Chapter 3: The Tapestry of Sindhu-Desh

The night sky of this world always made me quiet.I was six years old now, sitting on the stone terrace of the western pavilion with my chin resting in my palms. Floating above the dark silhouettes of the palace towers was a single, silver moon. It looked exactly like the one I had left behind—a quiet orb cutting through the dark indigo night. But while the sky looked familiar, the land beneath it was entirely unmapped. The old countries I knew were gone.Instead, I was growing up in the heart of Sindhu-Desh. Our civilization was built around a network of surging emerald waters flowing down from the northern highlands. Tucked far away from external conflicts, there was no reason for danger to ever strike our gates. My child's mind was at peace, content to just exist in the overwhelming warmth of the family I had been given."You are shivering, little one," a soft voice murmured.A warm silk shawl settled over my shoulders. I looked up into the kind face of my mother, Maharani Sumati. Her dark hair smelled of fresh jasmine and almond oil. She knelt beside me, her golden complexion glowing in the amber light of the bronze braziers, and pulled me into her lap to block the cool night wind.For six years, this family had wrapped me in absolute adoration. I didn't care about the grandeur of the stone columns; I just loved the feeling of being wanted."Shivsundari! If you stay out there any longer, Karna will eat all the almond sweets!"A loud voice erupted from the archway. My older sister, Vasundhara, came striding out onto the terrace, her glossy hair swinging against her back. At eleven years old, Vasundhara was a force of nature—majestic, beautiful, and completely bossy. She didn't wait for my mother to answer; she simply scooped me up against her hip with absolute big-sister authority."The Jal-Tarang procession is next month, Mother," Vasundhara declared as she carried me inside toward the low dining tables. "Shivsundari must sit right next to me in the royal chariot. I've already told the maids to weave her a veil that looks exactly like mine."The Jal-Tarang was the grandest winter solstice festival in the kingdom. At midnight, thousands of paper boat lamps would be floated down the emerald river, turning the rushing currents into a flowing carpet of golden fire."She will not be sitting with the court ladies, Vasundhara," a deep laugh answered from across the hall.My eldest brother, Aditya, was lounging against his silk cushions, his broad shoulders squared beneath a leather training vest. At fourteen, he looked just like our father—same wheatish skin and sharp, intense obsidian eyes. A heavy copper dagger with a falcon crest hung from his waist, its hilt worn from long hours at the cavalry fields. He reached across the table, completely ignoring Vasundhara's glare, and tousled my hair with a calloused hand."Our baby sister belongs out by the horse lines with the vanguard," Aditya teased, his voice dropping into a proud rumble. "I'll have the stable masters train a gentle pony just for her. The inner courtyards are far too noisy.""She is six years old, Aditya! She cannot ride near the vanguard!" Vasundhara shot back, pulling me firmly onto her lap.I let out a soft giggle, my small fingers tugging at the gold border of Vasundhara's sleeve while I smiled over at Aditya. Their loud, fiercely protective chaos filled the room every single evening. To a soul carrying the heavy memory of a past life where spaces had been unsafe, this family felt like an unbreakable fortress.Watching Aditya laugh, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his blade, a quiet spark ignited inside my chest. I didn't want to hide behind their strength forever. I was small and clumsy now, but a deep, protective instinct was blooming within me. I wanted to grow strong. I wanted to learn how they held their weapons, how they stood against the wind, and how to fight, so that if anyone ever tried to harm this home, my own hands could become a shield for them.The chatter in the hall quieted down as a line of royal servants knelt before our cushions, placing heavy silver platters onto the low tables. Instantly, the air filled with the rich, comforting scent of saffron-infused rice, slow-cooked lentils tempered with fresh cow ghee, roasted foxnuts, and spiced lotus-root gravies. My father, the Maharaja, sat at the head of the arrangement, his sharp eyes crinkling with pride as he looked at all of us.Though the biting mountain winter usually required a heavy diet to survive the freeze, the approaching solstice changed everything. In preparation for the Jal-Tarang, a sacred law took hold of the entire realm. For the weeks of the festival, every hunter laid down their bow, and the entire kingdom transitioned to a strict vegetarian diet.To the common people, it was a profound vow of reverence to the emerald river that sustained them. But there was a practical, natural logic hidden beneath the spiritual ritual. During this specific turn of the season, as the cold mountain water levels shifted drastically, heavy food became harder to digest and water illnesses spread easily. Abstaining from meat protected the health of the population when the weather was at its worst. During these specific days, the kingdom gathered at the banks for special rituals, floating fresh marigolds and bright diyas down the currents to pray for peace.Yet, outside of this holy season, the rest of the country readily returned to hunting and eating meat to survive the frost. The only exception was right here at the high tables. For reasons no one ever openly discussed, our royal house maintained a strict, lifelong vegetarian vow. It had been established the very day my eldest brother, Aditya, was born.Looking at my father and brothers eating their pure, green meal, I knew there was a deep, quiet secret bound to that vow—a mystery woven into the fabric of our family line that I was still too young to understand.I reached into the warm glow of the silver platters, my small fingers catching the handle of a clay bowl filled with fragrant millets. My rare emerald-green eyes reflected the steady fire of the brass lamps.As the feast continued, Vasundhara quietly scooped the lentils into my rice, while I caught my third brother, Karna, waving a half-eaten almond sweet at me from across the table, trying to make me laugh before the formal blessing was even over.