Kumudvati did not stop.
“First, you looked at me. Then you looked at her. There was no protection of the kingdom in that gaze. There was authority. There was the hunger to possess. The boundaries of the inner palace seemed to you an obstacle. Sulochana stopped your advance. That is why iron shackles appeared upon her wrists today.”
Prachanda roared like a lion.
“Princess! You speak words beyond your age.”
“I have seen danger beyond my age.”
The minister spoke sharply.
“Prachanda, remember where you stand.”
But by then, Prachanda had lost control of his face.
Humiliation, suspicion, desire, and revenge—all that he had concealed within himself rose at once like flames.
“The princess has fallen under this woman’s enchantment!” he cried, drawing his sword from its sheath. “Enchantment must be cut down by the sword!”
He charged towards Kumudvati.
---
But Sulochana’s eyes had already read the movement of his shoulder.
Before anyone in the court could fully react, she moved despite the garlands binding her hands.
The flower bonds did not hinder her.
They seemed to lend rhythm to her movements.
With one sweeping turn, she reached Kumudvati’s side.
The sword in the sheath of a nearby female guard flashed out like lightning.
No one saw how it came into Sulochana’s hand.
Prachanda’s first blow descended like thunder.
The sound of Sulochana’s sword meeting it was small.
Yet within that small sound, the force of his charge was broken.
“Niyantra,” she whispered like an exhaled breath.
With that movement, the strength of Prachanda’s sword was sent into empty space.
The second blow came.
“Nivara.”
Her blade turned his edge aside.
A third movement.
“Parshva Prasara.”
Her foot slid to the side, stealing his balance for a moment.
Then came the fourth instant.
“Praharadi.”
It was not merely the tip of her sword that flashed.
It was rhythm itself.
Prachanda’s sword flew from his hand and fell at a distance.
The courtiers stared in astonishment.
Everyone knew that there was scarcely a warrior in Panchanada capable of challenging Prachanda. Tales were told of how he had defeated ten warriors at once in the training ground.
Yet there, in the middle of the royal court, a dance teacher whose hands were still bound had disarmed him.
With her left hand, Sulochana pulled Kumudvati behind her.
At that touch, Kumudvati once again felt the same unknown thrill.
Was it fear?
Protection?
Love?
Devotion?
She did not know.
But in that moment, she felt that if she remained behind Sulochana, even death itself would not reach her.
Sulochana returned the sword to the female guard’s sheath.
Then, in a single motion, she seized the spear from another guard.
Before Prachanda could charge again, she struck once and brought him crashing to the floor.
The spearhead came to rest above his heart.
“Move by even the smallest measure,” Sulochana said, “and your treason will end here.”
For the first time, Prachanda looked at her with fear.
Vikramasena rose to his feet.
The minister forgot to speak.
The courtiers stood frozen.
The female guards could scarcely believe what had happened before their eyes.
Sulochana’s face remained calm.
It was not anger.
It was not revenge.
It was the moment in which a power capable of punishment chose to master itself.
---
At that very moment, a terrible peal of laughter echoed through the royal court.
Where had the laughter come from?
The ceiling?
The pillars?
Beneath the floor?
No one could tell.
It was not human laughter.
It sounded as though darkness itself had cast its delight into the open.
The lamps suddenly dimmed.
A dense blackness swallowed the court.
Kumudvati gripped Sulochana’s hand.
Sulochana did not move.
Her spear remained poised close to Prachanda’s heart.
But the weight of the darkness grew heavier with every passing moment.
Then a harsh, grinding voice was heard within it.
“Prachanda… let us go to Trigarta. Come!”
It was a command.
Not an invitation.
It was a rescue.
A rescue offered to a traitor.
The female guards raised their spears.
The royal guards moved in confusion.
“Lights!” the minister shouted.
A few moments later, the light returned.
Everything in the court remained in its place.
The throne.
The courtiers.
The female guards.
Sulochana.
Kumudvati.
But Prachanda was gone.
The place where he had lain was empty.
There was no sound of his armour.
No sword.
No breath.
The floor gleamed as though he had never been there.
Even the air in the court seemed filled with suspicion.
Vikramasena spoke gravely.
“Trigarta.”
Within that single word, the entire northern frontier of the kingdom seemed to gather like storm clouds.
The minister spoke slowly.
“Your Majesty, this is no longer an inquiry into Sulochana. This is the first evidence of treason against the kingdom.”
Vikramasena turned towards Sulochana.
“Sulochana, this court must now hear everything you have to say. You claimed to have come from Trigangeya. You claimed to have come under the command of the revered sage. Kumudvati says the queen received a secret message. Prachanda has vanished through the sorcery of Trigarta. Are all these threads part of the same embroidery?”
Sulochana bowed her head.
The flower garlands upon her hands swayed gently.
“Yes, Your Majesty. But if the entire pattern is unravelled now, the threads themselves will break.”
“Another secret?” There was more fear than irritation in Vikramasena’s voice.
“Not merely a secret, Your Majesty. A truth that becomes dangerous if spoken before its time.”
Kumudvati looked at Sulochana.
At those words, her heart began to beat strongly once more.
Though she had believed herself to know Sulochana closely, she now understood how much distance still surrounded her.
Sulochana continued slowly.
“Prachanda is not alone. The shadow of Trigarta stands behind him. That shadow has crossed the gates of the palace and entered far within. I did not come here merely to teach dance. Yet it was through dance that the path to saving this kingdom began.”
The court fell silent again.
At that moment, Queen Dharinidevi appeared near the entrance to the inner palace.
A palm-leaf letter rested in her hand.
Slowly, she stepped into the court.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “here is the evidence of the revered sage’s secret command.”
Vikramasena looked at her.
Surprise, hurt, and respect mingled upon his face.
The queen handed the palm-leaf letter to the minister.
Just as he was about to read it—
Sulochana suddenly raised her head and looked towards the northern entrance of the palace.
A sharper vigilance flashed in her eyes.
“Do not read it yet,” she said.
Everyone stared at her in shock.
“Why?” Vikramasena asked.
Sulochana’s voice was quiet.
Yet every heart in the court heard it.
“There are still ears in this court that do not belong to us.”
And there, Part Two came to a halt.
---
Grandmother stopped at the same point.
We all held our breath and stared at her face.
The needle in her hand remained halfway through the cloth. Beside the flower embroidered in red thread, a bow had now taken shape in golden thread, with the faint beginning of an arrow appearing before it.
“Grandmother!” my eldest sister asked. “Was Sulochana truly a dance teacher? Or was she a warrior?”
Grandmother smiled.
“Some flowers offer fragrance. Some flowers swallow poison. And some flowers do not wither even upon a battlefield.”
“Then who is she?” I asked.
Grandmother threaded the needle with black thread.
“That is the secret, child. We must not yet look at the reverse side of the cloth.”
End of Part Two (To Be Continued)
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