That night, long after the palace had gone silent, Rudura sat awake in his cradle.
The sights and sounds of the market still burned in his mind—the crumbling stalls, the tired merchants, and the whispers about how weak the Mauryan economy had become.
If this is the state of our heart, how will we ever stand against the Guptas?
The market had shown him a truth that the palace walls could not hide:An empire that looked mighty from the throne was fragile at its base.
That night, under the pale glow of the moon, he made his first decision.
I will focus on the economy. If we are rich, our army will follow. Strength will follow.
When the guards dozed off, Rudura carefully climbed out of the cradle. At one year old, walking in the night was difficult, but determination steadied his tiny legs.
The stone floors were cold under his feet as he made his way through the silent hallways, moving from one shadow to another, until he stood at the entrance of his father's study.
The heavy doors were half-open. A faint lamp flickered inside, lighting up shelves stacked with scrolls, maps, and writing tools.
On a low table, he found a wooden stylus and a piece of palm-leaf paper. His small hands trembled as he held them, but he forced his grip to stay firm.
It wasn't much. He couldn't write perfectly yet, but he could at least make marks and symbols that would remind him of his plan.
He thought back to the conversations of the commoners in the market:
"The fields are dry. No one comes to help. No canals, no water…"
The images of barren soil came to his mind.
If we cannot manage the fields, we cannot manage the empire.
He wrote the first symbol: Water.
"Irrigation," he whispered in his mind.
The Mauryan Empire had vast lands and rich soil. If they built better irrigation and canal systems, crops could grow in abundance.
And the surplus? It could be exported.
If we can produce more food than we need, we can sell the rest to our neighbors at cheaper prices than the Guptas. They will depend on us. Food will become our weapon.
He remembered another complaint from the market:
"So many goods rot in the warehouses. No one comes to buy them."
The empire produced goods, but they lacked organization.
Merchants were scattered. Guilds were weak. There were no proper export channels.
Rudura drew another symbol: Ships and Roads.
We need organized trade routes. We need guilds. We need to make the Mauryan name trusted in every market.
If goods were sent to other kingdoms quickly and cheaply, no one would look to the Guptas.
And if all these merchants and artisans flourished? Taxes from their success would fill the royal treasury.
Finally, he thought about the army.
The Mauryan Empire had more soldiers than the Guptas. But the Guptas had better weapons, better armor, and better training methods.
We are strong, but outdated, he realized.
He stared at the blank space on the palm leaf for a long time.
This time, his stylus didn't move.
No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't find an answer yet.
To create better weapons and techniques, the empire needed wealth.
And wealth came from agriculture and trade.
If I can fix these first two problems, the military will follow, he told himself.
By the time the moon had sunk low, he had marked three simple symbols on the palm leaf:
Water – Irrigation, farming, food exports.
Ships and Roads – Trade, merchants, taxes.
A Blank Space – The army. For later.
Rudura stared at the marks for a long time.
This was not just a list. It was the beginning of a vision.
When the first hints of dawn began to creep through the palace windows, he quietly put the stylus back and slipped out of the room.
No one had seen him.
Back in his cradle, he lay still, small fists clenched tightly.
The path was long, but he had taken his first step.
One day, these marks will become the foundation of an empire greater than anything the world has seen. And when that day comes, not even the Guptas will dare stand before me.
(To be continued in Chapter 8) The Link for Punarjanm : The Life Rewritten Official Song - https://suno.com/s/Osk86b1V6KSyTZyk