The palace courtyard of Pratishthanpur shimmered under the gentle embrace of moonlight.
At the heart of the grand royal complex stood a magnificent marble fountain, its surface glowing like liquid silver beneath the night sky. Streams of water rose and fell in rhythmic harmony, their soft splashes echoing like whispers of ancient tales.
Perched halfway upon a smooth stone beside the fountain sat Vritakant, his posture relaxed yet dignified. Near him, within the clear waters, darted a small golden fish—Narakumi—her tiny tail flickering restlessly as curiosity filled her being.
Tonight, she was eager once again.
Eager to hear the story of Pururava.
Narakumi leapt slightly above the water, her voice brimming with excitement.
"Grandfather! You told me that Prince Ayu has finally arrived at the palace. But Mother Urvashi has returned to the heavens… doesn't the young prince feel lonely in such a vast palace? King Pururava must be occupied all day with royal duties and sacred rituals—what became of the child?"
Vritakant slowly moved his neck, a faint smile forming as though he had anticipated this question.
"Narakumi," he said gently, "you are but a fish, and so you believe life is merely about swimming and searching for food. But for humans—and especially for emperors—loneliness is the greatest teacher."
His gaze drifted toward the shimmering water.
"When Ayu entered this palace, he did not bring only his childhood with him… he brought the future of the Lunar Dynasty."
Narakumi's eyes widened.
"Did Emperor Pururava embrace him immediately?"
Vritakant paused.
"He did embrace him," he replied, "but his eyes lacked the warmth a father should possess. They were still clouded… clouded with the lingering sorrow of Urvashi's departure."
The fountain rippled softly, as if remembering.
"Right here, where we now sit," Vritakant continued, "young Ayu would often sit alone, staring endlessly into the water. Whenever he asked about his mother, the emperor would fall into silence."
Narakumi's tail slowed.
"Then… who taught him? Who gave him the values of a prince?"
A subtle shift passed through Vritakant's expression.
"And thus entered Maharishi Chyavana."
A calm reverence filled his voice.
"Ayu was raised under the guidance of sages. He was not like other princes—arrogant and prideful. No… he was calm. Deep. Like the ocean itself."
He paused.
"But the palace was not as peaceful as it seemed."
Narakumi stirred nervously.
"What do you mean? Was there an enemy?"
Vritakant's voice lowered.
"The enemy was not outside… it was within."
A cold breeze seemed to pass through the courtyard.
"The other queens of Pururava… and the courtiers who had long believed that the emperor had no heir… were shaken. Suddenly, a young boy stood before them as the future king."
Whispers seemed to echo in the air.
"In the corridors of the palace, murmurs began—could the son of a mother who abandoned him… truly inherit this sacred throne?"
Narakumi gasped.
"So… there was a conspiracy?"
Vritakant closed his eyes briefly.
"It was inevitable."
"One day," he continued, "Emperor Pururava departed on a digvijaya—a conquest of directions. In his absence, the power of the palace fell temporarily into the hands of the ministers."
His voice hardened slightly.
"And among them… was Mahamatya Shambar."
The fountain's water now felt heavier, as if burdened with secrets.
"Shambar knew Ayu was still young—barely stepping into youth. He devised a plan."
"In a grand सभा, he presented a message before Ayu and said—"
Vritakant's tone shifted, imitating the cunning minister:
"'Prince, the northern borders are in chaos. Tribes of Kiratas and Asuras have risen in rebellion. The people cry for help. Will you uphold your lineage and act in place of the emperor?'"
Narakumi flicked her tail anxiously.
"But… didn't the emperor assign an experienced general before leaving?"
"He did," Vritakant replied, "but Shambar had already sent that general away through secret orders."
A pause.
"Ayu was left with only a handful of inexperienced soldiers."
"That night," Vritakant said softly, "Ayu came here… to this very fountain."
The moonlight shimmered stronger.
"He sat silently for a long time. There was no fear in his eyes… but there was a question."
A deep silence followed.
"He knew… he was being pushed into darkness."
Vritakant's voice dropped to a whisper.
"I saw him."
"He touched the water… drew a line upon its surface… and said—"
"If I do not return… O water… tell my father that I did not die like a coward."
Narakumi trembled.
"Did no one try to stop him?"
"No," Vritakant replied. "Because those who stood there… wanted to see him fall."
"The next morning," he continued, "as the first rays of the sun touched the domes of Pratishthanpur… Ayu departed."
The image rose vividly.
"He rode a white horse. Instead of silk garments, he wore iron armor. The bow on his shoulder seemed too large for his young frame…"
A faint smile appeared.
"Yet the way he sat… was exactly like his father—unyielding and resolute."
Narakumi leaned forward.
"What happened on the journey? Did the Asuras attack?"
Vritakant shook his head slowly.
"Asuras came later…"
His eyes darkened.
"First… came the traps laid by his own people."
"Through spies," he continued, "Shambar had the provisions destroyed. After three days of travel, when Ayu and his soldiers reached the dry banks of the Saraswati River… they had neither food nor water."
The weight of exhaustion filled the scene.
"The soldiers began to lose hope."
"They sat silently… watching the sun set… surrender creeping into their hearts."
"Night fell."
A pause.
"Dark… and suffocating."
"And then…"
Vritakant's voice turned sharp.
"The first attack came."
Narakumi's eyes widened in fear.
"But it was not the Asuras."
"It was mercenaries."
"Sent by Shambar."
The fountain's waters trembled.
And under the silent witness of the moon, the trial of Ayu had truly begun.