The mirror didn't lie—I was Amogh. But which Amogh?
Glancing over myself in that extravagant mirror in my room, I looked every bit a boy of sixteen. My voluminous, straight, jet-black hair reached my forehead and was disheveled in a way that complemented my unblemished baby face. My high nose and glossy, greenish-blue eyes made it unmistakable.
I was her son.
I let go of my white pravara, thereby standing naked.
A wry smile tugged at my lips. No warrior's body, no scars, no bulging muscles. Just the frame of a boy who hadn't yet grown into his place. Well, at least I didn't have a big protruding belly.
A little further down, below my waist, was what we call a man's jewel. It looked unperturbed, devoid of any movement.
The lack of any reaction to my own nakedness was oddly comforting.
While smiling wryly at my obvious lack of experience, a question popped into my head.
Was it better to not get excited by your own naked self or lament over the fact that your naked self was nothing like what a woman would want to see? As soon as it dawned on me, my shoulders slumped with a giant sigh.
While I was busy pondering that, a soft knock sounded at my door.
"Sire, it's about time," said a familiar voice from the other side of the doors.
Brought back to reality, I quickly put on my pravara and sat on a chair kept beside the study desk.
After a few deep breaths, I said, "Please come in, Sir Jayak."
The door creaked open, and Jayak entered the room. He glanced over at me once and then closed the door behind him.
He was a man in his early forties, almost the same height as I but with a more defined air around him. He had medium-long hair, which was combed backward into a ponytail that rested on his shoulders; clean-shaven with a stubble that complemented his shrewdness.
I couldn't recall if I had ever seen him in something apart from his usual attire—a white tunic belted at the waist, paired with a dark over-vest that reached his thighs.
That flawless clothing was coupled with a calmness that screamed danger. I couldn't help but shudder a little.
As he approached me, I gestured to the chair across from me.
"Please sit, Jayak."
He gave me a slight bow and said, "Forgive me, my lord, but it does not bode well for a Samanta to converse with his retainers in a pleading tone." He continued without pausing for my rebuttal, "Sire, you are to be crowned as the Samanta of Aranyavarta. The seat demands authority. You must never diminish it."
The tone stung. I had grown up with Jayak's guidance and his quiet protection. He was almost kin.
"Must we truly speak so formally, even in private?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
Jayak's eyes flickered, but he did not waver.
"My lord, I must not. The path before you is cruel. The path you're about to tread shall require countless sacrifices." He paused for a moment. "An indurate heart admits no love or mercy. The color of your decisions shall not be tainted with the hue of regret. From now on, I shall be your loyal servant, and you, my lord. That is the bond between us now."
For a fleeting second, I believed I saw his eyes glisten, but that moment quickly faded. My chest tightened.
I wanted to protest, to remind him of the nights he carried me home from the practice yard, the times he taught me sword grips when Father was away. But I understood. His loyalty demanded that wall between us.
I straightened my back. "Then let us begin, Jayak."
Something in my voice made him pause, as though measuring me anew. Then, he took out a parchment from the right pocket of his tunic.
He unfolded the parchment with composed fingers, which indicated that he was a man of incredible patience and precision. Then he spread it across the table.
It was a map of Aranyavarta's borders, one that I had studied countless times before.
"Why show me this map? I have seen it a thousand times before." I trailed off with an involuntary tinge of agitation.
"This time," Jayak said calmly, "we speak of the world beyond our borders. The Mandala, its neighbors… the threats that circle us."
My heart jumped. Mother had always forbidden such lessons.
"The time isn't nigh, Amogh. When the stars align in our favor, I shall ask Jayak to entertain all of your inquisitive thoughts. Until then, I implore you not to let these flames of curiosity die. You shall be granted all that you seek. Just wait, my child," said Samanti Yamvitha, on a night when I asked her, with eyes full of tears, "Mother, why forbid me from learning about the other janapadas?"
Realizing that this was the moment, I stood up straight and nodded, gesturing for Jayak to proceed.
His finger traced the lines of our janapada, then outward.
"Aranyavarta does not stand alone. We are bound to Simhagiri in the north, whose Samantas and Samantis wield both sword and cunning. Matsyanagara in the south, where maidens conceal daggers behind every smile. It's said a single Matsya courtesan toppled a throne without ever drawing a blade. Chitrakuta, masters of the sea to the east. And far above all, Vyumi, whose Simyomas alone keep the western rajya at bay."
I leaned closer, absorbing every word.
He spoke not in the dry tone of a teacher but as a soldier who had seen what power could do. He spared me long histories, offering only sharp edges: armies, alliances, and enemies, raising the stakes without overwhelming me.
And yet, for every name he spoke, questions swarmed in my head. About the especially large lion-birds called Simyomas. About the matriarchs of Matsyanagara. About Kharidasa, the wasteland of slaves. I wanted to devour it all, but Jayak's eyes warned me that there was more to learn than maps.
Jayak, his usual motionless self, was looking at me, probably trying to decipher my thoughts. As if coming to a realization, a soft chuckle escaped his stoic face.
I opened my mouth to inquire about our janapada of Aranyavarta, but my inquisitive self was brought to a halt by a knock at the door.
"My lord," a servant called, voice high-pitched and unfamiliar, "the lady of the manor asks for your presence in the great hall before the next bell of the temple."
The very next moment, the sounds of receding footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the room.
"I shall take my leave now. Steel yourself, my lord."
With a courteous bow and stoic walk, Jayak left the room.
I looked in his direction and wondered if everything I knew would change from there on and if I would ever be able to talk to Jayak the way I used to.
What snapped me out of my thoughts was a flashing image of Mother. I could suddenly feel the chill run down my spine.
I promptly rose from my seat and walked over to my dresser. The clothing I was supposed to slip into was kept neatly on my bed.
While putting them on, I wondered why all of that felt so natural to me. Those thoughts had been creeping into my mind since daybreak, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't shake them off.
'Even if I consider the possibility that I transmigrated into another body, why are my memories overlapping instead of staying in separate domains of my psyche? Why does my body feel...mine? Even if I transmigrated into this other body from a different world, why do I so vividly remember every detail of my life here since the day I was born? I can recall everything—from my mother nursing me to my father's lessons to Varanth in war tactics. I can also recall the first time that my sister picked up a sword as well as my brother declaring to our mother his ambition of accompanying Father into battles.'
I was befuddled.
Which of my two lives was a dream? As dreamy as it felt, I was sure that this one wasn't a fake, but then what about the pain that I felt in what I could now call my previous life? What about my grandfather who raised me?
As it started to hurt my brain, I shook my head and started walking towards the Great Hall of the Kula of Ashanra.
I wasn't sure which world I belonged to, but I knew which one needed me.