At the forefront of the waiting entourage stood Mahāpatra Someshvara, the highest spiritual authority in Kalinga. His ochre robes, heavy with sacred embroidery, bore the intricate script of ancient shlokas, shimmering faintly in the dim torchlight. His beard, streaked with silver and bound with rudraksha beads, lent him the presence of a seer who had long gazed into the abyss of fate. Across his broad forehead, the sacred vibhūti streaks gleamed like pale moonlight, crowned by a crescent of saffron, his mark as a guardian housekeeper of the abode of Vishnu.

To his right stood the rāj-purohits, draped in flowing ivory silks that susurrated with every movement, as if even their garments carried the grandeur of unspoken prophecies. Their lips barely moved as they murmured among themselves, but their eyes, keen and piercing, held the unerring gaze of men accustomed to peering beyond the veil of mortal ignorance.

Further beyond, the ministers of Kalinga stood in composed silence, each bearing the imprint of his craft. Some smelled of ink, their fingers stained with the ceaseless labor of diplomacy; others carried the scent of iron, warriors molded by years of battle. And among them, there were those who reeked of salt and the distant abode of Varuna-for Kalinga was not merely a land of rulers but of traders and dreamers, where conquest and commerce entwined like twin flames.

Yet, even among these men of consequence, it was Adeettiya's closest aides who stood apart: men bound by loyalty before law, secrecy before spectacle, duty before desire. Their presence underlined the fact that Adeettiya was already recognised as the king of his generation.

A silence heavy as temple bells at dusk pressed against the assembly, condensing like the mist that rose from the eastern shores. Then, at last, the rhythmic echo of descending footsteps shattered the hush.

Prince Adeettiya emerged.

He was a figure wreathed in the thunder of undefeated power, his aura both regal and elemental, as though carved from the very essence of Kalinga itself. The deep-red folds of his royal angavastram, embroidered with threads of molten gold, flowed over his shoulders like a king's mantle, while the heavy clasp at his chest bore the insignia of his house—an emblem of a soaring Garuda, talons outstretched, poised to strike.

His dark eyes, sharp as a falcon's and twice as unreadable, surveyed the entourage with the ease of a man accustomed to both reverence and rebellion. The torches lining the corridor cast flickering shadows across his face, sculpting his angular features into something almost otherworldly: a prince shaped by war, tempered by duty, and bound to a destiny written in blood and prophecy.

At last, the silence was broken.

Mahāpatra Someshvara's voice, deep and deliberate, carried the substance of centuries.

"कन्या कष्टं निवारिता?"

(Has the girl been relieved of her suffering?)

Adeettiya's gaze remained unreadable, but his voice, when it came, was measured, neither cold nor comforting, an answer forged in restraint.

"सा जागृता। किंतु, सत्यम् अधुना न ज्ञायते।"

(She has awakened. But the truth remains unknown.)

A ripple of murmurs ghosted through the gathering, like the first gust of wind before an impending storm. Yet the tension, thick and unyielding, did not break.

Someshvara's eyes, aged yet keen, narrowed slightly as they studied the prince, searching for an answer beyond mere words. His voice softened, yet carried the same authority that had guided kings before him.

"तीन दिन, राजकुमार।"

(Three days, Crown Prince.)

Three days. A heartbeat in the annals of fate, an eternity in the treacherous dance of courtly intrigue.

The younger ministers shifted, barely disguising their impatience. Three days without clarity in the royal court was akin to leaving a blade unsheathed in an open field: reckless, perilous and an invitation to chaos.

"अस्याः आगमनस्य रहस्यं अधुना अपि आवृतं अस्ति।" Someshvara murmured, as though speaking to himself.

(The mystery of her arrival remains shrouded.)

The silence swelled once more, thick and waiting, until one of the rāj-purohits finally spoke.

"सर्वथा, अस्याः विषयं राज-सभायाम् चर्च्यते !"

(Without question, this matter must be discussed in the royal court!)

Adeettiya inclined his head slightly but gave no reply. He did not need to.

His father's court awaited. And in that court, truths were seldom spoken without consequence.

Kalinga was a land that had never bowed.

When the Mauryan Empire of Aryavarta had swept through the North, swallowing entire kingdoms into its golden surge, Kalinga had stood unshaken, an unbending tree in the face of a storm.

The murals upon its walls told the story of an unconquered kingdom, of warriors who had stood against the current of Aryavarta when the Mauryan banners darkened the skies of the East.

Its warriors were not mere men; they were sons of the sea, raised to fight against both the tidal flow and tyranny. Its merchants were not simple traders; they commanded the frothy billows, their ships touching shores as far as Suvarnabhumi and Dvipa. Its poets did not merely recite verses; they chiselled the names of kings into eternity.

A great inscription ran across the stone walls, written in letters as bold as the people of this land:

"नृशंसः सम्राट् मौर्यः अपि, क्लिष्टो जातः कलिंगे।"

(Even the ruthless Emperor of the Mauryas found suffering in Kalinga.)

At the heart of the great Royal courtroom, upon a throne of ebony and ivory, sat the sovereign of this untamed land: Kalingaraj Raja Anantha Padmanabhan.

The royal court had been a sanctum to Kalinga's defiant splendor. Towering stone pillars, their surfaces inscribed with tales of conquest, prosperity, and devotion, stood like silent sentinels of history. Murals stretched across the domed ceiling, depicting the cosmic dance of Lord Jagannath, his dark form commanding the very rhythm of creation and destruction. Incense coiled lazily through the air, its fragrance mingling with the fresh marigolds that adorned the sacred alcoves.

At the farthest end of the chamber, beneath an archway inlaid with pearls harvested from Kalinga's own shores, reclined the king.

Anantha Padmanabhan had been a ruler of wisdom, his presence had been as resolute as the northern star. His beard, streaked with silver, bore witness to years of rule, but his gaze burned with the fire of a man who was ready to do anything for his motherland. Draped in silk woven by Kalinga's finest artisans, his robes bore the same insignia of the garuda—an exemplification to a sovereign who had feared neither empire nor invader, who had forged his own destiny with the weight of his sword and the might of his will.

Adeettiya approached his father, halting at the prescribed distance and executed the courtly bow of Kalinga: measured, neither too deep to suggest subjugation nor too shallow to imply arrogance. His anklets barely clinked as he walked on the floor , his dhoti pleated in the fashion of Kalinga's warriors, his wrists adorned with copper cuffs etched in sacred verses.

Anantha Padmanabhan inclined his head: a silent invitation to speak.

"धर्मेण राज्यम्। सत्येन विजयः।" the court herald had proclaimed.

(Through Dharma, we rule. Through Truth, we triumph.)

"कन्या जागृता?" The question flowed like the Ganga, its currents deep with patience and unshaken authority. The voice that carried it belonged to none other than the sovereign whose mere presence dictated the politics of the court. It was a voice carved from years of war, tempered in the fires of diplomacy.

(The girl has awakened?)

"आम्, महराज। सा जीविता।" Adeettiya confirmed, his tone measured, respectful, yet carrying a certainty that did not require embellishment.

(Yes, Maharaja. She lives.)

The pressure of those words settled over the court like the monsoon clouds before a storm.

The scars of war had faded, yet the spirit of defiance remained, stitched into the very fabric of Kalinga like the lingering scent of rain-soaked earth. This land had never bowed, not even beneath the iron resolve of Chandragupta, nor the calculated dominion of Bindusāra. Its people had resisted where others had fallen, their pride weathering the tides of empire.

But today, it was not war they debated. Not conquest, not commerce, nor the intricate dealings of statecraft.

No, today, the court of Kalinga stirred over the presence of a single girl; an unknown figure who had stepped unbidden onto the hallowed grounds of their most sacred temple.

Eyes met across the chamber, some watchful, some questioning, and some already sharpening the edges of their thoughts like blades awaiting a worthy opponent. The silence before the discourse was brief, yet it hummed with unspoken words, with calculations being weighed and discarded in the span of a heartbeat.

Then, at last, the voices began.

Ugrasen, the eldest of the ministers, bore the weight of years upon his shoulders. His skin was parchment etched with the ink of time, his gaze sharp despite the slow wear of age. He exhaled deeply, a sound more thoughtful than weary, before speaking.

"महाराज, अस्या कन्यायाः यथार्थं अस्माकं लाभाय प्रयोजनं चेत्, तत् पूर्वं अस्याः मूलं ज्ञातव्यम्।"

(Maharaja, if this girl is to serve any purpose to us, we must first know her origins.)

His words were chosen with precision, threading the narrow path between skepticism and opportunity.

Another minister, a purohit, whose wisdom was draped in the white of his beard and the ivory of his robes, stroked his chin.

"न केवलं एषा कन्या आगता अत्र, किन्तु स्वयं देवालयस्य प्रांगणे।"

(Not only has this girl arrived here, but at the very gates of the temple itself.)

His words carried a weight heavier than mere curiosity. The temple was no ordinary shrine; it was the heart of Kalinga's spiritual and political power, a place where kings sought divine sanction and warriors found absolution. For one to appear there, unannounced, unheard, was more than mere coincidence. It was either fate or folly.

The ministers shifted, their expressions weaving between intrigue and caution. Then, another voice rose, one of belief rather than doubt.

"एषा कन्या दिव्य-लक्षणयुक्ता अस्ति। अस्या आगमनं संकेतः भवति।"

(This girl bears divine signs. Her arrival is an omen.)

It was Acharya Sidhanta, who spoke up. One of the greatest astrologers in all of Aryavarta. His name was the staple of kings and empires, who sought out his views for conquest or yagna, for none could match the precision of his divinations.

With his flowing white beard and robes the color of the moon's glow, he unfurled the ancient scroll of the heavens. His hand, steady as ever, traced the constellations and planetary alignments that governed the fate of all mortals. His eyes, sharp with wisdom, scanned the stars that others dared not look upon.

"राजन्, यदि स्वयम् आचार्य सिद्धान्तो सर्वे खगोलज्ञेन्तः स्तुतिं प्राप्तः, इति साक्षात् साहाय्यं अस्याः भाग्यं पठितुं..."

(Maharaja, even I, Archarya Sidhanta, revered for my knowledge of the stars, am faced with a challenge. To read her destiny...)

His voice, usually firm and unwavering, now faltered. The scroll in his hands shook slightly, a sign no one had ever witnessed before. The courtiers leaned forward, breath held, as he continued.

"तस्य जन्मस्य न सुतराम् गृहीतं, न ही सुतराम् पठितम्। यत्र तस्या भाग्यं स्थितं, ते ग्रहाः स्वयम् अनुनयन्ति।

(Her birth does not lie under the patterns I have known, nor can the constellations direct me. The stars themselves refuse to yield their guidance.)"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Even Archarya Sidhanta, who had unlocked the secrets of kings and empires with his readings, could not decipher the path of this girl. His brow furrowed deeper, his eyes searching the scroll in vain.

"राजन्, एषा कन्या न केवलं न साधारणं लक्षणं वहति, किं तु एकं अदृष्टं, असंभाव्यम् भाग्यं।

(Maharaja, this girl carries not only an extraordinary sign, but an unseen, impossible fate.)"

He paused, his gaze lifting to the heavens, his mind racing through the celestial patterns. But no matter how he tried, the symbols twisted and turned on the page, refusing to align.

"किंच, एषा कन्या यः गुणं प्रकटयति, तस्य प्रतिफलनं एव स्वयम् कालं स्थगयति।

(Moreover, the very qualities she bears seem to stop time itself. The destiny that should unfold, is held still.)"

The room stirred in disbelief. The ministers, who had all revered Archarya Sidhanta's wisdom, now saw him stand in the face of an enigma too great even for him.

"किं तस्य भाग्यं एकं युद्धं वा समृद्धिं वा, अथवा सर्वं संघटनं पतनं यास्यति?"

(Will her fate bring war or prosperity, or will it lead to the fall of everything we know?)

Archarya Sidhanta's voice cracked, for the first time in his life, filled with an uncertainty he could not hide. His hands trembled as they reached for the stars again, but they slipped away as if the very fabric of fate itself had closed off to him.

"राजन्, ग्रहाः अपि स्वयम् मार्गं त्यक्तुं न योग्यं पश्यन्ति। यत्र सा कन्या उत्पन्ना, तत्र स्वयमेव कालस्य वृत्तिर्विलम्बं यास्यति।

(Maharaja, even the planets refuse to show me her path. Where she was born, time itself shall slow. Her arrival has already bent the flow of the world's fate.)"

His words hung in the air, as the ministers exchanged uncertain glances, trying to fathom what could bring such an unshakable man to the edge of despair.

Maharaja Anantha, rose from his throne, his eyes intense, as he locked his gaze onto Archarya Sidhanta.

"तर्हि किम्? अस्याः भाग्यं किमर्थं रहस्यं रूपं अनुत्तरणीयं विदितं युज्यते?"

(Then what does this mean? Why does her fate remain so secret, impossible to unravel by any mortal?)

Archarya Sidhanta's eyes dropped to the scroll, his hands now stilled in disbelief.

"राजन्, ईश्वरैः एव अस्याः भाग्यं निश्चितं। न तु भूतकालं न भविष्यं ज्ञायते। न केवलं सप्तग्रहाणि, अपि तु स्वयम् आकाशः ही अस्य भाग्यं प्रतिगच्छति।

(Maharaja, it is only the gods who may know her fate. Not the past, nor the future can I see. Not even the seven planets, but the very heavens themselves seem to close off her path.)"

A chilling quiet descended upon the court. The king, usually composed, now seemed lost in the depth of his thoughts. His fingers clenched around the armrest of his throne.

"किं तर्हि भाग्यं अस्याः साथे अस्ति? या महाकालं अतीत्य हरति, अथवा सम्पूर्णं जगतं विलीनं यास्यति?"

(Then what fate lies with her? Will she transcend even Mahakala, or will she bring the entire world to ruin?)