Chapter 83: Ashes Beneath the Gold
As the final rituals of the Bhoomi Sena Vivah carried on with divine serenity, the warm air shifted subtly around the Mandap. The chants still echoed, and the newlyweds stood with folded hands before the sacred fire. Yet far from the center of celebration, a silver-armored soldier approached Maharathi Suresh Pratap.
He leaned in and whispered swiftly into the veteran warrior's ear.
Suresh Pratap's brows arched. A glint of recognition, followed by curiosity, flashed in his eyes.
He gave a short nod. "Bring him in with honor."
The soldier saluted and vanished.
Suresh turned and exited the Mandap quietly.
---
At the grand gates of Mahishmati, a majestic chariot had just rolled in. Embroidered flags bearing the symbol of Panchal waved gently in the breeze.
From the chariot stepped King Drupad, dressed in ceremonial robes, his posture tall and proud. His daughter, Princess Divya, walked beside him—her expression calm, but her eyes were curious. Behind them, a small group of well-armored guards followed in disciplined silence.
As they crossed into the city, King Drupad's gaze scanned the marvels around him. Mahishmati's streets gleamed like polished stone. Floating message-platforms hovered over crowds. The sounds of sacred chants merged with the distant hum of Prana-imbued bells.
He had heard much about Mahishmati—but to witness its harmony, its balance of tradition and innovation, was overwhelming. Even the air felt charged with calm energy, a gentle breeze laced with sandalwood and marigold.
He turned to his daughter and said softly, "This city… it humbles the imagination."
Divya nodded quietly. Her mind, however, was not on the architecture or the marvels. Her eyes moved past the colorful sights, scanning the crowds as though searching for a memory.
As they entered the main ceremonial grounds, the sounds of conch shells and temple bells welcomed them. Suresh Pratap greeted them with dignity.
"Rajan Drupad," he said, bowing slightly, "Mahishmati is honored by your presence. Rudra will be pleased."
Drupad smiled faintly. "I came to see the truth behind the tales. And perhaps to learn from the one the world now calls a protector."
Suresh nodded. "Come, the ceremony is in its final stages. It is unlike anything Bharat has seen."
---
As they reached the Vivah Mandap, the guests stood in quiet recognition. The Bhoomi warriors, now joined by their brides, lined the central pavilion. At the center, Rudra stood in his priestly attire, his hands raised in prayer as the final mantras echoed across the sacred courtyard.
A golden kalash stood before him, its water shimmering under the afternoon sun.
King Drupad looked on with reverence. "Last I saw him, he was but a child. Still eyes, burning heart. Now look at him... the stillness of the Himalayas in his posture."
His daughter, Divya, did not respond. Her gaze was fixed—not on Rudra, but beyond.
Standing behind the third row of Bhoomi warriors, observing the ceremony without blinking, was Eklavya. Dressed in ceremonial black with crimson thread and his signature quiet strength, he stood alone, unmoving. A sentinel of silence.
Their eyes met.
Just once.
No words. No gestures. But recognition. Like a string pulled softly at both ends.
---
Bhumi Devi walked gracefully down the aisle between the warriors and their brides. Her steps were light, but her presence commanding.
"Let this bond be as steady as the soil," she said with a smile. "Let your hearts beat not in unison, but in harmony. Not to become one—but to walk beside each other, whole."
The warriors bowed to her deeply, and their brides offered her flowers and folded hands.
Rudra stepped forward next. His voice remained soft, yet every syllable carried power.
"You were not born like others. You rose from pain, from injustice. But now, you rise again—with dignity."
He touched the heads of the lead warrior and his bride. "Blessings of the fire and the earth. May your hearts be unshakable."
Each couple, in turn, received his blessings. Not as a priest or king, but as a guardian. As their creator.
As Rudra reached the final row, he paused.
He stepped back, took the kalash in his hand, and turned to face them all.
"I have already given blessings to your wives," he said. "But to you, my brothers born of Bhoomi, I offer something more."
"Summon your weapons."
A low hum traveled through the earth. From every warrior's hands, a Trishul rose—each different, each bound to the warrior who summoned it. Their edges glimmered with divine light. Their hilts pulsed with Prana Urja.
"These are not just weapons," Rudra said. "They are parts of you. Born from the same Bhoomi that gave you life."
He raised the kalash high, its waters reflecting sunlight like crystal.
"With the Ganga as my witness, With the fire as my vow, With Bhoomi as my soul, And Dharma as my bond,
I, Rudra of Mahishmati, give you this boon: So long as your Trishul is in your grasp, No being—except Brahma, Vishnu, or Mahesh—shall ever defeat you."
A wind stirred.
The warriors raised their weapons in salute. A low chant began among the priests and onlookers. Birds circled overhead. The brides looked to their husbands with quiet awe.
Rudra lowered the kalash and added, "Let this strength guard the innocent. Let it stand against tyranny. And may it never bend for pride."
Silence fell. The blessing had been sealed.
---
From a side row, Ishita stood near Dushala.
"Still staring?" she asked with a playful smirk.
Dushala blinked. "I was only watching the ceremony."
"Oh? Of course. The ceremony. Not the man leading it with glowing skin and perfect chandan tilak."
"Ishita!"
But Ishita had already turned.
She walked past Karna, lightly brushing his arm with her fingertips. He didn't flinch, but looked sideways, half-smiling.
"You're distracting me," he said.
"I'm only reminding you," she replied with a grin.
"Reminding me of what?"
"That you still owe me a match in archery," she said, vanishing into the crowd.
Karna shook his head. "Impossible woman," he muttered.
---
Back near the royal guests, King Drupad watched in silence. His eyes remained on Rudra, who now stood quietly at the center, a steady flame.
"He was once just a child," Drupad murmured. "But today, he walks like one who has seen all ages."
Suresh Pratap nodded. "He does not speak often, but when he does, even mountains listen."
Divya said nothing. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her gaze once again sought the crowd… and found Eklavya, still standing. Unmoved. And yet… everything in her had shifted.
The Vivah had ended. But hearts had begun.
The seeker had come to see truth. He had found fire and calm.
And in the golden ashes of the sacred fire, something new had taken root.
To be Continued...