At the far east of the royal plateau stood a mighty mountain range, its vast expanse divided by a stretch of dense forest that ran nearly a hundred and fifty kilometres.
At the foothills, small villages lay scattered, separated by winding river streams that flowed down from the mountains.
One such village—Kaapad—rested quietly near the Kreya River basin.
Kaapad was known for its fine cotton.
The soft rhythm of handlooms echoed through the village from dawn till dusk, threads turning into fabric under practiced hands.
Among those workers was Garima.
By the time the sun had reached its peak, she had finished her morning shift and walked back toward her hut—a modest shelter of stone and grass standing at the edge of the village.
She had been quiet throughout the day.
Her hands had moved, her work had continued… but her mind had remained elsewhere.
On him.
Kairav.
She pushed the wooden door open.
The faint scent of cotton and old wood lingered inside.
Without a word, she hung her cloth bag behind the door and sat near the small wooden table.
For a moment, she simply sat there… as if gathering herself.
Then slowly she pulled out the letter from a wide drawer below the table.
Short.
Simple.
The handwriting was familiar.
Her fingers lingered on it longer than necessary.
A few moments passed in silence.
Then her gaze shifted toward an old iron trunk placed near the wall.
She stood, walked to it, and opened it carefully.
From within, she retrieved an old brass jar, its surface worn with time.
Inside it lay a small red velvet pouch.
She opened it.
Gold coins.
Her hand trembled ever so slightly.
In one hand—her son’s letter.
In the other—his first earnings.
She looked between them.
A faint smile tried to form… but never fully came.
Instead, something else rose within her.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
As if time had folded back onto itself.
This… has happened before.
Her breath grew uneven.
This was not just pride.
This was a memory she never wanted to relive.
She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself, then placed the pouch back into the brass jar.
Carefully, almost protectively, she tucked it beneath her folded clothes inside the trunk.
The letter followed.
Hidden.
But not forgotten.
Her gaze drifted toward the corner of the room.
Toward the small bed laid out on the ground.
Kairav’s bed.
She walked toward it slowly, as though each step carried weight.
Her fingers brushed against the worn cloth where he used to sleep.
She lowered herself beside it… then she laid down over it, curling into that small space as if trying to fit into the memory he had left behind.
Her hand rested where his head had once lain.
And this time… she didn’t hold back.
Tears slipped quietly, one after another.
Garima missed her son.
But more than that—
She feared for him.
Eight months ago… a man had come to her doorstep.
And since that day, nothing had remained the same.
“Remember… he carries Urvasa blood.”
The voice echoed in her mind.
“If duty calls him… he will have to go.”
Her fingers tightened slightly over the cloth.
“Don’t stop him.”
Her breathing faltered.
“Trust yourself… and your upbringing.”
She sat up abruptly, as if the memory had taken form before her.
Those were the last words Kairav’s grandfather had spoken to her.
Words she had tried to hold on to.
Words she had hoped would never be tested.
All this time… she had prayed for a simple life for her son.
A quiet one.
Away from everyone and all those haunting memories. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Her thoughts broke.
Her eyes shut tightly.
But fate had its own design.
That man came…
And with him… came the call she had feared the most.
“He put me in a place I never wanted to stand in…” she whispered under her breath.
Moments lingered, the old stone walls witnessed a mother’s agony without a word.
The door opened.
Light from the afternoon sun spilled into the room, breaking the heaviness that had settled inside.
“Garima?”
Juhi stepped in, pausing for a moment as she took in the sight before her.
“Let’s go. It’s time for lunch,” she said gently, walking closer.
Garima didn’t move.
“I don’t feel like it,” she replied, her voice dry… distant.
Juhi sat beside her.
“You’ve always been strong,” she said softly.
“You raised Kairav on your own… through everything. He’s not weak, Garima. He’ll stand his ground.”
Garima turned her head slightly and looked at her.
There was no anger in her eyes.
Just exhaustion.
Juhi hesitated, then continued, trying to find the right words.
“He’s out there now… facing the world. That’s what you prepared him for, isn’t it?”
Garima’s expression shifted.
And then it broke.
“That’s what scares me!” she said, her voice trembling as tears returned.
“My child… he’s alone out there—among them…”
Her hands clenched tightly on her lap.
“Those same people… those same wolves… who tore my life apart…”
Her voice cracked completely.
Juhi fell silent.
She didn’t try to correct her.
Didn’t interrupt.
She simply moved closer… and held her.
“I know…” Juhi whispered.
“I know you’re scared.”
Garima leaned into her, letting the grief come as it was.
For a while, there were no words.
Only quiet sobs.
After some time, the storm within her heart softened.
Garima wiped her tears with the edge of her pallu.
Her breathing steadied.
Slowly, she pushed herself up.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
“Let’s go,” she said finally.
Juhi looked at her, a small smile forming.
“That’s better.”
Garima nodded faintly.
Not because she felt better.
But because she knew…
She had to keep going.
Back on the royal plateau, within the Shakta Haveli, the night had settled gently after dinner.
In the veranda, the air was rich, infused with the warmth of burning oil lamps and the intoxicating fragrance of blooming Raatrani.
The crescent moon hung quietly above, casting a silvery glow over the courtyard.
Shakuntala, the head matriarch, sat in composed stillness.
Her eyes, however, were far from still.
They followed her lineage.
Yani, the youngest of the three siblings, ran across the courtyard, her laughter ringing like temple bells as her two brothers chased after her in playful chaos.
Nearby, the eldest son Anshuman’s four-year-old daughter Nivedita came running, her tiny feet stumbling with excitement.
Samarth crouched down with a grin and lifted his niece high into the air.
Her laughter burst freely into the night.
Yani clapped, sharing in the joy as if it were her own victory.
For a moment… it was perfect.
Kaushiki arrived, accompanied by her daughter-in-law Disha, and quietly took a seat beside Shakuntala.
The three women sat together, watching—not just children at play, but fragments of their own hearts scattered across the courtyard.
Generations.
Living.
Breathing.
Laughing.
Unaware.
Shakuntala slowly rose.
No announcement.
No interruption.
Just one last look. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Her gaze lingered—longer than necessary… longer than usual.
As if she were memorizing them.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked inside.
Her chamber welcomed her with silence.
The grand bed stood untouched, draped in richness that spoke of power, legacy, and control—things she possessed in abundance.
Yet none of it followed her into her thoughts.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her posture upright, but her mind… unravelling.
A knock broke the stillness.
“Come in,” she said, her voice steady—trained over decades to reveal nothing.
The door opened softly.
Disha, her granddaughter-in-law, entered carrying a glass of golden milk.
She placed it gently on the bedside table before turning to face the matriarch.
“Grandmother… is something bothering you?” she asked, her voice laced with both concern and hesitation.
Shakuntala looked at her.
And smiled.
A perfect smile.
Practiced.
Controlled.
“Oh, no. Nothing of that sort,” she replied calmly.
“I was merely… enjoying the peace our great Mother Goddess has bestowed upon us.”
The words were flawless.
The truth was not.
Disha lingered for a moment, unconvinced… but respectful.
“You should go,” Shakuntala added gently.
“Nivedita must not stay awake this late.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Disha replied with a nod before quietly leaving the room.
The door closed.
And with it… the illusion.
Shakuntala rose.
Each step toward the window felt heavier than the last.
Outside, the courtyard had begun to empty.
The laughter had faded, replaced by the quiet rhythm of the night.
One by one, her grandchildren were being led inside.
Her eyes followed them.
Holding on.
Resisting.
But the tears… they had already begun to gather.
The thought—the one she had buried, silenced, denied—rose once more.
The possibility of losing one of them.
Not by fate’s cruelty alone…
But by its design.
She had known this day would come.
Ever since her mother—the former matriarch—had spoken those final words.
Words that were not advice.
Not warning.
But truth.
She had power.
She had wealth.
Her voice shaped decisions.
Her commands altered destinies.
And yet…
Here she stood.
Powerless.
Because this was beyond authority.
Beyond protection.
Beyond even love.
This… was the Will of Shakti.
And the Will…
Does not ask.
It chooses.
“All you can do… is witness,” her mother’s voice echoed in memory.
“Shakti will choose her wielder.”
A tear slipped free.
Then another.
Falling in silence.
For the first time in years, the matriarch of the Shakta lineage did not resist them.
Because tonight…
She was not the head of the clan.
She was only a grandmother.
And that…
Was her greatest weakness.