Rudhira Varman entered the Great Hall with the air of one who had rehearsed his every step.
His hair, long and well-kept, was tied neatly at the back, and his garments — a finely woven wool tunic belted at the waist, trousers of clean cut, and sturdy leather boots, bore the insignia of House Varman.
He was young, perhaps too young for the burden he sought, but there was steel in his posture. His shoulders were broad, the fruit of rigorous training I assumed, and though his eyes betrayed excitement, his movements were careful, as though he feared one misstep might undo him.
I could see the flush in his cheeks, the eagerness in his gait. The letter from his father must have set his heart aflame.
Mother had insisted on attending the meeting, and I suspected she intended to put him through a trial harsher than any battlefield.
I sat beside her at the long table, Pranvi at my back in her quiet vigil. I was more an observer than a judge.
Mother spoke first, her voice carrying the weight of authority.
"Rudhira, I have heard your father's praises sung high. Today, I shall test if those songs ring true."
Rudhira bowed deeply. "Samanti, you honor me by granting me the chance to stand here, even if only for a fleeting moment."
A faint smirk curved Mother's lips. She was enjoying herself.
"Tell me, what qualities must the Amatya possess to endure in the soil of our janapada?"
Rudhira hesitated, and I caught the flicker of his eyes — searching for the right answer. Then he steadied himself.
"Wisdom, integrity, and empathy. Just as a tree draws nourishment from the earth, the Amatya must draw from the experiences and needs of the people to grow resilient."
"Well said. But wisdom alone is not enough. A wise Amatya knows when to prune and when to let a plant grow wild. Ambition often clouds judgment. How do you balance ambition and integrity?"
"Integrity," he said, voice firming as if finding courage in his own words, "is the sunlight that nourishes ambition. Without it, ambition can become a thorny vine, choking the very life out of the garden. A true leader must cultivate his ambitions while ensuring that his roots remain firmly planted in honesty and justice."
I caught myself raising a brow.
'The boy had rehearsed that metaphor for sure, but the conviction in his tone gave it weight.'
"And what," Mother pressed, "if two powerful sabhasad came to you, each vying for your support as rival vines reaching for the same sun?"
Rudhira shifted, a breath escaping before he answered. "I would hear them both. Understand the roots of their quarrel. Then, I would seek to entwine their interests so the janapada thrives from their union rather than withers from their strife."
Mother leaned back, satisfied. "Diplomatic. You untangle without cutting. It is essential to maintain balance among the vines while ensuring that the seat's authority remains unruffled. There is promise in you, Rudhira Varman."
"Rudhira," she said, voice steady, "words flow easily from a young man's mouth. But the sabha is not a place for flowers. Tell me—would you speak so gently if famine gnawed at our people and the sabhasad demanded coin for the army instead of bread for the hungry?"
Rudhira drew a breath, his jaw tightening. "I would remind them, my lady, that an army cannot march on empty stomachs. Grain is the truest coin of war. If the people starve, no sword will stay loyal for long. The first duty of a ruler is to keep the hearths burning."
A glimmer passed through Mother's eyes. "A clever answer. Yet… what if it is your own family who profits from the trade of that grain? What if your loyalty to your blood demands silence, while loyalty to your Samanta demands speech?"
The hall grew still. Even Pranvi shifted slightly behind me, sensing the trap.
Rudhira's hands clenched at his sides, but he met Mother's gaze squarely. "If my family chose to profit at the expense of our people, then they would not be my family in spirit, only in name. My duty would be to the throne and the janapada, not to a lineage that betrayed it."
For the first time, Mother leaned forward, curiosity flickering behind her composure. "Strong words for a boy with no wife, no children, and no ahara to defend. Do you truly believe you could put the janapada above the faces that raised you?"
Rudhira hesitated only a moment, then bowed his head deeply. "I may stumble, my lady. I may falter. But I swear that I would choose justice, even if it costs me my kin."
Mother's lips curved, not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment. "Then you may one day prove worthy of being hated, which is the true mark of an Amatya. A man loved by all is no use to the seat."
With that, she rose, her robes sweeping the stone floor as she made for the door. She did not glance back, only called over her shoulder.
"Keep the boy. He has a future."
'Keep him? Is he a pet?'
Still, her verdict was final. I turned to Rudhira.
"Very well. Rudhira Varman, I, Samanta Amogh Ashanra of Aranyavarta, appoint you the Amatya of Aranyavarta. May you aid our people with the strength of your insight."
The boy dropped to one knee, voice ringing with fervor. "Sire, I, Rudhira Varman, pledge my loyalty. It shall be my greatest honor to serve you."
---
Later, in the quiet of my chambers, Pranvi stood beside me, her expression caught between duty and something gentler.
"Pranvi, how fares the recruitment of women for the military and the guard?"
"My lord—"
I raised a hand. "Pranvi, no titles when we are alone. Speak as my sister."
She pursed her lips, stubborn as always. "Even alone, you must guard the sanctity of your seat."
"Do you mean to disobey me?" I teased.
Her shoulders slumped, and at last she smiled. With a sigh, she sank into the chair beside me. "Still a brat, I see."
We both chuckled. For a heartbeat, the years fell away, and we were siblings again, not soldier and Samanta.
'How long has it been since we last shared a moment such as this?' I wondered, gazing at the ceiling of my room.
Her face grew somber. "Forgive me, little brother. When you and Mother needed me most, I hid myself behind the walls of my room," she said, gaze fixated on the dirt below.
I nudged her shoulder gently. "They robbed you of what you desired most, sister. That blame is not yours to bear."
She looked at me then, searching my face as though it held a riddle she couldn't solve. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Are you happy, sister?" I asked out of concern.
"Yes," she whispered, smiling through the tears. "Happier than the stars that twinkle or the tides that dance."
"That is a lot!"
We both gave it a hearty laugh.
Then, steadying my voice, I pressed, "And the recruitment?"
She wiped her eyes, shaking her head with a wry smile. "Few came forward. Most who did only applied as cooks."
"So poor a response?" I muttered. "Their distrust of the nobility runs deep. We must win them, Pranvi. The great works we plan will need every pair of hands, men and women alike."
At that, her eyes narrowed. "What do you intend, brother? Another dam?"
The shadow of Father's failures hung heavy in her words.
I rose, retrieving a parchment from my desk, its surface covered with sketched channels and markings. Handing it to her, I watched her brow furrow.
The silence stretched long, then...
"Brother, this is madness!" she exclaimed, standing sharply. "Our janpada cannot possibly bear this burden!"
"Yes, it can," I replied, my voice low but resolute. "If we wish to rise from the mire, we must wade through it. There is no other path."
Her eyes scanned the designs again, and her lips pressed into a thin line. "The treasury will bleed for this. One-third, perhaps more, gone in a single stroke."
"Not one-third," I admitted, eyes refusing to meet hers. "Half."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes blazing. "Half? Have you lost your wits?" Her voice thundered, and I flinched at the rare sight of her fury.
That truly terrified me. I quickly tried to appease her.
"No,no Pranvi. This project must be finished in six months, whatever the cost. Even if it means paying twice over. If we succeed at it, this season's harvest will be bountiful—enough to last us at least one more."
For a long moment she stood, trembling with anger. Then her shoulders slumped, and she sighed.
"You will not be swayed. Then let me aid you. If this ship must sail, I will stand at the oar."
Relief broke over me, and I smiled. "Thank you, sister. I cannot do this without my family."
She smiled faintly.
"Fret not, little brother. We are with you." She pulled me into a hug so tight I gasped.
"Sister...air!"
---
"Commence the recruitment drive."
"Sire," Rudhira began cautiously, "to feed the workers freely will drain our stores."
I saw the concern in his face, but my answer came without hesitation. "True but it will buy loyalty. Success demands sacrifice. Let us not fear the cost."
For a moment, I wondered at my own words.
'Since when did I grow so wise? Is this Mother's wisdom speaking through me? Or the merging of memories I scarcely understand?'
"Sire, forgive my impudence. I shall oblige by your commands."
He withdrew.
"This is a river carved by men, not gods. You mean to reshape the land itself." Mother said, tracing the sketched lines.
She had been studying the map of the project on my desk.
"Yes. Artificial tributaries of the Granges. Channels drawn through our janapada. They will ease floods, feed crops, and quench the driest fields. Every village will drink from these waters. And in time, with reservoirs and canals, we will tame flood and drought alike."
Her eyes probed mine. "And the treasury?"
"Halved," I answered without flinching.
She did not look away. "Explain it to me. All of it."
I drew a steadying breath. "First, we dredge and deepen the main channel. Then, we raise controlled tributaries from the Granges, extending a network of canals across the janapada. It will allow rice along the river, wheat in the drylands. Water will flow where now there is only dust."
Of course, I couldn't tell her that the inspiration for it came from the legend of Yu the Great, founder of the Xia dynasty. He was said to have controlled the catastrophic floods of the Yellow River in ancient China. However, he focused more on creating diversionary channels instead of structured navigation canals. Like Mother mentioned, it was only the first phase of the project. The second phase would include dredging the riverbeds, building further distribution channels, and creating a network of irrigation systems that would encompass the entire janpada.
Silence filled the chamber. Then her lips curved, not in joy, but in quiet resolve.
"A foolish ruler bathes in the seas of his incompetence. A wise ruler basks in the glory of his nation."
'Was that praise? Or warning?'
She turned toward the door, her voice softer now. "Then tell me, son. What name will history give this ambition of yours?"
I glanced down at the map, my hand brushing the inked lines.
"Father believed rivers to be life itself. Then let this be his legacy."
"The Great Canal of Prathiraj."
Mother paused at the threshold, her gaze lowered to the stone floor. She said nothing more, yet I felt her silent blessing, or perhaps her silent fear.
Either way, the die was cast.