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The Whisper in the Market
The marketplace of Nandigram, usually alive with laughter, music, and the call of vendors, was strangely subdued. A quiet poison ran through its veins. Merchants whispered as they weighed grain, women hushed their chatter when soldiers passed, and men turned their eyes away from palace messengers.
A rumor had been set loose.
"He eats with us today," one voice murmured, "but tomorrow? Tomorrow he will tax us to feed his wars."
"He swears by honor," another voice said, "but whose honor? His, or ours to be spent like coin?"
By evening, these whispers had grown into shadows stretching across the city.
And at the center of it all was Lord Janardhan, standing in a shadowed balcony above the market, smiling as the whispers he had planted spread like wildfire.
"The people's faith," he said softly, "is like water in a jar. Spill just enough… and the vessel cracks."
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Shaurya Among the People
Unaware of the depth of the poison, Shaurya entered the market the next morning with only two guards. He often walked there unannounced, speaking with merchants, helping weigh grain sacks, listening to songs of the bards. His presence was a balm to the people—until now.
This time, when he stepped into the square, silence fell like a blade. Faces that once lit up at his arrival now watched with unease.
Shaurya paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd. He saw it instantly: the stiffness, the forced bows, the way children were pulled behind their mothers' skirts.
One old man muttered just loud enough: "A prince who asks after our wounds… is he not the same who will one day send us to die in his wars?"
Shaurya's calm expression did not falter, but inside, he measured the venom at work. He approached the old man directly, kneeling so their eyes met.
"When I fight," Shaurya said softly, "I will fight first, not you. When I bleed, it will be before I ask you to. That is my vow."
The words rippled through the crowd—but instead of easing them, some faces turned away. The poison ran deeper than he thought.
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The Council's Scheme
That night, the serpent faction convened in secret chambers. Janardhan stood before the veiled leader, his face flushed with triumph.
"The whispers are working. The people doubt. All we need is a spark to turn suspicion into fear."
The leader's voice was silk and steel. "Then let us give them a spark."
A map of Nandigram was unrolled across the table. A red mark glowed near the western granaries—the heart of the city's food supply.
"Burn the grain," the leader ordered. "And spread word it was done on his command, to tighten his hold on the city."
Janardhan's grin widened. "Perfect. They will see him not as protector, but as predator."
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The Fire at the Granaries
The fire came two nights later. The granaries blazed like a hundred suns, smoke choking the night sky, ash falling like black snow. The city awoke in chaos—screams, buckets passed hand to hand, soldiers rushing through the flames.
And in the chaos, the serpent whispers spread faster than the fire itself.
"Shaurya ordered it!"
"He would starve us to force obedience!"
"The serpent wears a crown already!"
By the time dawn broke, the granaries were ash, and the whispers had hardened into a rumor believed.
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The Queen-Mother's Court
When Shaurya strode into the Queen-Mother's court the next morning, the hall was already crowded with shouting nobles and worried ministers.
Lord Samudra thundered, "This is no accident! The city cries your name in fear, not in faith!"
Another minister added, "The people demand an answer, Prince Shaurya. If you do not deny this, the streets may rise."
Shaurya stood at the center of the storm, his composure unshaken. His dark eyes swept across the nobles, then settled on the Queen-Mother upon her throne.
"I gave no such command," he said, his voice steady as steel. "And those who claim otherwise spit lies into the fire."
But even as he spoke, murmurs spread through the chamber. Doubt was already rooted.
The Queen-Mother's eyes narrowed, watching him. Her voice was calm but sharp. "Then prove it, Shaurya. The people's trust is a blade—once broken, it cannot be reforged so easily. If you cannot turn this tide, you may be drowned beneath it."
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Shaurya's Resolve
That night, Shaurya stood upon the charred ruins of the granaries, the ash swirling around his boots. Beside him, Rajnandini clasped her shawl tighter, her face pale with worry.
"They mean to break you," she whispered. "They will not stop until the people curse your name."
Shaurya's faint smile flickered, sharp as the edge of a sword. "Then let them come. A storm may drown men… but it also washes the earth clean."
He turned to her, his voice calm but burning with resolve. "If they seek to break me through the people, then I will answer not in words, but in deeds. Let them see with their own eyes what I am."
As the moonlight carved his figure in silver, Rajnandini felt a chill. The serpent had bared its fangs—but the lion had not yet roared.
To be continued....