The heavy silence of the night gave way to the sacred stillness of the Brahma Muhurta. Long before the first sliver of gold touched the horizon, the people of Varunaprastha had already risen. Purified by their morning baths and driven by a sense of historic anticipation, they gathered at the Tridevi temple.
Inside the inner sanctum, King Vishvara and Aryavardhan stood side-by-side, their voices joining in ancient chants as they performed the dawn rituals. As the clock of the universe ticked toward morning, the temple courtyard swelled with the citizens of the kingdom, all waiting for the Mangala Aarti.
As the lamps were lit, Aryavardhan and Megha stepped forward together. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, their faith palpable as they swung the ceremonial lamps in wide, glowing circles. This was more than a ritual; it was a transition of an era.
The air was thick with the scent of incense and the realization that history was being rewritten. Never before had the world seen a daughter crowned as a sovereign ruler while her father still drew breath. According to the ancient phrase ‘Na Bhuto Na Bhavishyati’—nothing like this had happened before, and nothing like it might ever happen again.
After the first Aarti concluded, the high priest Eknath stepped forward. With solemn grace, he anointed Megha with a sacred blend of milk and sandalwood paste. Queen Vrinda then approached, her eyes glistening with pride as she presented her daughter with a vibrant red robe and the ancestral jewels of their house.
When Megha emerged from the temple’s inner chambers, a collective gasp swept through the courtyard. She didn't just look like a princess; she looked like a goddess manifested on earth. The crimson silk draped elegantly over her lithe frame, contrasting beautifully with her radiant skin and the piercing clarity of her green eyes. Her hair, dark with a tint of sunset red, was crowned with intricate pendants that shimmered with every step. For a fleeting second, even the stoic Aryavardhan felt his breath hitch—his heart wavered at such ethereal beauty before he quickly anchored himself back in his vow of discipline.
Megha took her place at the center of the temple’s final step, a bridge between the divine and the earthly. To her right stood Aryavardhan and Rajvardhan, symbols of the vast empire she was joining. To her left were her parents and her sister, Vidhi.
Young Vidhi approached, carrying a golden tray that held a magnificent scepter. It was a heavy, storied object—the very soul of Varunaprastha’s authority.
"This scepter," King Vishvara began, his voice echoing with authority, "is the heartbeat of our kingdom. Every ruler of this land has taken their oath upon this wood and gold. Only by accepting this weight can you truly ascend. Today, you carry our tradition into a new world."
Megha bowed deeply to the relic. Her fingers closed around the cool metal of the scepter, and with a surge of strength, she raised it high toward the heavens. At its peak, a massive, brilliant diamond caught the first ray of the rising sun, scattering fractured light over the cheering crowds, while the intricate carvings at its base told the story of a thousand years that had led to this single, perfect moment.
