❝An archaeologist whose obsession begins from the palace and ends with her.❞
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Vedaitya Samarth Malhotra, a 22nd century archaeologist is driven by an insatiable thirst for the secrets of MaithiliVeda.
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वो तकलीफ़ में हैं, और मैं अंजान, आख़िर कैसे?
(She's in pain, and I was unaware, how could this be)
As I stood there, witnessing her tears, my heart shattered a billion times seeing her pain.
How could I have remained oblivious to the turmoil raging within her? The sting of tears blurred my vision, her pain was mine to feel, and here I remained oblivious.
My voice faltered, trapped within the confines of my throat. In that moment, I could do naught but watch, my heart breaking anew with every passing second.
With each slow step toward her, the ache of helplessness gnawing at my soul.
As I knelt beside her, my trembling hands reached out, gently parting the veil of hair that obscured her delicate features.
(Narayana, merciful one, I seek refuge in you. O remover of the distressed and compassionate one, protect me)
As her lips softly uttered the ancient shloka, it was as though her prayers were whispers carried on the wind, reaching out to the divine for solace and relief.
My gaze fell upon her tear-streaked cheeks, each droplet conveying the depth of her sorrow.
Her eyes, once radiant with joy, now glistened with unshed tears, and the sight shattered something deep within me.
"Maithili," I murmured, my voice lost amidst the echoes of her silent supplications.
With each word she uttered, my heart clenched in pain, knowing that I had unwittingly played a role in her suffering.
The weight of guilt pressed down upon me, my nails digging into my palm yet, even as I grappled with my own remorse, I knew that the true culprits lay elsewhere—the Raghuvanshi's, with their machinations and deceit.
In that moment, rage welled up within me, a determination to hold them to account for the agony they had inflicted.
As I prepared to leave, a gentle tug on my wrist halted me in my tracks, a wave of calm swept over me, washing away the tumult that had raged within.
"Shrivigya," her voice, pierced the silence, drawing my gaze to meet hers.
In those depths, I glimpsed a tempest of emotions, a storm brewing beneath the surface— a reflection of the battles she fought within.
