Samhita Maity, a historian, found excitement in discovering long-lost secrets of histories- a perfectionist in her work.
However, there was one mysterious figure eluding her expertise-the exploration of the most celebrated king of ancient India, wh...
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997 ce
Battlefield of Ishvaku Kingdom
Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, a formidable figure stands, shrouded in an aura of ominous presence, his hands, a macabre canvas, stained with the crimson evidence of war. The stormy abyss within his eyes mirrors the darkness that pervades his soul, a haunting intensity that hungers to consume any trace of positivity.
An army is standing in stoic unity behind him with their heads lowered in profound homage and honor to their ruler. In stark contrast, a vast assembly of defeated soldiers are kneeling before their newfound ruler, their heads lowered in surrender, foreheads pressed against the earth, pleading for mercy.
"Begging for mercy, Rajadhiraj Abhivart," the defeated king, pleads in desperation. His eyes are flickering every now and then onto the sword hovering at his throat, "I surrender myself. My entire kingdom is now yours."
Vikramaditya tilts his head ever so slightly, contemplating the optimal position to sever the defeated king's neck. "You, a king—where is your honor? Reduced to begging for mercy?"
But the defeated king harbors a singular desire—to simply live. The allure of honor and prestige holds no sway over him.
He strains his mind, desperately searching for a lifeline, and suddenly, a flicker of an idea ignites within his thoughts. "I possess seventeen concubines, each young and breathtakingly beautiful. They would all be at your service. Release me, and my wife will be yours as well."
A glint, so secretive and dark, courses through Vikramaditya's eyes, casting a mystic shadow. A cruel smile, born of hidden intentions, slowly forms on his lips, "Mercy granted." In a voice as thick and cold as the winter winds, he utters.
The defeated king ears capturing the somber accent, feels a fleeting hope. Yet, in the next breath, that hope shatter.
In the blink of an eye, the sword descended, severing neck from body. The gruesome act unfolded, sending tremors through the assembled soldiers.
A symphony of victory echoes through the sky, an anthem sung by clouds and stars alike.
Rajadhiraj's gaze ascends to the vast expanse above. It is not the first, nor will it be the last. Another kingdom falls, joining the formidable list of victories etched into the records of his reign. Yet, hunger lingers in the depths of his being, an insatiable appetite that remains unfulfilled.
"Hail to the Rajadhiraj Vikramaditya Abhivart," his Commander-in-Chief, Ugrasena, steps forward, bowing in homage to his sovereign. "The 17th kingdom now stands beneath the banner of the Aksha Empire."
With a single sweep of his sword, Vikramaditya signals his army to raise their heads. Then, turning towards the defeated forces still bowed before him, he commands, "Extend our shelter to those soldiers who are willing to pledge their service to me."
