In the grand chambers of Padmavati, power no longer roared.
It whispered.
And it lied.
Behind carved ivory doors, Veerkund sat with Minister Abhiraj, cloaked in false loyalty.
Veerkund: "The people sing of her — like she's a savior.
But soon, they'll curse her name."
Abhiraj: "The king still holds her close."
Veerkund (smiling): "Not for long. Fear is quicker than love. And I've begun the work."
He laid forged reports on the table — letters "signed" by Dattadevi, naming her a rebel sympathizer. Stained robes from the palace laundry. A handful of paid witnesses ready to speak lies before the throne.
Veerkund: "Let her try to be a hero. I will crown her a traitor."
That same night, Dattadevi rode out in silence, her figure cloaked, her hair braided and hidden. She had received word that Sukhet, a village she once protected, had been attacked.
She arrived to find ashes, screams, and blood still wet on the ground.
The temple lay broken. Doors shattered. Women wept behind burned walls, their clothes torn, their voices shaking. Some still clutched their children. Others… simply stared, broken.
"They came like thunder," one woman whispered to her. "Veerkund's men… they said we were hiding rebels. Then they laughed. Burned our homes. Dragged the girls…"
Dattadevi's hands clenched.
She looked down and saw a small girl hiding behind a pot, her feet bleeding.
She knelt.
Dattadevi (gently): "Did they hurt you?"
The girl nodded once.
And Dattadevi's world narrowed into fire.
Rajima (arriving breathlessly): "My lady—he spreads lies in court. He calls you a traitor."
Dattadevi stood, her veil slipping back. Her hair spilled like black ink, her deer-like eyes no longer soft, but sharp — gleaming with fury.
Dattadevi: "Let him shout. I will answer in silence... and in steel."
She turned to the villagers, voice calm but firm.
Dattadevi: "You are not forgotten. And you are not weak.
You will rebuild. And I will burn down the ones who did this."
That night, back in the palace, King Ganapati Naga stared into a silver goblet, wine untouched.
He had heard the whispers —
That his daughter was consorting with outlaws.
That she defied royal law.
That she stirred the people behind his back.
Ganapati Naga (softly): "What are you becoming, Dattadevi?
Or what have I failed to see?"
But the time for questions had ended.
She would no longer wait for the court to listen.
While kings slept and snakes smiled in the throne room,
Dattadevi began preparing for war — not with armies,
but with truth, fire, and the fury of women wronged.