Instead of sparking anger, Megha’s confession seemed to soften something deep within Aryavardhan. He moved toward her, sitting quietly by the water's edge. He trailed his fingers through the surface of the pond, sending ripples that gently pushed the blooming lotus flowers aside.
"Princess," he began, his voice heavy but laced with a strange tenderness, "I, too, carry the weight of a mistake. Once, I loved someone. On this very bank, by this same stream, I promised a girl that I would make her mine forever. But I allowed the crown to consume me. I became so buried in the affairs of the state that my promise withered away, unfulfilled."
Megha looked at him then, truly seeing the affection and the raw honesty in his eyes. Shaken by his vulnerability, she turned her gaze back to the water. As she watched her reflection dance in the ripples, the present faded away, and the memories of years ago came rushing back.
The Girl Who Fell from the Sky
She remembered her time as a student under Agyaat Rishi Meghna, the patriarch of Varunaprastha. He had been a demanding guru, teaching her the sacred arts and the rigorous rituals of a Kshatriya. One afternoon, while practicing the Managati Vidya—the art of traveling at the speed of thought—her focus slipped. By mistake, her mind drifted to this very island, a place where Aryavardhan had been exploring the mysteries of a parallel world in solitude.
At that moment, Aryavardhan had been deep in meditation under a sprawling tree. Suddenly, the silence of the island was shattered. Megha had manifested in the air the lake and tumbled from the sky, hitting the water with a deafening splash.
The commotion broke Aryavardhan’s trance. He rushed to the shore, only to find a young woman struggling in the center of the lake. Her clothes were heavy and soaked, and though she was a skilled swimmer, it felt as if the lake itself were an entity, its currents dragging her down the more she fought.
Seeing her tire, Aryavardhan acted quickly. He sliced a thick, sturdy vine from a nearby tree and tossed one end toward her. Megha grabbed it with the last of her strength. With a steady, powerful pull, Aryavardhan hauled her to the safety of the shore.
As she stepped onto the grass, her wet garments clung to her, revealing the grace of her form—a sight that could have tested the resolve of any man. But Aryavardhan, ever the gentleman, immediately turned his back to her to preserve her modesty. Megha had stepped forward to thank him, but he vanished into the thicket before she could speak. All she remembered of him then was the vibrant red of his robes, leading her to believe he was nothing more than a reclusive ascetic.
Using her mental arts once more, she had vanished from the island and returned to the safety of her palace gardens.
A Promise for the Future
The sudden flutter of a swan’s wings brought Megha back to the present. She blinked, the spell of the past finally breaking.
Aryavardhan stood up and looked down at her. "Princess Megha, what you speak of is a ghost of the past. Forget what was, and look toward what is coming. A golden future awaits you. Soon, you will be the Queen of India."
He reached out his hand, his gaze steady and inviting. "Will you be my companion? Will you stand by me through every storm?"
Megha looked into his eyes, seeing not the ascetic from her memory, but the man standing before her. She placed her hand in his, her grip firm and certain. As he pulled her up, she met his gaze with a fierce loyalty.
"O Arya," she vowed, her voice ringing with conviction, "I promise you. In every difficulty, in every shadow, and in every light—I will be by your side."
