Chapter 7: రాజ పట్టాభిషేకం (Rāja Paṭṭābhiṣēkaṁ) — The Royal Coronation Part 1: The Invitation

Chapter 7: రాజ పట్టాభిషేకం (Rāja Paṭṭābhiṣēkaṁ) — The Royal Coronation

Part 1: The Invitation

(Scene opens: The Sacred Lake outside the Higher City. Night. The moon reflects off the still water, creating a mirror of silver.)

The silence was profound, broken only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the gentle lap of water against the grassy bank.

Beneath the ancient tree, Vīra lay still. His breathing was shallow and peaceful. His head rested on a pillow of silk—the lap of Princess Nīlavēṇi. She sat motionless, gazing down at his sleeping face, her hand hovering protectively near his shoulder.

Slowly, Vīra stirred. The fog of unconsciousness began to lift. He felt warmth beneath his cheek, and the scent of royal jasmine filled his senses.

He blinked his eyes open. The first thing he saw was a face hovering above him—beautiful, glowing in the moonlight. Blue eyes watched him with intense curiosity.

In his groggy, half-dreaming state, his mind couldn't process reality.

Vīra (mumbling): “Tim’ma... why do you look like the Princess?”

He raised his hand, his rough fingers gently brushing her face to check if it was real.

Nīlavēṇi froze at the touch, then a soft, amused smile broke across her face.

Vīra felt the skin—soft, real, and definitely not Tim’mayya’s.

His eyes widened. The cold night air hit him as reality crashed down like a falling rock.

Vīra (internal monologue): By the Gods... this is the Princess! I am on her lap! I touched her face!

Vīra scrambled up as if the ground were on fire. He stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head so low it nearly touched the grass.

Vīra: “Forgive me! Forgive this fool for what he did, Princess! I don't know when I fainted !”

He waited for the anger. He waited for the command to the guards. He thought she might order his execution.

Instead, her voice came—calm and soothing.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “It is alright, Vīra. You were overwhelmed. There is nothing to forgive.”

Vīra dared to look up. She wasn't angry. She was smiling.

She looked at the sky. The moon was high.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “Vīra, it is late. You should take me back to the palace, or the entire kingdom will be searching for me.”

Vīra stood up, dusting off his clothes nervously. He looked around the dark landscape.

Vīra: “But... Princess... you are the one who brought me here. I don't know the way back to the Royal Palace from here.”

Nīlavēṇi blinked, then laughed—a clear, musical sound that seemed to brighten the night.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “I had forgotten that! Of course. Come on, now. I will guide you.”

They both smiled at the absurdity of it—the Divine Princess guiding the chariot driver.

(Scene shifts: The return journey.)

The red sandalwood chariot rumbled through the silent streets of the Higher City. Vīra stood at the reins, Nīlavēṇi standing beside him, whispering directions.

“Left here... past the fountain... straight toward the Golden Gate."

They arrived at the massive gates of the Royal Palace. The Elite Soldiers on guard stiffened. They looked at each other, exchanging glances of disbelief. The Princess, returning in the dead of night with the farmer boy. Where had they been all this time?

Vīra pulled the bulls to a halt. He jumped down and offered his hand. Nīlavēṇi took it, stepping down gracefully.

She turned to go, then stopped. She turned back to Vīra. The playful mood vanished, replaced by royal solemnity.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “Vīra.”

Vīra straightened. “Yes, Princess?”

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “The Rāja Paṭṭābhiṣēkaṁ is going to happen tomorrow. That same day is the Grand Festival.”

She looked him in the eye.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “I want you, Tim’mayya, and Rangayya to come. Not as servants, but as Royal Friends.”

Vīra’s breath hitched.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “You will sit with every Village Chief, the minor kings, and the Elites. That is my invitation.”

Vīra’s eyes widened. To sit with Kings—it was an honor beyond comprehension. It was a height he had never dared to dream of.

Instinctively, he joined his hands in prayer and began to bow deeply.

Vīra: “Thank you, Your Div—”

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “Don't do that!”

Her sharp tone stopped him mid-bow.

She stepped closer, her voice fierce.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “Don't you ever do that in front of me or anyone else! You are a Royal Friend now. Friends do not bow like servants. Stand tall. Do you understand?”

Vīra looked at her, seeing the fire in her eyes. He slowly straightened his back, standing tall.

He nodded. “I understand.”

She smiled, satisfied. “See you tomorrow.”

She turned and vanished into the palace shadows. Vīra stood there for a moment longer, his back straight, practicing the posture of a Royal Friend.

(Scene shifts: Princess Nīlavēṇi’s Chamber.)

Nīlavēṇi walked briskly through the corridors and entered her chambers. She found her twin brother, Crown Prince Rāghavēndra, pacing the floor.

He stopped when he saw her.

Prince Rāghavēndra: “Where were you, Nīlavēṇi? We were worried about you! The guards said you went out with Vīra on his chariot hours ago.”

Nīlavēṇi dismissed her servants with a wave of her hand. “I was at the lake. With Vīra.”

She told him everything—the conversation, Vīra fainting, and how he had woken on her lap.

Rāghavēndra stared at her, stunned.

Prince Rāghavēndra: “What? He fell unconscious on your lap? And you didn't try to wake him up? You just... sat there?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

Prince Rāghavēndra: “Nīlavēṇi... just a few hours before you arrived, the Ministers were accusing you and me! They are furious about us spending time with Vīra, Tim’mayya, and Rangayya. They are talking about rumors! Rumors of your closeness to Vīra!"

Nīlavēṇi walked to her window, looking out at the city.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “I do not care about their thoughts or their unnecessary rumors, brother. The only thing I want to know is this: does my family trust me or not?”

Prince Rāghavēndra: “Yes, we do trust you, Nīlavēṇi, but—”

Nīlavēṇi cut him off.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “I took him to understand him better. To see if he is the One or not.”

Rāghavēndra went quiet. The anger drained from his face, replaced by heavy seriousness.

Prince Rāghavēndra: “And... what did you find out?”

Nīlavēṇi turned to him. Her eyes were haunted.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “That same vision came back. The one I had when I was eight. Dark clouds devouring the city. I saw it the moment I touched his forehead.”

Rāghavēndra froze. “That means... our father was right? He is the connection?”

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “Maybe he is. But one thing is certain, Rāghavēndra: something is about to come. Something that Maniyanūru has never faced before. The darkness in the vision was... alive.”

She gripped her brother's arm.

Princess Nīlavēṇi: “We must be prepared.”

Rāghavēndra nodded, his jaw set. “We will be.”

(Scene shifts: Kondayya’s Satram, Top Floor. Late Night.)

The room was dark. Rangayya slept on one cot, Tim’mayya on the other. Kēsavu and the servants were sprawled on mats on the floor, snoring softly.

Rangayya opened one eye. He saw a figure sitting on the edge of Vīra's bed, staring blankly at the wall.

Rangayya sat up, rubbing his face. “Tim’ma? Is that you?”

Tim’mayya, who was awake and staring out the window, turned. “No. It's Vīra.”

Rangayya sat up fully. “When did Vīra come back?!”

Tim’mayya: “A while ago. He hasn't moved. He’s just... looking at the wall.”

Rangayya got up and walked over to Vīra. He waved a hand in front of Vīra's face. Vīra didn't blink.

Rangayya: “Vīra! Are you out of your mind? What is wrong with you now? Did something happen again?”

Vīra slowly turned his head. His expression was dazed, dreamlike.

Vīra: “It was... nothing. I was... with the Princess all this time.”

Rangayya: “WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS?!”

The shout woke everyone.

Tim’mayya choked on his own saliva and started coughing violently. The sleeping servants sat up straight, eyes popping. Kēsavu looked like he had seen a ghost.

Rangayya grabbed Vīra. “With her? Alone? All this time?”

Vīra told them everything—the lake, the talk, the lap, the return.

Rangayya looked like he was about to have a stroke. He paced the small room, dodging the servants.

Rangayya: “Vīra! Are you out of your mind?! I heard the Lower City is already gossiping about you being close with the Divine Princess! You will get us all killed because of your actions! Fainting on a royal lap?”

Vīra sighed, leaning back against the wall.

Vīra: “Anyone would faint if they saw her that close, Rangayya. You don't understand.”

He looked at his hands.

Vīra: “And that is not the real matter here. The truth is... I expected to be beheaded. But instead... she just offered a smile.”

He looked at his friends.

Vīra: “And she invited us all to the Royal Coronation of Prince Rāghavēndra—to sit alongside the Elites and the Kings.”

Rangayya stopped pacing. He fell back onto his cot with a thud.

Rangayya: “What in the name of the Gods is happening to our lives? First—Royal Friends... and now this? An invitation to the Rāja Paṭṭābhiṣēkaṁ?”

Tim’mayya, recovering from his coughing fit, looked hopeful.

Tim’mayya: “Think about it, Rangayya! We might be the lucky ones. We might get royal jobs because of my cousin and his close friendship with the Princess and Prince! We could be rich! Right, Vīra?”

Vīra shook his head sharply. “Stop joking, Tim’mayya. This is serious. Should we really go? Sitting with Kings? We are farmers.”

Rangayya looked at the ceiling, then at Vīra.

Rangayya: “Do we have any other choice?”

Vīra looked at Tim’mayya, then at Rangayya.

Vīra: “This is the highest honor we will ever get—sitting as equals with Elites, Minor Kings, and Village Chiefs.”

Tim’mayya looked back at the window. In the distance, the large golden gopuram of the temple of God Vīrayya and Goddess Śāntam'ma glowed faintly in the starlight.

Tim’mayya: “It is destiny.”

Rangayya took a heavy breath. He looked at Vīra, his expression hardening with resolve.

Rangayya: “We have to go.”

(Scene shifts: The Festival Day. 4:45 a.m.—The Sacred Hour.)

The darkness of the night began to bleed away into the gray of pre-dawn.

The entire city of Maniyanūru woke up as one entity.

The view pans across the Lower City.

Women on every street were already awake, splashing water mixed with turmeric on the dusty ground in front of their homes. They bent low, their hands moving deftly to create intricate white-powder designs—Muggulu and Rangoli—to welcome the goddess of prosperity.

In the Middle City and Higher City, armies of servants swept the courtyards, hanging strings of mango leaves and marigolds on every doorframe.

The view moves to the Great Baths.

Men and children alike plunged into the cool water of the public baths, washing away the old to prepare for the new. Water splashed, and holy chants filled the air.

At the temples, the priests were already performing the Abhishekam, bathing the idols in milk and honey.

The Fire:

On every street corner, bonfires roared to life. This was the start of the holy day. People gathered around the flames, throwing grains, old clothes, and special herbs into the fire—a ritual to burn away the past and welcome the new reign.

Crowd: “O Gods, bless us!”

In the Satram, Vīra, Tim’mayya, Rangayya, Kēsavu, and the other servants stepped out into the cool morning air. They watched the smoke rise, feeling the holiness of the day seep into their bones.

High above them, in the Royal Palace, the Royal Family was also awake. King Manirāja, Queen Rathnavallī, Princess Nīlavēṇi, and the soon-to-be-King Rāghavēndra were being bathed in sacred waters from the Ten Rivers.

The Grand Festival had arrived.

Today was the day of the Rāja Paṭṭābhiṣēkaṁ—the Royal Coronation.

(End of Chapter 7, Part 1: Invitation)