Chapter 5: Heart's Call — Part 1: The Lovers Doll Incident

Chapter 5: Heart's Call — Part 1: The Lovers Doll Market Incident

(Scene opens: The Great Temple of Maniyanūru. The sun has just begun to climb, casting long, cool shadows across the white marble of the Temple Street.)

The air was sharp and clean, filled with the morning scents of jasmine, sacred smoke, and damp stone. The chaotic sounds of the previous day—the royal procession, the Pedda Kommu horn, the shouts of the guards—had faded, replaced by the rhythmic chiming of bells and the low, murmured chants of early morning devotees.

Tim’mayya and Vīra stood before the main entrance of the Garbhālayaṁ. The night had been one of terror, revelation, and profound mystery. Tim’mayya, his face still pale from what he had witnessed—Vīra levitating, the symbol burning red in the darkness of their room—had not slept. Vīra, his eyes heavy from a dream that felt more real than his waking life, felt like a hollowed-out gourd, raw and vibrating from the divine encounter.

Tim’mayya had insisted on this. Before they could think of business, of profit, of their very next move, they had to address the gods.

They had taken five of their precious bronze coins—a significant sum, nearly half the cost of their room—and purchased twenty heavy, milk-white coconuts from a stall outside the temple gates. Now, they stood as the priest cracked each one, the sweet water spilling over the dark, sacred stone.

Vīra stood with his hands clasped, his eyes closed. He could still feel the phantom grip of the divine mother and father, the impossible weight of their hands on his head. He didn't pray for wealth, or even for luck.

Vīra (Internal Monologue): "I don't know what this path is. I don't know why you have shown me these things. I am just a farmer's son. I don't know about my destiny. But I am here. I don't know how my life is going to be... but please... give me your blessings. And protect me, Great Gods."

The priest handed them both a dab of red kumkuma and holy ash. Tim’mayya applied it to his forehead with a shaky hand, his eyes darting nervously toward Vīra.

Tim’mayya (whispering): "Alright. It's done. We’ve given our offering. Let's go. We have a job to do."

Vīra nodded, opening his eyes. He took one last look at the idols in the sanctum. They were just stone and gold again. But he knew better.

He turned, and together they walked out of the temple's cool shadow and into the rapidly brightening day.

(Scene shifts: The Temple Street Marketplace. Vīra and Tim’mayya arrive at their allotted stall.)

Their spot was exactly where the Nagara Vyapar Nayaka (the leader or in-charge of city business) had promised: on the main Temple Street, with a direct view of the golden gopuram. It was a prime location. It was also, as fate would have it, directly beside the stall belonging to Rangayya.

Rangayya and his men were already setting up, premium Manūru items and other goods. Rangayya, wearing a fresh silk tunic, was directing them with an air of immense self-importance.

He spotted them approaching, Vīra's unique chariot rolling silently behind them. A smirk crossed Rangayya's face. He put his hands on his hips and waited.

Rangayya: "Śubhōdayaṁ! (Good morning!) Vīra! Tim’ma!"

Tim’mayya, forcing a pleasant smile, nodded. "Śubhōdayaṁ, Rangayya! A fine morning for business."

Vīra, still lost in thought, simply nodded. "Śubhōdayaṁ, Rangayya."

Rangayya’s smile faltered. He raised an eyebrow. "What? 'Rangayya'? Just 'Rangayya'?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping.

Rangayya: "Have you forgotten where you are? This isn't the mud pit back home. I am not just your friend here. I am your Village Chief's son. You will address me with respect."

Tim’mayya and Vīra looked at each other. Their eyebrows shot up.

Tim’mayya, ever the pragmatist, immediately bowed his head slightly. "Forgive us." He nudged Vīra hard in the ribs.

Vīra, catching on, bowed his head as well.

Tim’mayya & Vīra (in unison): "Sorry. Śubhōdayaṁ, Ayya garu! (Good morning, Lord!)"

Rangayya’s smirk returned, wider this time. He puffed out his chest.

Rangayya: "This is fine. Now, do your thing, and let me do my own. And Vīra..."

He looked Vīra up and down, his gaze lingering on Vīra's strong shoulders.

Rangayya: "...don't try to create trouble like you did yesterday. I can't save you both every time! This is the capital. They will kill you for looking at a noblewoman the wrong way, let alone the... well. Just keep your head down."

Vīra and Tim’mayya both smiled, a thin, tight smile, and nodded in perfect unison.

Rangayya turned his back. One of his servants, a skinny man named Kēsavu, leaned in.

Kēsavu (whispering): "Lord... their smile. It scares us more! It looks like they are plotting something."

Rangayya scoffed. "They are farmers. The only thing they know how to plot is a field of rice. Get back to work."

(Scene shifts: The First Failed Sale.)

Vīra and Tim’mayya began unloading their wagon. The hand-dyed cottons, the gleaming bronze tools, the intricate stone jewelry, and Vīra’s own hand-carved clay dolls.

Vīra looked at the items, then at Tim’mayya, who was already meticulously arranging a display.

Vīra: "So... how to sell them now?"

Tim’mayya paused, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just... try it! You have a voice, don't you? Use it. Go on."

Vīra looked around. A small boy, no older than ten, was walking past, his eyes wide with the sights of the market. Vīra picked up a small, carved warrior clay doll.

Vīra (awkwardly): "Hey, kid. Want this?"

The boy stopped, looked at the doll, then looked at Vīra with utter disdain.

Boy: "No need. I have a lot of 'em."

The boy sniffed and walked away, drawn by the call of a sweet-seller.

Vīra stood there, holding the doll, his face burning.

From the next stall, a loud guffaw erupted. Rangayya and his men were laughing.

Rangayya: "Selling things in Maniyanūru is not as easy as winning village contests, Vīra! These city people have seen everything! You can't just shove things in their faces!"

Tim’mayya shot Rangayya a dark look. "Please stop saying that, Rangayya! We are just starting!"

Rangayya: "Go on, then! Do your thing! Entertain us!"

Tim’mayya turned his back on Rangayya. He looked at Vīra and shook his head.

Tim’mayya: "You are never going to sell anything like that, Vīra! Gods, give me strength. Watch. And learn. You have to give them a story. You have to sing."

Tim’mayya took a deep breath. He stepped to the front of their stall, his entire posture changing from a nervous traveler to a confident showman. His voice, clear and strong, rang out over the growing crowd.

Tim’mayya (shouting): "People of Maniyanūru! Don't pass by! Stop and see the treasures of our village! Here, we have the finest items in the entirety of the Land of Ten Rivers! These are the items of Manūru! Come! Come and take a look!"

He picked up a string of colored stone jewelry.

Tim’mayya: "Want to give a gift to someone special? We have the finest hand-made color stone jewelry! Red as a ruby, blue as the Nīla Nadī (Blue River), green as the fields of home! Every color, every style!"

A few women, drawn by the call, began to drift closer.

Tim’mayya: "Want to give a new dress to your family members for the festival? We have the finest cottons from Manūru! Dyed by the masters, woven by the grandmothers! Soft as a cloud, strong as faith!"

He then grabbed a polished bronze sickle.

Tim’mayya: "And if you need tools for farming, or for your garden! We have the finest farmer's tools! Bronze that will not tarnish! Iron that will not break! All in one shop! It is right in front of you, people of Maniyanūru! Come and look!"

It worked. A small crowd began to gather, their curiosity piqued. They started handling the items, asking prices.

Vīra stared at Tim’mayya, astounded. "You are truly talented, Tim’ma."

Tim’mayya, already in a heated negotiation with a woman over a red sari, winked at Vīra.

Tim’mayya: "Yes, I am. And you have a lot to learn, Vīra."

Vīra: "This is my first time! What do you expect?"

Tim’mayya: "Just watch me for a few days. You will get used to it. Now pass me that blue necklace..."

Suddenly...

BRROOOOOM!

The sound of the Pedda Kommu horn blasted again. It was not the full, ear-splitting roar of the King's arrival, but a higher, clearer note. A royal was approaching.

The entire street froze.

Tim’mayya, who was in the middle of taking a coin, dropped it. Rangayya and his men stopped their work, their faces pale.

Rangayya: "Not again! Who is coming now?"

First came the royal soldiers, clearing the path. Then, the chariot. It was much smaller than the King’s six-horse bronze behemoth, but exquisitely royal. It was crafted from a dark, polished wood, inlaid with silver and ivory.

And on the velvet-cushioned seat sat one person.

It was her.

Vīra’s heart didn't just skip a beat. It stopped. It seized in his chest, painful and sharp.

The morning sun lit her. Her skin seemed to brighten in the light. Her dark hair was tied back, and her blue eyes... her blue eyes were looking... searching.

They swept across the stalls—Rangayya’s, a spice merchant’s, a potter’s.

And then, her eyes found his.

He was staring. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

She saw him. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes held his for a fraction of a second.

BANG.

Tim’mayya’s hand slammed into Vīra's back, forcing him into a bow.

Tim’mayya (hissing): "DOWN! HEAD DOWN, VĪRA!"

Vīra quickly looked away, his face burning, and dropped his head, his heart hammering so hard he thought he would be sick.

Tim’mayya, Rangayya, and everyone around them did the same, bowing low as the royal chariot approached.

The sound of the horses’ hooves slowed.

Tim’mayya (thinking): Keep going. Keep going. Please, gods, keep going...

The jingle of the harness and the soft creak of the wheels... stopped.

Tim’mayya and Rangayya looked at each other from under their bowed heads. Their eyes were wide with identical terror.

Why had it stopped?

Why had it stopped... right at their stall?

A soft, feminine voice spoke. "There you are."

Vīra's blood turned to ice. He knew that voice.

Tim’mayya’s entire body began to tremble. Rangayya looked like he was about to faint.

"I was looking for you."

Slowly, his heart pounding in his ears, Vīra looked up.

Princess Nīlavēṇi had descended from the chariot. She stood before them, a vision of grace, her blue eyes fixed entirely on Vīra.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "My father and my brother wish to see you tomorrow at the palace. They were going to send a soldier to find you, but I wanted to get some air. So, I told them I would go myself."

She looked Vīra up and down, as if inspecting him.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "We discussed you yesterday. We found some interesting things about your... deeds... in your village. And about the creation of that chariot."

Vīra just stood there. He was a statue. His mouth was dry, his mind blank. The man who had faced down gods in a dream couldn't say a single word.

Rangayya and Tim’mayya, both still bowed, were frantic.

Tim’mayya (thinking): "Say something! Say anything! 'Yes, Your Highness!' 'Thank you, Your Highness!' Anything!"

Rangayya (thinking): "You defeated four villages every year! You faced down our rival Chiefs! And you are silent? Give reply to her, or you will be killed! So-called Pride of Manūru!"

But still, nothing. Vīra was completely, hopelessly lost in her presence.

Tim’mayya finally forced his voice to work, his words muffled as he spoke to the ground.

Tim’mayya: "That... that is our greatest honor, Your Divine Grace. We... we are humbled."

Princess Nīlavēṇi didn't look at Tim’mayya. Her eyes remained on Vīra.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "So, you both sell items?"

Tim’mayya: "Yes, Your Divine Grace! The finest from our village!"

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "I came all the way here. If I do not buy anything, it would not be kind. So, I will buy something."

She scanned the items, her gaze falling on Vīra’s carvings.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "How about... a clay doll?"

Tim’mayya, seeing an opportunity, practically yelped.

Tim’mayya: "Yes! Yes! We have many beautiful clay dolls, Your Grace! All made by my talented cousin, Vīra, himself! He has gifted hands!"

The Princess’s gaze shifted back to Vīra. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "So, you made them, ha? Vīra?"

Hearing his name from her mouth was like a physical blow. Vīra’s eyes widened.

She tilted her head slightly.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "Show me one of your finest dolls, Vīra."

The direct command, using his name, broke the spell. Vīra had to move. He had to obey.

He raised his head.

Their eyes met again.

This time, Vīra didn't look away. He was trapped. The entire marketplace, the shouts, the smells, Rangayya’s terror—it all dissolved. There was only the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears and the impossible blue of her eyes.

Tim’mayya (thinking): "That eye-to-eye contact again! He'll get himself killed! He will get us ALL killed!"

Two of the royal guards, seeing Vīra’s blatant stare, shifted their weight, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords.

The Princess, without looking at them, raised a single, slender hand.

The soldiers froze.

Her eyes never left Vīra’s.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "Vīra?"

Vīra came back to his senses. He blinked, breaking the contact. He looked down, flustered.

Tim’mayya (hissing): "She asked to show a doll! The doll, Vīra!"

Vīra: "Oh... yes. A doll... of course."

The Princess smiled, a genuine, simple smile. "Give it quickly. I have to leave."

That simple smile was his undoing. It shattered his composure completely.

A profound tremor ran through Vīra’s hand. He turned to the table where the dolls were laid out. He tried to pick one—a horse, a warrior, a small bull. But his hand was shaking so violently he couldn't grasp them.

He fumbled, his fingers clumsy. He placed his hand on a doll, and without even seeing what it was, he picked it up.

The Princess held her hand forward, palm up.

Vīra turned back. He held out the doll. His trembling hand met hers. He meant to drop it into her palm, but his fingers spasmed. He placed the doll in her hand.

His rough, calloused fingertips brushed her soft, cool skin.

A jolt, like the divine energy from the Horned Horse, shot up his arm.

Vīra snatched his hand back as if he had been bitten by a snake.

Vīra: "This... is. The finest doll. I have ever made... I... I am offering you this. With respect. And heart. Your Divine Grace."

Rangayya, who had been watching this disaster unfold, looked at the doll Vīra had given the Princess.

His face, already pale, turned the color of ash.

"Gods," he whispered.

Tim’mayya saw it too. His jaw dropped.

Everyone—the soldiers, the gathering crowd—was stunned into silence.

Rangayya leaned over to his servant. "Vīra is dead. Look at the doll he gave to the Princess!"

Tim’mayya grabbed Vīra’s arm. "What have you done, Vīra? Look! Look what doll you gave to her!"

Vīra, confused, looked at the doll resting in the Princess’s palm.

His own face went pale.

It wasn't a warrior. It wasn't an animal.

It was a Lovers Doll.

It was two small, stylized clay figures, a man and a woman,  holding each other in close embrace. In their culture, it was a powerful symbol of love, a private gift that lovers gave each other.

It was the most scandalous, inappropriate, and treasonous item he could have possibly given her.

Adjusting, Vīra looked around. Tim’mayya and Rangayya looked like they were attending his funeral.

He glanced at his two white bulls. They huffed, their lips curling back to show their large teeth, as if they were laughing at him.

The Head Soldier saw the doll. His face turned purple with rage.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

His sword sang as it was drawn from its sheath. "You dare insult the Divine Princess!"

"STOP!"

Nīlavēṇi’s voice was sharp. The soldier froze, his sword raised.

Tim’mayya grabbed Vīra by the neck, forcing him to the ground. Tim’mayya prostrated himself fully, his forehead hitting the ground.

Tim’mayya: "FORGIVE US! YOUR DIVINE GRACE! Forgive this grave mistake! He didn't know! He's a fool! He just grabbed! He didn't mean it!"

The street was silent. The only sound was the soldier's heavy breathing.

Princess Nīlavēṇi looked at the doll in her hand. She turned it over, examining the crude but heartfelt carving.

Then, she closed her hand around it.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "I will take it."

Vīra, Tim’mayya, and Rangayya looked up, stunned.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "I see the effort in this doll. He offered me this. That means this must be one of his finest. I will take it."

Vīra stared at her, his mind reeling.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "What is the price of this?"

Tim’mayya, still on the ground, stammered. "Price? Uh... Five bronze coins, Your Divine Grace!"

She smiled. "This is that cheap?"

Tim’mayya: "Five bronze coins are a lot to poor... poor things... like us, Your Divine Grace!"

With a snap of her fingers, one of her servants stepped forward with a heavy leather pouch. The Princess took the pouch, opened it, and took out a handful of coins.

She counted out ten bronze coins.

She looked directly at Vīra, her blue eyes sparkling with an amusement he couldn't understand.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "Five extra coins. For your efforts, Vīra."

She dropped the coins into Tim’mayya’s stunned, outstretched hand.

She smiled once more, a quick, brilliant flash, and nodded.

Tim’mayya, Rangayya, and Vīra bowed low again.

She turned and walked with impossible grace back to her chariot. She climbed up and sat, the doll still clutched in her hand.

She looked down at them one last time.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "Don't forget the royal order. You have to come to the Royal Palace tomorrow and appear in front of my father, my twin brother Raghavendra, and the court ministers."

She looked at their stall.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: "And if you don't mind, bring your items too. My servants and I... we might buy them."

Tim’mayya, scrambling to his feet, bowed again and again.

Tim’mayya: "Yes, Your Divine Grace! Yes! I myself will bring my cousin Vīra to the Royal Court tomorrow! That is my responsibility! You can trust me! We will follow the royal orders!"

The chariot driver snapped the reins. The chariot started to move.

Princess Nīlavēṇi was still looking at Vīra. And Vīra, unable to help himself, was still looking at her.

The chariot moved down the street, turned the corner, and was gone.

For a full ten seconds, nobody moved.

Then, Tim’mayya and Rangayya both let out the breath they had been holding in a loud, shaky whoosh. They simultaneously wiped the sweat from their foreheads.

But Vīra... Vīra was still standing like a statue, staring at the empty space where the chariot had been.

Tim’mayya looked at him, his relief turning to concern. "Vīra?"

He shook Vīra’s shoulder. "Vīra?"

Vīra didn't say anything. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his knees buckled. He fell backward, collapsing onto the pile of cotton sacks in a dead faint.

Tim’mayya: "Vīra! What happened to you, Vīra!"

Rangayya and his men rushed over.

Rangayya: "Is he alright? Did he die of fright?"

(Scene shifts: The Royal Chariot.)

The camera pans up, leaving the chaos of the market, soaring into the sky.

It finds the Princess's chariot as it rumbles up the ramp toward the Middle City.

Princess Nīlavēṇi sat alone on her seat. She slowly opened her hand.

She looked at the small, rough, clay lovers doll. She remembered Vīra’s shy, terrified eyes. She remembered the jolt of his touch.

A slow, secret smile spread across her face.

The camera pans out, showing the royal chariot crossing into the Higher City, heading toward the massive, cloud-piercing Royal Palace, as the Princess of Maniyanūru clutched the symbol of love from the farmer's son.

(End of Chapter 5, Part 1)