As Amartya made his way toward the northern kingdom of Aryavarta, the journey felt long and arduous, though he knew this was the most important step in preparing for the war that loomed on the horizon. The mountains had begun to give way to rolling hills and forests, and the air, though still crisp, grew warmer with each step. His mind, however, remained heavy with thoughts of the hermit's words. He needed allies—strong and trustworthy ones—to stand with him when the forces of darkness began their assault on the world. And Aryavarta was where he hoped to find them.
Aryavarta was a kingdom known for its military prowess and wealth. Nestled in the fertile northern plains, it had long remained untouched by external conflicts, thriving in peace while many other kingdoms had fallen into the clutches of warlords and invaders. The ruler of Aryavarta, King Shuddhodan, was a renowned strategist and leader, a man whose wisdom was said to rival even the greatest sages. But more than the king, Amartya had heard tales of his son—Prince Yuvan. A warrior of exceptional skill and courage, Yuvan was known to be fearless on the battlefield and compassionate in times of peace. He was the ally Amartya sought.
However, reaching Aryavarta and gaining the trust of its people was no simple task. Amartya knew that many kingdoms had already fallen under the sway of darker influences, with secret alliances being forged to prepare for the larger conflict ahead. He could not be sure if Aryavarta remained untouched or if even they had begun to align themselves with those who sought the world's downfall. This uncertainty weighed heavily on his mind.
As Amartya traveled deeper into the lands of Aryavarta, he encountered more signs of civilization—villages, farms, and merchants moving along the roads. The people of Aryavarta lived comfortably, their lands bountiful, and their communities seemingly untouched by the violence that had claimed Dharmarashtra. Despite this, there was a palpable tension in the air, a sense of unease that told Amartya that even here, the shadow of impending conflict was creeping in.
One evening, as the sun began to set behind the mountains, Amartya arrived at a small town near Aryavarta's border. He decided to stop for the night and rest before making the final leg of his journey to the capital. As he walked through the bustling marketplace, he overheard murmurs of unrest—rumors of distant battles, mysterious visitors, and strange occurrences at the palace. It seemed that Aryavarta was not as isolated from the troubles of the world as it appeared.
Amartya made his way to a local inn, where he secured a room for the night. The innkeeper, a talkative man with a thick beard, quickly struck up a conversation.
"You've come from the south, haven't you?" the innkeeper asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.
Amartya nodded but kept his answers vague. "I've traveled far, yes."
"The south has been troubled lately," the innkeeper continued, leaning against the counter. "We've heard stories of kingdoms falling, armies marching, and dark forces gathering. It's unsettling, even up here."
Amartya glanced around the inn, noticing a few other patrons listening intently to the conversation. "Aryavarta remains peaceful for now," Amartya said, testing the waters. "But do you think that peace will last?"
The innkeeper sighed, his expression darkening. "I don't know, stranger. There's something in the air. People are scared. There's talk that King Shuddhodan is considering joining forces with others to prepare for what's coming. But not everyone in the palace agrees."
Amartya's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"
The innkeeper lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "The prince—Yuvan—he's different from his father. Brave as they come, no doubt about that, but he's got a fire in him. He's been pushing for Aryavarta to take a stand, to act before it's too late. But the king… well, he's a cautious man. He doesn't want to involve Aryavarta in a war that might not reach us."
Amartya nodded, absorbing this information. It seemed that the kingdom was divided, and if he wanted to gain their support, he would have to navigate these internal politics carefully. Prince Yuvan, however, sounded like the ally he had been hoping for.
The next morning, Amartya set out for the capital of Aryavarta, a grand city built on the banks of the great river Saraswati. The journey took him through lush forests and fertile farmlands, the richness of the land a stark contrast to the desolation of Dharmarashtra. As he approached the city gates, he marveled at the sight before him—high stone walls, watchtowers, and bustling streets filled with people going about their daily lives. Despite the undercurrent of tension, Aryavarta still thrived.
The city guards, after a brief exchange, allowed Amartya to enter the capital. His reputation had not reached this far north, but his bearing and armor suggested he was no mere traveler. He was directed toward the palace, a sprawling complex of grand buildings surrounded by manicured gardens and fountains. The palace itself was a testament to Aryavarta's wealth and power, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight.
As Amartya made his way toward the entrance, he was stopped by a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing the colors of the royal guard. His sharp eyes studied Amartya carefully before speaking.
"You are not from Aryavarta," the guard said, his tone more curious than accusatory. "State your business."
"I seek an audience with King Shuddhodan," Amartya replied. "I have urgent matters to discuss, concerning the future of this kingdom and the world."
The guard raised an eyebrow. "The king does not grant audiences lightly, especially to strangers."
"I understand," Amartya said, his voice steady. "But if the king values the safety of his people, he will want to hear what I have to say."
The guard hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he nodded. "Wait here. I will see if the king is willing to meet with you."
As the guard disappeared into the palace, Amartya stood in the courtyard, his eyes taking in the grandeur of his surroundings. Despite the peaceful appearance of the city, he couldn't shake the feeling that trouble was brewing just beneath the surface.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard returned. "The king has agreed to see you," he said. "Follow me."
Amartya was led through the palace's winding halls, past tapestries depicting Aryavarta's history and statues of past kings. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the sound of distant music echoed through the corridors. Finally, they arrived at the king's audience chamber, a grand room with high ceilings and intricate carvings adorning the walls.
King Shuddhodan sat on a raised platform at the far end of the room, his regal presence commanding respect. He was a man in his late fifties, with silver-streaked hair and a face lined with the wisdom of years. His eyes, sharp and calculating, regarded Amartya with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Beside him stood Prince Yuvan, a striking figure of strength and youth. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a fierce determination in his eyes that contrasted with the more measured demeanor of his father.
Amartya bowed respectfully before addressing the king. "Your Majesty, I come to you as a messenger of dire news. The forces of darkness are gathering, and soon, they will strike at the heart of our world. I have seen it with my own eyes. I fought in Dharmarashtra when it fell to King Raksha's armies, and I have been granted a vision by Lord Vishnu himself. The war is coming, and Aryavarta must be prepared."
The king listened carefully, his expression unreadable. "I have heard rumors of these dark forces," he said slowly. "But Aryavarta has remained untouched by these conflicts. We are a peaceful kingdom, and I do not wish to involve my people in a war that may never reach our borders."
Before Amartya could respond, Prince Yuvan stepped forward. "Father, we cannot ignore this any longer. The signs are all around us—darkness is spreading, and it is only a matter of time before it reaches Aryavarta. We must take action before it is too late."
King Shuddhodan's gaze flickered to his son, and for a moment, Amartya saw the tension between them. The king was cautious, unwilling to risk his kingdom's safety, while the prince was eager to act, to fight before the threat became too great.
"I understand your concerns, Yuvan," the king said, his tone measured. "But we cannot rush into war without knowing the full extent of the threat. Aryavarta has always thrived because we have chosen our battles wisely."
Amartya saw an opportunity to bridge the gap between father and son. "Your Majesty," he said, "I am not asking you to send your armies to fight blindly. But I ask for your support—your guidance, your wisdom. We must be united in the face of this coming storm, or we will all fall, one by one."
The king considered Amartya's words carefully. After a long moment, he spoke. "You are a stranger to our land, but I sense that your words are true. I will not commit Aryavarta to war just yet, but I will allow you to stay here as my guest. We will continue this discussion once I have consulted with my advisors."
Amartya bowed once more. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate your wisdom and your willingness to listen."
As Amartya was led away from the audience chamber, he exchanged a glance with Prince Yuvan. There was an understanding between them, a shared sense of urgency that transcended words. Amartya knew that the prince would be a valuable ally in the battles to come.
But for now, he would have to wait—and hope that the king would see the truth before it was too late.