Vijayaprastha, Kadamba Rajya
Dwapara Yuga
It's surprising how quickly one can get used to a new place once one opens their heart and embrace it.
Ahyan fell into a routine of waking up at pratha kala which is 3 or 4 in the morning. He missed his bird song alarm on his iPhone, which woke him up at 7:30 A.M.
"I used to snooze the alarm at least 20 times before Revanth yanked the comfort," exposing his (Ahyan's) almost naked body to the air conditioner's chilly air.
He laughed, reminiscing about his domestic life with his ex in Hyderabad. Thinking about his ex doesn't hurt him as much as before. Maybe this is what acceptance and moving on are.
He finished his morning routine of brushing his teeth, getting bathed and dressed by his attendants. At first, it felt uncomfortable for strangers to touch him so intimately, even if it was nothing sexual or romantic. It's more like a permanent luxurious spa and dressing up, which he got used to and even loved.
As an avid foodie and a cooking enthusiast, Ahyan spent time chatting with the chefs in the Paakashaala, the royal kitchen, and learning their techniques. It stunned the staff to see a noble stepping his foot into the kitchen and being interested in how the food was made.
They were formal and wary of him as they heard all kinds of rumours about him being reclusive and miserable by other servants. "However rajaathiti was before, I'm glad he's smiling and chattering with us," the head chef, Bopanna, said, who became fond of the young man.
He and the royal guest would exchange recipes and got to know a lot of fascinating ones he never heard of. The kitchen staff became used to him, talking animatedly with his eyes sparkling while describing his favourites with the head chef.
Biriyani and Crème caramel became an instant hit among the royals. The king even rewarded them for making such delicacies.
Ahyan learnt several recipes from traditional Kadamba cuisine, which were like modern Mangalorean cuisine. Meenu Pulimunchi with Neer Dosa became his staple and Mandas sated his cravings for saccharine.
"Bopanna, why don't you document your recipes and share them with the generations to come?" Ahyan proposed, lounging on the windowsill and indulging in the sweet taste of tender coconut and jaggery, while Bopanna was getting the dinner ready. "Even though these recipes may not be your speciality, the way you make them is always mouth-watering. I can feel in my bones that these are the best versions I've ever laid eyes on!"
"This kid has a way to charm anyone with his sweet words and earnest smiles," he chuckled, wanting to pinch rajaathiti's soft cheeks. Now he understood why the maharaja and maharani adored him to bits.
"He's so lovable," thought the 33-year-old head chef with a lean body rivalling a seasoned warrior. "But what does 'signatures' mean? He uses such strange words." he shook his shiny bald head.
"I'll do it, but you need to draw the pictures and make it look like one of the pages you've shown me," he replied with a smile.
"Most definitely! I'll make some templates and bring them to you. You can choose the one you like," Ahyan said, jumping down the windowsill. "There he goes, using weird words," the chef sighed.
Ahyan left the kitchen and chatted with the king and queen about deciding the day to announce his adoption.
"I'm comfortable with whatever date you decide," he said when the queen asked if he was okay if the event being held soon.
"Okay then, putra, we will ask the raja purohita to mark an auspicious day for adoption and coronation after Kruta arrives. He stated in his letters that he'll reach the capital in 4 days," the king said.
After chatting for some more time, he bid bye to the royal couple and left with Chandran to Padma Saras, relaxing under the shade of the Kadamba tree, basking in the warmth of the gentle evening sun.
"Ew, what's that pungent smell?" he scrunched his nose in disgust when the attendant accompanying him brought fruit looking like jackfruit.
"This is Halasina Hannu, a local fruit. Although its smell can be offputting to people who're not familiar with it, it is said to be sweet, like nectar," explained the said attendant.
He took a bite because Chandran said so, and indeed the fruit was quite delicious. Its flesh was tender and juicy, sweetness spreading his mouth as he chewed it.
"When I said that it tastes good, you didn't touch it with a six-foot pole, but now you eat because he says so?" he could hear his mom's grumpy voice. He chuckled, imagining his mom pouting with hands on her hips.
When glittering stars and fiery red streaks were scattered over the purplish blue sky, he retired to his chambers after having a light supper of piping hot Pongali with the king and queen.
"Look at the stars, aren't they pretty? They're glittering like diamonds!" a wiry young man exclaimed with glee, looking at the 3 A.M. San Francisco sky from their private beach home.
"But I don't like diamonds, cold and hard. I prefer gold, warm and bright, like you," the slender young man in a chequered blue and white t-shirt and blue jeans said, leaning in, gently brushing his lips against the wiry man's mauve ones.
He giggled at his saccharine words, feeling the softness of his voice on her skin. "Your words used to cut through the air like a sharpened arrow. Now you're waxing poetry," locking his arms around the other's neck, deepening the kiss.
The full moon lit up the night sky, and their silhouettes glowed in a silver hue that made them look almost angelic.
Orange rays of dawn woke Ahyan from his wonderful dream. He tenderly touched his lips, feeling the lingering sweetness, even though it was not real.
"What was that? And why was I at my childhood home in San Fran? Also, who was that? I can't remember his face, but that kiss is tender and dizzying, sweeping me off my feet and making my heart soar," he cupped his warm cheeks, with a giddy smile blooming on his broad lips.
He grabbed a book made of parchments stitched together and a peacock's feather lying on the table beside his bed to note down his dream. It was a journal where he wrote about his bizarre dreams since he had transmigrated.
"Maybe being cooped up in the palace is messing my mind and it might be my desire to have a relationship. They say you dream what you crave for the most," he concluded, deciding to tour the city and the beaches around.
After finishing breakfast in the royal mess, he took permission from the king to visit the city. Mohanavadana, a poet from the royal court, who introduced himself in their previous meeting, volunteered to show him around as he knew the city like the back of his hand.
Ahyan accepted, hoping to collaborate with the captivating poet in the future on his comics.
"Shall we ride the horses to reach the market, and then we can walk around the stalls? Is that okay with you, rajaathiti?" "But I can't ride a horse," the kaliyugi confessed, his ears burning with embarrassment.
"No worries, raajathiti, we can ride together," said the charming young man with a cheeky smile.
"Woah! This man does justice to his name. What an angelic face. I want to paint him like one of my French guys," he stared at him, bedazzled. He thought this guy would be a supermodel, with his picture on magazine covers, if he were in the modern era.
The protagonist from modern times was taken aback when they left for the stables, overwhelmed by the presence of the majestic animals. As Mohanavadana stopped to collect fodder for his horse, the smell of hay and horse sweat filled the air as the towering black horse stood before them.
"This is my trusted companion and partner of my wanderlust, Vega," the poet gently stroked his horse's mane, savouring the warmth of the animal's skin and the feeling of the horse's breath against his face, before introducing his horse to the starry-eyed royal guest.
He beamed at the excited youth and said, "Raajathiti, you can stroke her. She's quite docile."
"Well, I'm trusting you," Ahyan said, petting the horse tentatively, afraid he'd spook her. The horse nuzzled into his touch, neighing. He looked at her owner questioningly.
"It seems she likes you raajathiti, she wants you to feed her," the other replied, giving him barley grass and instructing him how to feed. Ahyan was happy seeing her eat contently when he fed her.
"Now that she's watered and fed, shall we leave for our journey?" Mohanavadana asked after getting Vega out of the stable and mounting on her.
Ahyan's stomach dropped when he saw the horse towering over him, like a skyscraper in the sky.
Peering down, the poet saw him hesitating and said in a gentle voice, "Raajathiti, take deep breaths to soothe yourself as animals can sense your fear. Now, stand beside the horse, facing her. Step your foot into the stirrup and use your other foot to lift you, while I grip your hands to steady you."
Ahyan did as he was told and perched on the saddle, his feet resting in the stirrups with a gentle jangle of metal. It reminded him of the wind in his hair and the warmth of his ex's back when he sat behind him on the Royal Enfield.
"Clasp my waist, raajathiti, now we're about to take off," Mohanavadana said, as he clicked his tongue and reined the horse.
"Woah!" Ahyan's heart raced as they galloped across the wide roads around the palace, the sound of the horses' hooves pounding against the earth. He felt the air rushing past his skin and the exhilaration of flying through the sky.
Tantalising winds blew across the poet's silky black curls, tickling the back rider's face like a gentle feather. The duo rode atop the prancing horse, the warm clay roads beneath them, the pace of their journey moderate.
The roads were lined with tall, swaying coconut trees, with paddy fields and glistening water canals stretching far and wide on either side.
Two men, wearing the traditional cotton garbs of commoners, galloped past on a sleek black mare, their bright colours of teal and red and golden yellow and marigold orange glinting in the sun, captivating the attention of onlookers.
They finally reached their first destination, which was a bustling market, and got down from the horse. Mohanavadana took the horse to a public stable nearby and the clerk there gave him a token. It looked like a parking lot of the modern era.
The market they're in is a lively place with various smells of delicious foods entering the travellers' noses, people bargaining, and vendors hawking their wares loudly.
Ahyan's hungry eyes took in the vibrant scene — peddlers shouting out their wares, the sweet aroma of fruits, dazzling jewellery of every type, a rainbow of glass bangles, and the tempting smell of local delicacies from roadside restaurants. Looking at the cheerful people, he could say the king well governs them.
"This is one of the biggest markets of Vijayaprastha, Gauri Chowka, famous for its gold jewellers, clothing shops, and, of course, food," described the poet who was familiar with the place.
His partner's enthusiasm delighted him, and he felt it in the warmth of their gaze as they took in everything with childlike glee.
They walked on the market streets, the heat of the red chilli powder and salt tingling on their tongues as they munched on roasted peanuts and raw mango slices.
Ahyan took his time picking out the perfect souvenirs for his soon-to-be mom and dad, the crown prince, and his cherished attendant, Chandran.
"I thought most poets are introverted homebodies who spend their lives inside their heads, but seeing you, I'm proven to be wrong," he commented as they reached a popular restaurant, according to his companion.
"That is something I hear often. People typically box up all things and expect everyone to fit the mould. But they overlook that humans are intricate, a marvellous medley of contradictions," the poet replied, making the kaliyugi feel mortified by his prejudiced beliefs.
"I'm sorry. I take pride as an open-minded person, disliking prejudiced people, but I've never realised my biases," he apologised, rubbing the back of his neck in shame.
"That's okay, raajathiti. Very few acknowledge their shortcomings, which sets them apart from the crowd, as noble souls," said the royal poet, smiling as he reassured the royal guest.
Sitting down on the cushioned stools, only a few inches off the ground, they saw banana leaves and a bowl of warm lime water in front of them to clean their hands.
Mohanavadana placed their order after taking his fellow traveller's opinion. Although he was a familiar face in this place, breaking bread with someone else was a unique sensation.
He shot a glance at the other, who was foaming at the mouth, observing the delectable Kadamba meal, and smiled. "It's the sensible decision to accompany the distinguished guest," he ruminated, enjoying his food.
"Let's go to Atar Bazaar to explore the stalls of Elamite merchants, and especially their perfumes," he said after settling their bill. Ahyan smiled in agreement.
Atar bazaar was a feast for the senses. The vibrant colours of mosaic glass lamps, deep-coloured rugs, and beaded jewellery filled the air, and the sweet smell of perfumes and skincare products lingered in the air.
Ahyan, an enthusiast of grooming, felt as if he had entered an Elysium. He scurried around like a child in a sweet shop, sampling almost every item. The poet finally found a man who shares his passion for cosmetics. He was tired of minimalists, for whom getting ready was a chore, rather than an art.
They both gushed in admiration at the extravagant products, trying them one by one. Oh, how Ahyan wished they had a phone so they could post a selfie on Instagram, capturing the amazing sights, smells, and sounds.
"This clove and lavender perfume is perfect for you, Mohana," he suggested, as the salesman nodded in agreement. The poet cocked his eyebrow at the nickname.
"I mean, your name's too long and calling you poet felt too awkward, so..." Ahyan mumbled, his face flushing. "That is acceptable, however, may I refer to you by your name?" the poet voiced, and Ahyan joyfully accepted.
After they reached the public stable and returned the token to the clerk, they proceeded to climb onto their black mare and made their way to the beach, as initially planned.
Ahyan, who had spent the majority of his life in Hyderabad or Dehradun, was overwhelmed with nostalgia as he gazed upon the seashore. The memories of summers spent as a child on the golden Baker beach came flooding back, the sun gleaming off the shells, the laughter of children, and the adults relaxing in hammocks at the sound of the waves.
"You know, it's been nine years since I've smelt the salty ocean breeze, feeling the grainy sand under my toes, so thank you," Ahyan said after they sat down on the beach, putting down the shopping bags beside them.
"It's no problem, and I'm happy that it's me who bought you here after such a long time," Mohanavadana replied with a warm smile, eyes twinkling like sunlight on the sea.
Ahyan gazed in admiration at the poet, feeling like he had stumbled across one of the handsome male leads in a college romance - too beautiful to be real.
They reclined, sipping the sweet and cool, tangy grape juice, and watched the seagulls fluttering across the cerulean sky, which was painted orange on the western horizon. As the sun began to rest, the air grew still, and a calm descended over the landscape.
For a while, they lay there enjoying the serene atmosphere. The artist broke this comfortable silence by saying, "I want to talk about something but I don't know how," in a small voice, turning to the side, fidgeting with his thumbs, yet looking at the poet straight with anticipation.
Taken aback, he shifts his gaze from the pink and orange gradient sky to the eyes with eagerness and cautiousness and asked, "What seems to trouble you, rajaathiti? I'll do what I can to help you."
"So the thing is..." Ahyan fumbled, "It's better if I show you," he pulled out a few parchments on which he drew a few manhwa panels from his sling bag and gave them to the poet.
Mohanavadana considered himself well-versed in various forms of art and literature but he had never seen anything like this in his lifetime. Pictures and words were flowing like a steady stream, narrating tales and immersing the readers in them.
"How did you even come up with this? This is simply amazing! I had never felt something so extraordinary, it was truly remarkable!" exclaimed the poet, his eyes twinkling like a pirate who had discovered a hidden chest of gold.
"Coming from where I'm from, this isn't too uncommon. I don't remember much from home, just parts and pieces. But art and cooking are something that's stuck with me," he weakly tried to explain away his memory loss.
He further explained the process of the writer and artist's imagination coming to life – from storyboards, character designs, dialogues, sketching and finally the panel.
The poet hung on every word of the royal guest, not letting even the slightest detail escape him as the guest spoke with great energy and enthusiasm, soaking up the information with eagerness. He got why the other couldn't forget art even if they forgot everything else, since it's connected to the heart, not the brain.
"If you know any good novels or wrote any, we can make comics of them, working together," Ahyan proposed after summarising. "I have got a few popular romance books and fantasy books I wrote at home. We can discuss at any place you're comfortable with," the poet suggested.
"Absolutely! I think Malli Vanam is a good place," Ahyan said, as it was peaceful and not as hectic. And added that having breakfast was a good idea, and the poet accepted.
They made their way back to their homes, looking forward to the arrival of daybreak. If all goes according to plan, there could be a literary upheaval in Kadamba, and perhaps even beyond.