The next morning dawned not with trumpets of victory but with the low, anxious murmur of a court summoned at short notice.
The Festival of Banners was still on the tongues of villagers and merchants, the Feast of Replenishment still a memory of full bellies and rekindled hope. Yet in the Raj Sabha, the grand council chamber of Nandigram, hope rarely survived long.
The Queen-Mother had called for the Great Redistribution.
The Raj Sabha
The Raj Sabha was unlike the perfumed audience halls of the court. It was a room designed for deliberation, not display. Tall stone pillars supported the domed ceiling. The floor was a vast mosaic depicting the old kings of Nandigram distributing gifts to their subjects. Around the circular chamber sat three rings of benches:
The outer ring for merchants and guild leaders.
The middle ring for landholding nobles.
The inner ring, nearest the throne, for the Queen-Mother, ministers, and chosen voices.
Today, Shaurya sat at the inner ring by invitation, a silent guest who had already become the storm in everyone's calculations.
The Queen-Mother entered with measured steps, her sari a cascade of ivory silk edged with emerald. She sat upon the high seat—not a throne, but no less commanding. Her gaze swept the chamber, cool and sharp, before she raised her hand.
"Let the Great Redistribution begin."
The Trap is Sprung
A herald stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. His voice rang out:
"By decree of Rajmata Shantidevi, the matter of land and wealth must be settled in light of recent famine and unrest. Grain from royal granaries is low. Fields lie barren. Nobles cry of reduced levies. Merchants demand repayment of debts. The people demand bread."
A heavy silence followed. Then the Queen-Mother spoke.
"To balance these burdens, each estate shall lay forth its claims. And one among us shall propose how to satisfy all."
Her eyes flickered toward Shaurya, though she did not name him.
The nobles leaned forward like wolves scenting prey. The merchants exchanged thin smiles. Shaurya sat unmoving, hands folded, as though carved from stone.
The Nobles' Claim
Lord Mahadevan rose first, his robes heavy with gold thread. His voice carried the authority of lineage.
"Rajmata, our ancestors bled for these lands. Without noble levies, there is no army. Without our estates, there is no tax. Yet year by year, peasants plead for relief, and now this boy"—he glared at Shaurya—"tells them we owe them more! Shall we bankrupt ourselves to soothe their whining bellies?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the noble ring.
Mahadevan pressed on, "We demand restoration of levies at full measure, priority in redistribution of grain, and reaffirmation of noble rights to land labor."
The peasants' voices—unheard in this hall—hung ghostlike in the silence that followed.
The Merchants' Claim
Next, Seth Govinddas, merchant guildmaster, stood. His silk turban glittered with jewels, but his eyes were sharp as a vulture's.
"Rajmata, noble fields cannot till themselves, and peasants cannot plant without tools, oxen, and seed. Who provides these? We, the merchants. We extended credit in famine years. We opened our storehouses in drought. Yet we are owed gold that never comes, and interest long overdue. If the crown fails to honor debts, what shall stop us from closing our coffers altogether?"
He bowed slightly. "We demand repayment of royal loans, reduction of tariffs, and exclusive rights to import grain from neighboring realms."
The guild ring thumped their benches in approval.
The Ministers' Claim
At last, Prime Minister Vishwesh Sharma spoke, his voice deliberate.
"The treasury is strained. War lingers at our borders. To satisfy nobles and merchants both may be impossible. Yet if we deny them, rebellion stirs. The crown must balance survival with stability."
He looked to the Queen-Mother. "A solution must be forged… or forced."
All Eyes on Shaurya
The Queen-Mother let silence bloom, heavy and suffocating. Then, with a faint smile, she turned to Shaurya.
"You have won the people with your speeches, Shaurya. Tell us, then—how would you bind nobles, merchants, and peasants into one fabric? Or will your promises unravel before their demands?"
The trap was set. To please one was to anger another. To attempt all was to drain the impossible.
The chamber leaned forward.
Shaurya Speaks
Shaurya rose slowly. His presence seemed to fill the hall—not with volume, but with calm inevitability.
His voice was even, resonant.
"Lord Mahadevan speaks of noble rights. Seth Govinddas speaks of debts. Minister Sharma speaks of coffers. Yet all of them build their cases upon the same foundation: the labor of the people."
Murmurs spread. Shaurya's eyes swept the chamber, steady as the Ganga's flow.
"Without farmers, there is no harvest. Without craftsmen, no trade. Without soldiers drawn from their sons, no armies. Yet the people have no seat in this hall. You speak of their burdens while they starve outside these walls."
Mahadevan bristled. "Do you dare—"
Shaurya raised a hand, silencing him with nothing but composure.
"You ask me to divide scarcity," Shaurya continued. "I will not. Instead, I propose multiplication."
The Redistribution Plan
Shaurya's words came clear, deliberate:
To the Nobles: "Each noble estate shall contribute one portion of land—fallow, unused, or wasted—into a common agrarian pool. These lands will be tilled not by levies but by freed peasants, supported by the crown. In return, nobles will receive one-tenth of future surplus harvests as stable rent."
Gasps filled the hall. Nobles shouted protests, but Shaurya's gaze held firm.
To the Merchants: "The guilds will fund seed, oxen, and tools for these common fields. In place of old debts, they will gain guaranteed trade rights on surplus grain produced—no interest, but secure returns."
The merchants' eyes narrowed, calculating, tempted.
To the Crown: "The crown will oversee storage and distribution. Half of surplus will go to granaries for famine years. The rest will feed army and people alike. In times of war, nobles gain soldiers well-fed, merchants gain supply contracts, and the people gain bread."
He let the silence stretch.
"This is not charity. It is investment. You call it redistribution. I call it renewal."
The Chamber Erupts
Chaos followed.
Nobles cried out, "An attack on our rights!"
Merchants muttered, "It could work… but at what cost?"
Ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
Lord Mahadevan rose, face red with fury. "This is theft disguised as philosophy! You would strip nobles of land and hand it to peasants like a king of beggars!"
Shaurya's calm never wavered. "Better a king of beggars than a lord of corpses. For if hunger is not answered, rebellion will answer for it."
The chamber froze at his words. Even Mahadevan faltered.
The Queen-Mother's Smile
At last, all eyes turned to the Queen-Mother. She sat unmoving, her fingers steepled.
Her lips curved in the faintest smile.
"Well played, Shaurya. You speak like one who has ruled before."
Her tone was smooth, but her eyes gleamed with calculation.
"You have given us a vision. Let us see if it holds in practice. The Raj Sabha shall convene again in three moons' time to weigh the fruits of your proposal. Until then… let the Great Redistribution begin."
The gavel struck.
Shaurya's Reflection
Later, in the quiet of his quarters, Shaurya stood with Minister Ananta.
"My lord," Ananta whispered, awestruck. "You turned their trap into a pact. But they will not forgive so easily. They will fight this with quills, with ledgers, with whispers."
Shaurya's eyes were steady, a faint smile upon his lips.
"Let them. A seed grows not in silence but against the stone that resists it. Their resistance is proof that the roots take hold."
He looked out at the moonlit city beyond the palace.
"Three moons, Ananta. In three moons, Nandigram will know whether it still clings to the past… or dares the future."
To be continued....