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Ashes of Udaipur

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“Remember! Remember me!”

As I fell, the last thing I screamed was:

The wind tore the sound from my lips as if even the sky wanted to carry my rage.

My eyes shut tight.

The wind roared past my ears like a thousand whispers of ghosts.

Tree branches lashed at me—sharp claws scratching my arms and legs, tearing through silk and skin.

Pain exploded everywhere.

Then—

Silence.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating.

Bloodied, broken… and alive.

The cold water of the Kaai Lake cradled me like a ghostly mother.

The night sky above shimmered with stars, so peaceful it almost mocked me.

My body drifted gently, limbs limp, barely breathing.

The water was ice against my wounds, numbing the pain but not the memory.

Each breath I took burned in my chest. My dress—once royal—now clung to me, soaked in blood and river mud.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think straight.

And then… the memories began.

Like an old film unrolling in the back of my mind.

My mother’s laughter as she scolded me for eating all the prasad.

My brother’s groans every time I snuck into his training with a prank.

The way my father would wink and tug me behind him when mother chased me with a sandal.

His proud voice during my training—“Keep your shoulders straight, Tara. You are born to lead, not follow.”

Tears slipped silently from the corners of my eyes, merging with the lake water.

And then I remembered it all.

The hidden passage in the palace—my secret escape.

The scent of old paper and sandalwood.

The stolen hours with books while I skipped sword lessons.

Only my father knew of that passage.

Our secret.

Now… he was gone.

They were all gone.

My chest tightened. My breath caught.

I couldn’t cry anymore. I had no tears left.

Just emptiness.

Darkness began to wrap around me again. Not the night—but the inside of me.

That cold, hollow feeling where hope used to live.

I felt myself slipping.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe I could just… stop.

Then—

A voice. Soft. Familiar. Echoing from nowhere and everywhere.

> “You have to wake up, Princess…

Wake up… for us.

For your people… your family…

For the ones who believed in you…

Wake up…”

The stars above shimmered. The lake around me rippled gently.

> “Tara… please…”

My eyes fluttered open.

My lips parted as I gasped for breath.

The stars didn’t look cold anymore.

They looked like eyes. Watching. Waiting.

Something inside me sparked.

Not warmth. Not peace.

But fire.

I wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

And if I was alive…

Then they would pay.

Slowly opened my eyes.

My vision was blurry. Shapes moved in front of me—shadows, colors blending like paint in water. I heard voices, but they sounded distant… muffled. Like they were speaking through layers of fog. I couldn’t understand a word.

Pain throbbed through every inch of my body. My chest ached. My head felt heavy.

Then, after a few agonizing seconds, my vision started to clear—just enough to make out a man kneeling beside me.

Tajveer Roy.

I blinked again, unsure if my mind was playing tricks on me.

Tajveer mamu…

Not my blood uncle—but more than blood.

My mother’s oldest friend. The man who always stood by us during our darkest hours. A silent protector, a secret shadow. No one truly knew where his loyalty lay—but I did. Deep down, I always knew he would come when no one else could.

King of Kaalki Nagar, ranked 29th in power, feared and respected. Yet here he was, not as a king—but as my mamu.

He looked at me—and in his eyes, I saw a storm of emotion. Rage. Sorrow. Guilt. Love.

He didn’t say a word.

He simply pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly.

His hold wasn’t just protective—it was desperate, like he was trying to keep me from disappearing. As if he had been searching for me for ages and now that I was here, he couldn’t let go.

But I didn’t know what to feel. My heart… was empty.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I just stared.

My eyes didn’t reflect grief the way others expected. But if someone looked closely—really closely—they’d see something else: a hollow fire. Grief that had turned to silence. Pain too deep for tears.

That’s when she came in—Malbani, Tajveer’s wife.

Her voice was soft, gentle—soothing, like a mother trying to comfort a scared child.

She ordered the guards to leave, to give us space. The air was still thick with the scent of herbs and lakewater. Somewhere nearby, someone stirred a hot bowl of turmeric milk. A diya flickered gently on the wooden table, casting golden shadows on the stone walls.

Malbani came closer to me. I saw it then—her red eyes, swollen from crying. Her lips were pale, and her face was drawn. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t slept.

She looked like someone who had been holding in her breath since the moment she heard I was missing.

She knelt down beside me and touched my head gently—like my mother used to when I was scared after a nightmare.

But I flinched. My body pulled away, instinctively.

“Don’t touch me. Please… don’t.”

My voice was dry. Barely a whisper. But it was enough.

She froze. Her hand hovered for a moment before she pulled it back.

Her eyes welled up again.

I looked at her, really looked at her—and I saw the pain on her face. How much it hurt her to see me like this. How helpless she felt.

Still, I couldn’t let her comfort me. I wasn’t ready. The warmth felt like betrayal to the cold still lingering inside me.

“I want to talk to Tajveer mamu,” I whispered again, a little louder this time.

She nodded, silently.

As she stood and stepped away, the door creaked slightly, and I was left alone again with Tajveer.