Three Years Later
I think I'm about three years old now.
There doesn't seem to be any concept of celebrating birthdays here—at least not in the way we do back on Earth. From what I remember, ancient India didn't really celebrate birthdays either, and this world seems to follow a similar structure to Classical India.
So I'm guessing my age based on the seasons that have passed. Roughly three to three and a half years.
I've been conscious since birth, which is honestly exhausting. Remembering everything that happens day to day is still difficult, but I can recall general things well enough—like my name. It's Hamsa Deva Varman. Though with my 21XX brain, I still mess it up sometimes and think of it as Hamsa Deva Varma instead.
Now.
I started walking properly sometime after I turned two. And wow—moving around in this tiny body is a pain. I fall a lot. Like, a lot a lot. The maids and caretakers are constantly picking me up and putting me back where I started. Because of that, I still haven't really seen anything outside my room by myself.
Not that my room is small. Honestly, it feels more like a chamber than a room.
But on the rare occasions when they do take me outside, I'm completely awestruck by how ridiculously beautiful everything looks. It reminds me of descriptions of ancient Imperial Mauryan or Gupta architecture—or just the sheer grandeur of Classical India, which, unlike Rome or China, doesn't have much left today in terms of archaeological remains.
It makes me want to explore everything.
Unfortunately… I still can't.
That annoyance aside.
Ever since I started speaking a little, I've been visited more often by an old woman who wears simple white robes. Her name is Durga, and she's clearly someone important. She's been teaching me how to speak, read, and write—slowly, bit by bit. She also tries to play with me.
Honestly, it almost feels like having a grandma.
Not that I really know what that feels like. My grandparents back on Earth were either already gone or too old to do much, and they passed away not long after I was born.
Anyway, setting all that sad stuff aside—thanks to her help, I can now understand most conversations around me and even talk a little myself.
The language here is interesting. Structurally, it's very similar to Sanskrit, though it sounds different, and the script looks unfamiliar. I can tell because I was kind of a language nerd in my previous life. I could speak five languages—four of them Indian. I also wanted to learn Latin and Sanskrit. I quit Latin pretty early, but I was actively learning Sanskrit when I died.
That's why I think this language is related.
Sanskrit has this unique structure where the order of words in a sentence doesn't really matter—you can rearrange them almost any way and the meaning still stays the same. The language here works in a similar way.
Anyway. Now on to the important stuff.
From what I've picked up, my mother's name seems to be Bhadra, and my father's name is Indra. I don't know their full names yet—Durga and they themselves usually just refer to each other like that.
I'm also starting to suspect that my father is the king.
One day, while I was in my chamber, a soldier entered and loudly announced, "Raja Valangar," in that stiff, respectful way soldiers use when reporting to a superior. He then started speaking to my father, who responded like this was completely normal.
Though not before scolding him for shouting so loudly in my chamber.
So yeah.
That probably makes me a prince.
Nice.
Still… I need to learn a lot more.
OH OH OH—almost forgot.
There is definitely magic in this world. From people doing things I can't explain, to stones and crystals and other stuff behaving in ways that make zero sense.
This is definitely magic in my book.
Wait, why am I narrating my own thoughts like this?Am I seriously thinking like I'm the MC of some book?
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A year had passed since the birth of Rajkumar Hamsa, and the kingdom was blessed once more with the birth of another prince. Born to Mahadevi Bhadra and Raja Valangar II, the child was named Garuda Deva Varman.
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One Year Later
Royal Palace — Royal Residence, Garuda's Chambers
"Mahadevi Bhadra, there are guests waiting for you."
The Queen did not look up at once. She was seated beside her sons, watching as the younger one played with wooden toys, a faint smile resting on her face. Her tone, however, was serious when she spoke.
"Lata," she said, "How many times have I told you not to disturb me while I am with my sons?"
The maid stiffened slightly at her lady's words. Though unsettled, she held her ground and replied in a calm and respectful voice.
"With all due respect, Mahadevi," she said, "you have been neglecting your duties more often of late—ever since Rajkumar Hamsa began acting beyond his years and started avoiding you. And Rajkumar Garuda is still as a child should be. The maids can attend to him here. You are needed elsewhere." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The ministers have begun to notice your absence, and some have already asked when you will return to the court."
"With the recent developments," Lata went on, "The King requires your assistance more than ever."
She drew a breath before speaking further.
"Now that Mahadevi Savitri has passed, you alone remain to carry the duties she once bore."
The Queen did not respond.
I MADE A PROMIS.
Thinking this her gaze drifted away from her sons, her expression still, as though her thoughts had turned inward—drawn back to memories long past.