Before you start Chapter 1, please read this.

This book is set in an ancient historical era,I couldn't completely write it in the original style because I'm writing it in English, but some Hindi dialogues may appear in future chapters with English translation in the brackets.

"It might feel like nothing is happening right now—that everything is going smoothly, like butter. But trust me, there's a reason for that. So please don't judge the story by just Chapter 4. From Chapter 6 onward, everything starts to change. I hope you'll be proud that you chose to give my story a chance."

If you enjoy historical stories, I hope you'll continue reading and enjoy the journey. But if this genre isn't your cup of tea, that's completely okay—the doors are always open, and you're free to find another book that suits your taste.

Thank you for giving my story a chance.

Start......

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

The Era of Peace and Prosperity

It was an era where tranquility was not merely a law, but the very breath of the land. In this golden dawn of time flourished a kingdom whose name echoed like a gentle hymn across the subcontinent: Kalinga Samrajya.

The realm was guided by the tender hands of a beloved King, Keshav  and his gentle Queen, Madhavi. They did not rule with an iron fist; they watched over their land like devoted parents.

A Sanctuary Born of Joy

Kalinga Samrajya was a small, vibrant paradise nestled away from the chaotic hunger of the world. Home to a modest fifty to seventy thousand living souls, the palace walls and village borders blurred into one big, laughing family.

Here, people didn't just survive—they truly lived. Freedom wasn't a right they fought for; it was the air they breathed.

The King and Queen possessed hearts of pure gold. Their doors were never shut, and their hands were never closed. If a citizen wept, the royals felt the tear; if a neighboring kingdom faced famine, Kalinga’s granaries were emptied for them without a second thought, asking for nothing but their happiness in return.

They had no thirst for expansion, no hunger for titles, and a complete absence of greed.

THE INEXHAUSTIBLE WEALTH OF KALINGA

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[ Mineral Wealth ]  Deep veins of gold, black coal, and rich oil.

[ Golden Fields  ]  Waves of wheat, bajra, jwar, rice, and pulses.

[ Sacred Groves  ]  Orchards heavy with sweet fruits of every kind.

[ Pure Livestock ]  Thousands of sacred cows giving milk and ghee.

[ Healing Earth  ]  Valleys of potent, life-saving medicinal herbs.

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To the outside world, Kalinga looked like a kingdom of unimaginable, dazzling luxury. But to the King and Queen, it was just a simple life. They wore simple threads spun by their own people.

On starry nights, the palace courtyard came alive. Villagers would walk into the royal gardens for music, dance, and kala (art), sharing meals with their rulers. There was no fear, no bowing in terror—only a deep, pulsing love between the praja and the throne.

The kingdom was alive with the music of nature. Thousands of rare, colorful birds nested in the palace eaves and village trees, painting the sky with colors and songs found nowhere else on earth.

The Art of the Soft Warriors

Yet, this gentleness was not weakness. Neighboring kingdoms eyed Kalinga’s immense wealth with bitter jealousy and burning spite.

They desperately wanted to conquer it, but they never could.

Because the people of Kalinga had turned defense into a breathtaking art form.

They did not train for bloody wars or conquest, but out of a deep respect for the human body. From the tender age of thirteen, the entire village would gather in the fields.

No caste, no discrimination, no racism—everyone was equal. Even the young girls would occasionally join when they wanted a break from their daily routines, welcomed with open arms. And who was their teacher? The King himself.

He stood in the dust with them, teaching them the deadliest, most intricate talwaarbaaji (swordsmanship) and swift khanjar (dagger) techniques. They were a peaceful people, but if pressed, they fought with a brutal, mesmerizing precision that left enemies trembling.

The Miraculous Birth of Prince Dushyant

The King was a deeply spiritual man, a devout follower of Buddhism who walked the path of mindfulness. For years, the royal couple shared a quiet sorrow—their palace was silent, lacking the laughter of a child. They performed countless poojas, offering their tears and prayers to the heavens.

Finally, the universe relented. The Queen gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

The day he was born, the entire kingdom erupted in a blinding glow of celebration. Lamps were lit in every window, and the poorest peasant danced in the street.

He was named Prince Dushyant.

The grand snan (sacred bath) and naming rituals were conducted by the kingdom's ultimate pillar of wisdom, Guru Chanakya. A master of deep spirituality, ancient science, and political genius, Chanakya was a man who looked into the fabric of time itself.

As Guru Chanakya lifted the infant, he noticed a startling birthmark on the baby's upper back, precisely over the butterfly bone. It was the vibrant, unmistakable shape of a red handprint.

A heavy, ancient history rested behind that crimson mark—a secret too profound to be spoken aloud. Chanakya chose to keep it guarded in his heart, but he looked at the royal parents and prophesied: "This boy is destined for greatness. He will become the greatest bhakta of Mahadev this world has ever seen."

Hearing this, a profound serenity washed over the King. He knew his Queen’s secret soul—she had been a passionate devotee of Lord Shiva in her youth, but had quietly embraced Buddhism after their marriage to walk in step with him.

She had done it willingly, out of love, but the King had never forgotten. Now, knowing his son would carry her ancient devotion forward, his heart swelled.

Without a word of hesitation, he resolved to build a magnificent, towering temple dedicated to Lord Shiva, where his wife, his son, and anyone in the world could bow their heads to Mahadev.

The Rising Star: Beauty with Brains

Prince Dushyant grew into an extraordinary boy, carrying a double portion of his parents' kindness. He possessed a face of angelic beauty and a mind as sharp as a shattered diamond.

There was no pride in him. As a young boy, he would walk into the fields, sit on the dirt with the farmers, eat their simple meals, and even sleep under their thatched roofs, earning the absolute devotion of the praja. He was the tara—the shining star—of every eye.

His genius was terrifyingly beautiful.

Age 3: He picked up a wooden sword and began learning talwaarbaaji.

Age 4: He was already an expert, moving like the wind with swords and khanjars, mastering unarmed combat shortly after.

Age 6: He possessed the deep, philosophical knowledge of a grown scholar.

Age 12: He fluently spoke, read, and wrote six languages: Prakrit, Brahmi, Kharoshthi, Greek, Aramaic, and English.

This linguistic brilliance was a gift from his father’s vision. Whenever a villager wanted to learn something new, the King would completely finance their travel to foreign lands, providing food, shelter, and money.

When these scholars returned, they taught the village—and the young Prince sat right alongside his people, absorbing everything like a sponge.

                  A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE PRINCE

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[ 4 Hours ]  Swordsmanship and lethal dagger play in the dust.

[ 3 Hours ]  Unarmed combat, mastering the flow of physical energy.

[ 7 Hours ]  At Guru Chanakya’s ashram learning herbs, toxins, and

              absolute control over anger and human emotion.

[ 2-5 Hours] Lost in deep, ecstatic meditation at the Mahadev temple.

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Under Guru Chanakya, Dushyant didn't just learn politics; he learned the secrets of life. He studied the nature of lethal poisons (jehar), the properties of healing herbs, the philosophy of peace, and the absolute mastery over one's own anger.

But there was a beautiful, secret side to the Prince. At night, away from the eyes of the court, he would watch his father quietly cooking in the royal kitchen. Intrigued, the young Prince asked the King to teach him.

He wanted to learn the art of culinary magic so he could one day cook with his own hands for his future wife.

The King helped him gladly, never asking why, sharing a warm, silent understanding between father and son. It was their beautiful, sacred secret.

The Weight of the Throne and a Hidden Heart

Now, the Prince had turned eighteen. He was a masterpiece of a man—fierce yet gentle, brilliant yet humble. Though he was fully capable of running the empire, his parents wanted him to just enjoy the sweet, fleeting days of his youth a little longer.

However, seeing their own graying hair and realizing the heavy burden of the throne would one day fall on his shoulders, the King and Queen decided it was time to find him a wife—a queen who could nurture the kingdom alongside him.

Quietly, without telling Dushyant, they began looking for alliances in neighboring lands. But the search turned into a heartbreaking disappointment.

Because Dushyant’s name, beauty, and intellect were famous across the lands, kingdoms desperately tried to trap him. Some kings offered their princesses who were barely seven years old, eager for a political tie.

Other princesses were physically beautiful but carried rotten hearts; they were arrogant, cruel, and looked down on the poor, discriminating viciously between light and dark skin, wealth and poverty.

Disgusted by this toxic vanity, the King and Queen rejected every single proposal. They refused to let a shadow enter their sanctuary of peace. Giving up on foreign courts, they decided to speak to their son directly.

The Secret in the Shadows

One evening, Dushyant returned from Guru Chanakya’s ashram. Despite a grueling fourteen-hour day of combat, intense study, and a long, soul-stirring five-hour prayer at the Mahadev temple, his face was radiant.

He didn't look tired at all; a serene, glowing happiness danced in his eyes.

His parents walked into his private chambers. Looking at their magnificent son, the King spoke softly, his voice full of warmth.

"Son, we wish to see you happily wedded. We want to see your life complete before our eyes grow dim. Tell us, is there a maiden from any kingdom who has caught your eye? No matter who she is, we will bring her to you with full honor."

In an instant, the calm demeanor of the fierce prince shattered. A sudden, violent wave of nervousness crashed over Dushyant. His breath hitched, and his chest tightened.

He wanted to speak. His heart screamed a name. But the words trapped themselves in his throat.

Because Prince Dushyant was harboring a profound, consuming secret. His parents had missed the subtle signs—the lingering glances, the quiet slipping away into the village lanes. There was someone. A secret lover who held his entire soul captive. But she wasn't a princess from a wealthy, grand foreign kingdom.

Lowering his long eyelashes to hide the sudden, burning color rushing to his cheeks,

Dushyant swallowed hard and forced a soft, trembling lie:

"No, Ma... there is... there is no one I like from any neighboring kingdom."

But the girl was living in the shadows his love.

Note by author.

"Well, this book is going to be like this.

I am uploading Chapter 1 little fast just so you guys can get a little taste of what the historical culture in the book will be like.

The next chapter will come as usual, as I mentioned at the beginning.

And if possible, I'll start uploading chapters on Wattpad from July 5th."

"One more thing: the main characters aren't going to enter before Chapter 6 or 7, because they still have to be born and reach the ages of 18 and 29, as I mentioned before. So please, just wait a bit, yaar .

...

Bbye🦋✨..