the Chakravyuha? Does it not require a larger battleground and more men?"

"He employed a smaller, scaled-down version," Kattappa explained. "In theory, it is the same idea."

"I see." Devasena waited for Kattappa to continue his narration.

"We penetrated through the formation with surprising ease," Kattappa resumed, "Once we were inside, however...it was Baahubali taking on Bhallaladeva single-handedly."

Of course, Devasena thought. She could picture it clearly: Baahubali using his sword, Bhallaladeva a spear, the two of them at each others' neck, wrestling each other to the floor, Bhallaladeva using his bare hands to tear out Baahubali's limbs.

"How was Bhallaladeva killed?" Devasena asked.

"Bhallaladeva began violating the ethics of war," Kattappa told her. "He tried ripping Baahubali's flesh open, he was fighting with his bare hands, like a barbarian!"

Devasena wanted to gag, but with great effort, refrained from doing so.

"Baahubali pinned him to the ground," Kattappa continued, "and looked him in the eye for a moment, asked him questions regarding dharma..."

Devasena felt like facepalming. Did Baahubali think he was holding court, or fighting for his life on a war field?

"I know, Maharani," Kattappa smiled looking at the dumbfounded expression on her face. "Only your husband can do such a thing. He punched Bhallaladeva, kicked him, weakened him, but he did not intend to kill. Bhallaladeva's men were shooting arrows at the Maharaja, one even aimed a spear. That's what caused the cut on his stomach. Baahubali's armour had come off during the wrestle. He was losing blood, and still, he refused to kill Bhallaladeva. So I had to step in. It was my sword that took Bhallaladeva's life."

Kattappa gingerly eyed his sword, which lay on the bedside table. It was coated with drying blood and debris.

"You did the right thing, Kattappa," Devasena told him. "Bhallaladeva deserved nothing less."

Chapter Text

THE week that followed the war proved to be harder than the war itself: the dead had to be cremated, the damage had to be seen to. Parts of the capital city required reconstruction, weapons in the armoury needed replacement. It turned out that rajvaidya Yamuna's words bore truth in them: the Maharaja had survived worse injuries, he had lost more blood and broken more bones on previous occasions. He recovered under Maharani Devasena and Rajamatha Sivagami's care. He was fed only bland and watery porridges three times a day for two entire weeks, until he grew irritable and commanded the kitchens to prepare a full meal. His cuts and gashes eventually scarred, he no longer required bandages or the paste of turmeric, salt and ginger that stung at his skin.

Rajamatha decided that it was the right time to announce the Maharani's pregnancy. A letter bearing Mahishmati's crest and the Maharani's personal seal were sent to Kunthala first, before the royal announcer travelled the length and breadth of the Empire to broadcast the news.

The Maharani began accompanying the Maharaja to court once more. The ministers valued her opinion, the nobles did not speak without her consent. She conducted lengthy debates when time permitted, sometimes she told stories of Kunthala, she spoke of the Srivaishnava faith, she described in detail the temples she had visited: Tirupati, situated amidst gently rising hills, was a whole different level of serenity, and Srirangam, located on an island south of Mahishmati, would redefine one's purpose. She gave speeches on the dharma of a true kshatriya and spoke of the qualities of an ideal king. She exchanged books with nobles who were willing, gave advise to anyone who asked for it and with each passing day, she learned more and more about kingship.

She spent time with the Emperor after they dismissed court: they would place bets on whether the child would be a daughter or a son, they would spend hours pouring through books taken from the imperial library, trying to decide on a suitable name. Rajamatha had jewellery designed: rings and girdles and even a small crown, the Empress's family sent gifts from Kunthala: expensive silks and carefully sculpted toys, even a rattle made of gold.

The Emperor had dinner brought out to the terrace on full moon nights, and they ate their meals gazing at the myriad stars that dotted the inky black sky. The Maharani would borrow children's books from the imperial library: stories of monkeys and crocodiles, storks and crabs, tales of wise brahmins and witty ministers, and she and the Emperor would take turns reading them aloud to their child, impersonating the characters: they would roar when they read the lion's dialogues, squeak when they read the mouse's. The Emperor spoke of kshatriya dharma, he spoke of duties and kingship, war and sacrifice, sincerely hoping that his son or daughter would follow his teachings.

There were days wherein the Empress would grow bored of being confined within the palace walls, so Amarendra would take her to the marketplace in disguise. He would buy her thick strings of heavily scented jasmine to adorn her silky hair, sometimes a piece of jewellery that had taken her fancy. Once, Devasena's eyes had lingered on a piece of silk that had been put on display, and the very next morning, she found it lying on her bedside table.

They drank cups of rich, aromatic chai, spiced with cinnamon and cardamom, or sometimes warm and creamy almond milk, tinted yellow with saffron and turmeric. He would buy her raw mangoes, sliced and sprinkled with salt and chilli powder, and feed it to her piece by piece. On certain occasions, they would stroll down the winding streets, hand in hand, simply look at the little shops and share lengthy conversations.

On their free evenings, they visited temples of Devasena's liking, shrines of Lord Ram and Lady Sita, Lord Krishna and Lady Rukmini. She chanted the verses of the Vishnu Sahasranamam, or the thousand and eight names of Lord Vishnu regularly, praying for a safe delivery and a healthy child. He had rituals conducted in the Shiva temple within the palace: he instructed the royal priest to offer a hundred and eight different commodities to the Shivalinga, a few of which included buffalo's milk, thick yoghurt, turmeric water, ground camphor infused in the holy waters of the Mahishi, extract of rose petals and melted butter.

They plucked vegetables fresh from the palace gardens themselves: plump tomatoes the colour of blood, violet brinjals and okras the colour of grass. They brought out vessels to the gardens and cooked meals together: warm and buttery gravies accompanied with soft wheat rotis, brinjals cooked whole in a paste of roasted peanuts, spiced with cloves, bay leaves and cinnamon, potatoes roasted golden in their jackets, curries made of okra, mild lentils mixed with steaming rice.

If the Maharani grew weary at the end of a tiresome day, the Maharaja would give her an elaborate body massage, rubbing warm sandalwood oil into the soles of her feet and expertly kneading it into her shoulders until she drifted into a sound sleep.

In the Maharani's seventh month of pregnancy, Rajamatha Sivagami hosted an extravagant Seemantham. However, she did not wish to invite kings and queens of neighbouring kingdoms, for she feared that her daughter-in-law would become a victim of the evil eye. Devasena's family from Kunthala and the royals of Mahishmati were the only invitees.

"These things go here, the flowers there!" Kattappa instructed the servants, who were arranging various commodities and heaps of gifts within the mandap.

Rajamatha Sivagami and Devasena's sister-in-law adorned her in a saree of deep maroon for the occasion. Gold and diamond shimmered on every part of her body: she wore more jewellery than she had on her wedding day.

Rajamatha had personally designed jewellery for her: diamonds cut in the shape of swans, representing the kingdom she had come from, were affixed on her rings. Swans, Rajamatha had told her, were divine birds. The swan's greatest ability was to separate water from milk from a mixture of both, to separate adharma from dharma, just like Devasena had throughout her time as Maharani. They embodied grace and beauty, symbolised love, trust and loyalty, Rajamatha had said, all of which the Empress possessed.

An elaborate feast had been prepared by the royal kitchens: there were stacks of crisp, golden brown vadas, barrels of snowy white payasam, pots of tamarind rice or pulihora, curd rice seasoned with mustard seeds and curry leaves, plates of fresh fruits: sweet Kashmiri apples, plump oranges, golden mangoes from the royal orchards, ripe pomegranates, round green watermelons and clusters of red bananas. There was pachadi made of raw mangoes, a wide variety of milk sweets, lentils and white rice, as well as a spicy curry made of cabbage, which the Emperor wouldn't allow Devasena to touch. "It's far too spicy, rajvaidya Yamuna told you not to eat spicy foods!" he had told her sternly when she reached for a helping.

The rituals proceeded smoothly: the onlookers present smeared a paste of turmeric and milk onto the Maharani's glowing, radiant face, and applied vermillion on the parting of the hair. Her hands were decorated with bangles of gold, studded with ruby and emerald. Her sister-in-law had gifted her with gold for her son or daughter, Rajamatha a violet silk saree in addition to the jewellery she had presented earlier.

"Kattappa?" Devasena addressed the slave, who had not presented her with anything.

"Your Highness?" Kattappa responded promptly.

"What did you bring for me, Kattappa?" she asked him.

"Your Highness," Kattappa's voice lowered to a whisper. "I am nothing but a lowly slave. What can I possibly gift an Empress like you?"

"If I ask you for something, something you will be able to gift...will you give it to me?" she asked, her words drenched in hope.

"Ask me, Your Highness," Kattappa said.

"According to the customs of Kunthala, the child is handed to its grandfather after it is born, who blesses it to see a thousand full moons. Both Amarendra and I do not have fathers. Will you do the honour of holding our child, Kattappa?" Devasena asked.

Kattappa's eyes were filled with tears. "I do not even have rights to stand beside you, Your Highness. And you are asking me to take the place of your child's grandfather! I will hold your child, not in my hands, but on my head!"

Amarendra and Devasena smiled, silently thanking their family deities for a father figure like Kattappa.

♛ ♛ ♛

"Am I late?" Kumara Varma had arrived from Kunthala, laden with presents for the Empress.

"No, no please come," Amarendra gripped his hand and welcomed him back to Mahishmati.

He took a rug made of tigers' skin from a brass tray and presented it to Devasena. "A rug of tigers' skin for the tigress's little tiger to crawl and play!"

Devasena accepted the gift with a warm smile.

"Do you know that your uncle hunted down the tiger himself?" Devasena's sister-in-law mentioned with a smile.

"Is that true?" Devasena looked at Kumara Varma ecstatically.

"If Baahubali's knife is in your hand and his words in your heart, even a child can can hunt down a tiger!" Kumara Varma proclaimed.

The Emperor nodded proudly and opened his arms wide, giving Kumara Varma a sturdy hug.

On the night of the Seemantham, the recital of the verses of the Uthakashanthi Japam took place. They were recited by the royal priests in the very hall in which the ceremonies had taken place in the morning. On the completion of the recital, the Maharani was ceremonially bathed in the bone-chilling waters of the holy Mahishi river by Rajamatha and her sister-in-law. She was given mangala aarthi by the older women, after which they performed a ritual to please her family deity. When the ceremony finally came to a close, the Maharani was drained of energy. She was sweating profusely when she entered her bedchamber for the night.

The Emperor wiped her damp forehead with his angavastram, removing the turmeric, vermillion and sandalwood paste along with the sweat. Her face continued to glow with a brilliance similar to that of the full moon.

"I did not gift you anything," the Emperor told her. They sat at the edge of their bed, her head titled and resting on his shoulder.

"You dismissed the court and graced me with your presence," she responded. "What more can I ask for?"

He swung his hand around her shoulder and spoke, "I have something for you, Maharani." He extracted a small, ornate chest from beneath their bed and handed her the keys. "Open it, Devasena."

She did as she was told: she slid the key into the keyhole, turned it clockwise and lifted the lid open. Inside the chest was a set of tiny robes, made of red Kanchipuram silk, embroidered with a beautiful zari of gold.

"For our daughter or son," he said. "I made them myself."

Tears of happiness threatened to spill from the Empress's eyes as she stroked the velvety material. He had made them himself, he had not asked a tailor, he did not buy it from a merchant. He had used a needle and thread and he had done it by hand. He had sewn the soft fabric together with perfect, minuscule stitches, he had embroidered the zari with fine threads of gold, weaving them into intricate patterns, for her child, their child. He wanted the child to be loved, loved and cherished, raised into a fine young Prince or Princess, just as much as she did, and nothing gave her more happiness.

"It's...beautiful," she managed finally, her words filled with gratitude. She lifted the robes with unsteady hands and admired them from different angles. It was a present far more expensive than the gold or diamonds, she thought, for the Maharaja had spent time on it, hours and hours, probably. Money spent could be earned back but time would be gone forever.

"Do you think it is a boy or a girl?" he asked her, once she'd finished looking at the robes and tucked them safely back inside the chest. They lay down beside each other, and she allowed him to wrap his arms around her.

"A boy," she responded immediately.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just have a strong instinct. I could be wrong," Devasena said, shrugging indifferently.

"I hope you are," Baahubali replied. "I want a daughter."

"A daughter?" she repeated, raising a sharp eyebrow.

"Yes, a daughter," he reaffirmed. "She will grow up wielding swords, reading about vyuhas, running around the palace gardens, inspecting the armoury, learning archery, and troubling Kattappa mama just like Bhallaladeva and I did."

It was the first time he had taken Bhallaladeva's name after the war. Devasena glanced at him, deep in thought, before she asked, "Do you regret Bhallaladeva's death?"

"No, Devasena," he responded. "He did not deserve to live. However...I will forever be sorry that Princess Meher was widowed at such a young age. She would have had dreams of her own, maybe she wanted to birth children, watch them grow, have a family..."

"Maybe," Devasena said, still deep in thought. Was Meher still in Persia? Or perhaps in another kingdom, married to another prince? What about Prince Abul? And Padshah Aslam Khan? She decided that she would have her spies find out, she was too fragile, too delicate to do so herself. With numerous questions plaguing her mind, she drifted into an unsound sleep.

She woke hours later, with a sudden intense desire for gulab jamuns. She remembered the first time she had eaten them, when she had dined with Baahubali's family on the night of her arrival in Mahishmati. She smiled: Amarendra had just been crown prince, just Yuvaraja, and she had been a princess. They had only been engaged, not married, and it was before Meher had laid her eyes on Bhallaladeva, before the traumatising war had taken place.

She sighed as she threw aside the silk blanket that covered her and got out of bed surreptitiously, careful not to wake the Emperor. She lit a torch, waving away the servants who offered to help, and proceeded down the hallway, down the long and winding corridor and down a flight of stairs to the royal kitchens. There were usually a set of servants who would see to midnight snacks and late dinners. However, that day, they had been sent to their quarters for the night, because they had worked extra hours to prepare the Seemantham feast.

She let out a sharp breath, deciding that she would make the dessert herself, and stepped into the storeroom in search of ingredients. She did not notice that a small jug of water had tipped over a few feet ahead of where she stood. The water was streaming from the mouth of the jug towards where she was, and when she placed her foot inside the storeroom, she began slipping.

Terror flooded every cell in her body: she was frightened beyond imagination, she had never been so petrified ever before. She was risking not one life, but two. She waited for her head to collide against the sandstone floor, she waited for the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, for a sharp pain to pass through her head, but it did not happen. Instead, she felt a pair of strong, sturdy arms grip her own, and she exhaled in relief, the fear evaporating from her nerves as soon as it had come.

"Amarendra!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I did not want to wake you..."

"What are you doing here at this hour, Devasena?" He guided her towards the kitchen table, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

"I was hungry, and the servants had been sent back to their quarters..." she began.

"You should've woken me!" he exclaimed indignantly. He did not let go of her shoulders. "What if you had slipped and fallen? What if I hadn't been there for you? In the name of Parameshwara—"

"I know you'll always be there for me, Amarendra," she interrupted, seating herself at the table. "You promised, didn't you?"

Baahubali recalled the events of the night that had occurred months and months ago: they had fought their first battle together, he had taught her the three arrow technique, she had grasped it almost immediately, she had pointed her sword at him, flung a torch at his robes. And he had promised to protect her until death did them apart.

"Yes," he replied, mildly dazed by the memories that had come flooding back. "I did. Now, what would you like to have?" he asked her.

"What?" she asked.

"What would you like to eat, Maharani?" he repeated.

"You don't have to take the trouble to make it!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, yes I do," he responded. "Tell me, what would you like to have?"

"Gulab jamuns," she told him. "I'm sorry, I did not anticipate a craving at this odd hour, I did not want to wake you..."

"Do not apologise," he brushed it off. Amarendra proceeded into the storage room and cleaned the spilt water with a rag he found lying on the floor. He extracted the required ingredients from their respective shelves: white sugar, pods of cardamom, petals of paneer roses, flour, fresh butter, creamy milk, thick yoghurt and a handful of pistachios. He set to work immediately: first he lit a fire and boiled a jugful of water, to which he added extract from the rose petals. He prepared a thick and sticky syrup of sugar and cardamom and set it aside to cool. Within minutes, he had fried little balls of dough, the size of marbles, in boiling ghee. He dropped the little gulab jamuns in the syrup and left it on the counter to cool.

He warmed a goblet of milk for the Maharani to drink while the dessert cooled and tinted it with saffron. "Have this in the meanwhile," he told her, handing her the goblet. "The gulab jamuns are cooling."

She took the goblet from him and eyed him with immense admiration. He was an Emperor, he had servants and attendants to see to his every need. He had a standing army of thirty-thousand men, an entire Empire at his command. He did not have to go down on his knees and wipe spilt water with a dirty rag, he did not have to wake in the dead of the night and stand in the sultry kitchen to make her gulab jamuns. But he had done it all, simply because he loved her, he wanted to see her happy.

"Thank you," she said with utmost sincerity. "I really appreciate—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Her hands immediately shot down to her bulging stomach. She had felt an abrupt movement, the baby had kicked for the first time. She immediately grabbed Amarendra's hands and placed them on her stomach.

"Can you feel it?" she asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

He waited for the movement, but it did not come. His face was crestfallen when he said, "No."

Her smiled faltered. "You didn't?"

He removed his hands from her stomach and shook his head sadly. "Next time, Maharani." He served her the sweet, which had cooled. He watched her bite into the plump dessert and smiled with earnesty: she was delighted, delighted like a child as she ate, savouring every bite.

After she had finished, he escorted her back to their chambers, firmly gripping her hand. She slept as soon as her eyes shut, but sleep would not come to him. The image of her slipping in the storeroom refused to leave his mind.

♛ ♛ ♛

AFTER the court had been dismissed the following day, Amarendra, Devasena and Rajamatha sat at the Maharani's chambers, flipping through a number of books containing children's names. They had done so on many occasions previously, but they had not come to a clean conclusion.

"If it is a girl," Amarendra said, "which I'm hoping it will be, why don't we call her Sivagami?"

Rajamatha shook her head. "As much as I would like my granddaughter named after me, Sivagami is not a name fit for a Princess. It is far too common." Her tone had a certain finality to it, so Amarendra chose not to pursue the idea any further.

"And if it is a boy?" Devasena looked up from the book she had been carefully going through.

"Mahendra Baahubali," Sivagami spoke. "Mahendra, meaning conquerer of the world, is another name for Lord Indira, the king of the Gods. It is a derivative of Lord Vishnu's name as well," she glanced at her daughter-in-law briefly. "And Baahubali, after his father."

"I like it," Devasena said immediately. The two women looked at Amarendra, waiting for a response.

"After me?" Amarendra fumbled with his robes.

"You are one of the finest Emperors Mahishmati has seen!" Sivagami exclaimed. "And I would like my grandson to take after you."

"If that is what you want," Amarendra said, "he shall be called Mahendra Baahubali."

Rajamatha had to leave to attend to her royal duties, so she excused herself. They had not decided on a suitable name for a daughter. Baahubali had suggested Vijayalakshmi, but Devasena had not liked it. Rajamatha had found Sitara in a book, but the Maharaja did not approve of it. Devasena campaigned hard for Anandmayi, but the numerology did not tally.

That night, the Maharaja had ordered for dinner to be brought out to the terrace. They ate in the starlight, discussing names for a Princess until the Maharani grew sick of it and steered the conversation elsewhere.

"I have been informed of Padshah Aslam Khan's death," she told Rajamatha and Amarendra. "He was attacked when Prince Abul and Princess Meher were travelling here."

"Will Prince Abul be crowned king?" Amarendra asked.

"Nobody is sure," Devasena continued. "Princess Meher...Princess Meher carries Bhallaladeva's child. She has fled to a neighbouring kingdom, fearing the political instability in her own. She intends to stay there until her child is born."

Rajamatha's eyes widened. "She carries Bhallaladeva's child?"

"Perhaps we should summon her here," the Maharaja suggested. "Her child is a rightful heir to Mahishmati's throne, it is only right if—"

"No!" Both women cried at once.

"Have you lost it, Amarendra?" Sivagami asked him. "Just this morning, I said you were one of the finest Emperors Mahishmati has seen! Are you trying to prove me wrong?"

"There has been enough war, enough bloodshed," Devasena added.

"Do you know, when I declared that you and Bhallaladeva had equal rights to the throne, twenty five years ago, I imagined that you would serve one another like Ram served Lakshman. Perhaps my dreams were too far-fetched, too utopian. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that one of my sons would turn traitor and declare war. Never did I imagine that one of my sons would try and tear apart the other with his bare hands, never did I imagine that Bhallaladeva would end up dead!There need not be anymore complications, Baahubali. Please, let us not involve ourselves with Meher's child, it is more trouble than it is worth," Sivagami pleaded.

"But mother," Baahubali was relentless. "He is your grandchild, your blood! Is it not the dharma of a true kshatriya to forgive? Will you not practice what you preach?"

"There will be bloodshed either way, Rajamatha," Devasena spoke after much deliberation and thought. "If we abandon the mother and child, they will declare war perhaps twenty five years later. If we take in the child, the possibility of war, the possibility of bloodshed, reduces greatly."

"A thousand things could go wrong," Rajamatha Sivagami said.

"It is better than having the mother and child live as refugees in a land that is not their own," Baahubali declared. "I second the idea."

"Alright," Sivagami said in resignation, standing up and excusing herself. "I will make the necessary arrangements." She instructed the servants to clear her plate before she left to the palace.

"Amarendra!" Devasena seized her husband's hands and pulled them towards her swollen stomach.

And this time, he could feel his child move. A warm, blissful sensation engulfed him as he felt the movement. He smiled at his wife earnestly, looking her in the eye. "I can feel it, Devasena. It's kicking hard."

She smiled and nodded breathlessly. "It is."

He looked at her glowing face in the light of the countless stars above them and said, "If it is a daughter, we shall call her Shatataara. The light of a thousand stars."

♛ ♛ ♛

"IT is your fault!" Prince Abul spat at Princess Meher. "All your fault! My treasury is drained, my kingdom has diminished in size and father is dead! You went to Mahishmati and brought us this misfortune!"

"Which I did on your orders!" she retorted. "You asked me marry Bhallaladeva, you asked me to declare war!"

"You were fascinated by Bhallaladeva, smitten by him, do not lie! I saw the way you were looking at him—"

"I dreamed of a family!" she interrupted. "I dreamed of falling in love with the Prince, marrying him, birthing his children and raising them together! I dreamed of a future with the Prince, I did not want to see him dead! You promised me, you promised, he would make it out of the war alive! You swore that we would return to Persia together! You said we had our entire lives ahead of us!"

"If your swine of a husband had had even the slightest of brains, he would've got himself out of the war alive!" Abul yelled. "Do not blame me! I do not want to see your accursed face here again! Get out! Out!"

Meher reached beneath her veil and wiped a tear with trembling hands. "I carry his child," she whispered. Then she turned on her heel immediately and left the room.

She wandered for days, at the edge of the river, or in the borders of the forest, barely eating three meals a day. Sometimes she lurked at the bazaar, waiting for someone to throw away a morsel of their food. She lost weight at an alarming rate. She starved on numerous occasions, she stayed awake into the late hours of the night, for sleep would not come. She prayed faithfully, she prayed that someone would take her in, that someone would provide her with the bare minimum: three square meals a day and a roof over her head, at least until her child was born.

That was when Maharani Devasena's spies had come in search of her. They carried with them a scroll that bore the Maharani's imperial seal. Meher unrolled it impatiently and read:

Maharani Devasena sends her greetings to Her Royal Highness Princess Meher in the Empire of Persia. I am very sorry to hear about the death of your father, His Highness Padshah Aslam Khan. He was a fine king, admired by many across the world. It has been brought to my attention that you carry within you Prince Bhallaladeva's child. Your son or daughter is an heir of Mahishmati and has a right to the throne. Therefore, it is our wish that you travel to Mahishmati at the earliest and make it your permanent residence.

Meher read and re-read the letter, refusing to believe her eyes. She thanked her stars for Maharani Devasena and immediately instructed the spies to put down a reply.

Meher sends her greetings to Her Royal Highness Maharani Devasena in the Empire of Mahishmati. I am no longer a Princess, it is not right for you to address me so. You must have been informed, through the means of your impeccable spy network, that I have been stripped of my titles, my riches and my income. I have been thrown out of my own home, by my own brother, who has now declared himself Emperor.

I must admit, I do not possess your skill. I cannot even lift a sword, let alone wield it. I do not know anything of the scriptures, I do not know how to serve my people. For years and years, I have been confined behind the veil, I have been pampered with the comforts of royalty. It is very generous of you to provide for me when you do not have an obligation to do so. I am, truly, forever indebted.

♛ ♛ ♛

AMARENDRA paced outside the Maharani's chambers. She had gone into labour in the late hours of the night. Rajvaidya Yamuna was seeing to her, assisted by Rajamatha and a midwife. The guards were placing bets on whether the child would be a son or daughter. He wanted to tell them off, but his anxiety was skyrocketing so he chose to remain silent.

Bijjaladeva had told him, years ago, when he was a child, that he had killed his mother while being born. What if the same happened to Devasena? A splitting image of a pale, still Devasena flashed in his mind. No, it would not happen, he told himself firmly, she was strong, she was a warrior. She would not succumb to the pain. But her ear piercing screams only suggested otherwise.

Rajvaidya Yamuna came out of the chamber, her face was pale and sweaty. Her ivory coloured saree, usually crisp and clean, was wrinkled. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and her hair, usually in a tidy bun at the back of her head, stood out in all directions, completely dishevelled.

"Is anything wrong?" Baahubali demanded.

"Water," Yamuna said breathlessly. "We need hot water."

The Maharaja immediately proceeded down the sandstone staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and hurried into the kitchens. He boiled the water himself, there was no time to summon servants, and within minutes, he returned to the corridor outside the Maharani's chambers with a potful of boiling water.

She took it, muttering a quick thanks, and disappeared into the Maharani's bedchamber once more. Minutes later, the Maharani's screams suddenly ceased. Everything went eerily quiet, and fear, real fear, crept over the Maharaja. Had the Maharani succumbed to the pain? And then, as though miraculously, he heard another scream, the scream of a newborn child. He immediately threw open the double doors that led to the Maharani's chambers and stepped inside.

"It's a boy," Devasena said, beaming delightfully. "Yuvaraja Mahendra Baahubali."

Amarendra's face split into a wide grin. Rajvaidya Yamuna held the child in her arms, cleaning his little body with a soft silk cloth. Baahubali reached out for the child, but Devasena raised a hand in objection and said, "Kattappa must hold him first."

So Kattappa was summoned, and he gladly held the child in his veined and knotted hands. He took the child's tender little right foot and gently placed it on his forehead. The child was passed to Rajamatha Sivagami, who took one look at his milky white face and said, "He resembles Amarendra."

The child was then handed to his father, who held him for several long moments, adoring his little face, his large eyes and his tiny feet and hands. Mahendra was draped in the robes his father had made for him months ago, and Rajamatha Sivagami drew a black dot on his right cheek with her kohl to ward off the evil eye.

He was taken to the palace balcony, outside which throngs of people were crowding. Rajamatha lifted the little child in her hands and declared his name for the people of Mahishmati to hear: "Yuvaraja Mahendra Baahubali!"

♛ ♛ ♛

"YOU wanted a daughter," Devasena whispered to her husband the following morning. She was being fed her breakfast, which consisted of a warm, bland porridge, by the Emperor.

"Yes, I did," Baahubali said, "but that does not mean I will love our son any less." He placed the bowl of porridge on the bedside table and picked up little Mahendra in his hands. "He will do complete justice to his name, Devasena. He is the conquerer of the world! He will be one of the most celebrated Emperors of Mahishmati, his name will go down in history, mark my words. He is born for greatness."

"Of course," Devasena agreed.

"And we shall have a daughter in the years to come," Baahubali added. "A Princess Shatataara to accompany Prince Mahendra."

The Maharani punched Amarendra lightly on the arm, laughing heartily.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Meher was brought to Mahishmati in her third month of pregnancy. She was given her old quarters and fed three elaborate meals every day. Maharani Devasena had read extensively about Persian cuisine and instructed the kitchens to prepare different varieties of Persian food: mild biryanis, rice cooked in spices and vegetables, generously sprinkled with cashews and raisins, rotis of wheat accompanied by rich, creamy gravies of mushrooms and cottage cheese, buttery naans and vegetable kurma.

Maharani Devasena had resumed her training six weeks after Mahendra was born. She spent her free time speaking to Meher and keeping her company, although she knew nothing would fill the void that Bhallaladeva's death had created. They had not spoken to each other often when Meher was married to Bhallaladeva, and it was surprising how much they enjoyed each other's company. It turned out that they both shared a liking for gulab jamuns, and, quite evidently, princes of Mahishmati.

Rajvaidya Yamuna looked after Meher just as she had looked after Devasena, but the young physician was troubled. She cornered Maharani Devasena one day and spoke to her in a grave tone.

"There is something wrong, Your Highness," Yamuna told Devasena. "It is not normal for a woman to sweat like that. Or be so fatigued, so drained. The Princess is also losing weight at an alarming rate, despite being fed such elaborate meals. These aren't good signs."

"Do you think it is because of excessive stress?" Devasena asked. "She has lost her husband, her father, her kingdom. It has traumatised her, she is bound to be worked up."

"Perhaps we could give her regular shirodaras, or head massages," Yamuna suggested. "It works excellently on illnesses related to the mind. We could also put her on medication to ease her stress."

"You know what's best, Yamuna," Devasena said. "Do not ask me, do what you deem fit. And ensure that her child is healthy. He or she is an heir of Mahishmati."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Yamuna replied, scribbling a prescription on a dried palm leaf.

♛ ♛ ♛

IT turned out that rajvaidya Yamuna's words held truth in them, for Princess Meher fell horribly ill when she was giving birth. Her temperature sky-rocketed and her face was drained of colour. Her screams echoed across the palace as rajvaidya Yamuna tended to her steadily. She gently rubbed neem flower oil onto the Princess's belly to soothe the pain, but it did not seem to help.

The Princess's screams subsided all of a sudden. Her breathing shallowed and her pulse slowed. Pearls of sweat appeared on Yamuna's forehead as she spoke, "I think we're losing her, Maharani."

"Save the child," Devasena commanded. Her voice was unsteady. "Yamuna, save the child, then tend to the mother."

Yamuna did as she was instructed and a wave of relief washed over her when she heard the child bawl loudly. She handed the infant to Maharani Devasena, who promptly began cleaning it with a silk towel drenched in water. The child was then handed over to the frail mother, who took it in her trembling hands and smiled weakly.

"He looks....like his father," she whispered hoarsely, something in the depths of her periwinkle blue eyes vanished and they became still like glass orbs. Princess Meher had breathed her last.

♛ ♛ ♛

RAJAMATHA Sivagami christened Meher's son Veerabhadra, or distinguished hero. Amarendra declared in court that both his sons, both Yuvaraja Mahendra Baahubali and Yuvaraja Veerabhadra had equal rights to Mahishmati's throne.

"Whoever proves themselves worthy, whoever is skilled in swordsmanship, educated in the vyuhas of war, whoever displays leadership qualities and wins the hearts of the people will be declared crown prince, and the other shall be made commander-in-chief!" he announced.

♛ ♛ ♛

AMARENDRA proved to be an excellent father to the two boys. When Maharani Devasena was training with Kattappa, or inspecting the weapons in the armoury, or training the men of the army, Amarendra would look after the children. He would feed the month-old infants, refusing to let the servants do it, he would changed their soiled clothing, he would bathe them in turmeric water. However, they fell asleep only if they heard Maharani Devasena sing a melodious lullaby, which would usually be a song in praise of Lord Krishna, her family deity, usually the very same lullaby she had sung Amarendra months and months ago in Kunthala.

Amarendra and Devasena would put the children in strollers and take them outside to the marketplace in disguise. They looked like any other family, mother, father and two sons. Nobody would know that there had been a war, that the younger boy's parents had died, that there had been bloodshed that defied their imaginations. When the boys grew older, they went to the beach and Amarendra and Devasena laughed wholeheartedly as they watched Mahendra and Veerbhadra build and destroy each other's sand castles. They bought the boys ice creams and kulfis and watched in horror as they smeared it over each other's faces and got it all over their brand-new silk robes.

When Bhadra turned three, Maharani Devasena was pregnant again. Nine months later, she gave birth to Princess Shatataara, whose face glowed like the brilliance of a thousand stars. Shatataara resembled her mother, she was a striking image of Devasena. She was the Maharaja's favourite child, though he never admitted it. He ordered for water to be brought from the Himalayas to bathe her, the finest of robes were made from the most expensive silks, he gifted her bangles of gold to decorate her tender little wrists, and anklets to adorn her precious little feet. He even fashioned her earrings of diamond.The boys were envious of all the attention their little sister got.

When the boys turned eleven, they were presented with their ceremonial swords. Mahendra's was decorated with rubies and Bhadra's with emeralds. Princess Shatataara was presented with hers three years later and the hilt was studded with diamonds.

The boys grew into fine Princes, and Shatataara into a fine Princess. Devasena had never felt so grateful for her good fortune. Every night before sleeping, she prayed to her family deity that there should be no war, no bloodshed, even though deep down, she knew that war and bloodshed came with kingship, she knew it was an inevitability. Amarendra prayed that his sons would not fight for the throne, he prayed that there would be no rivalry between them. Whether their praters would be answered, only time would tell.

Chapter Text

PRINCE Mahendra grew to resemble his father, but his innermost nature was similar to that of his mother's. He had inherited her impulse and her peppery temper. He held his bow the way she did, he brandished his sword exactly like her. Prince Bhadra took after his grandmother, Rajamatha Sivagami Devi. He possessed her commanding nature and her authoritative tone. He had very little of his parents in him. Princess Shatataara was a striking image of Maharani Devasena. When Rajamatha Sivagami glanced at Princess Shatataara for a brief second, she would mistake her for her daughter-in-law, before adjusting her eye-glass and realising that it was her granddaughter. Yuvarani Shatataara was, undoubtedly, the Emperor's favourite child, although he took care not to show it.

If he was ever partial towards the Princess, he justified it by saying that she would marry one day and leave the kingdom, and they would not be able to enjoy her company once she was gone. The three heirs were trained by Kattappa. He taught them how to wield their swords, which they did with such an impeccable ease, he taught them about the different vyuhas or formations employed in war. Their father taught them how to string their bows and shoot arrows, three at a time, and the children could not understand why their mother found it highly amusing.

When the boys were nineteen, they fought their first war. The Kalakeyas had launched an attack at the capital city's borders and the Princes, along with the Maharaja and Maharani, prepared to retaliate.

"The Kalakeyas do not adhere to the rules of war," Maharaja Baahubali told his sons. "They are savages. They will lay their hands on common folk, even women and children, without an ounce of shame. I trust that you are prepared to combat them."

"We are, father." It was Princess Shatataara who spoke first. "Our blood is for the kingdom, our lives are for the people."

"Shatataara!" Amarendra exclaimed. "Surely you are aware that you will not be participating in this war!"

"Why?" Princess Shatataara demanded angrily. "Mahendra and Bhadra get to fight, I know you favour them over me..."

"Mahendra and Bhadra are of age! You are merely sixteen—"

"Merely sixteen?" Shatataara shrieked. "Sixteen! The same age as Prince Abhimanyu when he penetrated through the Chakravyuha in the war of Kurukshetra!"

"That was the Mahabharata! Thousands and thousands of years ago! And might I remind you that Prince Abhimanyu ended up dead?" Baahubali retorted.

"Death is an inevitability! If not in this war, I may die in the next! I am a kshatriya, it is my duty to protect the lives of the people! And might I remind you that the Pandavas won the Kurukshetra's war after Prince Abhimanyu's death?" the young Princess said through gritted teeth.

"You are like your mother," Baahubali remarked irritably. "Adamant. Stubborn."

"No, Amarendra, her face may resemble mine, but her deepest nature is similar to yours," Maharani Devasena spoke. "She has your recklessness, your bloodcurdling courage. And sometimes, your sheer stupidity."

Mahendra and Bhadra burst out laughing at their mother's witty remark. Shatataara scowled, biting back a clever retort, and the Emperor not very pleased.

"There is a war going on," Baahubali fumed. "Please, we do not have time for your antics."

"There is nothing that will stop me from taking part in this war," Shatataara remarked hotly. "Did Kattappa mama train me for nothing? Did I spend sixteen years learning to wield swords and throw spears to be asked to sit on the sidelines? Did I—"

"Fine," Amarendra snapped. "Do whatever the hell you want. But if you lose an arm or a leg, do not come running to me or your mother."

Shatataara smiled triumphantly. They proceeded to discuss the vyuhas they would use, and eventually decided on the Makara vyuha or the crocodile formation. Maharani Devasena would lead the troops in the west wing, Amarendra would see to the troops in the east, Mahendra would accompany the north wing and Bhadra would guide the south. Shatataara would set up a defensive mechanism with Kattappa and five thousand other soldiers.

That night, in the campsite, Shatataara whined to Kattappa and anyone who would listen to her ranting. "My father favours the Princes. He has positioned them in the attacking positions, whereas he has given me a mere defensive role! It is unfair! I want to be in the front, I want to stand beside father or mother!"

Kattappa laughed at the child. How she resembled her mother, he thought. "Your role is essential to protect the Empire, Princess. You must ensure that nobody penetrates through our defensive formation, I trust that you are aware of its importance."

Princess Shatataara stamped her foot in infuriation. "But you will be responsible for most of it! I will barely have to do anything!"

"Princess, this is your first war," Kattappa explained patiently. "Your father was never on the frontline in his first battle. He was in a defensive position, just like you."

The Princess sighed in resignation and sat at the edge of the makeshift bed that had been put together inside her tent. At that moment, her brothers entered her tent, carrying their ceremonial swords.

"Hey, Shatataara," Mahendra said playfully, tugging the Princess's long hair. She swatted his hand away. "If you die tomorrow, I will take your ceremonial sword. I heard father telling mother that the diamonds embedded on the hilt are worth a fortune."

"And I call dibs on your favourite bow," Bhadra teased.

"I call dibs on Ashvattama," Mahendra laughed. Ashvattama was Shatataara's horse. She had won him at an archery contest when she was six.

"Shut up, both of you," Shatataara exclaimed indignantly, whacking her brothers on the centre of their heads. They winced in pain and rubbed at the spot she had hit. "If either of you die, I will inherit everything you own. Your ceremonial swords, your favourite bows, your horses, your personal chambers, your servants, your right to the throne, everything. I'm only in a defensive position, far, far away from the centre of action, so the likelihood of my death is, unfortunately, very slim."

Mahendra and Bhadra exchanged defeated glances. When they could not come up with a worthy comeback, they began teasing Shatataara for completely unrelated reasons.

"Nobody will marry you, Shatataara," Mahendra snickered. "Everyone is terrified of the way you wield your sword."

"Do you know what the girls in the antapura think of you?" Shatataara retaliated.

"What?" Mahendra asked, suddenly curious.

"I will tell you if you make it out of the war alive," she answered shrewdly, ushering the boys out of her tent so she could rest briefly.

♛ ♛ ♛

HOURS later, Princess Shatataara was shaken awake by Mahendra. She would murder him if this was one of his foolish pranks. She began telling him off, calling him a variety of foul names.

"You bloody rouge, you don't let me get five minutes of peaceful sleep!" she yelled shrilly.

"Shatataara, they've launched the first attack," he said solemnly. One look at his face told her that he was being truthful, this was no prank.

"In the middle of the night?" Shatataara demanded incredulously, grabbing her sword in one hand and her bow in the other. She swung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder and hurried out of the tent with her brother.

"They do not adhere to the rules of war," Mahendra said. "That was the first thing father told us."

"Where is Bhadra?" she asked, her eyes swept over the campsite in search of her other brother.

"He is running through our plan with father and Kattappa mama," Mahendra told her. "We will retaliate in less than five minutes, be prepared." He paused momentarily before adding, "Shatataara, please don't do anything reckless and die. Bhadra and I won't have anyone's leg to pull."

She smiled at her brother. "You too, Mahendra. It would be a shame if you died."

She did not have time to say anything more, for Kattappa had blown the conch, and she was expected to stand in her position.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Shatataara was unparalleled on the war field. She was younger, much younger, than any of the soldiers, and her age reflected in her swift and steady movements. She wielded two swords at a time, one in each hand, and beheaded anyone who dared come her way. She left the position that had been allocated to her within minutes and made her way to the very front of the Makara vyuha or crocodile formation. The Kalakeya warriors had clearly underestimated her capabilities; she used that to her advantage to decimate them in large numbers. At the crack of dawn, it was not Amarendra or Devasena who had captured the Kalakeya chief, it was little Shatataara who had managed to put him in chains.

Once she had captured him and pinned him to the floor, Mahendra and Bhadra brought down their swords onto the man's chest with monstrous force.

"Shall we show mercy and kill him with one blow, or let him die in a slow and painful manner?" Bhadra asked her.

"Let him suffer," Shatataara said, her tone authoritative, just like her father's. "Let vultures peck out his guts and let crows feast on his eyes."

So Bhadra and Mahendra left their swords intact, watching with utmost satisfaction as life slowly ebbed out of the man.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCE Bhadra was the first of the three children to marry. His marriage was arranged, at his request, with Princess Agnishika of the Kadarimandram kingdom, three years after the war with the Kalakeyas had taken place. Maharani Devasena was absolutely delighted. She hosted an extravagant wedding, a wedding grander than her own, and welcomed the young bride pompously. Princess Agnishika was quick to adjust to Mahishmati's customs and developed a good rapport with Maharani Devasena, Rajamatha Sivagami and Princess Shatataara.

Prince Mahendra, however, affirmed repeatedly that he would marry for love. ("Like father, like son," Princess Shatataara had muttered under her breath to Kattappa). So Amarendra and Devasena could do nothing but wait for a suitable woman to enter his life.

He finally met his ladylove when he was visiting Kunthala with his parents.

"Kunthala has changed a great deal," Maharani Devasena remarked, as she stepped out of her palanquin.

"You haven't graced it with your presence in years, Devasena," Amarendra teased. "What else is bound to happen?"

She punched him on the arm lightly and laughed.

Memories came flooding back to Amarendra as he stood on the marble floor. He remembered his first battle with Devasena years and years ago, he had taught her the three-arrow technique, she had pointed her sword at him, she had flung a blazing torch at his robes and he had promised her that he would protect her until he breathed his last. He had faked being a simpleton, and although she had seen through his facade, she had been determined to catch him red handed. They had been young and carefree, living like there was no tomorrow, he thought.

Raja Jaya Varma and Devasena's sister-in-law had aged gracefully. They were in their late fifties, and both of them had retired from their royal duties. Kumara Varma had been declared Kunthala's king. He was married to Princess Sashirekha and they were blessed with two lovely children, a son and a daughter.

Prince Mahendra had asked Raja Kumara Varma whether he could inspect the imperial army, and when he was granted permission, he proceeded to do so. That was when he laid eyes on his future wife. Avanthika was a young soldier who had served in Kunthala's army since the age of thirteen. She possessed a certain charm that drew Mahendra's attention. Perhaps it was her milky white skin, or her fiery eyes, or perhaps it was the way she carried herself, or perhaps, her eternal determination.

He never missed an opportunity to visit Kunthala after he had seen her for the first time. He spent hours and hours in her company when he visited: they would sit by the riverside, her head in his lap, and talk endlessly about a great many things. He told her what it was like to grow up in a palace with a mother, father a grandmother and a mama and two siblings. In return, she told him stories of her childhood, tales of growing up as an orphan, free like a bird, wandering near the edge of the forest and running around in the valleys that surrounded Kunthala.

They practiced their swordsmanship together on numerous occasions. Mahendra brought her books from Mahishmati's imperial library, he even nicked books from Shatataara's chambers and they read together, lying on the lush green grass that grew at the foot of the mountains that stood at Kunthala's borders. He brought her little gifts from the palace, once a basket of laddoos cooked in the royal kitchen, and on another occasion, a pair of swan-shaped earrings that had once belonged to his mother.

Princess Shatataara was the first to figure out about her brother's affair. She had grown suspicious when he made excuses to leave to Kunthala, and the fact that he had taken books from her chamber only added to her suspicion. She cornered him one fine day after he had finished his evening prayers.

"What is her name?" she asked him suddenly, jumping in front of him and blocking the path that led to his chambers.

"Avan—whose name?" he caught himself a moment too late.

"The girl you're seeing," Shatataara persisted. "Do not lie to me." She glared at him ferociously, and she resembled Maharani Devasena so much that he nearly recoiled under her intense look.

"How did you find out?" he asked her, mildly bewildered.

"I put two and two together," Shatataara laughed. "Doesn't take much wit. Now, answer my question."

"Her name is Avanthika," he admitted. "She's a soldier in Kunthala's army, one of their best. She was orphaned at the age of two and she has nobody but me, so please, please don't poke your overlarge nose in my business, meddle and ruin things for us."

"My nose is not overlarge, it is yours that looks like a capsicum," Shatataara countered smugly. "Have you asked her to marry you?"

"N-no," Mahendra stammered.

Shatataara giggled. "You're scared to ask her! The great Mahendra Baahubali, scared of a mere woman!"

"No!" Mahendra exclaimed. "Of course not!"

Shatataara removed one of her rings and tossed it to Mahendra. He caught it with his right hand and examined it.

"Ask her before mother and father decide to arrange your marriage with some stuck-up Princess who can't tell one end of a sword from the other!"Shatataara turned on her heel and ran down the winding corridor, lifting her skirts and laughing as she did so.

Mahendra looked at the ring she had given him: it was swan-shaped, which meant that it had once belonged to their mother, for it symbolised the kingdom she had come from, and it was studded with glittering diamonds. He imagined, for a split second, marrying a woman who couldn't tell one end of a sword from another, like his sister had suggested. He shuddered at the thought and decided to ask Avanthika the next time they met.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCE Mahendra did not meet Avanthika until a week later. When he saw her, his palms immediately turned sweaty and he could not look her in the eye.

"What is wrong, my prince?" she asked, turning his face towards hers.

"N-nothing," he stuttered.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He went down on one knee, unable to wait even a moment longer, and asked her with utmost sincerity, "Will you become my Empress, Avanthika?" He held out the swan-shaped ring that had once belonged to his mother. As he awaited her answer, his heart thundered in his ribs. "Say that you will marry me, Avanthika."

"I cannot possibly disobey Your Majesty's command," Avanthika whispered, her eyes shimmering with delight as she held out her hand.

A wave of relief swept through every nerve in Mahendra's body as he slipped his mother's ring on Avanthika's slender finger. In his enthusiasm, he lifted her off her feet and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I was nervous," he confessed to her once he had put her down.

"Nervous? That I would say no?" she laughed earnestly. "In the name of Lord Ram, Mahendra, why would I do such a thing?"

Mahendra simply smiled and said, "Mother will be delighted that I chose a woman of her kingdom. And father will be pleased too."

"And Princess Shatataara? Prince Bhadra?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh, Shatataara was the one who told me to ask you," Mahendra laughed. "She even gave me the ring, it was once my mother's, it's been in the family for years now. And what of Prince Bhadra? He will not object!"

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCE Mahendra and Avanthika's wedding was held in the week that followed. Maharani Devasena was indeed glad that her son had chosen a woman of her kingdom, and the Maharaja was delighted when Avanthika showed him her impeccable swordsmanship. Princess Shatataara and Avanthika became the best of friends: they chattered away about Mahendra's antics, Shatataara told her tales of the Prince's childhood, she told her how Mahendra would climb trees to fetch mangoes, how he would roll around in the mud that gathered in the training grounds and dirty his silk robes, how he would pull her long hair until she screamed cuss words, how he would pretend to stab her from behind and ask her to fake her death.

There were trays after trays of gifts for the new bride: golden trays that contained expensive silks, sarees with little diamonds embedded on the borders, blouses stitched together with golden threads, silver trays that contained the most exquisite jewellery, designed by Princess Shatataara, necklaces made of rubies and emeralds, anklets of sterling silver, armlets of glittering gold. Gifts poured in from kings of kingdoms from near and far: the young bride had never seen so many riches in her life.

The present she treasured most, however, was Maharani Devasena's: she was presented with a ceremonial sword of her own, with little diamonds sparkling on the hilt. Mahendra told her later that even he and Bhadra did not possess swords with diamonds embedded in them. Her father-in-law presented her with a book that spoke elaborately about the duties of kingship and kshatriya dharma.

On the day of the wedding, the bride was clad in a saree of deep red and her groom wore robes of a similar shade. Avanthika and Mahendra took their vows with utmost sincerity. Once their seven rounds around the holy fire were complete, the royal priest declared them married in front of a wildly cheering Mahishmati.

Once the wedding ceremony was over, close family gathered around the young couple. Princess Shatataara pulled her brother into a tight hug. Tears escaped her large brown eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Mahendra asked her, taken by surprise. He had never seen Shatataara shed tears.

"You're married," she whispered. "Just yesterday you were pulling my hair and chasing me with your sword across the training grounds and we were playing pranks on Kattappa mama...and now you're a bridegroom...it's funny how time flies..."

Mahendra laughed at his little sister's nostalgia. "Oh, Shatataara...we grew up so quickly."

"I know," she said, smiling sadly.

"You're next, do you know that?" he poked her shoulder. "Tomorrow it will be you on the dais, standing next to a Prince! Have you someone in mind, or are you going to allow mother and father to chose a big-headed halfwit for you?"

He received a painful whack on the head.

♛ ♛ ♛

MARRIAGE proposals poured in for Princess Shatataara, but the Emperor dismissed each one of them with a different reason behind each rejection. In reality, he did not want to see his little Princess married and sent away to another kingdom.

"Just yesterday Shatataara was born," Amarendra told Devasena as they lay beside each other in their bedchamber. "And today Princes are asking for her hand in marriage!"

Devasena smiled. She knew that the Emperor adored Mahendra and he loved Bhadra, but Shatataara was the daughter he had prayed for. Shatataara was his lucky charm, he would say, for Mahishmati's treasury had increased to ten times its size the week after her birth. His citizens had never been happier, his kingdom had never been more prosperous.

"Amarendra," Devasena spoke in an exceptionally soft tone. "You do know that Shatataara will have to marry one day, don't you?"

"I do, Devasena," he said in an equally quiet voice. "But deep down, I don't ever want that day to come."

"Don't you want your daughter to be happy, Amarendra?" Devasena asked, her tone still quiet.

"Of course I do," Amarendra whispered. "But...what if her in-laws mistreat her? What if they refuse to let her partake in matters of the state? What if they do not let her participate in war? What if they silence her and confine her within four walls? She will be broken in a marriage like that, Devasena."

"If marriage is something Shatataara wants...we will start looking for a suitable groom. Unless, of course, she has someone in mind already."

The Emperor drifted into an uneasy sleep that night.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Shatataara found her better half three years after her parents had had their first conversation about her marriage. She had met Prince Abhimanyu from the kingdom of Kosala days after Prince Mahendra's wedding. A foreign king had declared war on Mahishmati, and the king of Kosala, being one of the Emperor's closest allies, had sent an army of ten thousand men lead by his son, Prince Abhimanyu, to assist them.

Abhimanyu was fascinated by Shatataara the moment he laid his eyes on her: never before had he seen a woman of such exquisite beauty, and he could not help but gape at her when she pressed the edge of her sword into the middle of her palm and drew blood to offer to Nisumbasudini, the goddess of war Mahishmati's royal family had worshiped for generations.

He was impressed by her flawless swordsmanship, it was better than his own, and wondered how long she had spent perfecting it. She was reckless on the battlefield, even more reckless than her father. Her recklessness occasionally bordered on foolishness: she would leave her position if she had been assigned a defensive role and occupy a spot in the front, wielding a sword in one hand and using a spear in the other. Her knowledge of the vyuhas was infinite: she participated actively while they were discussing their war strategy, pointed out loopholes in their plans if there were any, and threw a tantrum until she was given a position in the front of the war field.

On the night of the first day after the battle, Prince Abhimanyu visited Princess Shatataara in her tents. She was dressing her badly wounded forearm and was struggling to wrap the bandage around it.

"Princess, allow me," he said gently, taking the bandage from her hands and wrapping it around her forearm carefully.

"Thank you," she said diligently, looking him in the eye. It dawned on her that he was handsome: his eyes were large and almond-shaped, his features perfectly sculpted. His curly, matted hair ended just above his broad shoulders, and his tall, well-built and muscular frame only added to his charm. Her eyes had lingered on his attractive face for a moment too long, and she averted her gaze only when he raised an eyebrow.

"I will take your leave, Princess," he told her, bowing low before he strode out of her tent and into his own.

He paid her a visit every evening after the battle had ceased for the day. Sometimes she allowed him to dress her wounds, sometimes she insisted on doing it by herself. They discussed the day's battle together and sometimes visited the families of the martyred soldiers. On one occasion, his hands had reached out and touched a long, ugly scar below her collarbone.

"That was my first ever first ever battle scar," she told him, resting her hand on top of his. "I was sixteen, so proud of it, flaunting to everyone who would take a look..." she laughed, and the sound tinkled in his ears.

He moved closer to her, and there was barely any space between them, their chests were touching, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, and he leaned in to kiss her, his hands on either side of her face, gently pressing his lips on hers. When they should've ended it, she only deepened the kiss, she let him stoke her tongue with his....and as naturally as it had begun, it ceased. When they parted, the Prince asked her to marry him. And she said yes.

♛ ♛ ♛

THE war raged on for three more days without any constructive outcome. On the fourth day, Princess Shatataara had been captured by the opponent's soldiers. Her hands were chained and tied behind her back, and a bundle of cloth had been stuffed into her mouth to silence her screams. They hung her on a pine tree that stood in the centre of the battleground, and her face was losing colour with each passing moment.

The Emperor's fury knew no bounds: it took the combined strength of Abhimanyu, Bhadra, Mahendra, Kattappa and Devasena to hold him back together and prevent him from riding across the battlefield and rescuing his daughter single-handedly.

"It is a clever tactic," Devasena remarked furiously. "They will use her as bait and make us surrender."

"Bloody rouges! It is against the code of war!" Amarendra yelled, clenching his fists tightly. Anger thundering through his veins and his eyes looked as though they had the power to burn anything he looked at.

"I have a plan," It was Prince Abhimanyu who spoke, and his calm demeanour surprised everyone.

"We are running out of time, Abhimanyu, quickly please," Prince Mahendra said.

"A few more moments and she will suffocate," Prince Bhadra added.

He began explaining his strategy carefully. Everyone listened with rapt attention, and when he was done, they carried out his instructions without wasting another moment.

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Shatataara lay on a makeshift bed in the campsite. It was Prince Abhimanyu's genius idea that had saved the Yuvarani's life, and Mahishmati truly owed him everything. It was not Amarendra or Devasena, but Mahendra who spoke to him first.

"You saved Shatataara," Mahendra told him, "when you had absolutely no obligation to do so."

Prince Abhimanyu smiled. "Prince...I did not imagine breaking the news to you this way...but Princess Shatataara and I are engaged, I could not let her die."

Mahendra's bruised and cut face broke into a grin. "Really?"

Prince Abhimanyu nodded. "I asked her three nights ago and she said yes."

Mahendra then turned solemn and said, "Prince, I'm happy for you and Shatataara, and you have my wholehearted approval, but I must warn you, do not ever hurt her, or you will have to answer me. And Prince Bhadra and the Emperor."

"Of course," Abhimanyu promised. "May I ask the Emperor for her hand in marriage?"

"If that is what Shatataara wants, father will not refuse," Mahendra said truthfully. "You may ask him."

♛ ♛ ♛

PRINCESS Shatataara moved to her new home in the kingdom of Kosala days after her lavish wedding. Her mother-in-law, Rani Hemavati, was kind and understanding, and her father-in-law a generous and knowledgable man. She wrote to her mother and father and brothers on a regular basis, sometimes twice or thrice a day, telling them tales of her new home. She wrote about the kingdom's armoury, the food they served her, the plants that grew in the palace gardens, the horses in the stables.

Her father had gifted her with a leather-bound diary, telling her that if her marriage was as successful as his, she would fill its pages with memories that she would cherish for years to come. She wrote in it almost every day, talking of a new book she had read, or a new pair of bangles the Prince had gifted her, or a new sword that she had tried out.

Prince Abhimanyu was a doting husband. She sat beside him at court, just like her mother sat beside her father, she spoke to the noblemen and ministers, to the king and queen openly and without hesitation, laws were not passed without her consent. She spent hours roaming the palace, and though it was smaller that what she was used to in Mahishmati, she was fascinated by it all the same. She read manuscripts and law books from the palace library, learning more and more about her husband's kingdom and culture with each passing day. Prince Abhimanyu was coronated king three months after their marriage, and she was assigned the position of mahapradhana or Prime Minister.

On one warm summer afternoon, Shatataara sat at the edge of the pond outside her personal quarters, dipping her feet in its chilly waters. Abhimanyu sat beside her, resting his head on her shoulders. He reached into his cummerbund and extracted a small package from it. He unwrapped it and carefully lifted a necklace of glittering diamonds. He placed the necklace around Shatataara's neck. His eyes fell on the scars that the war had left on her skin, nothing pained him more than those marks. Shatataara lifted a slender hand and caressed the carefully cut stones.

"It is beautiful, Abhimanyu," she said, smiling gratefully. "I have something for you, too."

He waited, wondering whether it was another one of her thought-provoking poems, or perhaps an interesting manuscript she had come across.

"You are going to become a father."

Abhimanyu's face split into a heartwarming smile and he pulled Shatataara into his arms, hugging her gently. He did not know that those would be her last words to him, for a certain king would declare war on his kingdom, and without Shatataara by his side on the war field, he would martyr there, widowing his wife and leaving his child fatherless.

And a month after the war, Shatataara would slip and tumble down a staircase, and the fall would be fatal to her child.

♛ ♛ ♛

EMPEROR Amarendra Baahubali lay on his deathbed fifty years later, surrounded by his three children, his two daughter-in-laws, five grandchildren and numerous great-grand children. Queen Mother Devasena, sat beside him, holding his hand firmly.

"Devasena..." he whispered hoarsely. She looked at him and he was amazed how her face hadn't changed throughout their years together. Yes, her hair had greyed completely, her skin was wrinkled, her hands knotted, but her face remained as radiant it had been when he had first seen her. Memories washed over him: he recalled how his mother had arranged for her portrait, he recalled how Dandanayaka had it enlarged and framed on an entire wall, if he was not wrong, it had always remained on that wall, he had instructed the servants never to take it down. He remembered how she had looked a thousand times more beautiful in person, wielding a sword, he remembered their happy, carefree days in Kunthala, how he had masqueraded as a simpleton and won her heart, he remembered their first kiss, on the mast of the Hamsa Naava or swan boat, he remembered how close they'd stood, how their warm breaths had mingled together in the chilly night breeze, how she had caressed his lips with hers, how he had leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips, one hand cupping her face and the other on her back.

He remembered vividly her awestruck expression when she had seen the sandstone elephants at the entrance of Mahishmati, he remembered how Kattappa mama had asked her to step into the courtroom with her right foot, he remembered her forest green saree and her wine red blouse. He thought of their first argument, she had called him "naive and unsuspecting", he had countered her with preachings of dharma.

Amarendra recalled their lavish wedding, he remembered exactly how stunning she had looked in her wedding saree, he remembered how every inch of her body had been covered in gold and diamond, he remembered the frenzy of their wedding night, the feel of her breath on his neck, the feel of her lips on his. He recalled the day she had told him she was carrying Mahendra, she had been in tears because she could not be by his side during the war, that had been the only time she had cried in their many years of marriage.

He recalled the day Princess Shatataara had been born, Shatataara, his darling daughter. He remembered how she had chained the Kalakeya chief in her very first war. He remembered how devastated he had felt when the Princess married and left home, it still pained him to think of her miscarriage and how she had shut herself out for days afterwards. It pained him that she had been widowed so young, it pained him that he was helpless, it was beyond his control, beyond anyone's control. He thought of his grandchildren, they were all married now and they even had children of their own. He reminisced nostalgically, thinking of the days they had run around him in circles, demanding him to tell them stories or show them how to wield a sword.

"Devasena," he repeated softly. He held out his free hand, demanding his sword. He longed to feel the cool metal against his skin, he longed to touch it, he wanted to run the edge of the blade across his wrinkled skin. His reflexes had not weakened despite his age. She took it from its place on the bedside table and handed it to him. It was the very same sword his mother had presented to him decades and decades ago, on his eleventh birthday. He gripped the ruby-studded hilt tightly and pressed the sword close to his chest, before uttering "Jai Mahishmati!" one final time. His chest rose, fell, and did not rise again.

Devasena bent and gently pressed her lips against his wrinkled forehead. She did not shed tears.

"Decades and decades of marriage, mother, and not a single tear escaped your eyes. Is there a reason behind your indifference?" Maharaja Mahendra asked her.

"It is not indifference, Mahendra," she told him. "He would not have liked it if I wept. You know that."

She felt hollow for days after his death, sitting by herself beside the window of her bedchamber, gazing outside at the perfectly trimmed grass on the palace courtyard, remembering every moment they had spent in each other's company.

Months later, the former Empress lay on her own deathbed, with her three children and numerous grandchildren by her side. She looked at Maharaja Mahendra and thought of how much he resembled his father. And when she looked at Shatataara, she felt as though she was looking at her younger self. Mahendra and Avanthika sat in each other's arms, tears spilling down their flushed cheeks as they watched her.

Memories came back to her, as fresh as the lotuses that bloomed in the muddy ponds outside the palace, and she let them come: she was a young girl, chasing her brother across Kunthala's marble floors with a sword in her little hands, she was fighting off the Pindari soldiers single-handedly, she was largely outnumbered and her quiver of arrows was emptying at an alarming rate, Amarendra took down the attackers three at a time and immediately taught her the three-arrow technique, he had taken her hand in his for the first time, then she was standing close to Amarendra on the mast of the Hamsa Naava, with barely any distance between, the tips of their noses were touching... she remembered their first kiss, the taste of his lips, how young, how whole they had been.

"I want to live my life all over again," she whispered to Shatataara, who held her hand gently. The Princess began crying silently, tightening her grip on her mother's hand.

"Oh mother," she whispered, tears steadily cascading down her cheeks. "You have lived enough lives for a thousand women."

Yes, her words held truth in them: Devasena had been the first Empress to be given the post of commander-in-chief, she had accompanied her husband on all his wars except one, her body bore as many scars and bruises as the Emperor's had, she had stayed beside him when he held court. The ministers and nobles held her in high regard, they consulted her before signing decrees, they valued her opinions and asked her for advice.

In the late hours of that night, her hand grew limp and cold in Shatataara's. When the Princess groped her wrist in search of a pulse, it was not there. Devasena, the woman who personified the army of the Gods, had breathed her last.