Chapter-7 : The Compassionate Princess

Chapter-7 : The compassionate Princess

As the palanquin swayed gently, Sanyogita exchanged a questioning glance with Maanvi, her companion sitting beside her. The soft cushions and plush pillows provided a stark contrast to the growing unease etched on their faces. The rhythmic creaking of the palanquin's wooden frame and the soldiers' synchronised footsteps halted as Sanyogita ordered, "Ruko!" (Stop!).

The sudden stillness was punctuated by the rustling of leaves and chirping birds, but Sanyogita's focus remained on the unsettling sounds ahead. Her brow furrowed, she asked, "Yeh shor kaisa hai?" (What's this commotion?) Her voice laced with concern, her eyes scanning the surroundings.

Maanvi's mirror-like expression reflected Sanyogita's worry. "Don't know, Rajkumari," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Maanvi prepared to exit the palanquin, Sanyogita's firm tone stopped her. "Don't go, let me ask the Sainik." Maanvi nodded, her dark hair bobbing slightly, and conceded.

Sanyogita's henna-stained fingers grasped the intricately embroidered curtain, its red fabric fluttering as she peeked outside. The setting sunlight casts a warm glow on her face, illuminating her determined expression. Her gaze locked onto a man standing nearby, his eyes red-rimmed and watery, his worn cotton cloth clutched in a tight fist.

As she addressed the sainik, her voice firm yet laced with curiosity, the sound carried through the evening air, mingling with the chirping crickets and rustling leaves. "Sainik, what's happening here?"

The sainik's polished armour reflected the fading light as he bowed respectfully. "Your Highness, it seems someone from the Palace arrived to collect taxes and tithe. Those unable to pay face... difficulties." His tone hinted at unspoken hardships.

Sanyogita's brow furrowed, concern etched on her face. "But why is there such a crowd?" Her voice conveyed empathy, drawing the attention of nearby villagers.

Just then, a villager rushed past the row of soldiers, his worn sandals scuffling against the dry earth. His frantic gaze darted between the palace guards and Sanyogita's palanquin. The air thickened with tension as whispers spread through the gathering.

The sainik's words hung in the air like a challenge, his voice laced with a hint of resignation. "Your Highness, Madhavgarh kingdom's customs are... stern. Twice a year, after summer's heat and winter's chill, villagers must pay tithe and tax, based on their means. It sustains the estate, funds sentries, food, and servants. In return, the kingdom offers protection, governance, and aid when needed. A delicate balance."

As he spoke, Sanyogita's gaze wandered to the villagers, their worn clothing and weary eyes a testament to their struggles. The setting sun cast long shadows, emphasising the desperation etched on their faces.

"This year, the king demanded tithe early, citing newly built temples and monuments. The sainik were ordered to collect compensation." The sainik's tone turned apologetic.

Sanyogita's anger simmered, her eyes flashing like polished gemstones.

"This tradition is undeniably cruel. The Majesty shouldn't impose such demands on innocent people before the appointed time. It’s only fair that he shows some concern for their well-being and needs as well.” Her voice trembled with indignation.

The sainik stood silent, his eyes downcast, as if the weight of his armour bore down on his conscience. The air thickened with tension, the only sound of the distant clanging of temple bells and the rustling of leaves.

Maanvi's gentle touch on Sanyogita's arm conveyed solidarity, her warm fingers wrapping softly around Sanyogita's silk-clad wrist. "Rajkumari, perhaps—" she began, her voice a soothing melody.

But Sanyogita's resolute tone cut through the silence, her words echoing through the gathering dusk like a clarion call. "I won't stand for this. The king's demands will bleed these villagers dry." Her determination ignited like a flame, illuminating the surrounding faces.

With a swish of her embroidered lehenga, Sanyogita descended from the palanquin, her gold anklets jingling softly. Maanvi followed, her own silk attire rustling as she stepped down.

Senapati's stern voice halted them, his hand extended in caution. "Princess, you can't walk openly here. Princesses of Madhavgarh aren't allowed such freedom." His words carried the weight of tradition.

The fading light cast long shadows across the Senapati's face, emphasising the deep lines etched by duty and loyalty. His armour creaked softly as he shifted, the sound blending with the distant temple bells and chirping crickets.

Sanyogita's gaze met the Senapati's, her eyes flashing with defiance. The air thickened with tension, the villagers watching with bated breath.

"Then what does the princess do, Senapati? Watch as the villagers' lifeblood is drained?" Her words echoed through the stifling air, heavy with the scent of parched earth.

Senapati's expression remained stoic, his voice a gentle breeze on a summer's day. "Your Highness, this has been the kingdom's way since before your birth. You'll grow accustomed to it." His tone hinted at resignation.

Sanyogita's glare pierced the Senapati's defences, her eyes flashing like polished gemstones. "I appreciate your devotion, but no environment can justify what's wrong!" Her voice resonated through the gathering, drawing the villagers' attention.

Senapati's gaze faltered, his eyes locked on Sanyogita's unwavering stare. "Your Highness..." he trailed off, his voice lost in the face of her determination.

With a resolute stride, Sanyogita paced past the Senapati, her embroidered lehenga rustling against the dry underbrush. Maanvi followed closely, her footsteps echoing in tandem.

The scorching sun casts a golden glow on Sanyogita's determined face, illuminating the sharp lines of her jaw and the fiery spirit within. The villagers' hopeless eyes met hers, their faces etched with desperation.

As she walked, the dusty earth crunched beneath her feet, releasing the sweet scent of parched soil. The air vibrated with tension, the silence punctuated only by the distant call of a peacock and the soft clinking of Sanyogita's anklets.

As Sanyogita approached the scene, her gaze fell upon a woman in her early thirties, her worn face etched with desperation. Her clothes, tattered and soiled, clung to her frail frame, testament to the hardships she endured.

"Malik, please..." the woman begged, her voice cracking as she clasped her hands together in supplication. "We have nothing to eat. Wild elephants ravaged our grain stores." Her eyes, red-rimmed from exhaustion, pleaded for mercy.

The tall, imposing figure sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Then how do you survive? Don't fabricate tales." He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "I've received reports of your two cows providing milk for your family."

The woman's hands trembled as she spoke. "Master, those cows are our lifeline. Their milk sustains us, fills our bellies with rice and milk." Her voice broke, tears streaming down her dusty face. "My daughter's wedding...we had to cancel it due to our dairy struggles."

Sanyogita's heart wrenched as she witnessed the woman's anguish. The air was heavy with the scent of desperation, the dust and dirt of the parched earth mirroring the hopelessness in the woman's eyes.

The man's gaze slithered over the girl, his eyes lingering on her youthful form, his smile twisted and sinister. "Why adorn your daughter's hands with henna? It's a waste." He leaned in, his voice dripping with malice. "Send her to the royal palace's harem. She'll serve as a concubine, and your family will reap prosperity."

His laughter sent shivers down the girl's spine, her eyes wide with fear. The mother's face contorted in anguish, her hands trembling as she clutched her daughter's shoulder.

The girl, no more than fifteen, darted a desperate glance at her mother. She understood the horrors that awaited her in the palace. Starvation's cruel grip seemed preferable to surrendering to the palace's debauchery.

The girl's gaze darted to her mother, her eyes wide with fear and understanding. She knew the horrors that awaited her in the palace, the cruel fate that befell girls sold to satiate the royal princes' appetites.

She shuddered, her slender shoulders trembling beneath her worn blouse. Her mother's frail form seemed to shrink further, as if the weight of their desperation crushed her.

The girl's mind recoiled at the thought of being paraded before the princes, her body used as a pawn to pay off debts. Starvation's slow, agonising grip seemed preferable to surrendering to the palace's debauchery.

Her stomach growled, protesting the emptiness that had become their constant companion. Yet, she knew that death by hunger would be a mercy compared to the life of a palace concubine.

The air was heavy with desperation, the scent of parched earth and withered hopes hanging over them like a shroud. The girl's heart raced, her thoughts consumed by the bleak future ahead.

Sanyogita's anger flared, her determination to protect the girl and her mother solidifying.

The sun beat down on the scene, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. The villagers watched, their faces etched with fear and desperation. The air reeked of sweat, dust, and oppression.

Another villager approached the tyrant, his weathered hands trembling as he opened his pouch to offer the taxes and tithe. The contents clinked, a meagre handful of coins.

The tyrant's face darkened, his thick brows furrowing. "Why is it only half? Where's the remaining half?" His voice boomed, echoing off the mud-plastered walls.

The villager cowered, his eyes downcast. "Master, I'll pay soon." His voice trembled.

The tyrant's growl sent shivers through the gathering. "Three days. Pay double next month, or face consequences." His hand hovered, clenched and menacing.

Sanyogita's gaze locked onto the menacing figure, his massive frame looming over a cowering villager. His raised hand, clenched into a fist, seemed to hover in mid-air, poised to strike.

"Stop!" Sanyogita commanded, her voice thundering through the heavy silence like a crack of lightning. The sound echoed off the surrounding buildings, drawing the attention of the villagers.

Heads turned, eyes widening as they beheld Sanyogita. Her radiance captivated, a ray of sunlight amidst dusty desperation. Her raven hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night, framing porcelain skin and piercing emerald eyes.

The villagers' gazes locked onto her, transfixed. Whispers rippled through the crowd, awe-struck murmurs.

"Who is she?" someone breathed.

Sanyogita's presence electrified the air, her beauty mesmerising.

The man's gaze shifted, his eyes locking onto Sanyogita's determined face. His piercing stare measured every inch of her, from the fiery spark in her emerald eyes to the delicate toes of her intricately embroidered slippers.

The air vibrated with tension, thick with anticipation. The scent of dust and sweat hung heavy, mingling with the faint fragrance of Sanyogita's jasmine perfume.

"Who are you to interfere, tiny girl?" The man's voice dripped with mockery, his lips curling into a sneer. His words hung in the air like a challenge, taunting Sanyogita.

Sanyogita stood tall, her five-foot-seven frame radiating defiance against the giant figure looming over her. His imposing stature, well over six feet, seemed to shrink the space around her.

Her slender fingers clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The soft silk of her sari rustled softly, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.

Sanyogita's eyes flashed with indignation, her glare sharp as a razor's edge. "My identity isn't important right now," she spat, her voice firm. "What matters is the suffering you're inflicting on these innocent villagers."

The tyrant's face darkened, his massive frame casting a long shadow over Sanyogita. His eyes narrowed, piercing through the sunlight like daggers.

The man's smile spread, his eyes glinting with venom like polished onyx, as his gaze lingered on Sanyogita's face. His expression twisted into a snarl, distorting his features.

"And what do you plan to do about it, little girl?" His voice taunted, dripping with malice, echoing through the heavy silence like a viper's hiss. The sound sent shivers down Sanyogita's spine.

Sanyogita's icy gaze met his, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance. "I really don't have time to invest in who you are and what power you hold." Her voice was steady, unwavering.

The man's expression turned granite, his face darkening like a stormy sky. His thick brows furrowed.

"Little girl, if you value your life, don't interrupt my work," he growled. The air seemed to vibrate with menace.

The man's smile returned, his eyes glinting with malevolence. "Unless you want to face the consequences. Unless you want to suffer." His words dripped with malice.

"What will you do...?" Sanyogita's voice remained firm.

"Then you'll have to confront the Prince," The man's gaze faltered, his confidence shaken. Fear flickered in his eyes.

The tyrant cautioned, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, little girl." His voice was low and menacing.

Sanyogita's expression grew blank, her thoughts racing. She had never realised that Yuvraj ( Prince ) , her brother, was the one the man truly feared. Her heart pounded, but her resolve remained unwavering.

The air hung heavy with tension, the outcome precarious. The villagers watched, frozen in fear.

As the man observed the pale expression of the girl who was standing ahead of him ,his heart was pounding with pride to at least make her frightened. But his pride full smile faded into furry when he heard her ferocious response

"Go and tell your Princes that if he has any further issues, come meet me first. From now on, before reaching the common dwellers, face me!"

Her words dripped with defiance, echoing through the silence like a challenge. The man's proud smile faltered, replaced by fury.

"Who are you, my dear little girl?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, curiosity, and menace.

Sanyogita's emerald eyes flashed. "Very soon, you'll learn who I am!"

With that, she turned, her sari rustling softly, and walked towards the villagers. The man's gaze followed, his anger simmering.

"Excuse me," Sanyogita called, approaching the woman with a bowed head.

Sanyogita noticed the sentries trailing behind, their armoured boots crunching on gravel, keeping a respectful distance.

The sun casts long shadows, emphasising the tension. Dust swirled around Sanyogita's feet as she moved, symbolising her determination.

Maanvi, a silent observer, watched the conversation between Sanyogita and the tyrant. Her eyes softened as she noticed her princess.

The woman, worn and weary, inclined her head slightly, not a full bow. "Yes?" she hissed, revealing gutka-stained teeth.

Sanyogita's gaze locked onto the woman's. "How much is your tithe?"

The woman's eyes widened, taken aback by the bewitching beauty before her. Sanyogita's radiance illuminated the dusty surroundings.

The woman's daughter, a young girl with sunken eyes, clung to her mother's worn lengha, her gaze fixed on Sanyogita. Her frail frame and haunted expression echoed her mother's desperation.

"Dear Mother..." Sanyogita began.

"Beti, I don't know you," the woman replied, confusion etched on her face. "Why do you want to know?"

Sanyogita's lips curled into a gentle smile. "This isn't the answer to my question, Mother." Her voice was soft, encouraging.

The village woman's eyes darted nervously towards the tyrant before responding, "Far more than you have in your pocket, daughter. Don't pull yourself into this--"

But before she could continue, the tyrant's menacing presence loomed, his shadow casting a dark spectre.

Sanyogita's gaze never wavered. "Then, it's here," she said, unfastening a diamond-studded gold bracelet from her right wrist. The sunlight danced across the diamonds, casting tiny rainbows.

"Take this and soon fix the marriage of your daughter," Sanyogita instructed, her voice filled with compassion.

The girl's eyes widened, fixed on Sanyogita as she removed her heavy diamond earrings from both ears. The sparkle of diamonds momentarily distracted from the desperation etched on her face.

Sanyogita handed the earrings to the woman. "Give him what you owe, then buy yourself some food." Her words were laced with kindness.

The woman's hands trembled as she accepted the offerings. Sanyogita's gentle touch on her shoulder sparked hope.

She inhaled deeply as she proceeded with more affectionate words "I'm very sorry for the loss you've faced. But don't worry, we will get through this, okay?"

The woman's eyes, red-rimmed from tears, lifted , her face etched with gratitude. Sanyogita's gentle touch on her shoulder sparked hope.

The tyrant's face darkened, his presence looming like a storm cloud.

The villagers stood in silent awe, their eyes wide with wonder as they witnessed an extraordinary act unfold before them.

Princess Sanyogita, with a determination that radiated from her very being, boldly stepped forward. In a powerful gesture of defiance against the constraints of her royal status, she gracefully unclasped her exquisite gold necklace that gleamed in the sunlight, its intricate design catching the eyes of all present. Her diamond maang tikka, a shimmering adornment that spoke of the royal lineage, was carefully removed and placed alongside the necklace. From the vibrant red velvet pouch that hung at her right waist, she withdrew several gleaming coins, each one a symbol of her wealth and privilege.

With a heart full of compassion, Sanyogita began to distribute her precious possessions among the gathered villagers. Each piece of jewellery and each coin she offered was not just a gift ; it was a lifeline, a means for the villagers to secure food and essential supplies during their time of need. As she placed the items into the hands of the villagers, they felt a flicker of hope ignite within them, a feeling that had long been extinguished by their struggles. Their gazes turned toward their princess, filled with admiration and gratitude, as they realised that in her, they had a leader who truly cared for their welfare.

Watching this remarkable scene was the Senapati, and also the nobleman who had travelled from Aryanagar to escort Princess Sanyogita. He stood frozen, his face flushed with embarrassment and humiliation. Observing the princess generously giving away her cherished possessions to the impoverished villagers, he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

Senapati had never encountered a woman with such extraordinary bravery and selflessness, one who would dismiss the value of her jewels in the face of another's suffering. In that moment, the jewellery seemed to hold little worth compared to the profound impact of Sanyogita's actions, which illuminated the stark contrast between her royal heritage and the dire misery of the villagers she sought to help. The Senapati, filled with respect and newfound understanding, could not help but marvel at the depth of her character and the strength of her resolve.

Sanyogita's presence loomed, a beacon of hope in the darkness. The girl's gaze flicked to Sanyogita, her eyes pleading for rescue, for salvation from the abyss that yawned before her.

Before embarking on her new journey, Sanyogita paused for a moment, her eyes sparkling with eagerness and warmth. With a soft yet earnest tone, she leaned closer and said, “If you want more then...” Her words hung in the air, filled with unspoken promises and the depth of her affection.

Turning her gaze towards Maanvi, Sanyogita conveyed a silent message through a simple gesture of her eyes, urging her to share her thoughts. Maanvi, always ready to support her beloved princess, stepped up beside her. She placed her right hand gently over Sanyogita’s shoulder, a sign of pride and loyalty that deepened their bond. The gesture radiated a sense of camaraderie, as if to say that no matter the challenges ahead, they would face them together.

The villagers watched, awestruck, their gazes locked onto Sanyogita. Their whispers echoed through the air, "Who is this angel?"

"A goddess among mortals." Another whispered with admiration .

As Sanyogita began to gracefully make her way back to the ornate palanquin waiting for her, a small girl suddenly emerged from the crowd. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, sparkling with wonder at the captivating figure before her. Taking a deep breath and mustering her courage, the little girl approached Sanyogita, her heart racing with excitement.

“Excuse me,” she said bravely, her voice a mixture of shyness and determination.

"Didi, what's your name?” Her innocent inquiry sought to uncover the identity of the remarkable woman who had come to defend her and her companions, hoping to grasp a connection with the person who seemed to embody strength and kindness.

Sanyogita's gaze softened as she knelt to meet the girl at eye level, her heart swelling with affection for the brave little soul standing before her.

With a gentle smile, Sanyogita replied, “Soon, everyone will come to know my true identity.” Her words were filled with promise and determination, suggesting that her return to Madhavgarh marked the beginning of change.

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As Sanyogita stepped onto the rich, fertile soil of Madhavgarh, the earthy scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers enveloped her with nostalgic emotions. The fragrance of frangipani and jasmine wafted through the air, mingling with the sweetness of ripening mangoes.

The warm sunlight cast a golden glow upon her, illuminating her determined face. The gentle breeze carried the soft chirping of birds, a symphony of welcome.

After a sixteen-year absence, Princess Sanyogita returned to her homeland, filled with curiosity and nostalgia for her birthplace. Her heart swelled with emotions as she beheld the majestic fort, its stone walls bearing witness to generations of her family's history.

As she entered the grand courtyard, Sanyogita's gaze met an ocean of unfamiliar faces – her family, reunited at last. Her heart skipped a beat; her breath caught in her throat. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Queen Purnima, resplendent in a crimson embroidery ghagra and choli with a green dupatta draped around her curves , her head covered by a golden dupatta, as she stepped forward. With graceful hands, she performed the aarti, a ritual of welcoming guests with sacred ingredients: sandalwood paste, vermilion, and a diya arranged on a decorative thali.

The queen's eyes, warm and gentle, met Sanyogita. "Welcome, Princess Sanyogita, my child."

Sanyogita bowed her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Pranam, Rani Ma." The words echoed through the courtyard, a declaration of respect and love.

Queen Purnima's tender touch on Sanyogita's forehead ignited a sense of belonging. The soft rustle of silk, the jingle of ankle bells, and the sweet fragrance of incense sticks created a sensory tapestry, weaving Sanyogita back into the fabric of her heritage.

Maharani Purnima's slender hands moved with grace, performing the aarti with precision. Her eyes, pools of warmth, held a tinge of pride and determination, betraying her modest demeanour. As she waved the diya's gentle flames before Sanyogita, her gaze lingered on her stepdaughter's face.

Sanyogita's resemblance to her co-wife, Swarnalekha, was striking – the same almond-shaped eyes, the same raven hair. Purnima's thoughts drifted to the past, memories of Swarnalekha's laughter and tears.

"Prepare her chambers," Purnima instructed her favourite maid, Kamala, her voice soft but authoritative. "Ensure everything is perfect for our beloved Princess."

Kamala scurried off, her silk sari rustling against the marble floor. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged hall, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting Madhavgarh's history.

Maanvi stood nearby, observing the reunion with interest. She noted the subtle tension between Purnima's reserved smile and Sanyogita's guarded expression.

Sanyogita's silence was palpable, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. The fragrance of sandalwood and rose petals wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet scent of incense.

As Purnima completed the aarti, she gently touched Sanyogita's forehead with her vermilion-tipped fingers. The gesture conveyed warmth and acceptance.The tension between them was palpable, a delicate dance of emotions.

To be continued...

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