Chapter 4: The Heart of Civilization — Part 3: The Announcement

Paradise Empire: The Land of Ten Rivers

Chapter 4: The Heart of Civilization — Part 3: The Announcement

(Scene opens: Immediately following the previous events. The Temple Street is trembling with the sound of the Royal Arrival.)

The air in the Temple Street had changed. Moments ago, it was a place of commerce and chaotic devotion. Now, it was a cathedral of silence, held breathless by the vibration of the Pedda Kommu.

Then, the silence shattered.

Through the parted sea of people, the Royal Chariot rolled forward. It was a monstrosity of beauty—massive, crafted from dark, burnished bronze that drank the sunlight and spit it back out as golden fire. It was drawn by six white horses, their manes braided with gold threads, their hooves striking the marble pavement with the sound of thunder.

Standing atop the chariot platform was the Divine Royal Family.

King Manirāja Dīrākṣa, the reigning "Mighty Divineship." He was an imposing figure, his beard graying but his posture as rigid as a spear. He wore the heavy ceremonial robes of silk and gold, and he smiled—a small, practiced curve that softened his stern features. He raised one hand, palm facing outward; the gesture was small, but the effect was instant. The adoration rose to a fever pitch.

Beside him stood Queen Rathnavallī Ādiyammādevi, the Divine Queen. She was elegance personified, draped in a sari of woven silver, her face a mask of benevolent grace.

And then, the future.

Crown Prince Raghavendra. He stood with a confident tilt to his chin. He was young, muscular, and radiated a raw, golden charisma. His eyes were a startling, bright hazel-gold, restless and hungry for glory.

And beside him... Princess Nīlavēṇi.

Vīra, who was standing in the shadows of a side pillar with Tim’mayya and Rangayya, felt his breath catch in his throat. He had seen the beauty of the rivers, the majesty of the mountains, and the terrifying grace of the gods in stone. But he had never seen a woman like this.

She was the twin of Raghavendra, but where he was the burning sun, she was the cooling moon. Her skin was fair, glowing like polished sandalwood. Her hair was a cascade of midnight, adorned with jasmine and pearls. But it was her eyes—blue, identical to her father's, yet filled with a terrifying depth of wisdom—that seemed to see everything.

The crowd could contain themselves no longer. A roar erupted from thousands of throats, shaking the very foundations of the buildings around them.

"దైవ వంశం వర్ధిల్లాలి!"

"Daiva vanśaṁ vardhillāli!"

(Hail the Divine Lineage!)

"దైవ వంశం వర్ధిల్లాలి!"

"Daiva vanśaṁ vardhillāli!"

The chant repeated, again and again, a rhythmic wall of sound.

Vīra stood frozen. The aura emanating from the chariot wasn't just political power; it felt tangible, heavy, almost like the static in the air before a lightning strike.

Rangayya, seeing Vīra staring open-mouthed, hissed violently, grabbing Vīra’s arm.

Rangayya: "Are you fools out of your mind?! Get your heads down! Bow! Or you might get your heads cut off for insolence!"

Tim’mayya, terrified, yanked Vīra’s tunic. "Yes, Vīra! Don't ever raise your head and look straight at their eyes! It is forbidden!"

Vīra blinked, snapping out of his trance, and quickly bowed his head, joining the thousands of others. But even looking at the pavement, the image of the Princess with the blue eyes was burned into his mind.

(Scene shifts: The Inner Sanctum of the Temple.)

The Royal Family descended from the chariot. The temple priests, led by the High Priest, bowed so low. The Royals walked up the grand stairs, their jewelry chiming softly, and entered the Garbhālayaṁ (Sanctum Sanctorum).

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with incense and ancient power.

King Manirāja, the Queen, the Prince, and the Princess stood before the majestic idols.

God of Glory, Vīrayya, with his golden spear.

Goddess of Peace, Śāntam'ma, with her hand of blessing.

And the Horned White Horse carved in relief behind them.

The Royals performed the Puja. They offered garlands of heavy marigolds and lit camphor flames that danced in the darkness. For a moment, they were not rulers, but devotees, bowing before the only power greater than themselves.

As the rituals concluded, the High Priest, the old man with the white beard who had witnessed Vīra’s trance, stepped forward. His hands were trembling slightly.

High Priest: "Your Divineship... forgive this interruption in your holy schedule. But there is an important issue... an incident that occurred just moments before your arrival. It's a... miracle."

King Manirāja turned. His blue eyes were tired, focused on the weight of the duty he was about to perform outside.

King Manirāja: "O Honoured One. Today is a day of history. There is an important announcement I must make in front of the people regarding the future of the Kingdom. We cannot be distracted by minor temple incidents now. We shall discuss other issues later."

The King signaled to his family. "Come."

King Manirāja, Queen Rathnavallī, and Crown Prince Raghavendra turned and began to walk toward the exit.

However, Princess Nīlavēṇi did not move immediately. She paused, looking at the High Priest. Her intuition, sharp as a diamond, told her that the old man was not easily shaken.

Princess Nīlavēṇi (softly): "Honoured One... you should tell me about it. While my father speaks to the people, I wish to know. I will discuss it with our father later."

The High Priest looked at the young Princess with relief. He leaned in and whispered quickly.

High Priest: "A boy, Your Highness. He fell into a trance before the idols. Twenty of the King's guards could not move him. He was rooted like the mountain itself. It was Achala Bhakti. And... he bore a mark. A glowing mark."

Nīlavēṇi’s blue eyes widened slightly. She nodded once, her face betraying no emotion, and turned to follow her family.

(Scene shifts: Outside the Temple, at the Royal Chariot.)

The Royal Family re-emerged into the blinding sunlight. The crowd roared again, but the soldiers were busy.

While the Royals were inside, the Captain of the Guard had spotted the three troublemakers lingering in the shadows.

"Grab them!" the Captain barked.

Before they could react, Vīra, Tim’mayya, and Rangayya were seized by rough hands.

Tim’mayya: "Wait! We did nothing!"

Soldier: "Silence! You disturbed the peace before the King arrived."

They were dragged forward, right to the base of the steps where the Royal Chariot waited. The King and Queen were ascending the platform, but the commotion caught their attention.

The soldier shoved the three of them down onto their knees.

Soldier: "Your Divineship! Forgive us. These three created a disturbance inside the temple right at the entrance of the Garbhālayaṁ. They insulted the protocol and refused to move when ordered."

The King looked down, annoyed by the delay.

But Princess Nīlavēṇi, standing on the first step of the chariot, froze. She remembered the Priest's words. A boy... twenty guards could not move him.

She stepped forward, looking down at the three kneeling figures. Her gaze landed on Vīra. He was dressed in simple clothes, but there was a strange stillness about him.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "This is what the Honoured One wanted to tell us about."

She paused, her voice clear and musical, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. She looked directly at the top of Vīra's bowed head.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "So... you are the one? Ha?"

Vīra heard the voice. It was the same voice he had heard in his head—or was it? No, this was real.

Slowly, defying all logic and Rangayya’s terrified warnings, Vīra raised his head.

His dark brown eyes met her icy blue eyes.

Time seemed to stop. The noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum. Vīra looked at her not with the fear of a subject, but with a shy, raw wonder. He felt exposed, like a child standing before a goddess.

And then, it happened.

The Horned White Horse symbol on his right shoulder, hidden beneath his tunic, flared hot. It began to shine, a piercing red light that bled through the fabric.

Simultaneously, Nīlavēṇi saw something that made her breath hitch.

For a split second, Vīra’s dark brown eyes were swallowed by a crimson glow. They flashed a deep, divine Red.

It was brief—a heartbeat. But she saw it. She stepped back slightly, her hand going to her necklace, stunned.

When she blinked and looked again, Vīra’s eyes were dark brown once more, filled only with confusion and shyness.

Tim’mayya, seeing Vīra staring at the Princess, felt his soul leave his body.

Tim’mayya (hissing): "Vīra! Are you out of your mind?! You will get yourself killed! Put your head down NOW!"

Vīra blinked, the connection breaking, and quickly looked down.

Rangayya, realizing they were seconds away from execution, threw himself forward, pressing his forehead to the ground.

Rangayya: "Forgive my friend, Your Divineship! Please!"

King Manirāja looked at Rangayya. "Speak."

Rangayya (voice trembling but steady): "My friend got bewildered by the beauty of the great city! He was stunned by looking at the holy idols of God of Glory Vīrayya and Goddess of Peace Śāntam'ma. He... he has come out of our village, Manūru, for the first time in his life! He is simple-minded, Your Divineship. Please be merciful!"

The King narrowed his eyes. "Manūru?"

King Manirāja: "You are Rangayya, right? Son of the Chief Venkatayya of Manūru? One of the five biggest villages in our kingdom?"

Rangayya dared to look up, hope flaring in his chest. "Yes! Yes, Your Divineship! I am his son."

Manirāja nodded slowly. "I know your father. He is a loyal man who sends good grain."

Rangayya bowed frantically. "That is the biggest honor our family has ever had, Your Divineship!"

The King’s gaze shifted to the other two. "And who are they?"

Rangayya pointed. "This is Tim’mayya, my friend. And this... the one who stared... is Vīra. Cousin of Tim’mayya. As I said, a simple farmer. It is his first time here."

Crown Prince Raghavendra, standing beside his father, looked down at Vīra. He saw the simple clothes, the terrified posture of Tim’mayya, and the shy, dumbstruck look on Vīra’s face.

Raghavendra rolled his golden eyes. A smirk played on his lips.

Queen Rathnavallī Ādiyammādevi, however, looked at Vīra differently. She saw the way the boy had looked at her daughter—not with lust, but with a pure, overwhelming adoration. She smiled softly, a mother’s amusement.

King Manirāja waved his hand dismissively.

King Manirāja: "This is just a bewildered boy. Leave him be. Soldiers, release them."

The soldiers immediately stepped back.

Soldier: "Yes, Your Divineship."

Vīra, Tim’mayya, and Rangayya scrambled back into the crowd, disappearing into the anonymity of the masses.

(Scene shifts: The Announcement.)

The disturbance settled. King Manirāja Dīrākṣa stepped to the very edge of the chariot platform. He raised both arms.

The silence returned, absolute and expectant.

King Manirāja: "People of Maniyanūru!"

His voice was deep, amplified by the acoustics of the Temple Street.

King Manirāja: "For forty years, I have served as the custodian of the Golden Throne. I have guarded this great kingdom. I have upheld the legacy of our ancestors."

He paused, looking at his son.

King Manirāja: "But time is a river that flows in only one direction. My body grows old, though my spirit remains with the land. I have taken an important decision regarding our Kingdom."

He placed a hand on Raghavendra’s shoulder.

King Manirāja: "I have decided to abdicate. I pass the burden and the glory of the Jeweled Golden Throne to my son... Crown Prince Raghavendra!"

For a second, there was silence as the people processed the news. Then, the explosion.

"యువరాజు రాఘవేంద్రుడు వర్ధిల్లాలి!"

"Yuvarāju Rāghavēndruḍu Vardhillāli!"

(Hail to the Crown Prince Raghavendra!)

"యువరాజు రాఘవేంద్రుడు వర్ధిల్లాలి!"

King Manirāja raised his hand again, silencing the crowd for one final decree.

King Manirāja: "And this auspicious event shall not happen in silence! The coronation will take place on the upcoming Holy Festival Day!"

A murmur of awe rippled through the crowd.

King Manirāja: "Yes! On the very same day that our Progenitor, the Great Dīrayya, laid the first brick of this eternal city! On that holy day, history will be reborn!"

The crowd erupted with renewed fervor, the symbolism of the date igniting their patriotic souls.

The cheer was deafening. Flowers rained down from the balconies above.

Raghavendra stepped forward. He soaked in the adoration like a plant soaks in sunlight. He raised his hand, and the crowd quieted, eager to hear their new King.

Prince Raghavendra: "Thank you, my people!"

He clenched his fist, looking every bit the warrior-king.

Prince Raghavendra: "Today, my father has put a great responsibility on my shoulders. But I do not call it a weight. I call it... Service!"

"Service for my people! Service for my city!"

He pointed his finger toward the sky.

Prince Raghavendra: "I swear... with your blessings and support... and with the blessings of my progenitor Dīrayya and his wife... and the City Gods, our God of Glory Vīrayya and Goddess of Peace Śāntam'ma... I will make this Kingdom more glorious and prosperous than history has ever seen!"

"HAIL! HAIL!"

The chant of "Hail the Divine Lineage!" echoed off the temple walls.

The drums began to beat. The Pedda Kommu blasted again. The announcement was made. The era was changing.

The massive, six-horse bronze chariot lurched forward. The wheels groaned against the stone as it began its slow procession out of the Temple Street.

King Manirāja and Queen Rathnavallī waved to the crowds. Prince Raghavendra stood with his chest puffed out, acknowledging the cheers.

But Princess Nīlavēṇi did not wave.

She turned her head, looking back toward the spot where the three village men had been released. Her blue eyes scanned the crowd until she found him.

Vīra was standing there, watching the chariot leave.

As the distance grew, Nīlavēṇi narrowed her eyes. Through the dust and the waving hands of the crowd, she saw it again.

A faint, pulsating red glow on his right shoulder. It was fading, but it was there.

She watched him until the chariot turned the corner, and he disappeared from view.

(Scene shifts: The Street Corner, moments later.)

The Royal Chariot was gone, but the energy in the street was still manic. People were dancing, discussing the coronation, and celebrating.

In a quiet alleyway, Rangayya leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. He looked pale.

Rangayya: "We all are lucky today. By the gods, we are lucky."

He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked furiously at Tim’mayya and Vīra.

Rangayya: "Or we all should have died today! Do you realize that?"

He turned on Vīra.

Rangayya: "And what do you think you were doing, Vīra? Staring at the Divine Princess? Are you mad?"

Vīra was still staring down the street where the chariot had vanished. He looked dazed, like a man who had touched a live wire.

Vīra (whispering): "She was..."

Rangayya threw his hands up. "Come on, Vīra! This is not our village! You are just a nobody here! Just like anyone else. Do you understand? She is the Divine Princess. You are a farmer with a fancy cart."

Rangayya took a deep breath, composing himself. He looked at Tim’mayya.

Rangayya: "Tim’ma... take him. Take him to a room. Settle somewhere. Get him some water. Or we all might get in trouble again."

Tim’mayya nodded vigorously. "You are right, Rangayya. You are absolutely right."

Tim’mayya grabbed Vīra’s hand. "Thanks for saving our lives, Rangayya. Truly."

Rangayya sighed, his anger fading into exhaustion. "Don't mention it. We are brothers from the same soil, after all. Just... keep him out of sight."

Tim’mayya pulled Vīra toward their chariot. "Come on, Vīra. Let's go."

Vīra allowed himself to be led away, but his hand drifted up, unconsciously touching his right shoulder. The heat was gone, but the memory of the blue eyes remained.

(Scene shifts: The Royal Chariot, moving toward the Middle City.)

The chariot rumbled smoothly as it left the chaos of the Lower City and began the ascent up the broad ramparts toward the exclusive Middle City.

The noise of the crowd faded slightly. The air grew cooler.

Princess Nīlavēṇi sat on the velvet cushions, her chin resting on her hand, deep in thought.

Crown Prince Raghavendra, high on the adrenaline of the crowd, looked down at his twin sister. He noticed her silence.

Raghavendra: "Nīlavēṇi?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Nīlavēṇi: "Did you see that boy?"

Raghavendra: "Yes."

Raghavendra laughed, a rich, confident sound. "You are asking about his shy looks at you? I saw how he stared. It was pathetic, really."

He adjusted his silk sash, grinning.

Raghavendra: "But I suppose I can't blame him. Any man in the world would fall for my sister's beauty. What's new? That he was just a fool. He was lucky we are merciful today."

Nīlavēṇi looked at her brother. She loved him, but she knew him. He saw the world in gold and bronze, in power and submission. He did not see the spirits. He did not see the hidden things.

She looked back toward the Lower City, now a sprawling map of gold below them.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "You saw his shyness, brother."

She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper that was lost under the sound of the chariot wheels.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "...but I saw him shining."

Raghavendra frowned. "What did you say?"

Nīlavēṇi shook her head, offering him a small, enigmatic smile. "Nothing, Raghavendra. Long live the future King."

Raghavendra beamed, satisfied. "Yes. Long live the King."

The Royal Chariot continued its ascent, climbing higher and higher, putting miles and social strata between the Prince in the clouds and the boy with the glowing shoulder in the dust below.

(End of Chapter 4 Part 3: The Announcement)