: The Celestial Curse
Swarga Loka – The Divine Court
Light danced in Swarga Loka. The air itself glowed, carrying the scent of divine flowers and the far-off hum of a tune that never ended. Pillars of pure light shot up into a sky where stars moved to a rhythm only gods understood.
Today was different. Today was the Maha Raag.
In the center of the court, on a raised platform, sat Gandharva Pratham. His very presence made the heavens hold their breath. As his fingers—the ones that had spun the first notes of creation—brushed the strings of his cosmic veena, every deity, Apsara, and Gandharva fell silent.
Pluck.
The note 'Sa' bloomed. It wasn't just a sound; it was a vibration. In the celestial ponds, lotus flowers shuddered and burst into full bloom.
Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
'Re', 'Ga', 'Ma'—each note wove into the next, building a tapestry of harmony that held the universe in perfect balance. This was music you felt in your bones. It spoke of the first sunrise, of love older than time.
Then, the universe stuttered.
The grand doors creaked open. A new Apsara stood there, late and flustered. Shweta. Dressed in woven moonlight, her eyes held the shy glimmer of new stars.
Pratham's gaze, always locked on his veena, lifted.
Their eyes met across the crowded court.
Pluck—SHARP!
A harsh, wrong note ripped through the melody. The harmony shattered like glass. Flowers wilted instantly. Dancing feet froze. The light in Swarga Loka flickered and dimmed.
The silence that fell was heavier than any thunder.
"GANDHARVA PRATHAM!"
Lord Indra's voice shook the foundations of heaven. The god-king rose, his face a mask of cold fury. "For millennia, you have played the music that holds creation together! And today, you break it for a glance?"
Pratham stood, his veena silent. His throat was dry, but his eyes stayed on Shweta. That one look had lasted a second, yet it felt like finding a forgotten home. Her eyes weren't just beautiful; they were a melody he'd composed in another life.
"My Lord, I... apologize," Pratham whispered, the words hollow.
"Apology?" Indra's laugh was bitter. "You think sorry can fix the cosmos? My chief musician, undone by a mortal feeling?"
---
Nandanvan – The Forbidden Grove
They met under the Kalpavriksha tree, its leaves whispering secrets they were too desperate to hear. The grove was forbidden, but rules felt meaningless now.
"They'll punish us," Shweta whispered, her form trembling like a leaf. "Indra's wrath is absolute."
"Let it be," Pratham murmured, his hand cupping her face. The hands that created magic for gods now shook at the touch of one Apsara. "All these years, my music was empty. I played for the gods, for the universe... never for me. Until I saw you. Today, I wanted to play a song just for us."
Tears glistened in her eyes. "At what cost? Your position? Your gift? Your place in heaven?"
His thumb traced her jawline. "What is heaven's music without heaven's love? You are the rhythm to my song, Shweta. Without you, my ragas have no soul."
He leaned in, his lips a breath from hers, promising a harmony deeper than any he had ever played.
A blaze of white light erupted, turning night into a harsh, judgmental day.
Indra stood before them, his guards a stern circle. His face showed no anger—only a cold disappointment that was far more terrifying.
"So," Indra's voice was soft, a blade wrapped in silk. "The master of rhythm cannot control his own heart. You choose a fleeting emotion over the eternal dharma of Swarga?"
"Prabhu, daya karo!" Shweta fell to her knees, hands clasped. "It was my fault! I distracted him!"
"Silence!" Indra's command threw her back onto the grass. He turned to Pratham. "You traded the symphony of the cosmos for a single, discordant note of desire."
Indra raised his hand. The air grew thick with the weight of a divine decree.
"For this crime, you shall fall. You will be reborn on mortal soil, life after life—a soul forever lost, wandering without memories... and without your voice."
Pratham gasped, hands flying to his throat. A searing pain tore through him, as if his vocal cords were being ripped out. The ghost of a million songs was silenced, locked away in a dark vault within his soul.
"Your powers will remain bound," Indra's words carved themselves into fate. "They will not return until you are loved—truly and selflessly—for who you are, not for the magic in your music. Only a love that sees the man without his melody can break this curse."
His eyes fell on the weeping Shweta. "And you, who led the artist astray... you will join him. You will be reborn, life after life, destined to find him. But know this: until Pratham reclaims his song, your love will forever be tainted by sorrow. You will find each other, only to lose each other, in an endless cycle of heartbreak."
Indra clapped his hands once.
The world dissolved. The perfumed air of Nandanvan, the shimmering light, the new, bright feeling of love—it all shattered into a million pieces, swallowed by an endless, silent darkness.
---
Present Day – Suryapuri Kingdom
The morning sun stretched long shadows across the marble courtyards of Suryapuri Palace. Prince Aditya stood on his balcony, watching the sky bleed orange and gold. Below, the kingdom was already awake, preparing for the grand Ashwamedh Yagya.
But Aditya's mind was far away. For weeks, strange dreams had haunted him—vivid visions of music he couldn't hear, a woman's face he couldn't see, a pain so deep it jolted him awake, gasping. And always, a strange tightness in his throat, as if something was stuck there, waiting.
"Lost in thought again, beta?"
Aditya turned. His father, Maharaj Viraj, stood beside him, concern etched on his face. "You've been distant. Something on your mind?"
"Pitashri," Aditya began, choosing his words. "It's... these dreams."
"Dreams pass, son. What matters is the reality before us." The King's hand was warm on his shoulder. "The conference in Chandrapuri is vital. Our kingdoms have been neighbors for centuries, but recent tensions need to be smoothed over."
"I understand, Father."
"You'll meet their Yuvaraj, Prince Devansh, there," the Maharaj added, a thoughtful gleam in his eye. "I've heard remarkable things. Sharp mind, like a polished diamond... and a deep interest in ancient music."
Music. The word sent an unexpected shiver down Aditya's spine. Lately, every mention of music felt like a key turning in a lock he couldn't find.
"Will he be... friendly?" Aditya asked, surprising himself.
The Maharaj smiled. "Let's hope so. Our kingdoms need peace, not more conflict."
But as Aditya looked toward the western horizon—toward Chandrapuri—something stirred in his soul. Something old. Something waiting. And for a fleeting moment, he thought he heard the faint, ghostly pluck of a veena string.
---
Chandrapuri Palace – Same Night
Prince Devansh sat in his chambers, scrolls of statecraft spread around him. Moonlight streamed through the lattice windows, painting silver patterns on the floor and illuminating the ancient veena in the corner. His secret shame—a collection of beautiful instruments he could not play.
Every time he tried, a wave of profound sadness would drown him, a sense of loss so sharp it left him breathless.
Tonight was different. A restless energy buzzed under his skin. He picked up a scroll about the Suryapuri royals. His eyes caught on the description of Prince Aditya: "Golden-skinned, sun-blessed, known for his sharp intellect."
Aditya.
The name echoed in his mind like a half-remembered song. A sudden, sweet ache bloomed in his chest—a physical pain, as if he'd just remembered someone vital was missing from his life. His heart hammered, a frantic, off-beat drum.
"Why does this hurt?" Devansh whispered to the empty room, pressing a hand to his heart.
The door opened. His mother, Rani Madhavi, stepped in. She saw his face and stopped. "Beta? What's wrong? You've been crying."
Devansh wiped his cheeks, unaware of the tears. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't know, Maa. It feels like... I'm remembering someone I've never met. A longing with no name, no face. Just this... emptiness." He gestured to his chest. "It aches here. Like my heart knows something my mind has forgotten."
His mother sat beside him, her hand gentle on his hair. "Perhaps your soul is restless, preparing for change. Tomorrow, you'll find your calm. Prince Aditya of Suryapuri arrives. You will meet him at the welcoming ceremony."
"Aditya..." Devansh whispered the name again. The heavy sorrow in his heart lightened, replaced by a fluttering, nervous anticipation. A strange warmth spread through him—comforting and terrifying all at once.
He placed a hand over his heart, feeling its frantic, joyful rhythm. "Why, Maa?" he wondered, looking toward the window, toward the path Aditya would take. "Why does his name feel like... a homecoming?"
Rani Madhavi smiled softly. "Sometimes, the heart remembers what the mind cannot. Rest now, beta. Tomorrow is a big day."
After she left, Devansh walked to the silent veena. His fingers hovered over the strings, trembling. He took a deep breath and plucked one.
The note that came out was flat. Lifeless. Wrong.
But for the first time all night, the ache in his chest vanished, replaced by a certainty he couldn't explain.
Tomorrow would change everything.
---
Chapter End Note
Two princes. Rival kingdoms. One ancient curse.
One feels the ghost of a song in his silent throat.
One collects instruments he cannot play.
Their first meeting draws near—a collision of past and future, curse and destiny.
Will their souls remember the melody they lost?
Or will the curse chain them to another cycle of heartbreak?
The strings of fate are pulling them together.
And somewhere in the silence, a broken veena waits to be played once more.