| 𝔉𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔡 | Serialized Spotlight - AmbassadorsIN |
Book 1 in the SURYAGARH ROYALS series.
Suryagarh Fort.
In the heart of the desert state of Rajasthan, a 900-year-old fort, a 500-year-old family feud, a 300-year-old portrait, and the thir...
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Suryagarh—an erstwhile princely state that acceded to the Union of India upon gaining independence from the British Empire in 1947. A quaint town it was, boasting a collection of five-hundred-year-old castles and palaces converted to heritage hotels in central Rajasthan. Comprising a population of roughly six hundred thousand people and intense respect for the royal family still running in their social fabric, Suryagarh was every bit a normal Indian town.
Their main source of income included the high footfall of tourists—both local and foreign—who came to bask in the glory of the regal Rajputana architecture from the yore. Strong bastions and fortifications, almost a thousand hundred years old, encircled the town, and anything beyond those walls was still considered the outskirts despite numerous residential neighbourhoods and office complexes springing up. The economy of the city was booming and the living standards of the people were getting better with each passing day. All thanks to the crowned prince of Suryagarh and his keen business acumen.
His father had been at the helm of cutting lucrative deals with the government that included giving away ownership of most of the palaces inside the fort to convert them into resorts and tourist spots. The crowned prince took after his father and continued to invest in the most profitable projects, reap the most benefits, and surpass any and every expectation the public of Suryagarh had of him. Not that the citizens did not have trust in the government, but even the well-oiled public machinery held the crowned prince in high regard, and all the imperative decisions needed a nod from the royal for them to come into effect.
On paper, Suryagarh was every bit a normal Indian town. Decent schools and colleges, shopping centres, recreational parks. Normal.
Or so it seemed.
One of the few forts in the country where an active population still lived within the premises, there were two most prominent palaces located centrally within the confines. The older one—the one immersed in complete darkness when night fell—had an aura of nebulousness and negativity. The other one, the contemporary palace where artificial lights shimmered in the evening, was still rightfully held by the royal family, the Chauhans.
A relatively newer and extremely ostentatious palace it was, and as the night deepened and the lights began going off one by one, there was a single balcony on the fifth floor of the six-storey edifice that had him standing close to the balustrade. The winds ruffled his hair, and the dipping temperature led to goosebumps on his skin, but he was unconcerned. His gaze was fixated on the older palace, fondly called the Agni Bhawan. The silhouettes of its highest tower and largest dome were faintly perceptible from where he stood, and a dash of relief mingled with a sprinkle of vigour washed over him.
The twinkling stars and the glimmering moon artistically painted the clear night sky, and the unearthly glow it was casting all over the fort was sufficient for the residents to declare it to be a very peaceful and calm evening. But only he knew it was the calm before the storm. The storm that could either morph into a typhoon and destroy everything in its wake or mellow down to become the unseasonal shower birthing life and vitality to the entire city.
