Kshatriya Vivaham | ✔️

Chapter 2

THE Maharaja rested his head on Devasena's lap, smiling warmly as she stroked his long tresses of hair. Fresh lotuses and garlands of fragrant jasmine adorned their bed frame for their nuptial night.

"Did you notice Princess Meher?" she asked. "Padshah Aslam Khan's daughter?"

"I only have eyes for you, Devasena," he said, his voice low, making her go crimson.

"She was quite...fascinated by Prince Bhallaladeva," Devasena continued, choosing her words with utmost caution. "Do you think it is a pressing matter?"

Baahubali paused, taking the situation into consideration. "There is no point dwelling on it. You distress yourself too much."

"And you remain far too undisturbed!" she countered. "Forgive me for saying this, but it is not right for an Emperor to remain blissfully ignorant!"

"Devasena," he maintained an unusually calm demeanour, "I will discuss this with you, I promise. But this is not the time and place."

She could not do anything but nod obligingly. She remembered Rajamatha's words: the task of keeping an eye on matters within the palace had been bestowed upon her, taking them up with her unsuspecting husband would do absolutely no good.

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PRINCESS Meher interested Bhallaladeva just as much as he interested her. He wondered what her face would look like behind her veil. He wondered if she could wield a sword, like Princess Devasena could, or perhaps destroy things with her bare hands. Or, he thought bitterly, she may not possess any physical prowess at all. He instructed a trusted servant to arrange for her painting.

"This must remain between you and me," he said. "Do not divulge this information to anybody. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, Your Majesty," the servant responded, bowing low.

Bhallaladeva dismissed him with an approving nod.

The princess's portrait was brought to him in two days' time. He took the scroll from the servant, broke the seal impatiently and unrolled it. His goblet of wine slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the sandstone floor when he saw the painting.

It was exquisite: a side profile of the Princess had been painted, revealing the face beneath the veil. Her eyes were deep set, large and periwinkle blue, her eyebrows soft and rounded. Her skin was milky white, like that of the snow that settled at the foot of the Himalayan mountains, and her lips a deep blood red. Her jawline was elegant and sharp and her cheekbones oblique and prominent.

"Parameshwara," he breathed. It was a rare moment, for Bhallaladeva never took the name of his family deity. "She will put Devasena to shame."

He tucked the scroll into the folds of his cummerbund and rewarded the servant with a pouch of gold coins.

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PRINCESS Meher smiled triumphantly. She had won, without much effort at all, Prince Bhallaladeva's attention. Her spies had informed her that he was in search of her portrait, that he yearned to see the face behind the veil, and so she had given it away and ensured, through her network of spies, that the painting reached Mahishmati.

"Are you fully aware of what you are doing?" her brother, Crown Prince Abul, asked her.

Meher nodded.

"You are risking your life, do you know that?" he asked. "If Bhallaladeva finds out your true intentions, he will have your head. In the most painful manner. There are stories of his monstrous behaviour and atrocities."