Kumudvati stood in the centre of the royal court.
The garlands encircling Sulochana’s hands were still fragrant. Whether they were bonds, witnesses to a mantra, or omens of some approaching mystery, no one in the court could clearly tell.
Vikramasena looked gravely at his daughter.
“Kumudvati,” he said, “are you about to speak in order to protect your teacher, or to reveal the truth to the kingdom?”
Kumudvati bowed her head.
“Father, if protecting my teacher were opposed to the truth, I would have remained silent. But here, it is the truth itself that protects her.”
A silent stir passed through the court.
The minister leaned forward.
“Princess, how did Sulochana enter the inner palace? Was it with the king’s permission?”
Kumudvati paused for a moment.
“Not with the king’s permission, honoured minister,” she said. “First, by saving a life. Then, with the queen’s permission. Behind that permission lay a secret message from the revered sage.”
Vikramasena’s brows moved.
“A message to the queen?”
“Yes, Father. It was not an act of distrust concealed from you. It was a command that was not to be revealed before its proper time.”
Every gaze in the court sharpened.
Slowly, Kumudvati began her story.
---
Several months earlier.
That morning, the garden behind the royal palace of Panchanada had clothed itself in spring. Hibiscus blossoms glowed. Ashoka trees wore fresh garments of new leaves. Lotuses touched by sunlight slowly opened their petals. In the distance, the shadows of birds glided across the towers of the palace.
At the far end of the garden, touching the royal wall, there was a narrow path leading into the forest. It was a forbidden path. The princess was not permitted to go there alone. Even the attendants were forbidden to cross it.
But some paths do not call to a person.
They pull at the heart.
That day, Kumudvati was walking through the garden with two companions. A blue-throated bird flashed among the leaves, its wings moving like a fragment of the sky. Watching it, Kumudvati wandered a little farther ahead.
Her companions fell behind.
Near the edge of the forest, the air suddenly grew tense.
A roar erupted from behind the bushes.
At the sound, the companions screamed. Before Kumudvati could turn, a tiger leapt from the thick undergrowth. Black stripes flashed like fear across its golden body. Hunger burned in its eyes. Death waited in its jaws.
Kumudvati’s feet seemed to fuse with the earth.
It lasted only a moment.
Yet that moment stretched into an age.
As the tiger rose into the air—
The sharp sound of a bowstring cutting through the wind rang out.
Not once.
Not twice.
Five arrows, released as though in a single breath, flew towards the tiger’s jaws. They did not kill it, but they shattered the force of its attack.
At that very instant, another arrow struck its flank.
There was no spray of blood.
Death did not come.
But the tiger’s charge was broken. Roaring, it leapt backward and fled into the forest.
Kumudvati still could not move.
“Do not be afraid,” said a voice.
From between the shadows of the trees, a young woman stepped into the light.
A bow rested in her hand. A quiver hung upon her back. A narrow cloth belt was tied around her waist. A few wildflowers adorned her braid.
She had emerged from the forest, yet there was no forest dust upon her.
There was vigilance in her eyes and gentleness in her face. The hands of a warrior, the steps of a dancer, and the breath of an ascetic seemed to have taken form within a single body.
She was Sulochana. (To Be continued)
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