After the fierce war had come to an end, the seven brothers finally made their way back to the grand palace they called home. At the front, Suriyavansh led the march, his brothers walking closely behind him. Their armor still carried the scent of battle, their faces reflecting the victory they had achieved. Together, they entered the royal darbar, where Maharaj Himvansh and Maharani Vaishnavi awaited them.
Suriyavansh, with a sense of deep respect, stepped forward, his hands folded and his head slightly bowed.
"Pranam, Pitashri," he greeted, his voice steady and reverent.
Himvansh, seated on his grand throne, turned slightly, a cunning smile playing on his lips. "Aao, mahaan rakshason. Aao," he said, his tone thick with pride. He then rose, facing his sons, a proud gleam shining in his eyes. Seeing the unmistakable pride in their father's expression, the brothers stood taller, their chests swelling with honor and a sense of accomplishment.
"Humare putron," Himvansh began, his voice echoing in the large hall, "aaj tum sabne humare dil khushi se bhar diya hai."
The brothers, with smiles matching their father's pride, responded together, "Dhanyawaad, Pitashri."
Himvansh’s smile deepened. "Such mein, tum sab mahaan rakshas ho."
From her seat beside the king, Maharani Vaishnavi looked at her sons with maternal pride, a soft smile on her lips. She added, "hume tum sab pe naaz hei baccho," her voice filled with warmth.
Suriyavansh, ever the humble warrior, nodded in acknowledgment. "Shukriya, Pitashri," he said.
But Himvansh’s attention lingered on his eldest son, waiting for more. Suriyavansh, sensing his father’s silent expectation, added, "Par asli shabashi ke yuggye toh humare sabhi bhai hain." His words surprised his brothers, who exchanged quick glances of gratitude.
Suriyavansh smiled and continued, "Jo bade bakhobi se lade, aur kisi bhi dushman ko Shrulok se zinda bachkar nahi jaane diya."
At his words, the brothers’ faces brightened with pride. "Dhanyawaad, Bhrata," they said, a unified response of respect and admiration for their elder brother.
"Hume tum sab par naaz hai," Himvansh declared, his voice filled with authority. "Shabaash!"
Once again, the brothers bowed. "Dhanyawaad, Pitashri," they said, their voices reverberating through the hall.
Maharani Vaishnavi, still beaming with pride, softly said, "Tum sabne apne raj dharam ka maan rakha hai."
With a gesture of fatherly concern, Himvansh then spoke, "Jao, thoda vishraam karo. Tum sab thake hue hoge." His voice had softened slightly, aware of the toll battle must have taken on his sons.
But Gargi, the ever-playful one, grinned and replied, "Nahi, Pitashri! Hum mahaan rakshas hain, hume itni si jung se thakan nahi hota." He laughed, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Abhi hume vishraam ki nahi, manoranjan ki zarurat hai. Agar aap anumati dein, toh hum kahin safar par ja sakte hain?"
Himvansh chuckled at his son’s playful demeanor. "Theek hai, tumhe safar ki anumati di jaati hai," he said, waving his hand in approval.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the brothers erupted into excited grins. "Shukriya, Pitashri," Uttavansh said, bowing deeply. "Hum tayaar hain."
Himvansh nodded in satisfaction, watching his sons prepare to leave. But before they could go, he called out, "Putra Suriyavansh?"
Suriyavansh turned, pausing mid-step. "Ji, Pitashri?"
Himvansh’s brow furrowed slightly. "Kya tumhe safar mein nahi jaana hai?"
Suriyavansh smiled, his mind already elsewhere. "Jana hai, Pitashri. Zarur jana hai. Par Shruklok humara janm sthan hai. Har kona hume gyaat hai."
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