The scent of sandalwood and fresh blossoms drifted through the corridors of Mahishmati Palace. The sun had begun to set, casting golden rays over the grand courtyard where the royal family had gathered for a rare family dinner. After Rudra Pratap's return, the halls were once again filled with warmth, joy, and the rustle of silken garments. The air was rich with the aroma of traditional dishes prepared for the occasion.
At the head of the grand dining table sat Maharathi Vijay Pratap, the respected patriarch of the Pratap lineage, his strong presence unchallenged even in age. To his right sat his sons—Suresh Pratap, Rudra's father, and his younger brother Veer Pratap, and next to Veer sat Bhaskar mama of Rudra.
The ladies of the house—Bela, Sumitra, and Ratna—sat gracefully beside their husbands, adorned in elegant royal attire. At Rudra's side sat his seven-year-old sister Ishita, smiling brightly, thrilled to have her brother back home.
Also present were Rudra's Mama Bhaskar and Mami Ratna, royal guests from Ayodhya, whose visit carried more than familial affection.
Throughout the meal, there was laughter, affectionate teasing, and stories shared. Yet Rudra's keen gaze noticed the subtle hesitation in his Mama's eyes, the heaviness in his Mami's demeanor. His sharp instincts picked up the undercurrent of purpose.
After the meal was done and the plates cleared, Rudra spoke calmly, "Mama, you did not come just for family time, did you? There is something else weighing on your heart."
Bhaskar exchanged a quick glance with Ratna, then nodded, his expression solemn. "You are no longer just our nephew, Rudra. You are a Maharishi now, blessed with vision and power. I have come seeking your wisdom."
Rudra folded his hands and nodded with serene grace. "Then speak, Mama. Not as my relative, but as a seeker."
Bhaskar took a deep breath. "We have no child. No heir for Ayodhya. Ratna and I have tried all remedies, consulted many rishis. But it was Rishi Vashistha who told us to come to you. He said only you could help."
Silence fell as the words settled. Rudra gently closed his eyes and invoked Trikaal Drishti, his vision transcending time and space, peering into the threads of possibility and fate.
Moments passed, the air still.
Then Rudra opened his eyes, radiant with knowing.
"There are two paths before you," he said. "The first: there already exists a boy with the lineage of Surya—he is a Suryanshi, blessed and powerful. He resides in Hastinapur. If you wish, you can adopt him. But know, he has loving parents and is destined for something much greater than just Ayodhya."
Bhaskar listened intently.
"The second path," Rudra continued, his gaze shifting to Ratna, "is more traditional. Just as divine intervention blessed Queen Kaushalya, I too can offer such a path when the time is right. Through sacred means, Ratna may conceive."
Bhaskar was torn. The first choice was immediate—a child already alive. The second was uncertain but born of his own wife's womb. He looked to Rudra again.
"I ask you not as your Mama, but as one in need of truth. What should I do?"
Rudra smiled, kind and calm. "The boy in Hastinapur is not meant to walk this path. His bond with his parents is deep, and his future lies elsewhere. You must not disrupt his fate. You should wait… and choose the child who will be born from your own love."
Bhaskar, hearing the clarity in Rudra's words, stood up and bowed his head. "Then I will await that blessing. I choose the child who will be born to us."
The atmosphere was gentle, hopeful. But Rudra noticed movement from across the table—his Kaaki Sumitra's expression had changed. There was hesitation and longing in her eyes.
Rudra turned to her. "Kaaki, is there something you wish to say?"
Sumitra looked at her husband. Together, they folded their hands and stood respectfully.
"Rudra," she said softly, "we too seek a blessing. Swami has grown strong and we… we wish for child. One who might help carry the weight of our house and be a support to his brother, just as Naath is to his Brother."
Rudra's smile widened. Without pause, he raised his hand in blessing.
"Tathastu," he declared, sealing their prayer.
The room filled with a sense of sacred peace. No divine fruit was manifested, not yet. But destinies had begun to move.
Far away in Hastinapur, the stars above shifted subtly.
As Mahamantri Vidur thoughts lingers on how to convince his tatshree to disown the child of Dhritarashtra and Gandhari as a bad omen.
And Shakuni on his plan to destroy the Kuruvansh.
Lets see what the destiny holds