"The early life of Rudraksha was a deeply guarded secret," Dr. Rao continued, his voice resonating with the cadence of a scholar revisiting treasured texts.
"His mother, Gauri, gave him everything within her limit, but always under the cloak of anonymity. When she was away—hunting or working the distant fields to ensure their survival—she would entrust him to the care of the village head or, more often, the nearby temple priests."
........
The priests were simple, kind men. They were far removed from the court politics and rigid social judgments of the city. They were also deeply loyal to Gauri.
Years before, Gauri had displayed an act of terrifying, selfless courage, using skill and raw strength to save their lives from a marauding, man-eating tiger that had entered the temple grounds.
This event had earned their unconditional gratitude and silence regarding her non-traditional existence. They protected Rudraksha and never condemned Gauri on the basis of society's restrictive codes.
The courtships, however, were unavoidable. The men of the village, seeing that Gauri's mysterious husband was never going to return, were repeatedly drawn to her. It wasn't just her physical beauty, which was striking, but the subtle, powerful heroic aura that clung to her—a silent confidence that commanded deference.
She always rejected these advances with cold, firm finality. If any man dared to mistake her quiet nature for weakness and attempted to force the issue, he learned a swift, painful lesson.
Gauri was capable of delivering broken arms and legs with frightening, efficient ease. The whispered rumors of her prowess, more than any social pressure, ultimately kept the suitors at a safe distance.
The true, hidden destiny of Rudraksha began to unfold when he reached the age of six. Every evening, after the village had settled into sleep, Gauri transformed from the humble hunter into the learned tutor.
She could not use expensive parchment. Instead, she taught him the complex structures of the Vedas, the foundational principles of mathematics, the ancient history of the land, and the delicate practice of arts, using large, smooth wooden tablets and chalk or meticulously prepared palm leaves. This knowledge was staggering; Gauri was clearly a woman of vast, aristocratic learning, a skillset unheard of in a peasant community.
Every night, before he slept, she concluded the lesson with the sweeping epics of the Mahabharata and Ramayana. Her stories were not simple tales of gods and warriors. She focused relentlessly on the concept of Dharma—righteous duty—and how the failure to uphold it inevitably leads to catastrophe, forcing the ultimate, brutal fight to restore peace. Rudraksha, naturally bright and curious, absorbed these teachings like sunlight.
At the tender age of eight, the intellectual training was supplemented by the physical. Gauri began training him to use the bow and arrow and the practice sword. This martial training was conducted in absolute secrecy, in a concealed hollow behind their small farming field where no one could spy on them. Gauri was relentless in her instruction, forging discipline and resilience into her son.
"The weapon is not just a tool, Rudraksha," she would tell him, her voice intense. "It is like your heart. It helps you survive. You must be always ready for the fight, because destiny does not wait for the unprepared."
Gauri lived in constant fear. She knew that if the villagers discovered her aristocratic knowledge, her martial skills, and the warrior training she was imparting to her son, it would expose her identity. At best, she would be questioned; at worst, she would be exposed and driven out. The only reason the village accommodated her was her undeniable contribution to their survival.
........
Eleanor lowered her pen, her professional mask momentarily cracked by sheer disbelief. The sheer depth of Gauri's character—the self-taught scholar, the formidable fighter, the hunter—was too complex for a randomly selected peasant.
"Dr. Rao," Eleanor interjected, her voice sharp with realization. "This level of knowledge, this fighting capability, the aura you described—it cannot belong to an ordinary village folk. Tell me, is she merely an ordinary folk of the village, or something more? The audience is sensing a massive deception here."
Dr. Rao gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Your journalistic instincts serve you well, Ms. Vance. The deception was necessary for her survival, but the truth is far grander, and far sadder. I can confirm this now, on air, to the world."
He leaned forward, his eyes holding the gravity of the revelation.
"Gauri was not an ordinary woman. She was, in fact, a Princess of a kingdom. A powerful royal, educated in every art of war, statecraft, and literature. But due to an unfortunate fate—a tragic downfall, a political betrayal, or a forced exile—she was reduced to hiding in this remote village, stripped of her name, power, and wealth."
Eleanor gasped softly. The Princess in the peasant's robes. It was a classic tragic setup, but within this historical context, it grounded Gauri's unbelievable skills.
"And Rudraksha wouldn't know until later?" Eleanor asked, her mind racing to connect this exiled Princess with the vanished God-King.
"He would know, but the context of that knowledge would be heartbreak," Dr. Rao confirmed, a profound sadness entering his voice. "At that time... haah. He would discover the terrible price his mother paid for his simple childhood."
Eleanor pressed him on the circumstances. "What was the unfortunate fate, Dr. Rao? What destroyed her kingdom?"
Dr. Rao gently straightened his body, his gaze becoming distant and focused. "Nothing, Ms. Vance. Not yet. The revelation of her downfall must wait until the time is right. Right now, we must focus on the immediate threat. The very moment Gauri's past, and the fate of this region, collided with Rudraksha's childhood."
........
The days continued, seemingly normally, until Rudraksha was eleven years old. Gauri had managed, through sheer will and contribution, to keep her life intact, and the villagers had come to acknowledge her and her son as essential members of their community. But fate is rarely so kind to the exceptional.
The sudden, heavy pounding of hooves shattered the summer stillness.
Unknowingly to the isolated villagers, a group of powerful, unknown people rode into the village center. They were perhaps fifteen riders strong, moving with an aggressive, coordinated purpose.
Their outfits were unlike anything the local farmers wore—rich, tough leather vests over thick tunics, riding trousers, and soft boots, all indicating a people accustomed to the saddle and the field of battle. Each man carried a dangerous array of weapons: spears, curved swords, and composite bows.
A tall, menacing man on a richly saddled black stallion rode forward, radiating a cruel authority. His face was stern, his features sharp, and his eyes scanned the quickly gathering, terrified villagers with unconcealed contempt.
He raised a gauntlet hand and declared loudly, his voice echoing off the dry mud walls, ensuring the whole village heard every brutal word.
"Hear me! Now, this land, and every village upon it, is under the command of our great King, Azesan!"
His voice softened into a mocking condescension. "We have come to establish order. Our King has commanded that you now pay one-third (1/3rd) of your agricultural production—grains, millets, all of it—as tribute. He has, in his magnanimous mercy, only required this much."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "You will follow our every command. If you wish to live, you will bow your heads. If you resist, we will make an example of this village that the wind will carry across the plains."
The villagers were stunned. They had thought their lack of formal governance was a blessing. Now, they were faced with a crippling, immediate tax, especially devastating during the height of summer when most crops were dry and meager. One-third would mean certain hunger and potential starvation for their families.
Gauri was present, standing among the women. She had wisely covered her head and face with the sari cloth, deliberately attempting to be an anonymous shadow in the crowd. Yet, Rudraksha, standing right beside her, felt the intense, coiled tension in her body. He glanced up at her face; beneath the shaded cloth, her eyes were alive with a terrifying glint—a suppressed fury that spoke of personal violation, not just fear. It was the look of a warrior princess confronting a familiar enemy.
Rudraksha, though physically strong and trained, felt the terrifying truth of his powerlessness. He knew these men meant ruin, but he could do nothing but observe the silent, fierce struggle of his mother.
........
Eleanor pounced on the details. "Unfamiliar outfits, advanced weaponry, a new ruler named Azesan—these were the Sakas you mentioned, correct? The nomads who swept into the North-West?"
"Yes, Ms. Vance. It was them," Dr. Rao confirmed. "Their invasion was not a single, grand battle but a slow, inexorable wave of military settlement. They had consolidated power and were now establishing the bureaucratic foundation for their rule, marked by harsh, immediate taxation."
Eleanor gestured toward the map that was still displayed on the screen. "And where exactly was this village, Dr. Rao? Given the geographical complexity of the ancient world, it helps to ground this narrative for our global audience."
Dr. Rao smiled and nodded toward his assistant. "Shreya, if you would kindly zoom in and reconfirm the location."
Shreya smoothly operated the controls. The high-resolution map of modern India on the large screen zoomed in, highlighting a region in the northern part of the subcontinent with a flashing red marker.
"The topographical description within the Samrat's own hand places his childhood village just near the modern city of Jalandhar in Punjab," Dr. Rao stated, pointing directly at the location.
Eleanor and her team studied the map—the reality of the location adding undeniable weight to the mythological narrative.
One of Eleanor's assistants quietly asked Dr. Rao about physical proof again.
Dr. Rao addressed the query directly, facing the camera. "As I told you, Miss Vance, at that era, the means of writing and record-keeping were primitive and rare, especially in small, newly conquered villages. The vast majority of history was oral. Therefore, physical evidence is scarce. But the scriptures—the Samrat's detailed, personal account—remain, and they are the only proof required. The Samrat knew no one would believe him without his own testimony."
Eleanor nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Understood. The script is the proof. So, Dr. Rao, we have the Princess Gauri, her powerful son, and the Saka commander demanding ruinous taxes. What happened after? Did Gauri reveal her identity and fight, or did she submit?"
Dr. Rao's face hardened, his eyes reflecting the tension of the scene.
"The Saka leader was waiting for the villagers to submit. But he did not account for the silent resistance of one woman. Gauri's hand slowly reached beneath the cloth, her fingers brushing against the hidden knife she always carried. She had suppressed her true nature for years to protect her son. Now, the Sakas—the very force responsible for her downfall—had arrived to destroy the peace she built. The story, Ms. Vance, was no longer about hiding. It was about to become a confrontation."