Author's Note: Please refer to the glossary at the end of each episode to understand the non-English words used in this episode. This was originally meant to be a published novel, but due to time and resource constraints, I'm publishing it here first. I hope you enjoy the sprinkle of culture throughout the Episodes! 

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Soft clinks of glass bangles chimed in the room. Each clink entangled itself with every rhythmic caress of the neem wood comb that was making its way through Indumati's hair. Her maid was working wonders in her quest to detangle the wavy tresses that fell just above her mistress's knees. The care of her diligent maid and the scent of sandalwood and camphor that has dispersed in the bedchamber, soothed the sadness in her mind. 

It had been almost an entire paksh since her son, Buddhisen, had been bedridden. The playful boy lost consciousness after taking a fall from a tree while climbing it. The doting, worried mother that Indumati was, she had been by his side more often than she ought to. The dark heaviness that had now appeared under the eyes were a testament to her worries and despair.

"Chanda, I'm his mother. I should be the one beside him."

"Maharani, you're also the mother of the unborn babe in you. Please reconsider," said Chanda.

At her words, Indumati's heart became racked with guilt for ignoring the needs of her unborn gem.

The midwife had warned her that the health of her own body, mind and soul will leave a life-long impact on her babe if she wasn't careful. 

Sighing in defeat, she nodded.

The meal was light and unflavoured, free from oil and spices but warm. Indumati felt comforted. 

While the other maids quietly cleared the trays from her room, Indumati was led to the bed by Chanda, who tucked her in, drew the curtains in the room and ushered the maids away. 

The quiet rustle of the trees outside, swaying in the cool winds of the autumn, every creature in her vatika was probably indulging in an afternoon slumber. On some days, she would rest with her son in the afternoon, while her husband, the king would continue to work with the courtiers. Her chamber dripped in gentle darkness, the scent of sandalwood and camphor still in her room, lulled her into a calm sleep, but not before a few tears meandered their way out of her closing eyes.

Her sorrow amplified, and before she knew, a sob escaped. But something caught her attention. She heard something strange. 

A bell. A light silver bell.

Such a delicate, youthful sound.

She swerved around to see who was ringing the gentle bell.

But a little girl showed up instead. She could not have been lived for more than fifteen ayan. Fully draped in white, she was glowing, radiating the kind of infectious peace that subdued her sobs. 

She smiled, wider and wider, before the wind around them picked up speed. It was enough to startle Indumati. She averted her gaze from the young girl, looking around, only to find herself woken up from her slumber.

The sun in the sky had dipped further into the horizon, leaving the vatika outside her room covered in shadows. She had slept through the afternoon longer than she had imagined. 

Seeing the white curtains in her room swaying reminded her of the bright little girl.

She was lost in thoughts of her, her sorrow forgotten momentarily. 

Who was she?

[Footnotes / Glossary]

Neem = or nimtree is Indian lilac, known to have many beneficial medicinal properties

Paksh = 1 paksh is equivalent to 15 days (time measurement system in Ancient India)

Maharani = grand queen (in Hindi)

Vatika = garden (in Hindi)

Ayan = 1 ayan is equivalent to 1 year (time measurement system in Ancient India)