The studio lights seemed impossibly bright after the dark tension of the ancient scene. Eleanor Vance pressed her hand to her chest, trying to regulate her breathing. She was utterly absorbed, no longer an interviewer but a witness to an unfolding tragedy.
Dr. Rao watched her, a silent observer of the impact his narrative had on the modern psyche. He knew the story was about to reach a fever pitch of emotional trauma and strategic genius.
"Gauri stood unmoving," Dr. Rao continued, his voice regaining the low, intense rhythm of the storyteller. "Her left hand held the knife steady at Zarakan's jugular vein. Her heart felt the crushing weight of her son's capture, yet her mind refused to yield to the terror. It was the training of a lifetime overriding the instinct of a mother."
...
Rudraksha, held tightly by the two burly Saka riders, watched his mother's face, his own small body trembling with a mixture of fear and pride.
"Release me now," Zarakan hissed again, his voice strained by the uncomfortable angle of his pinned body.
Gauri simply shook her head. The knife did not move. The small rivulet of blood from her self-inflicted palm wound was now dripping slowly onto the dust, ignored.
After a few agonizing seconds of stalemate, Zarakan suddenly let out a sharp, chilling laugh. It was the sound of a predator recognizing its prey.
"Ah! Now I remember!" Zarakan roared, his eyes wide with triumphant malice, startling the quiet villagers. "You are that Warrior Princess! The one who escaped! The sister of the Queen of Sindhu-Tara Kingdom! We destroyed your pathetic little kingdom more than a decade ago! No wonder we couldn't find your body!"
Gauri's composure shattered. Her cold eyes hardened into black diamonds of rage. The mention of her ruined past, of the land and people she failed to protect, was the only thing that could breach her control.
"Do not speak that name again," she commanded, her voice dangerously low, a fierce whisper that held more threat than any shout.
The surrounding villagers were instantly astonished. Sindhu-Tara Rajya (Kingdom)! They knew the name from historical ballads; a prosperous, powerful kingdom that had mysteriously vanished from the map, swallowed by the rising tide of Saka invaders.
Prakash, the Village Head, mumbled, his face pale with shock. "This woman was… a Princess? Nāmaḥ. No wonder her temperament was so different from us. And all this time, she lived as Gauri the hunter…" The murmurs spread through the crowd, a mix of awe, shame, and fear.
Acharya Deva and the priests, Pujari Rishi and Suresh, bowed their heads and silently chanted ancient verses, apologizing to the Divine for the fate of the princess and praying for her strength.
Zarakan, emboldened by his discovery, smirked. "How do you feel, living like a commoner now? Hiding in the dirt after being humiliated by him—the man whose seed you carry?" He spat the words out like venom.
Then, his malicious gaze landed squarely on Rudraksha. "So, you are the son of that man? Hmm. But you resemble the Princess more. Pity."
Rudraksha, although his mouth was covered, absorbed the words like a child's mind absorbs poison. He understood the fundamental insult—the taunt about his mother's humiliation and the mysterious nature of his father. Though he had no context, the anger burned fiercely within him.
Gauri snapped. All her self-control, necessary for survival, gave way to the warrior's absolute defense of honor. In a terrifying display of strength and expertise, she twisted Zarakan's arm at an impossible, sickening degree.
The commander howled, a raw, animal scream of agony that echoed through the entire valley.
"Aah! No more! Stop!"
Gauri held the excruciating pain, her voice a whip-crack of fury. "He is only my son! He belongs to me only and no one else! If you utter one more piece of your vile nonsense, I will break your arms, and then your legs, before I snap your neck."
Zarakan immediately shut his mouth, sweat beading on his forehead, his face white with agony. But his cunning remained intact. He signaled to one of his Saka men with a quick flicker of his eyes.
The Saka rider, understanding the unspoken command, viciously twisted Rudraksha's arm.
Rudraksha cried out—a brief, sharp sound of pain that cut Gauri deeper than any blade. He instantly tried to bite back the tears, forcing himself to endure. He looked back at his mother, his eyes pleading not for rescue, but for understanding.
"Maa," he whispered slowly, through gritted teeth, "Don't worry about me. I am okay."
Rudraksha knew that any sign of weakness or distress from him would endanger her, and the last thing he would ever be was an obstacle to his mother's survival.
Gauri saw the message in his eyes: I can endure this. Hold your ground. The pain in her heart was overwhelming, yet the sight of her son's courage forced her rational mind to take control. Hold this bastard. Do not be reckless. Both of you will die if you take an indecisive step.
Gauri took a slow, deep breath, her eyes never leaving her son. Her face settled into an expression of cold, dangerous resignation. She knew she had lost the battle of wills the moment Rudraksha was seized. Her rational mind took over, formulating the only plan that could keep her son alive.
"Enough," Gauri stated, her voice calm once more. "You have what you want. I am the one you seek. Since I am wanted, I will go with you."
Rudraksha shouted, his voice cracking, "No, Maa! Don't go!"
Gauri ignored him, focusing only on the Commander. "But my conditions stand. You will release my son first, and you will leave this village immediately."
Zarakan, still in agonizing pain, was wary. "No. First, you release me! Then we talk terms."
Gauri silently intensified the pressure on his arm. Zarakan gasped, his internal panic spiking. He knew he couldn't hold this position much longer; if the villagers regained their collective nerve, they would be overwhelmed. And this woman was clearly capable of gambling her own son's life to uphold her terms. The potential loss of a high-ranking Commander was a greater concern to the King than the capture of one princess.
After a few tense seconds, Zarakan gritted his teeth and relented. "Fine! Both of you will go with us. You can release me after I release your son when we are three kos (approximately 9 km) away from here. The city is seven kos from here. Your son can return safely, and I vow in my King's name that I will not chase him. Satisfied?"
Gauri's mind was calculating every word. A vow in the King's name? She smirked internally. She knew the Saka men's nature perfectly: arrogance and treachery were their primary tactics. It was that very treachery that destroyed her Sindhu-Tara Kingdom a decade ago. She couldn't believe a single word.
But her face showed no signs of panic or relief. "Accepted," she said simply. "But now I need some reassurance."
Before anyone could react, Gauri decisively applied a precise, brutal pressure point to Zarakan's one leg and, with a sickening crack, twisted it at the knee.
Zarakan let out another guttural scream of pure, searing agony.
"This," Gauri announced, her voice flat, "is my reassurance. You will not walk properly for some time. You will be slow. And if you attempt any treachery before the three kos mark, I will crush your throat instantly."
Zarakan's men were horrified and stunned into inaction. This woman, even when yielding, still dared to inflict such punishment. They held their weapons ready, but decided they absolutely could not provoke her further while their leader was in her grasp. They would endure the humiliation and revenge themselves later.
Gauri demanded a rope. Prakash, trembling, rushed to retrieve a thick coil. Gauri swiftly and tightly bound Zarakan's already damaged hands, securing the rope to his waist. She picked up his dropped sword and the knife, securing them to her own person.
Acharya Deva, supported by Pujari Rishi, hobbled forward. "Gauri… no, Princess," the old man said, his voice thick with tears and admiration. "I know I cannot change your decision. We are helpless, but we are grateful for your sacrifice."
He straightened his back, meeting her eyes with a solemn vow. "I give you my word, and I promise you this: I will take care of your son, Rudraksha. I will raise him healthy and good. I will protect him with my life, as you protected this village."
The other priests nodded, echoing the Acharya's powerful promise.
Gauri felt a warmth, the first genuine comfort in a decade. She bowed her head slightly. "Acharya, please. Do not call me Princess. Gauri is enough."
The farewell was brief, filled with unspoken grief and gratitude.
Zarakan, pale with pain but burning with vengeance, decided to cement his victory and plant the seeds of his future revenge.
"Listen, villagers!" he shouted, enduring the pain to project his voice. "In the name of our Great King Azesan, and for the valuable asset of this long-lost Princess, I declare the exemption of all taxes for this village for three full years!"
He endured the humiliation of his crippled limbs, knowing that his three years of tax exemption would breed confusion and dependency in the village. They will thank her now, but they will never forgive me for this public display. I will ensure they suffer for this later.
The villagers were overcome with mixed emotions: joy at the unexpected economic reprieve, profound sorrow for Gauri's sacrifice, and disgust toward the three cowardly traitors.
Prakash, the Village Head, came forward, shame etched on his face. "Princess Gauri, forgive me for what I have said or done in the past. It was a glorious era when you were in the neighboring kingdom. I pray to the Gods to have you safe."
Gauri gave him a tired, distant smile. "Don't worry about these things, Prakash. Protect my son."
Prakash nodded decisively, tears in his eyes. "Worry not. I will for sure. And I will ensure my people understand the truth of what happened here."
Gauri then climbed the black stallion. She dragged Zarakan, now a crippled, raging hostage, up to sit in front of her like a ragdoll. Rudraksha was placed securely on the back of another Saka rider's horse.
Gauri steadied her horse. Her face was set, her eyes fixed on the distant hills.
"I am going then," she called out loudly, her voice resonating with a sudden, spiritual intensity. "I hope you all be safe. Mā Durgā rakshatu sarvam! (May Mother Durga protect you all!)"
The sound of the ancient war cry energized the villagers. Most of them were now emotional, shouting tearful goodbyes and wishing her safety as the horses took their first steps, carrying Gauri and her captured son toward the city.
In the village square, the villagers slowly came out of their shock. Acharya Deva, supported by Prakash, declared the immediate punishment and ostracization of the three young men who had committed the betrayal, a motion Prakash agreed to instantly. The Princess's courage, and their collective shame, had finally forged them into a community.
...
Eleanor Vance leaned back, exhaling slowly, her mind reeling from the dramatic exit.
"So at last, she has to go with them," Eleanor whispered, her disappointment evident. "How unfortunate. I don't know how she can be so courageous even after her kingdom was destroyed and her happiness stolen. And who is the father, Dr. Rao? The commander's taunts were so specific." Her crew members were discussing the Sindhu-Tar Kingdom in hushed tones.
Dr. Rao smiled, a deep, knowing light in his eyes.
"Ms. Vance, she is not ordinary. You think she surrendered? She didn't. Gauri did not walk onto that horse as a captive. She walked onto it as an assassin. She has a plan—a bold one that required her to be exactly where Zarakan was taking her."
He leaned in, his voice becoming conspiratorial and utterly confident.
"Now, Ms. Vance, comes the part that you and many of your audience will find impossible. The words coming from my mouth are 100% truth, written in those ancient scriptures in excruciating detail. What happened on the forest road was Gauri's spectacular act of vengeance, sacrifice, and the fulfillment of the dying promise thereafter."
Eleanor's eyes widened, her exhaustion forgotten. "Then please, Dr. Rao! Tell us what happens! Our audiences are waiting."
Dr. Rao took a refreshing sip of water, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of the story yet to be told.
"We follow the horses, Ms. Vance. We follow them into the forest road, three kos from the village…"