King of Ramgadh

Rajvendra – King of Ramgadh

King Rajvendra of Ramgadh wasn’t just a ruler—he was a force of nature. The strongest king in the known world, his name alone stirred fear in battlefields and awe in royal courts. With countless wars won and nearly half the kingdoms under his rule, his power was unmatched. But behind his victories were whispers—rumors of ancient secrets buried deep within the Thakur family bloodline. Some said he had access to knowledge no man should possess. Others claimed darker forces guided his path. No one knew the full truth… but no one dared to question him either.

So when my father, King Raghav Singh, sent out invitations for my brother Virendra’s sixteenth birthday, he never truly expected Rajvendra to come. Our kingdom—Udaipur—was respected, yes. Our people were content, our palace full of history and heart. But politically, we were only the twentieth in power. Not weak, but nowhere near the towering shadow cast by Ramgadh.

Yet to our surprise, the mighty King Rajvendra accepted.

The palace shifted overnight. Servants scurried faster, guards stood taller, and even the air seemed heavier. Everyone whispered his name with a strange mix of reverence and fear. But as Hindus, we believe that guests are a reflection of God—Atithi Devo Bhava—and we welcomed him with all the grace our kingdom could offer.

The day began with warmth and devotion. The sun rose gently over the sandstone towers, bathing the Rajmahal in a soft golden glow. Floral garlands draped every archway. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood floated in the air as bells chimed from the temple.

We hosted a great daan—a donation ceremony. Clothes, books, food, gold coins, grains… all offered to the poor and the holy. My mother oversaw the arrangements, her smile both proud and nervous. My father was calm but alert, his warrior instincts sharp despite the celebratory mood. This wasn’t just a birthday—it was a gathering of powerful eyes, each measuring the other behind layers of silk and smiles.

Then came the yug-puja, a sacred ritual invoking Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, followed by an intense havan. Flames danced in rhythm with the chants, and the scent of ghee and herbs filled the hall. The priests spoke of blessings, protection, and destiny.

And all the while, I watched from the shadows.

This day was important for me too.

From birth, I had a frail body. My limbs were delicate, and illness clung to me like a second skin. For years, I was kept away from public eyes—not out of shame, but love. My father said the world could be cruel to what it does not understand. So while others danced in the courtyards, I trained in silence. I studied politics, languages, and swordsmanship behind hidden doors. I learned to read the stars and the faces of men. My body may have been weak, but my spirit was not.

And today, April 7th, 1666, I would step out of the shadows.

Tonight, I would be seen—by kings, queens, warriors, strangers. For the first time, I would wear my name on my face, not just in whispers behind palace walls.

As the palace buzzed with preparations for the evening celebration, my heart beat with both fear and excitement. My brother, Virendra—joyful and teasing as ever—came to me with a grin.

“So, Tara… where’s my gift?” he asked, nudging me playfully.

I smiled, a secret dancing in my eyes. “You’ll see,” I whispered, and slipped away.

What I had planned for him wasn’t just a gift—it was a moment. A memory. Something he’d never forget. And neither would I.

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