Chapter 5: Heart's Call — Part 2: The Heart’s Dream

Chapter 5: Heart's Call — Part 2: The Heart’s Dream 

The interior of Kondayya's Satram on the third floor was cast in the deep, flickering orange of a single oil lamp.

The sounds of the city had quieted.

The boisterous energy of the evening market had long since faded, replaced by the distant bark of a dog and the low hum of a city at rest.

Inside the small room, however, the air was thick with vibrating, anxious energy.

A sharp rap on the wooden door made Tim’mayya jump.

He unbarred it, revealing Rangayya, his face grim in the lamplight.

His servants — Kēsavu among them — peered nervously over his shoulders.

Rangayya stepped inside, his silk tunic looking absurdly out of place in the simple, rough-hewn room.

He didn't waste time on greetings.

“Has Vīra awakened?” Rangayya asked.

Tim’mayya let out a long, exhausted sigh.

He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

He gestured with his thumb toward the corner cot.

“Yes, he did. But... just look at him, Rangayya. Just look.”

Rangayya and his men looked.

Vīra was on his cot, but he wasn’t sleeping.

He was huddled into a tight ball, the thin bed sheet pulled completely over his head, and his entire body was trembling.

He looked less like the Pride of Manūru and more like a terrified child hiding from a thunderstorm.

Rangayya’s face, which had been set in pragmatic concern, twisted into annoyance.

He strode over to the bed.

“What in the name of the Gods is this? What has happened to you, Vīra? Are you ill? Did you catch a fever?”

A muffled voice, high-pitched with panic, came from under the sheet.

“I’m going to die!

I’m going to be executed tomorrow!”

Tim’mayya rubbed his temples.

“He’s been acting like this since he woke from his faint. He just keeps saying it, over and over: ‘I’m going to die. They’re going to execute me.’”

Rangayya stared, his patience

snapping.

“You? What?”

He reached down, grabbed the bed sheet, and yanked it off.

“You are the one who faced many dangers!

You are the one who won the yearly contest against four villages!

You did all those great deeds back in our village!

And you are acting like this? Shivering under a blanket like a newborn calf?”

Vīra shot up from the bed, his eyes wild and his hair matted with sweat.

He grabbed Rangayya by the front of his expensive tunic.

“I’ll stop — I will stop! But it’s the truth!

His Divinity, King Manirāja, will execute me for what I did this morning: giving a Lovers Doll to the Divine Princess! In front of everyone!

Why did you both let that happen? You just stood there!”

Tim’mayya threw his hands up, exasperated.

“Did you even give us time to react? One moment you were staring into her eyes like a fool, and the next, you were handing her the most scandalous gift in the entire market!

I was trying to stop the guard from cutting your head off!”

Vīra let go of Rangayya and started pacing the small room like a caged animal.

“That’s it. I’m not going.

I am not going to the court tomorrow!

You both go in my place!

Appear in the court!

Tell them I am ill. Tell them I can’t move from the bed.

I am not going.”

Tim’mayya looked at him in disbelief.

“What are you saying, Vīra? Are you mad? That is a royal order!

You were summoned by name! You are the one who got summoned, not any of us!

If you don’t appear, they won’t just execute you; they’ll hunt you down.

They might even punish our entire village for harboring you!”

Vīra looked desperate, trapped.

He turned to Rangayya, who had been silently watching this exchange, his arms crossed.

“He’s right. But you are both fools.”

Rangayya stepped in front of Vīra, forcing him to stop pacing.

“Nothing is going to happen, Vīra. Use your head.

If they wanted to punish you, it would have happened right then and there.

That guard drew his sword. He was ready.

It was the Princess herself who stopped him.”

“But—”

Rangayya cut him off.

“But nothing. Think. She stopped the guard. She took the doll. And she gave you extra coins for it!

Does that sound like someone who is about to have you executed?”

Vīra paused.

The frantic energy faltered for a moment.

Rangayya pressed his advantage, his voice lowering into cold, steady logic.

“The Divine Royal Family is merciful, Vīra. They proved it today. But their mercy has limits.

Not appearing in the Royal Court after a direct summons... that is the biggest mistake you can make.

That is a true insult to the Divine Royal Family itself.

They will see it as defiance. And for that, they will kill you.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

The room was silent, save for Vīra’s ragged breathing.

“So, you are coming.Tomorrow morning, you will wash your face, put on your best tunic, and you will walk up to that palace.”

He then glanced at Tim’mayya, and a look of shared, grim responsibility passed between them.

“And I am coming with you both, too.

As the son of the Chief, it is my duty to present you.

We are from the same soil. We will face it together.”

Vīra looked at Tim’mayya’s terrified face, then at Rangayya’s stern, determined one.

The panic finally receded, replaced by cold resignation.

He took a deep breath, the shiver in his hands finally stilling.

“Alright. Alright.

I’m... I’m ready to face anything.”

A slow grin spread across Rangayya’s face.

He clapped Vīra hard on the shoulder.

“Now this is the Vīra we know!

This is the Pride of Manūru!

Now get some sleep.

We have to look our best when we stand before the king.”

Rangayya and his men left the room.

Tim’mayya barred the door, his hands still trembling but his expression relieved.

Vīra didn’t lie back down.

He walked to the small window, pushing open the wooden shutter.

He looked out over the sleeping city.

Far in the distance, high above the Middle City, he could see the spires of the massive Royal Palace — a dark silhouette piercing the night clouds, a single light burning in its highest tower like a malevolent star.

The distance dissolved.

Leaving the humble Satram below, the night sky opened to the immense scale of the city.

A silence descended as the moonlight guided the gaze past the massive ramps, over the silent, patrolled walls of the Middle City, and up to the Higher City, finally settling upon the solitude of the royal bedchamber of the Divine Princess Nīlavēṇi.

The air was warm and smelled of sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine.

Silk banners hung from the high, carved ceiling.

A dozen lamps burned with clear, smokeless oil, casting a soft golden light over everything.

Princess Nīlavēṇi was on her large, grand bed, piled high with silk cushions.

Her hair was unbraided, flowing over her shoulders.

She was with her servants, who were preparing her for sleep.

But the Princess was not paying attention.

She was staring at the small, crude object resting in her palm: the Lovers Doll.

Her thumb gently traced the line where the two figures were joined.

In her mind, she saw him. Not the glowing figure from the temple, but the boy in the market.

His shy, terrified eyes.

The way his hand trembled.

And the jolt she felt when his rough, calloused fingers brushed her palm.

One of her servants, a bold girl named Līla, knelt by the bed.

“Your Divine Grace — may I ask you a question?”

The Princess didn't look up from thedoll.

“You may.”

“My Princess, we are all confused. Why did you buy that... that Lovers Doll... instead of punishing that boy for his insolence? He touched you!”

Nīlavēṇi finally looked up, her blue eyes analytical.

“Punish him? For what? For his skill?”

She held the doll up to the lamplight.

“We must agree, the boy Vīra is a perfectionist. Look at this doll. He carved the traditional dresses on these figures as if they were clothed in real silk and cloth, not clay.

Not only this — the warrior dolls and the animals on his table... they looked almost real.

And he did all that with clay and little sticks.

He is talented, isn’t he?”

She paused, a small smile forming.

“And as for the mistake... he didn’t mean to do that. I saw him. He was only looking at me while picking up

the dolls.

It wasn’t a choice; he was bewildered.”

Another servant, an older woman, spoke gently.

“But what do you feel, Your Divine Grace?”

Nīlavēṇi’s gaze hardened.

Her royal mask returned.

“That is not your concern. Leave the chamber now. All of you.”

The servants bowed immediately, their curiosity silenced by her cold tone.

They filed out one by one, closing the heavy doors behind them.

When she was completely alone, Nīlavēṇi let out a long breath.

She looked at the doll again.

She whispered,

“Who are you really, Vīra? What mystery do you hold? Those divine symbols... and that red glow in your eyes...”

Exhaustion finally washed over her.

She placed the Lovers Doll carefully on the royal desk beside her bed, next to her jewelry.

She lay down on the silk sheets.

The heavy doors muffled the faint sound of her maid extinguishing the lamps in the antechamber, until everything fell into darkness.

When Princess Nīlavēṇi opened her eyes, she was not in her bed.

She was standing beneath a massive, luminous tree whose leaves wept strands of gold.

She was in a garden surrounded by impossible, otherworldly flowers blooming in colors she had never seen.

A beautiful, mist-covered lake surrounded the entire garden, and the air was utterly still.

It felt like a mythical world — a painter’s first, perfect dream.

She looked down at herself and gasped.

She was no longer in her night clothes.

She was wearing the exact intricate traditional dress carved onto the female figure of the Lovers Doll.

She heard a sound — distant thunder, the pounding of hooves, and the familiar rumble of a unique chariot.

She turned.

Vīra was coming toward her, guiding his two white bulls.

But he, too, had changed.

He was wearing the matching traditional robes of the male figure from the doll.

Nīlavēṇi was stunned, her heart suddenly pounding.

Vīra stopped the chariot and looked at her, his dark brown eyes holding a wisdom she had never seen in them before.

He spoke her name softly.

“Nīlavēṇi.”

She looked around, her mind spinning.

“Vīra? Where are we? What is this place?”

In the blink of an eye, he vanished from the chariot.

Before she could even react, she felt a presence behind her.

She gasped and stumbled, about to fall... but strong arms caught her.

Vīra was holding her.

He had appeared directly behind her, catching her just as she fell, pulling her back against his chest.

They were in the exact pose of the Lovers Doll.

His face was close to hers, his breath warm against her cheek.

Her own breath came heavy and fast.

He pulled her upright, but did not let go.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The golden leaves above them rustled without sound.

“What did you just call me? ‘Vīra’? Why would Vīra be here, hmm?”

The figure’s voice was Vīra’s — but deeper, ancient, filled with teasing, knowing power.

“I am not Vīra. But I am in his form for a reason: I am the truth he fears and the love you carved.”

“Then... who are you?” she whispered.

He smiled.

“I am your innermost self — call me your Heart. And I am in his form. Do you know what that means?”

Nīlavēṇi couldn’t answer. She was too stunned by his closeness.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” the Vīra-form pressed.

“What are you saying? There is nothing like that. He is a peasant,” Nīlavēṇi said, pulling away slightly.

“Then why did the Divine Princess Nīlavēṇi herself go to him this morning?”

“It was a royal order! I was... I was delivering a message.”

“You could have sent any soldier. You wanted to see him again. You lied to your father and brother. You said you ‘wanted to get some air.’ but the truth is You wanted to see the boy who defied the guards in the temple.”

“Yes, I did!” Nīlavēṇi cried defensively.

“I wanted to see him! The first time we met, I saw that symbol shining on his shoulder. I saw his eyes turn divine red! The Temple High Priest told me what happened. I was just curious! I just wanted to understand him. We all did.”

The Vīra-form chuckled.

“You expected something else, didn’t you? A divine hero. A warrior. But that Vīra... he couldn’t even talk in front of you. He gave you a Lovers Doll with trembling hands.”

He stepped closer, his teasing tone softening.

“Nīlavēṇi, as your innermost self, I can only say one thing. Some people search their entire lifetime and still do not find love. Some find it in a single moment. You felt something when you saw him. When he looked at you.”

Nīlavēṇi took a heavy breath and looked away, unable to deny it.

“Your mind — the Princess, the daughter of the King — cannot accept it. But as your Heart... I did.”

She looked at him, stunned.

He came closer and gently, but firmly, held her hands. Her heart skipped a beat.

“You know why you felt it, Nīlavēṇi. Because you saw it. You have that divine power — the power to see the future. You’ve had it since childhood. Those visions you had — of a Horned Horse and a boy... those childhood glimpses make sense now, don’t they?”

He leaned in, his face inches from hers.

“No one dares look straight into your eyes in the entire kingdom. They all bow. But that boy, Vīra... he did. You must understand, Nīlavēṇi. He is not just a boy. He is your destiny. He is the kingdom’s destiny.”

(Scene shifts: The Royal Bedchamber — Reality, Pre-dawn.)

Princess Nīlavēṇi shot up in bed, gasping for air.

Immediately, the chamber doors burst open and her servants and royal guards rushed in, their swords half-drawn.

“Your Divine Grace! Are you all right?”

“What is it? An intruder?”

Nīlavēṇi was breathing heavily, her hand clutching the silk sheet at her chest.

She looked around, her eyes wild, seeing her room instead of the garden.

“It’s nothing. A dream. You may all leave.”

The servants and guards exchanged confused glances, but obeyed.

“As you wish, Your divine grace.”

They left, closing the doors.

Nīlavēṇi sat alone in the darkness, trying to calm her racing heart.

It was just a dream. I am overthinking this. A dream brought on by a strange day.

She looked at her nightstand.

She saw the doll.

She picked it up, her fingers tracing the outline of the two figures.

The voice from her dream echoed in her memory:

“He is your destiny.”

She clutched the doll tightly in her palm, her face a mask of conflict and profound confusion.

The first light of dawn began to touch the highest golden gopurams of the temples in the Lower City — especially the great temples of Vīrayya, God of Glory, and Śāntam’mma, Goddess of Peace.

The light then swept across the entire city of Maniyanūru.

(End of Chapter 5)