Chapter 79: A Storm that Worries Panchal
The sun had barely risen over the saffron-streaked skies of Mahishmati when Rudra crossed the final hillcrest. The mighty city lay ahead — tall white towers ringed by strong sandstone walls, rivers flowing like silver threads around it, and far beyond, the golden spires of the royal palace.
But Rudra did not glance at any of it.
His expression was unreadable — quiet, as if a battle still raged within.
He had just returned from fulfilling his promise to the Devas — slaying the tyrant Narakasura, rescuing sixteen thousand one hundred imprisoned princesses, and gifting them new protectors, the Bhumi Sena, born of stone and blood.
And yet…
The journey from Satyabhama's kingdom had left a weight in his chest.
Not regret.
Just silence.
A silence that followed him like a shadow since the moment Satyabhama had stood at her palace gate, eyes brimming with words she couldn't say, as he turned away.
She had watched his chariot vanish, clutching the golden dove he had once gifted her.
And Rudra hadn't looked back.
Because if he had… he wouldn't have left.
He stepped into Mahishmati's royal court, offered a short nod to the guards, and entered the inner sanctum. As the great bronze doors shut behind him, Rudra's gaze lifted to the sky once again.
And his heart whispered, "Storms are coming."
---
In the Kingdom of Panchal…
The palace of Panchal, once filled with the sounds of scholars and soldiers, now echoed with sighs of a weary king.
Maharaj Drupad sat in his council chamber — eyes sunken, fingers locked tight around his staff. Though dressed in royal silks, his soul felt threadbare.
A scroll lay on the table beside him — unopened.
But he already knew what it said.
"A threat rises from Hastinapur."
"Guru Dronacharya is training princes with vengeance in his heart."
"Prepare your lineage."
Drupad's shoulders trembled slightly.
He had only one child.
A daughter.
A daughter as fierce as Agni, as sharp as a blade — Divya.
And yet… the world still spoke only of sons.
"Had I not spoken those arrogant words long ago," he whispered, "Drona wouldn't seek my destruction."
He remembered that day too well — drunk on pride, he had mocked his childhood friend. Words meant to dominate had now made him vulnerable.
---
In the Rajguru's Quarters
Drupad entered with slow steps. The Rajguru, seated beneath a golden lamp, greeted him with a quiet nod.
"You seek a son, Maharaj."
Drupad did not pretend. "Yes. For lineage. For protection."
The Rajguru opened an old wooden box, taking out a parchment wrapped in red silk.
"There is a way — but not through niyog or penance. There is someone who can bless you with a warrior."
Drupad raised his eyes. "Who?"
The Rajguru smiled. "Rudra. The King of Mahishmati. Sage and warrior. The disciple of Kartavirya Arjun, wielder of Prana and Shakti Vidya, the one who summoned monsoon during Panchal's drought, twenty years ago."
"Rudra…" Drupad whispered. "I had forgotten him. But Panchal breathes today because of him."
"And," the Rajguru continued, "Rudra's disciples are legends in themselves — Karna, who can melt mountains with a single arrow. Ishita, the Ice Valkyrie whose wrath turned tournaments to snow. And… Eklavya, the silent shadow, deadlier than a whisper, unmatched in archery, born of forest flame."
"Karna....Eklavya…" a new voice said.
"I heard this Karna is the Eldest Son of Kunti raised by Suta? and Eklavya is just a Nishad Prince"
Both men turned.
At the doorway stood Princess Divya, arms folded, sword at her side.
---
"I've also heard tales of this Eklavya," Divya said. "People speak of him like a myth — the one who can shoot arrows with his eyes closed, who trains in shadows, who never speaks unless it is with his bow."
Drupad hesitated. "Daughter, you overheard?"
"I listened," Divya replied. "I have that right. You seek a son. But what you forget is — I am still here."
Her voice was calm but thunderous. The room fell silent.
The Rajguru bowed slightly. "No one questions your worth, Rajkumari. But perhaps… destiny does not wish you to fight alone."
Divya's eyes softened only slightly.
"And what of this Rudra? Is he truly as wise as they say?"
The Rajguru nodded. "He is not just wise. He senses fate before it moves."
---
Meanwhile… in Mahishmati
Rudra stood at the palace balcony, his rudraksha mala glowing gently as he sipped from a copper goblet. The winds were colder today.
"Panchal is moving toward me…" he whispered.
His senses began to expand.
He could feel it — a group of princes, walking different paths. Some in confusion. Some in longing. Some seeking reunion. Others… seduced by shadows.
"Yudhishthir seeks help."
"Bheem… seeks redemption… or revenge?"
"Kunti… carries her past in silence."
He saw fragments.
And then his sight turned… elsewhere.
To a land touched by orange sand and tall pines.
"Panchal."
"A daughter walking beside her father."
"And beneath her breath… the name of one who has never met her."
"Eklavya…" Rudra said softly.
---
The Departure from Panchal
A week later, a royal convoy rolled out of Panchal's gates — gold chariots, armored guards, and banners bearing the twin-flame emblem of Divya's lineage.
But the most striking image was of Divya herself, riding a snow-white horse, hair braided, eyes sharp.
She said nothing.
But in her satchel, she carried a folded parchment — an old tale of Eklavya, written by one of Panchal's own spies who had seen him during a border duel. Divya had read it countless times.
"He does not need recognition to be strong. He does not crave victory — he is victory itself. He is the shadow between arrows."
And now… she would meet him.
Drupad rode beside her, heart heavy, but hopeful.
"Perhaps," he whispered, "this journey will give us both what we seek."
---
Chapter End....