Megha didn’t just speak her promise; she grounded it in the earth. She knelt and drove her fingers into the island soil, pulling up a fistful of dark, cool earth. She squeezed it until her knuckles turned white.
"I swear by this soil," she whispered, her voice thick with a mixture of hope and warning. "I will be here. One year from this hour, I will be standing on this very shore. But mark my words, Sudarshan—if the sun sets on that day and you have not come, I will leave this island behind. I will return to my kingdom and never look back at this horizon again. This is my promise to the land and to you."
With that final word, she released the soil, letting it scatter in the wind.
As the sun reached its zenith, the memory blurred. Sudarshan offered a final, silent bow to the sea and the earth—the silent witnesses to his life—and began his journey back to the fires of Prabhaspatan. Megha turned her face toward Varunaprastha. Krishnapriya, watching through the veil of memory, felt the sudden, hollow coldness that settled in Megha’s heart as the island grew small in the distance.
Krishnapriya observed as Megha’s life at the palace transformed into a clockwork of discipline. She was no longer the impulsive girl who swung on banyan trees; she was becoming a woman honing herself into something sharper, ready for the man she loved.
Each day began in the blue-grey silence of Brahma Muhurta. While the rest of the city slept, Megha bathed and walked to the Tridevi temple. Krishnapriya could feel the damp hem of Megha's robes and the cool stone beneath her knees as she sat before the idol of Mahalakshmi. For two hours, she was immovable—not just praying, but seeking the "stillness of mind" Sudarshan had commanded.
Then came the training. In the secluded gymnasium of the royal park, Megha took up the bow. Krishnapriya felt the familiar bite of the bowstring against Megha's fingers and the burn in her shoulders as she drew the wood back, hour after hour. She wasn't just shooting at targets; she was aiming at the memory of the "angry clouds" in her psyche.
By noon, Megha would eat simply—only the fruits that grew within the park, a silent homage to the diet of the ascetic she was waiting for.
As evening approached, the solitary warrior would become a princess again. She would climb into the chariot with Vidhi and Vrishali, the wind of the city cooling her sun-warmed skin. But even as she waved to her people, her eyes often drifted toward the sea.
The day always ended where it began: at the temple. During the evening aarti, Megha’s voice would rise above the bells, melodic and haunting. It was in these moments, surrounded by her family—King Vishvara, Queen Vrinda, and Vidhi—that the loneliness was most visible to Krishnapriya. Megha was physically present, sharing the walk back to the palace, but her heart was already a year away, standing on a beach of Parijat Island.
