Devasena huffed as she cradled her swollen belly and swiftly walked towards the Chambers where Bahubali; her Husband and the King of Mahishmati, and Bhallaladeva, her elder brother figure and Commander of Mahishmati's army were planning something.
Things had gone awry when Devasena had took her firm stand up in front of Sivagami Devi, angering the Queen Mother in front of Whole Court. It was surprising, though, to see that Bhallaladeva confessed he didn't wish to marry Devasena anymore, and that Bahubali can marry her.
It would have led to civil war, but Bhallaladeva confronted Sivagami Devi which hurt her sentiments and the big ego she was growing back then, and the woman had declared that Bahubali will be crowned King and Bhallaladeva as Commander, but it came with consequences.
Bijjaladeva disowned his son.
Not that anyone cared, though.
The change in Bhallaladeva surprised both Devasena; who felt he was a snobby arrogant manchild and Bahubali, who was just happy his older brother was back. The two were though confused that who caused this change, and the day they found the answer when the Annual Jagadambika Poojan for nine days started.
The temple amidst intricate carvings and an aura of oil lamps lit up with a rhythmic sound of drums when Bhallaladeva, the fierce and imposing Commander of the Mahishmati Armed Forces, reached the place to join in the auspicious Pooja. There would stand courtiers, priests and noblemen, watching with reverence as the life within the temple, that earthly representative of divine power, the culture surrounding the kingdom.
As Pooja began, his thoughts strayed from rituals and chants toward the grand hall's center where a dancer moved with an entrancing grace. She was Manjari, a dusky-skinned Priestess whose movements turned into poetry, her anklets chiming with every step. She was dressed in red and gold, eyes glittering with a fire that almost matched the flames dancing upon the torches that supported the temple; and so living for the spirit of the goddess she adored. Bhallaladeva, sedate and poised as always, was entranced by Manjari's dance.
He saw each movement unfold as an expression of love and mystery, leading him deep into a trance. Her dance was much more than an art; it was a prayer, a powerful invoking to command every soul there to pay attention. For Bhallaladeva, the man of war and strategy, hardened, it was a profoundly spiritual experience to watch Manjari's ethereal dance.
He was exposed to the emotion-wrenching look in her eyes, the soft yet powerful dance of her figure, and the way that the mere presence of a person seemed to command the space. Amidst the blowing of conch shells and rising smoke of incense, Bhallaladeva came to realize that he was not observing something; but rather he was entranced by thin threads of invisibility connecting him to the divine priestess who danced as if she was calling the gods themselves to bear testimony to her devotion.
Devasena and Bahubali, both were elated that Bhallaladeva loved someone, and even helped him most of the times. Manjari was a Devadasi, hence even Sivagami didn't oppose her coming to Palace to see Devasena as she was pregnant, since a Devadasi is considered auspicious.
But right now, the danger looming over Manjari's head was something which scared Devasena.
The Princess of Kunthala reached the heavy doors and took a deeo breath, commanding the doors to be opened. Once they did, the occupants of room lookes at her. "Devasena? What are you doing here?" Bahubali asked as he and Bhallaladeva ran to her, making her sit on a Couch. Randev, Bahubali's friend brought a tumbler of water and handed it to Devasena.
"Bhalla! You have to run to Shiva Temple right now! Manjari! She's in danger!" Devasena exclaimed, her eyes wide. "What are you saying Devasena? Why will Manjari be in danger?" Bhallaladeva asked. "Rajmata. She wants you to marry the Princess of Simhadhwaja, Princess Yagnika. One of the courtiers told her about you and Manjari, and she has sent Soldiers to.." Bhallaladeva ran out before she could complete her sentence.
.
Manjari was all set to sleep when a shadow outside her hut in Temple sanctum, and the sound of footsteps made her sit straight. Manjari could feel the hammering of her heart in her chest as shadows appeared to move in the faintly lit corners of her room. Then came a whispery rustle of armor; metal faintly glinted, and into this darkness lurked the soldiers, their intent predatory.
Panic ran through her veins. She hastened, those fragile feet not making a sound on the cold marble floor as she slid by the door with her heart pounding with fear and instinct. That temple, once her safe haven, looked now like a trap closing in on her. She ran the maze of temple corridors, taking those ragged, shallow breaths. The soldiers pursued her mercilessly; their footsteps filled the air with an eerie echo of danger nipping at the heels of this poor woman running for life. Her sari fluttered behind her as a banner of defiance yet showed no clear path marked in front. Manjari darted her eyes to and fro searching around for her escape, but every turn took her deeper into the mazes.
Just as she thought she might find her way out, Manjari spun on her heel, the rush of fear fogging her vision, and crashed into something so immovable, so unyielding that it rooted her to the spot. She backpedaled, eyes wide with terror, but when she looked up again she was gazing into Bhallaladeva's face. His towering form filled her entire view, blocking her way out. His gaze, intensive and unreadable, locked onto hers, and the weight of her predicament settled heavily between them.
"Senapathi.." Manjari tearfully hugged him, as The soldiers behind her stopped short, freezing as they saw their doom in Bhallaladeva's eyes.
.
Bhallaladeva's footsteps echoed down the corridors of the palace, hot with indignation. His mind was bubbling over with bitter memories as he moved towards the Shiva Temple to his mother, Sivagami Devi, who was blamed. The Mahishmati kingdom had made her the regal queen mother-words for herself there were law. But to Bhallaladeva, she was a dim silhouette—thick and stern, unforgiving and unsweet. Bhallaladeva recalled how he always wanted his mother's love, even when a child; instead, he would get cold stares and a sharp tongue. Everywhere around him, people went around speaking of his strength and valor, but Sivagami's gaze was always on some fault-finding issue that had never brought across a proud motherly warmth. As he clenched his fists, memories of his childhood rushing back into his mind.
He could still remember all the attempts he had made to win her favor—by mastering the skill of war, performing exceptionally well in his studies, or showcasing his mastery in fights. But all in vain. Sivagami always compared him to his cousin, Amarendra Baahubali, whom she loved like her very son.
Bhallaladeva silently witnessed her when she gushed about everything Baahubali did, offering him that maternal pride Bhallaladeva has always wanted but would never receive. Every smile she threw towards Baahubali felt like a knife twisting deeper into his heart as it reminds him of how he shall always be second in her eyes. Meanwhile, recalling the favours of Sivagami, Bhallaladeva ran toward the temple.
He recalled the day he was winning the fight in the ground, but she picked Baahubali, making known her decision that the throne would be bagged by him who served people best and not by him who sought power. The words had hurt him, and he recalled them every moment in his life.
He is not a son to her; on the contrary, he was a brutal man with an insatiable will to dominate, unbefitting the prince for which he had striven for his life. Bhallaladeva did not utter the pain, covering it with layers of ambitions and anger within him, and today the facade was crumbling apart. Before him was the temple, its massive structure jarringly contrasting the chaos within his soul.
Bhallaladeva's breath was laboured, his face screwed up in a snarl as he stormed up the steps, his eyes blazing with the fire of years-long pent-up resentment. This place, consecrated to the god of destruction, seemed apt for the storm that brewed inside him.
Today Bhallaladeva was not marching up to a temple; he was marching against the shackles of his whole life left untouched with scorn and negligence, every stride taken as a defiant act against the mother who never did see him for who he was.
Just as he turned in corner, a horrified Manjari ran into him. Looking in her eyes he realised how scared she was. Her dusky cheeks were red with all the crying, her eyes wide in fear and pain. Clutching her sari around her body, Manjari hugged him tightly. "Manjari, I'm here.. do not worry. Just... Close your eyes. You might not want to see." He said softly and Manjari nodded.
.
Thunder cackled in sky as Sivagami Devi sat on her throne, Bahubali and Devasena sitting nearby. The two were concerned as they waited Bhallaladeva's arrival. Soon the thunder cackled aloud, flashing the corridor in which stood a man holding a sword.
Sivagami Devi looked up, a shiver running down her spine as a bloody sight of a furious Bhallaladeva, and noted the flutter of a plain Red saree behind him. Bhallaladeva moved and her eyes widened when she saw Manjari, her hair partition filled with red Sindoor as he grabbed her hand and pulled her in, the girl looking fearful.
"Mother, meet your daughter-in-law, Manjari." He grinned, a grin which scared the three. Sivagami looked appalled, her wide eyes on Manjari as she looked at her from head to toe, her anger returning. "Bhalla!? What is this!?" She screamed.
Sivagami Devi's voice was at once shrill with indignation and robust as she berated Bhallaladeva with a flare in her eyes. "How dare you go against me to marry that temple dancer, Manjari?" she yelled, her speech loaded with scorn. "I wanted you to marry Yagnika, the Princess of Simhadhwaja, and seal an alliance for Mahishmati!" Her voice was robust, but behind it lay a hollow frustration—Bhallaladeva had gone against her wishes again.
Bhallaaladeva snapped. Climbing to his feet, he shouted into her face, "All my life, I've been nothing but a pawn in your schemes!" His voice was shaking with all the anger he felt, festering over the years. "You cared not for what I wanted, only for what you were about- your ambition. I am done living under your shadow," he said, the bitterness in his words as he confronted a mother who would never see him past his utility.
He took a step forward, eyes blazing with defiance. "I love Manjari," he said, his voice carrying through tension. "She sees me for what I am, not what she can get from me. I married her because she is my choice, not yours. I won't let you dictate my life again." Bold, defiant-a challenge flung at the feet of the woman who had always controlled his fate.
And for one moment, she was left speechless by this tirade, losing all her expression. Bhallaladeva's defiance shattered all the rigid expectations she had always imposed upon the world around her and created a chasm between them that seemed impossible to bridge. She could see him not as the son she had shaped but for the first time ever the man he had become, driven by a love that defied her will.
Sivagami soon moulded her expressions back in the cold one as she stood up. "You also are going like someone who once defied me." Bahubali looked away at that.
"Do not blame Bahu, Mother." Bhallaladeva sneered. "Manjari came in my life way before Devasena came in Bahu's life. And I won't let you dictate my life anymore." Bhallaladeva said. Sivagami stared at them for a moment before fleeting her eyes at Manjari, and left.
"Bhalla, you scared us!" Devasena exclaimed as she waddled fastly towards them and hugged Manjari. "Oh dear, you are so scared. Come, I will take you to room so that you can rest." She said and Manjari numbly nodded, before going with Devasena.
Manjari glanced back at Bhallaladeva, her heart pounding as she took in his imposing figure, drenched in blood from the fierce battle he had fought to protect her. His fierce gaze softened as it met hers, revealing a rare tenderness and love in his eyes. Overwhelmed by the realization of her deep feelings for him, she blushed, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. She gave him a small, shy smile before turning away.
Couldn't sleep last night because I just realised that Bahubali's sword is called Mahasena (right?) and his son's name is Mahendra and wife is Devasena
The scent of jasmine and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the rhythmic thrum of the drums. Manorama, a dancer whose movements were as fluid as the river Krishna, flowed across the temple courtyard, her anklets jingling like tiny bells. Her heart, however, was anything but light. Her eyes, usually bright with the joy of dance, were clouded with a storm of conflicting emotions.
She had met the Crown Prince of Mahishmati, Amarendra Baahubali, only a few days ago. He had been captivated by her dance, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that made her both flattered and uneasy. He was a handsome man, powerful and commanding, but also impossibly distant. He seemed to view her through a veil, her world of music and dance a mere spectacle for his amusement.
Manorama was a woman of the temple, accustomed to the simple life of devotion and art. She had never dreamt of a prince, especially not one as haughty as Amarendra Baahubali. Yet, she found herself drawn to his quiet charm, his gentle smile that seemed to melt the icy facade he presented to the world.
'Manorama,' he had called her, his voice a low rumble, 'Your dance is a testament to the grace of the gods.'
His words, uttered with an air of superiority, had stung. She knew he saw her as a mere entertainer, not a woman of her own right.
Their encounters became more frequent, stolen moments in the shadows of the temple. He would watch her dance, his eyes filled with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. He would talk about his kingdom, his ambitions, his dreams. And Manorama would listen, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and fascination.
One moonlit night, under the shimmering canopy of stars, Amarendra Baahubali confessed his love.
'Mano,' he said, his voice husky with emotion, 'I cannot live without you. You are the song that fills my soul, the rhythm that beats in my heart.'
She couldn't believe her ears. The charming prince, the man who she thought was disdainful of her world, was begging for her love.
'But I am just a dancer,' she whispered, her voice trembling, 'A creature of the temple.'
'You are the light of my life,' he insisted, taking her hand, 'And I want to share my life with you.'
His words were a whirlwind, pulling her into a vortex of conflicting emotions. He was the prince, she was the dancer. Their worlds were as different as day and night, their paths destined to never cross.
Yet, the fire of love had ignited within her, burning away all reason. She yearned to be with him, to share her life with the man who had captured her heart.
But fear held her back. What would society say? How would the people of Mahishmati react to their union? She was a commoner, he was their future king. This was a love that defied all odds.
'I'm afraid,' she whispered, her voice choked with tears.
He held her close, his warmth a comfort against the chilling whispers of doubt. 'Fear not, Mano,' he said, his voice strong and reassuring, 'I will protect you. We will face this together.'
In the end, love triumphed over fear. They ran away, leaving behind their familiar worlds, their families, their lives. They found refuge in a hidden valley, a paradise where their love could bloom freely, untouched by the scorn of the world.
There, in the embrace of nature, they were married, their vows whispered under the watchful gaze of the stars. The ceremony was simple, a testament to their love, a rejection of the societal norms that had tried to bind them.
They built a life together, filled with love and laughter, a testament to the power of love to conquer all odds. And as the years went by, their story, whispered on the wind, became a legend, a reminder that love knows no boundaries, no caste, no creed. The story of the crown prince who chose love over duty, and the dancer who dared to dream of a life beyond her world, became an enduring symbol of hope, a testament to the power of love to transform even the most rigid of social structures.
(A/N- it's been a long long looooong time eh? apologies for the delay, I just had a massive brain block. so this one's for you! also happy new year guys, all the love to you.
~juhi <3)
Aarya woke up feeling refreshed, her heart light surprisingly. She knew she was surrounded by the enemy force who was waiting for her to make the wrong move but the only thing she could focus on was the fact that she was getting married to a man she thought she hated until a few days ago, and suddenly she couldn’t imagine her life without. Her akandas glowed a dull grey as the sunlight fell on them, and she frowned as she picked them up. “That doesn’t seem right.” She murmured as the dull grey enveloped her hand, spreading chills to every part of her that they touched.
She shrugged as she set them down and freshened up, walking out of her room.
The servants greeted her with immense respect, their eyes shining with something akin to fear and disbelief as she strolled past them all. “Where’s Bhalla?” She turned and asked, making one of the servants step away uneasily. “Er, His Majesty is still in his room. But we advise you not-” “I’ll get him out then, thank you.”
Aarya waltzed to Bhalla’s room, knocking twice and walking in after she heard no response. She looked around, frowning when she didn’t spot him. “Bhalla!” She called out, her frown deepening as she saw no sign of him. She exhaled, twisting the ring on her finger when a voice rang in the room, “At your service.”
Aarya’s breath hitched, turning around as she saw Bhalla step out of his washroom, hair wet and his loincloth clinging around his waist loosely. Steam came off his body, making him suddenly look all the more like a God. Her face flushed violently as she took a step back, turning away when her knee hit a table, making her buckle. Bhalla surged forward, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her as he smirked down at her. “Instead of falling because of things, fall for me next time, will you?”
She just rolled her eyes, trying to stop the blood rushing to her cheeks as he stepped closer to her. “You have to- oh!” She slipped again as her knees gave out because of the bed behind her and she fell onto it, looking up as Bhalla placed both his arms on either side of her. Her eyes widened and he leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes dropping to her lips. “Your face is red, you’re sweating in my room and it’s generally cold this time of the year in Mahishmati. Is this because of me?”
“No,” Aarya huffed, her eyes falling shut as Bhalla nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, his warm breath tickling her. “I’m still not used to your kingdom. Sundarsi is so much colder than here, in case you haven’t noticed.” “Is that so?” He murmured into her skin, tracing his fingers across her waist and revelling in her shivers. “I haven’t noticed, really. I was focused… elsewhere.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” Bhalla looked up for a moment, his eyes twinkling as they raked over her hungrily. “I have you on my bed now without flattering you, Aarya. Do you want me to start flattery now?” His hand on Aarya’s bare back slipped up, toying with the strings of her blouse while Aarya tried in vain to push him away. “Behave yourself, will you? This isn’t right.”
“You’re mine, and this is something everyone knows now. If people question my actions and affections I’ll serve their heads to you on a golden platter.” A smile crept on her face, still trying to get distance between both of them. “Although,” Bhalla pulled away, a smirk on his face when Aarya tried to fight the frown off her face. “I like listening to you, and you told me to behave.”
He got off the bed and pulled her to her feet, smirking at her visible anger. “What brings you over to my room? Is there anything not right with the services? I could-” “No, it’s none of that,” Aarya interrupted him, her eyes darting around his room as she walked around, all of her interest suddenly on the intricate works on the walls. “I was just… I wanted to see you and your kingdom, and who better to show me the place than you?”
Bhalla’s face softened as he observed her, a smile making its way onto his face as he waltzed over to her. “You needn’t ask, I’ll show you my kingdom. Come, get ready and I’ll show you everything.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she smiled, brushing past him to leave his room.
His eyes locked on the akanda she left by his bedside, frowning at its dull grey glow as he picked it up, studying it. “Kattappa!” The general walked in, bowing to Bhalla who continued to study the stone. “I want you to do something for me.”
— — —
Bhalla waited in the stables, pacing around as he waited for Aarya to arrive, when Kattappa approached him with a frown. “Something is wrong in Sundarsi, Your Majesty. And it seems all the priests of their temples are worried about it, because whatever is happening over there, it’s not their doing. Either that, or someone is forcing an insider to do something.”
Bhalla’s frown deepened as he watched Kattappa put out the akandas, whose glow got weaker, flickering dark grey. “When a Sundarsi citizen uses their stones, they glow as white as the moon. Sometimes, the glow could change, but they never felt cool to touch when being used, or turned grey. It has started since their queen has come here, and now their general wants her back in Sundarsi.”
“What’s going on?”
The men looked up, watching Aarya walk in with a frown on her face. “Is there something wrong, Bhalla?” He shook his head, stepping forward and holding his hand out for her to take. He spared Kattappa a final glance as he shoved the stones out of her view while Bhalla helped Aarya onto a horse.
“Come now, let me show you my world.”
— — —
Hushed whispers echoed in the halls as Aarya swatted Bhalla’s wandering hands away, glaring fleetingly at him while he rolled his eyes, following her. “It was supposed to be a tour around your kingdom, Bhalla, not an opportunity for you to-” “I know, my queen. You don’t have to scold me so much.” He stared at her strutting figure and scoffed silently, his glare shifting to the soldiers guarding the halls. “Even my mother didn’t scold me the way you always do.”
“Well then, you better get used to this, my king. You’ll get an earful daily if you don’t mend your ways after we wed.” Bhalla smirked, opening his mouth when Aarya yelled out in shock, her bracelet snapping off and falling. The akanda at the very centre shattered in the air as the pieces fell to the ground, black as the night. Aarya held her wrist, wincing as Bhalla rushed to her, cradling her hand delicately in his while they stared at the broken stone in concern.
“This- this has never happened before,” Aarya mumbled, her eyes frantic as they looked to Bhalla, “Our stones are the strongest, this is not supposed to happen, Bhalla, what’s going on? This is a very bad omen, have I gone wrong anywhere?”
He shushed her, bringing her closer while Kattappa ran into the hall, eyes wide. “Your Majesties, please follow me.” They followed him as they all entered the courtroom, seeing the officials of Sundarsi present too.
Anjasi and Sadhana bowed, their frowns evident as they made way for the head priest to approach Aarya. “Your Majesty, there’s someone here to see you.” He said gravely, guiding Aarya and Bhalla to the palace doors. “Guruji, what’s happening? The akandas, they’re not supposed to-”
“Perhaps,” He sighed, staring at the man who walked through the doors of Bhalla’s palace, “he is your answer.”
Aarya turned, her face turning pale as she stared, the man kneeling down in front of her. Bhalla observed as the man kneeling took Aarya’s hand in his, bringing it to his forehead while the others filled the hall. Anjasi and Sadhana watched him with uncertainty, their grip on their weapons tight while Aarya pulled her hand away, stepping back.
“I apologise for keeping you waiting all these years, Your Majesty,” Rudra said, looking up at Aarya as though her eyes held all the answers in the universe. “But now, I have returned to make you mine again.”
