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The Summons
The dawn of the following day rose with muted gold over Nandigram. The palace bells rang thrice — not the usual chimes of court assembly, but the slow, deliberate peals reserved for matters of sacred tradition.
Shaurya stood at his chamber's balcony, overlooking the bustling courtyards below. Priests in saffron robes filed into the temple complex within the palace grounds. Soldiers lined the marble steps, their armor glinting in the sun.
Rajendra, his Minister of Arms, entered the chamber.
"Maharaj, the Queen-Mother has summoned you to the Hall of Dharma. No noble quarrels today, no merchant petitions. This is… ritual."
Shaurya's brows lifted faintly. "Another test, then."
Rajendra bowed. "Yes, Maharaj. But one with the weight of gods themselves behind it."
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The Hall of Dharma
The Hall of Dharma was unlike the grand, jeweled court chambers Shaurya had walked before. Here, the architecture was austere. White stone pillars carved with verses of the Rigveda stood in solemn rows. In the center blazed a square fire-pit, the Agni-kund, its flames already rising toward the high domed ceiling.
Seated in semicircles around the fire were priests, nobles, and scholars. At the far end sat the Queen-Mother on a raised dais, her expression serene but sharp with calculation. Princess Rajnandini sat slightly behind her, hands folded, her gaze unreadable yet steady on Shaurya.
The herald intoned:
"Today begins the Trial of Sacred Balance. By custom of Nandigram, a foreign sovereign seeking alliance must prove he can uphold the three pillars of rule: Artha (resources), Dharma (justice), and Nyaya (balance of power)."
The Queen-Mother rose.
"Maharaj Shaurya of Ashval, yesterday you faced whispers. Today, you will face truth. Three trials, three judgments. Fail one, and your claim to stand among Nandigram's allies is broken."
The fire roared, sparks spiraling into the air.
Shaurya inclined his head, his voice calm.
"I accept."
---
First Trial: Artha
A priest stepped forward carrying three sealed clay jars. He placed them before Shaurya.
"These jars represent the kingdom's grain, gold, and labor. You may open only one. Choose wrongly, and famine, greed, or ruin will follow. Choose wisely, and prosperity is assured."
The court leaned forward. It was a trap disguised as ritual — a test of Shaurya's priorities.
Shaurya studied the jars. Each bore a painted symbol: a stalk of rice, a coin, a hammer.
Varun, the Treasurer, whispered at his side, "Grain is survival. Gold fuels trade. Labor builds armies. Each is vital, Maharaj."
Shaurya smiled faintly. "Each is vital, yes. But prosperity is not hoarded — it is circulated."
He stepped forward, not to one jar, but to all three. With a single stroke of his Trinetra blade, he cracked the seals, letting the contents spill slightly into each other — rice mixing with coins, coins clinking with small stone tokens of labor.
The court gasped.
Shaurya spoke, his tone steady:
"Artha is not grain, nor gold, nor labor. It is the balance of all three, woven together. Grain feeds labor. Labor earns gold. Gold buys grain. None stand alone."
The priests murmured approval. Even the Queen-Mother's eyes flickered with reluctant acknowledgment.
---
Second Trial: Dharma
For the second trial, two villagers were brought into the hall — a farmer and a merchant. Both bowed low before the Queen-Mother.
The priest declared,
"One claims the other cheated him in trade. The farmer says he sold ten sacks of rice, but was paid for eight. The merchant says he bought only eight, and no more. No records exist. No witnesses. You, Maharaj Shaurya, must judge."
The villagers looked desperate, their livelihoods hanging in the balance.
Shaurya approached them slowly, his gaze piercing yet compassionate.
"To the farmer: would you swear before Agni that you sold ten sacks?"
The farmer swallowed hard. "I would, Maharaj."
"To the merchant: would you swear before Agni that you bought only eight?"
The merchant trembled. "I… I would, Maharaj."
The court stirred. Both men swore, yet both accounts could not be true.
Shaurya turned toward the Agni-kund, watching the flames rise. His voice was calm.
"Agni consumes all falsehood. Yet here, both truths burn. Perhaps the fault lies not in honesty, but in memory."
He looked to the merchant.
"You bought eight sacks. Did you count the empties?"
The merchant blinked, confused.
"To the farmer: you sold ten. Did you count the sacks you kept for your family?"
The farmer stammered, realization dawning. "Two sacks… I left them at home, Maharaj. I… I forgot."
A murmur of relief spread.
Shaurya raised his hand.
"Neither cheated. Both were careless. The lesson here is not punishment, but clarity. Henceforth, Nandigram's trades will be recorded in writing, sealed by both parties. Let this be the seed of trust, not division."
The court erupted in approval. Priests nodded, nobles murmured admiration, merchants clapped.
The Queen-Mother's lips tightened — another trap disarmed.
---
Third Trial: Nyaya
For the final trial, the Queen-Mother herself rose.
"This test, Maharaj, cannot be solved with grain or clever words. It is the balance of power itself."
She gestured. The soldiers brought forth two thrones, placing them side by side before the fire.
"One is for Nandigram. One is for Ashval. Yet both cannot sit higher than the other. Tell me — how shall we sit together, when all thrones are not equal?"
The nobles whispered eagerly. This was the deadliest test yet — a political riddle. If Shaurya demanded equality, he risked insulting Nandigram. If he accepted lesser rank, he weakened Ashval's sovereignty.
The hall waited.
Shaurya looked at the thrones. One was taller, gilded in gold. The other was plain, carved from dark teak.
He stepped forward calmly, then turned to the Queen-Mother.
"Your Majesty, thrones are but chairs. The true seat of power is not in wood, nor in gold — but in the people who watch."
With deliberate grace, he lifted the plain wooden throne, carried it beside the gilded one, and lowered himself upon it.
"But if you fear imbalance," he said softly, "then let Ashval sit lower — not because it is weak, but because it chooses humility. For strength that fears to bow is no strength at all."
The hall erupted in stunned silence.
The Queen-Mother's gaze locked on him, unreadable. Rajnandini's eyes widened faintly, as though struck by his composure.
Then, slowly, the Queen-Mother inclined her head.
"Humility with pride. Pride with humility. You have passed the Trial of Sacred Balance, Maharaj of Ashval."
The conch horns blew, echoing across the chamber.
---
The Aftermath
The priests declared the trial complete. Nobles whispered of Shaurya's wisdom, merchants praised his fairness, soldiers murmured of his calm courage.
Yet in the Queen-Mother's heart, unease grew. Each test she laid before him, he had turned into a triumph. Each trap, he had reshaped into strength.
Rajnandini, watching silently, thought: This man is dangerous. Dangerous not because he seizes power — but because he does not need to. Power bends toward him on its own.
---
Foreshadowing
That night, as Shaurya returned to his chambers, a scroll awaited him — slipped under the door.
It bore no seal, only a single line in hurried script:
"Beware, Maharaj. The serpent has not left the court. It sits among the nobles themselves."
Shaurya held the scroll, eyes narrowing. The whispers had shifted. The serpent was not outside Nandigram — it was already inside.
And the next battle would not be ritual, nor whispers, but betrayal.
To be continued....