Satyanarayana Varma stood on the verandah, the morning sun casting a gentle glow over the landscape. The serene view of the gardens stretched out before him, framing his contemplative expression.
"Centuries have passed since the tale of Muthimala and its treasure intertwined with the legend of the serpent," he began, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of his words.
"In the medieval era, Raja Harishchandra Varman of the Ikshvaku dynasty ruled the lands along the Narmada River. Known for his relentless ambition, he expanded his realm far and wide, accumulating great wealth and subduing many territories. But it was the untouched beauty of Durgapuri that captured his heart."
He gestured towards the gardens, his gaze distant as if seeing the past unfold before him. "Durgapuri, with its untamed splendor and fertile lands, became a new center of power for Harishchandra Varman. He halted his campaigns and constructed a grand palace here, signaling a new chapter in his life."
Satyanarayana's voice softened, revealing a note of melancholy. "He moved a significant portion of his kingdom's wealth to Durgapuri, bringing with him his queen, the widowed queens from the lands he had conquered, and a loyal group of soldiers and advisors. Under his rule, Durgapuri thrived, becoming a beacon of prosperity."
He took a deep breath, the morning air filling his lungs. "After many years of peace, Harishchandra Varman eventually returned to the Narmada, leaving his legacy in Durgapuri. My ancestors continued to rule from here, but now, I stand as the last of our line. The once-great Ikshvaku dynasty has faded, and I alone remain to tell its tale."
As the sun climbed higher, its light illuminated Satyanarayana Varma, highlighting both the grandeur and the solitude of his role as the final link in a storied lineage.
During the reign of Chandrapratapa Varman, four generations before Satyanarayana Varma, the British made their arrival in India with an agenda far more ambitious than mere trade. Word had reached them of the untold wealth stored in the royal palace of Durgapuri—a trove of precious gems accumulated by the ancient Ikshvaku kings. The British, ever opportunistic, saw this as a prize worth seizing.
The palace treasury was reputed to hold an extraordinary collection of gems: cyan, ruby, coral, emerald, and sapphire—each a treasure in its own right. Determined to claim these riches, the British devised a plan of subtlety and intrigue.
Their strategy began with the arrival of a merchant named Donavan, who was in fact a loyal agent of the British Crown. Posing as a trader in spices, Donavan was sent to win the favor of Chandrapratapa Varman, the reigning king.
Donavan's approach was carefully calculated. He arrived with gold coins, money, and a selection of goods, presenting himself as a reputable and generous merchant. His initial dealings with the king were marked by fairness and respect, as he paid generously for the spices he purchased. Over time, his routine of visits and transactions earned him the trust and friendship of Chandrapratapa Varman.
The king, impressed by Donavan's conduct, welcomed him into the inner circles of the court. Donavan began dining at the royal banquet tables, sharing in the camaraderie of the royal family. His frequent presence and friendly demeanor allowed him unprecedented access to many areas of the palace.
Unbeknownst to Chandrapratapa Varman, Donavan's seemingly innocent visits were part of a meticulously planned scheme to uncover and ultimately seize the priceless treasures hidden within the heart of Durgapuri.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the gardens in front of the royal palace, Donavan and Raja Chandrapratapa Varman rode side by side on horseback. The serene beauty of the gardens contrasted sharply with the tension that simmered beneath the surface of their conversation.
Chandrapratapa Varman's younger brother, Rudrapratapa Varman, had long harbored deep reservations about the British presence in their land. He had frequently warned his elder brother, voicing suspicions about the true intentions of the East India Company and the danger of befriending these foreign traders. However, his warnings had fallen on deaf ears.
As they traversed the manicured paths, Donavan spoke with a smooth and practiced charm. "King Chandrapratapa, we should consider expanding our business ventures. The spices and other goods you've provided us have been very well received in our markets. If we could source more products from your country, it would be highly advantageous for both of us."
Chandrapratapa Varman, engrossed in the discussion, looked troubled. "I agree, Donavan, but I'm at a loss for what more I can offer. We've already traded everything that grows on our lands. Are there other products we can exchange? I don't know..."
Donavan's eyes glinted with a hint of opportunity. "There is one area I haven't mentioned yet—gems. India is known for its wealth of precious stones. As a king, you must have access to such treasures. If you could provide us with these gems—emeralds, rubies, sapphires—we could sell them in foreign markets and generate substantial profit."
Chandrapratapa Varman's interest was piqued. "Gems?"
"Yes, gems," Donavan affirmed, his tone enticing. "Rare and valuable stones. We are prepared to offer you a fair price. What do you think?"
Chandrapratapa Varman paused, his gaze fixed on the garden's distant horizon. Donavan's suggestion about the gems struck him as intriguing. The thought of trading the ancient gems for cash seemed practical—after all, what good were they sitting idle in the palace when they could be exchanged for tangible wealth?
"Very well, Donavan," Chandrapratapa Varman said slowly, his mind weighing the possibilities. "If you offer a good price, I am willing to consider it."
Donavan's face brightened with satisfaction. "I'm ready to make a fair offer, King. First, I would like to see these gems. Where are they kept?"
Chandrapratapa Varman nodded. "I will show them to you. If the price you offer is acceptable, I will sell them. Otherwise, you may leave your ambitions behind."
"Of course, we'll offer a generous price. Lead the way," Donavan replied eagerly.
As they began to walk towards the palace treasury, Rudrapratapa Varman, who had been listening from the shadows, followed discreetly. His brow furrowed in concern as he observed his elder brother's interaction with Donavan.
To Rudra, the idea of selling the precious gems—an heirloom of the Ikshvaku dynasty—was nothing short of sacrilege. The gems were not mere objects of wealth; they were a symbol of their heritage and pride. Selling them to a foreigner without understanding the full implications was reckless.
Rudra's resolve hardened. He could not let this happen. He needed to prevent his brother from making a grave mistake. Quietly, he trailed behind, his mind racing with plans to thwart the transaction and protect their legacy.
Chandrapratapa Varman and Donavan approached the imposing doors of the palace treasury. The king fumbled with the key at his waist, unlocking the heavy door with a satisfying click. As they stepped inside, the cool air of the chamber greeted them. Chandrapratapa carefully removed a large gold box from its resting place and, with a practiced motion, began to open it.
Inside lay a trove of glittering gems: emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and more, each stone catching the light in a dazzling display. Chandrapratapa Varman lifted them one by one, presenting them to Donavan. The merchant's eyes sparkled with interest as he inspected each gem.
"These are indeed valuable," Donavan said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "They will fetch a good price in the markets."
Rudrapratapa Varman, concealed in the shadows, watched the exchange with growing alarm. He saw the avarice in his elder brother's eyes as the prospect of profit seemed to cloud his judgment.
Yet Donavan's true intention was far from genuine admiration. His primary goal was to identify the keys to the royal treasury and map out its defenses. With this knowledge, the British could plan a covert operation to seize the gems, even if it meant resorting to violence. Donavan's satisfaction was evident as he concluded his inspection and left the treasury with a carefully masked sigh of triumph.
As Donavan departed, Rudrapratapa emerged from his hiding place, his face etched with concern. He approached his elder brother with urgency.
"Older brother," Rudra began, his voice steady but firm, "the gems you plan to sell are not just treasures—they are the legacy of our dynasty. They should not be given away so easily."
Chandrapratapa Varman turned to face him, a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Rudra, holding on to these inherited gems serves no purpose. If we exchange them for money, we can invest in the future and address pressing needs. Clinging to such antiquated traditions is impractical."
The palace hall, adorned with centuries-old tapestries and gleaming with the light of a thousand candles, felt heavy with tension. Rudra stood before his elder brother, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and sorrow.
"Older brother," he began, his voice steady but intense, "you must understand that there are many rare gems of value in that collection. Most of them cannot be used in exchange for money. Many are our royal family's lucky gems. Our family stands tall because of those gems in this palace. They must remain that way."
Rudra's elder brother, draped in royal finery, paced the room, his expression hardening with each step. "Look, Rudra, what is there to gain by just keeping these gems? If we sell them, there are people who will pay huge sums of money to buy them. What can we do with that money? We can buy more land and make it part of our country... we can start new industries... we can build new buildings. So we can grow into a royal family for which the land of India is known."
Rudra shook his head, his resolve unshaken. "Elder brother, our heritage is of royal blood. Nothing we see is forbidden by paying money. Everything is gained by fighting and subduing our enemy countries. If you intend to transfer those properties to a white man who came from somewhere, I cannot stand to see it."
A dangerous glint appeared in his brother's eyes. "Rudra, are you threatening me?"
"Consider it so," Rudra replied, his voice now cold as ice. "All respect for your being my elder brother is gone from me."
"I am the king," his brother declared, his voice rising with royal authority. "My decision is the royal decision. Do you dare to defy it?"
"The decision taken by the kings should be for the country," Rudra retorted. "If bad decisions are taken by the kings, the patriotic people will have to react against it. You should see me not just as a person. I am your own younger brother."
The king's face twisted with rage. "What if you are my younger brother? My son should rule this country after me, not you. You have no right to be king. I order you to be expelled from this country."
The midday sun streamed through the ornate windows of the palace hall, casting patterns of light and shadow on the marble floor. The air was thick with tension as Rudra Pratapa Varman stood near the treasury, his eyes cold and determined.
"Then, elder brother, my decision is to send you away from this earth."
With a swift, practiced motion, Rudra unsheathed his sword. The metallic ring of the blade resonated through the hall. Chandra Pratapa Varman, eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, drew his own sword in response. The clash of steel on steel echoed as the brothers engaged in a fierce duel.
Their movements were a deadly dance, each strike filled with years of training and pent-up emotion. The sunlight glinted off their blades, the room narrowing to the brutal contest of strength and skill. Finally, with a powerful blow, Rudra knocked Chandra to the ground, his elder brother's sword clattering away.
Rudra stood over his fallen brother, his chest heaving with exertion. "Look, brother... What is important to me is my country and the wealth of this country. I will not allow it to be conquered by foreigners. I cannot accept it if those who try to do so claim they are the king of this country."
The hall doors burst open, and the rest of the royal family rushed in, drawn by the sounds of the conflict. They froze at the sight before them: Rudra standing victoriously with his foot on Chandra's chest, his sword gleaming ominously in the daylight.
"My dear Rudra..." a voice called out, filled with sorrow and desperation.
Rudra turned to see the queen, his elder brother's wife, standing in the doorway, her eyes pleading. Despite everything, Rudra felt a pang of affection for her, a motherly figure who had shown him kindness.
"Elder sister..." he began, his voice softer but still firm.
"Rudra... what are you doing to him? Leave him alone..." she begged, stepping forward.
Rudra looked around at the assembled family members, their faces a mix of shock and confusion. He began to recount the events that had led to this moment, his voice steady as he explained his brother's betrayal. As they listened, their expressions hardened, turning to disdain as they looked upon Chandra Pratapa Varman.
"Rudra..." the queen's voice broke through his narrative, trembling with emotion.
The midday sun streamed through the ornate windows of the palace hall, casting patterns of light and shadow on the marble floor. Tension hung thick in the air as Rudra Pratapa Varman stood near the treasury, his chest heaving from the recent duel. Chandra Pratapa Varman lay defeated at his feet, unable to move. The royal family watched in shocked silence.
The queen stepped forward, her eyes hard and determined. "I am the queen. She who is able to take care of the administration of the kingdom if the king falls ill. Now here is my husband who is unable to do anything. At this time, the decision of the kingdom will be my words."
Rudra turned to her, his expression one of respect. "Let me trust that elder sister will make the right decision..." He knelt before the queen, his sword still in hand.
"Now I speak not as the wife of this sleeper, but as the queen who guards this kingdom," she declared. "Behead my husband, who has allowed the riches of the kingdom to fall into the hands of foreigners."
Chandra Pratapa Varman looked up at his wife, his eyes pleading for mercy. But her face was filled with contempt, a cold resolve that showed no forgiveness.
With the queen's permission, Rudra raised his sword. The room held its breath. In one swift motion, Rudra beheaded Raja Chandra Pratapa Varman, his sharp sword slicing cleanly through.
"Rudra..." the queen called, her voice echoing in the now silent hall.
Rudra turned to her, blood still dripping from his blade. "What's up, elder sister?"
"From this moment, you are the new king of Durgapuri. It is your decision that will be implemented in this kingdom."
In that single moment, Rudra Pratapa Varman was installed as the king in front of the palace treasury, without any coronation, without a crown and scepter being put on, without sitting on the throne. The weight of the kingdom now rested on his shoulders, and the future of Durgapuri lay in his hands.
"Though Donavan left here with a price for our gems," Rudraprathapa Varman began, his voice low and measured, "I have reason to believe he never intended to buy them." He paused, the words heavy in the air. "The white men may arrive at our palace with soldiers as early as tomorrow."
Queen's eyes widened, the gravity of the statement sinking in.
"Therefore," he continued, his tone firm, "I have decided to move our rare treasure from this royal palace to another place for safekeeping."
Will continue...