The Dawn of Auspiciousness
The palace awoke to drums.
Soft, rhythmic, temple drums echoing through corridors scented with sandalwood and ghee lamps. From the eastern courtyard to the inner zenana, garlands of marigold and mango leaves hung in golden chains, and rangoli patterns bloomed on marble like frozen music.
Today was Ganapati Utsav.
The day of the Remover of Obstacles.
Elephants were painted in bright ochre and vermilion lines, their foreheads marked with sacred trishuls and swastika sigils. Musicians tuned the shehnai. Priests coated their palms in turmeric and ash. The city outside the palace thrummed like a beehive of celebration.
Within the palace, every heart beat differently:
some with joy
some with prayer
some with ambition
some with fear
And two hearts, for the first time, were beating toward each other.
A Palace Dressed in Gold
In the great ceremonial hall, Maharaja Virendra Dev Raj sat beneath the golden parasol, his face paled by illness hidden beneath kohl-lined eyes and royal poise.
On his right sat Maharani Aishvarya Devi, Queen Regent, in emerald and pearls, forehead marked with royal kumkum, expression serene as a mountain lake but storming inside with calculations.
On his left, soft as a prayer in human shape, sat Maharani Lalima Devi, Queen Consort, in rose-colored silk, her gaze turning always toward her children as a bird guards the nest.
Before them stood the royal heirs:
Yuvraj Aditya Pratap Singh in blue, steel beneath silence
Crown Prince Samrat Veer Singh in princely deep red
Rajkumar Aarav, restless spark in youthful pink
And among the princesses:
Rajkumari Mrinalini, veiled wisdom, scholar of scriptures
Rajkumari Charumati, gentle moonlight wrapped in royal green
But it was Yuvrani Anushka Devi of Bengal who held the attention of the assembly.
She wore deep green silk embroidered with gold peacocks. Sindoor blazed in the parting of her hair like a line of destiny. Jewels shimmered upon her throat, yet none outshone her composure. The court had not forgotten:
She had taken poison to protect the Queen Regent.And lived.
Now people bowed lower when she crossed their path. Ministers whispered her name with reverence. Servants left sweets outside her chamber as offerings of loyalty.
Yet, beneath all that dignity…
Her heart beat faster when she sensed Samrat beside her.
They had been married in rites and vows, but not yet in the quiet truth of companionship.
That would begin today.
And destiny had chosen Ganapati's feast, the remover of obstacles, as their witness.
The Procession of the Elephant-Headed Lord
The great idol was carried in on shoulders.
Lord Ganapati, carved of sandalwood and painted in scarlet and gold, bedecked in hibiscus flowers and jasmine, his eyes large and compassionate, trunk curling as though blessing each child in the courtyard.
Priests chanted:
"Vakratunda MahakayaSuryakoti SamaprabhaNirvighnam kuru me DevaSarva-karyeshu sarvada."
The air trembled with cymbals.
The shehnai rose like a bird into morning sky.
The people cried aloud:
"Ganapati Bappa Morya!"
Samrat glanced sideways.
Anushka's lashes trembled as she prayed.
Not for jewelry.Not for influence.Not for praise.
She prayed that her path to power would unfold cleanly, with least blood, yet firm necessity.
And yet… another prayer slipped into her heart unexpectedly.
She prayed for him.
For Samrat Veer Singh.
Not as a pawn.
But as the man who looked at her sometimes not as a crown princess… but as if she were simply a woman standing under the same sky as him.
She murmured softly:
"O Vighnaharta… remove the thorns from the road he must walk."
As she whispered, he whispered too.
Neither heard the other.
Yet the prayers intertwined like threads in a sacred cloth.
The Dance of the Princesses
To honor the deity, the princesses danced.
First Mrinalini, moving with measured grace, each step like a Sanskrit mantra turned to flesh. She danced of wisdom, of scroll and scripture, of lamp and learning.
Then Charumati, gentler, sweeter, every gesture a flower falling into water. She danced of tenderness, of compassion, of the quiet strength of kindness.
The court watched, entranced.
The British Resident watched also, trying to hide bewilderment beneath polite intensity. His queen's ballrooms had never seen anything like this burning beauty of tradition.
He clapped nervously and too little.
Samrat watched only one person.
Anushka.
She sat beside his mother, posture royal, eyes bright with unspilled laughter when Aarav attempted to imitate the dance behind a pillar and nearly knocked over a tray of laddus.
She saw him looking.
Her eyes met his.
They did not look away.
Not immediately.
Not this time.
Words Spoken Under the Banyan
Later, incense drifted through the palace gardens as the feast spilled into courtyards. Noble families exchanged sweets. Drums echoed across domes and minarets.
Samrat found Anushka in the banyan pavilion, where roots fell like curtains and peacocks crossed marbled pathways in jeweled dignity.
He stopped a few paces away.
"Yuvrani."
She turned, and the gentle mischief in her eyes softened into warmth.
"You may call me by my name when the court does not listen."
Silence fluttered between them like a resting pigeon.
He inclined his head slightly.
"Anushka."
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice lower now:
"I owe you my mother's life. My kingdom's stability. I owe you thanks beyond measure."
She smiled faintly.
"Should a wife thank her own heart for beating? Rajmata is as my own breath. I did not think. I moved."
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Not as duty.
As mystery.
As flame.
He said softly:
"You are braver than any chronicle will record."
She replied:
"You are kinder than any ballad will dare describe."
He laughed quietly.
The banyan leaves stirred.
Something shifted then — not in words, not in gesture, but in understanding. The walls built of protocol and restrained glances dissolved like camphor in temple fire.
They stood closer now.
Not touching.
Yet both aware of the nearness as clearly as of heartbeat.
A Murmur Spreads Through the Court
Later, during the offering of modak sweets, their closeness did not go unnoticed.
Queen Consort Lalima Devi watched them from afar, her heart swelling not with politics, but maternal joy.
Queen Regent Aishvarya Devi watched rather differently.
Calculating.Measuring.Then slowly approving.
Whispers slid through courtyards like silk threads:
"They look like Lakshmi and Narayana together."
"At last the Crown Prince smiles with his eyes."
"Perhaps Ganapati truly removes obstacles."
The musicians played faster, festival laughter rose, children threw petals.
And the unseen threads between husband and wife drew tighter.
Night Falls upon Marigolds
That night the palace glowed with a thousand lamps.
Oil flames flickered in brass holders along corridors. The temple bells had grown quiet. Drums softened to the heartbeat of night. Elephants slept in the royal stables, painted and splendid even in slumber.
In the crown prince's wing, the air smelled of rosewater and sandalwood.
Servants withdrew silently. Curtains were drawn closed like secrets.
Aishvarya Devi had said earlier to Samrat Veer Singh, in quiet tone:
"Affection strengthens dynasties. Ice cracks empires, but warmth binds them. Go to her with respect — and with truth."
Lalima Devi had embraced Anushka briefly, whispering, eyes glistening:
"May your life be sweet as jaggery, child. And may your heart never know loneliness beside him."
And then there was only the room.
The soft lamplight.
The carved bed draped with white muslin canopy.
And two people who until now had walked beside duty rather than beside each other.
The Consummation of Destiny
Samrat stood near the window first, uncertain.
Battlefields he understood.
Court debates he mastered.
But the fragile world of shared vulnerability was entirely new.
Anushka approached him slowly, anklets ringing softly with each step.
For once she was not the strategist, not the savior of queens, not the secret architect of future rebellion.
She was simply Anushka—woman, wife, heart beating fast, hands slightly trembling though her gaze did not show it.
He said quietly:
"If there is hesitation in your heart, speak, and I will step back. My honor is not higher than your will."
She looked at him deeply.
"No hesitation."
A softer voice added inside her:
No hesitation about you.
Life had rarely given her moments where she chose entirely because she wished to, not because the world bent her into choosing. This moment belonged to her as much as to him.
The lamplight gentled.
Their hands met first.
Then foreheads.
Then silence claimed speech, because there are conversations no language can hold.
They moved not as strangers forced together by law…
…but as two people discovering the gentleness beneath crowns.
Outside, somewhere in the temple courtyard, the last Ganapati flame flickered in the wind.
Inside, the bond of marriage was completed in tenderness, reverence, and slow unfolding closeness.
No voyeuristic detail escaped the guard of night — because dignity cloaked them.
What mattered was not mechanics of flesh.
What mattered was:
He no longer felt alone upon the height of destiny.
She no longer walked only with ambition for companion.
And when the lamps burned low, they slept not at opposite ends of duty's bed…
…but side by side.
The Morning After — Rumors like Rising Birds
At dawn, Anushka rose before him.
She touched his forehead lightly, blessing without words.
He caught her hand and pressed it close for a long moment.
No court musician sang of them.
But the palace heard anyway.
Because palaces always hear.
The maid who brought flowers saw the mingled ornaments on the bedside.
The guard who stood outside heard laughter instead of two separate footsteps.
Within hours, whispers bloomed through corridors like jasmine vines:
"The Crown Prince and Crown Princess are truly united now."
"He called her 'Anushka' without title."
"They looked at each other like flame and ghee."
Maharani Lalima Devi smiled through tears of happiness.
Maharani Aishvarya Devi closed her eyes and whispered,
"Ganapati has indeed removed one obstacle from the house of Raj."
Aditya Pratap Singh clapped his brother on the shoulder in rare affection.
Aarav teased shamelessly — until Anushka caught his ear, laughing, and twisted it lightly.
And Anushka?
She walked the day in composure.
Yet her step felt lighter.
Not because she needed him for her designs…
…but because — unexpectedly — she wanted him beside her when the designs would unfold.
She had once planned to build destiny alone.
Now she wondered:
Would it be worse weakness…or greater strength…to let herself love him before the end?
She did not answer the question.
Not yet.
But as the drums of Ganapati's farewell echoed and the idol was carried toward the river for immersion, she watched Samrat laughing with Aarav, sunlight plating him in gold, and thought:
"Perhaps destiny is not the cold spear I once thought,
but a path two people can walk while holding hands."
The river swallowed Ganapati's clay form.
The chant rose:
"Ganapati Bappa Morya!
Pudhchya varshi lavkar ya!"
Come again next year.
Bring blessings again.
And the remover of obstacles smiled unseen…
…for obstacles ahead were greater than any yet known.
The British Raj tightened its shadow.
Rebellion would call.
Betrayal would bloom.
Blood would flow where flowers fell today.
And one day, long after court whispers had turned into chronicles,
the world would learn that on the Feast of Ganapati, two things were born in Rajgarh:
love that was real
and a future queen who would change history with iron will wrapped in silk
Whether they would walk toward each other in light…
or toward parting in…only time held the script.
For now —
They were simply husband and wife.
And the kingdom slept in the illusion of safety.