4 Years Later
Four years had passed since that tragic day, but today there was a fleeting moment of joy in the palace of Maharaj Devraj in Sitampur. The corridors echoed with anticipation, the servants bustling about, preparing for the arrival of a new member of the royal family. The palace is waiting for the sounds of a newborn's first cries. The joy of an heir had been long awaited, and everyone believed that this would finally bring an end to the darkness that had gripped the palace for years.
Outside, the skies began to shift unexpectedly. Dark clouds gathered with an ominous force, winds howled through the trees, and the atmosphere seemed heavy with tension. The air, once full of celebration, turned eerily cold. The courtiers whispered nervously, watching as the once-clear skies darkened. Then, in the midst of the growing storm, a cry was heard—a child had been born.
Maharaj Devraj stood at the edge of the palace courtyard, watching the storm unfold. Just as the rain began to pour, soaking the land in sheets of water, he heard the faintest sound—a cry. It was a cry not of nature, but of life. His heart raced with a mix of hope and fear. He turned, ready to rush towards the birthing chambers, but before he could take a step, two maidservants hurried toward him, their faces pale and unsure.
"Maharaj ki jai ho!" one of them gasped, out of breath. But their expressions gave away the fear behind their words. Something was wrong. They looked at each other, uncertain, before turning back to the king.
"What is it?" Devraj asked, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. "Is the child... is my wife...?"
The women exchanged glances again, and one of them stammered, "Maharaj, you have been blessed with a daughter..."
A daughter, Devraj thought. His heart clenched with a strange mixture of emotion. He had longed for a child, for an heir. But as he waited for the rest of the sentence, he noticed the hesitation in their voices, the fear in their eyes.
"...but..." the maidservant faltered.
"But what?" Devraj's voice rose, laced with worry. "What has happened to the queen? Speak!"
"Maharaj," the other maidservant finally whispered, tears brimming in her eyes, "The queen... she... she didn't survive."
The words hit him like a physical blow. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world around him faded into the background—the storm, the rain, the cries of the baby—all of it dissolved into a void of numbness. His beloved Sugandha was gone. Gone. The queen who had ruled his heart and his life. The mother of his children. And now, she had left him forever.
Without thinking, Devraj pushed past the servants, his steps heavy and frantic as he rushed towards the chambers. When he reached the room, his heart nearly stopped. There, lying on the bed, was his wife. Sugandha, motionless, her face serene as if she were only sleeping. But he knew she would never wake.
He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside her. "Sugandha..." His voice broke as he took her hand, her skin cold to the touch. "Wake up... please..."
But there was no response, no flutter of her eyelids, no warmth left in her. His world had come crashing down, just as the storm raged outside. He had been prepared to welcome life, but now, he stood in the presence of death. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn't care who saw them. His queen was gone.
In the corner, Daima cradled the newborn baby girl in her arms, her eyes wet with sorrow. She had seen many births in her lifetime, but never one so tragic. The child, barely minutes old, had already brought a storm to the palace—both in the sky and in the hearts of those who loved the queen.
Devraj's hands shook as he touched his wife's face, his grief too raw to contain. His son, Kartik, only four years old, appeared at the doorway. Seeing his father's broken form, he slowly approached, his small hands gripping the hem of Devraj's robe.
"Pitaji?" Kartik's voice was barely a whisper. His innocent eyes filled with confusion as he looked from his mother, lying still on the bed, to his father, who was lost in his own despair. "What's wrong with Maa?"
Devraj couldn't bring himself to answer. The words wouldn't come. How could he explain to his son that their mother would never wake up again? How could he tell him that their family was broken forever?
The silence was unbearable, only broken by the soft wails of the newborn in the midwife's arms. The weight of the moment was too much for Devraj. He turned towards the baby, and something inside him twisted with anger. This child—this daughter—had taken everything from him.
His sorrow quickly transformed into fury. He stood up, his eyes burning with rage. "No," he whispered harshly, "this is no child of mine. She has brought death to this house. She has taken my Sugandha from me, taken Kartik's mother, and robbed this kingdom of its queen."
Daima clutched the baby closer, her heart sinking at the sight of the king's anger. "Maharaj, she is innocent. She has done no wrong. Please..."
But Devraj wasn't listening. His grief and rage blinded him. "This girl is cursed! She has brought nothing but pain to us. She should never have been born." His hand moved to his sword, and he pulled it from its sheath with a terrifying determination. "She must die."
"No!" Daima cried, stepping in front of the baby, and shielding her with her body. "You will not touch her, Deva!"
Devraj glared at her, but she didn't move. Though she wasn't his mother, Daima had raised him from birth, and her authority over him was undeniable. Even in his anger, he respected her.
"Daima, move aside," he ordered, his voice low but filled with menace. "I cannot let this curse remain in my house."
Daima's heart was breaking for both the king and the child but without thinking she raised her hand and slapped him. The sound echoed in the chamber, leaving everyone stunned.
"How dare you!" she shouted, her voice quivering with emotion. "This child is Sugandha's last gift to you! She carries your blood, Devraj! Look at her! She is not a curse—she is your daughter! You may not want her, but I swear to you, I will not let a single scratch come to her. If you will not raise her, I will. But know this—one day, you will regret these words. One day, you will see that daughters bring light, not darkness."
Devraj's face hardened, but he couldn't argue with her. He turned away, his heart too broken to care anymore. "Do what you will, Daima," he muttered. "But this child will never be mine."
"This child," Daima said softly, "is named Nandini. She is a symbol of Sugandha's love, even if it's hard to see right now. She deserves a chance to live."
Devraj looked at the baby in Daima's arms. His heart was too broken to accept this new reality, but Daima's words, filled with wisdom and compassion, began to penetrate his anguish. Though he was reluctant, he understood the futility of his rage. With a heavy heart, he turned away, his spirit crushed under the weight of his grief.
Years flowed like a slow, aching river in Sitampur, each one leaving Nandini more isolated, yet more resilient. The palace, once filled with laughter and life, had turned into a gilded prison for her. After that fateful night, when her mother died bringing her into the world, the whispers of ill fate clung to her like a curse. Everywhere she went, people spoke of her as if she were a storm that had taken away the kingdom's joy. Her father, Maharaj Devraj, had never recovered from the loss of his queen. Whenever he looked at Nandini, his eyes were filled not with warmth, but with the haunting memory of what he had lost.
Her brother, Kartik, was no different. He had been just a child when their mother died, and in his heart, Nandini became the cause of his emptiness. He never spoke to her unless duty required it, never looked her in the eye without a shadow of bitterness. The palace's walls, adorned with tapestries and jewels, were cold to her. To the people of the city, Nandini was a symbol of misfortune. They whispered behind her back, calling her cursed, a daughter who had brought death to her own mother and sorrow to the royal family.
Yet Nandini was not broken. Under the care of Daima, who loved her like the daughter she'd never had, she grew stronger. Daima's gentle hands were the only source of comfort, and her wise words were Nandini's anchor in a world that seemed to have no place for her. Still, there were days when even Daima's kindness couldn't fill the void left by her father's rejection or her brother's coldness. Nandini longed for something she could never have—love, acceptance, a family that would see her for who she was, not the shadow they blamed her for casting.
While Nandini faced the cruelty of the palace and the people, far away in the dense forests surrounding Aryanagar, another life was unfolding. Aryan, the lost prince, had no knowledge of the grandeur and history that was his birthright. He had been taken from the palace as a baby, whisked away by Aaloka to protect him from the unknown dangers lurking within the walls of Aryanagar. He was raised with the knowledge of survival, of discipline, and of purpose, but never of the royal blood that ran through his veins.
Aaloka taught Aryan everything—how to fight, how to live off the land, and how to read the signs of the world around him. Yet, despite all the knowledge passed down to him, Aryan often felt something missing, a deep, unexplainable void.
Nandini's world, though surrounded by wealth and royalty, felt just as empty. Her dreams were filled with visions of something—someone—far away, a connection she couldn't explain. She often found herself wandering the palace gardens, gazing at the distant horizon, wondering if there was more to her life than the destiny everyone believed she was tied to.
Neither Aryan nor Nandini knew it yet, but their paths were destined to cross. Two souls, bound by fate, separated by circumstance but moving toward each other in a world that was about to change forever.
22 Years Later
Twenty-two years later, a young woman darted through the lush gardens of the Sitampur palace, her laughter echoing like soft chimes in the breeze. Her long hair, braided with delicate flowers, trailed behind her as she ran, her lehenga catching on the petals scattered beneath her feet. Behind her, her companions, Vaishali and Meera, struggled to keep up, their footsteps lighter but no less determined.
"Rajkumari Nandini, slow down! If Daima finds out we snuck away, we'll all be in trouble!" Vaishali called out, her voice filled with playful exasperation, though a hint of nervousness crept in.
Nandini turned her head slightly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Let her catch me then!" she teased, her eyes glinting with defiance. The world inside the palace walls felt suffocating to her—restrictive and cold. Outside, among the flowers and trees, she could breathe freely, away from the stares that judged her, the whispers that followed her every step. This was her escape, her only refuge from the life she had never truly felt part of.
Vaishali and Meera tried their best to keep pace, but Nandini was always a step ahead. The garden had always been her sanctuary, a place she knew like the back of her hand. Here, she wasn't the princess who carried the weight of her mother's death, the princess who her father barely acknowledged. Here, she was just a young woman, running with the wind at her back.
As Nandini rounded a corner, she stopped abruptly, nearly crashing into the towering figure of Daima. The old caretaker stood with her hands on her hips, a stern look on her face, though her eyes softened slightly when she saw the princess.
"And where do you think you're going, Rajkumari?" Daima's voice was firm but tinged with affection. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when I couldn't find you in your chambers?"
Nandini's playful expression faded. She knew Daima cared for her like a mother, the only person who had ever shown her true love in the palace. "I'm sorry, Daima," Nandini said quietly, her voice no longer filled with the carefree energy it held moments before. "I just needed to be outside, away from... everything."
Daima's face softened, and she placed a hand gently on Nandini's cheek. "I know, child. But you must remember, you are the princess of Sitampur. You have responsibilities... and dangers that come with your name."
Nandini nodded, though the weight of those words always pressed harder on her heart. She longed for more—more than the life she had been given, more than the coldness of the palace and the absence of love.
As they began to walk back toward the palace, Daima leaned in slightly and whispered, "You should rest early tonight. Tomorrow we leave for Aryanagar. Maharaj Bhimrao has invited us for the grand festival."
Nandini's steps faltered for a moment, her heartbeat quickening. "Aryanagar!! the thought of leaving Sitampur, even temporarily, filled her with a strange mix of excitement and unease.
Daima smiled softly, "The festival is a grand event, and you, my dear, will meet many important people. Including someone special... Rajkumar Veer has returned from the gurukul. I hear he's grown into a fine young man."
At the mention of Veer, Nandini felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Veer, the youngest son of Maharaj Bhimrao, had always held a special place in her heart. Though they hadn't seen each other in years, she still remembered his kindness, the way he looked at her with understanding, something she rarely found in anyone else.
Her thoughts began to spiral with the idea of seeing him again, of what he might look like now, of whether he had changed as much as she had. A small smile crept onto her face, but it was quickly overtaken by an uneasy feeling—a sense that this journey to Aryanagar would bring with it more than just old friendships. Something deep inside told her that Aryanagar was more than a destination. It was the beginning of a change, one that would shake the very foundations of her life.
Without realizing it, she whispered to herself, "Veer..."
Daima, catching the princess's soft murmur, chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, Rajkumari. All will be revealed in time."
As they made their way back to the palace, Nandini's mind raced with thoughts of Aryanagar, of Veer, and the strange pull she felt toward a place she had never been.
Without knowing it, a storm was brewing, one that would completely turn Nandini's life upside down. What had so far been a quiet, restless story was about to take a turn, filled with joy, sorrow, and the deep secrets of fate. This journey in Aryanagar was not just a path to be traveled but a test of Nandini's heart and beliefs.
A bond that had been overlooked until now was slowly tightening in the hands of destiny. Little did Nandini know that her life was intricately tied to another, someone far away, unaware of the storm heading their way—a life that, though distant, was bound to hers by the threads of an ancient connection.
Aryan, living in his own small world, unaware of his true origins, was about to step into a narrative much bigger than he could ever have imagined. Aaloka had done everything to keep him away from the palace, far from the truth of his birth. But destiny has a way of pulling hidden truths back into the light. Aryan's reality, and the unknown connection between him and Nandini, was on the verge of unfolding, pushing them both towards a future they had never expected.