In the vast sands of Rajasthan, where echoes of honor and sacrifice filled every heart of Rajputana, Pratap and Phool's story came alive. It was a tale woven by destiny, one of ancient valor and forbidden love.
Phool Kanwar Rathod, the fierce and no...
Five years had passed since the day Phool Kanwar Rathore had left Mewar, her anklets softly jingling as the memory of her departure echoed through Pratap and Ajabde's hearts. Life had moved forward, but some wounds, though silent, remained unhealed.
The Mughal conquest of Chittorgarh had been a grievous blow to the heart of Mewar. Deceit and treachery had shattered the proud fort, but out of the ashes of that defeat, Kunwar Pratap had built something new-Udaipur. A city named after his father, Udai Singh, it stood as a beacon of resilience, determination, and hope.
From the moment Chittorgarh had fallen, Pratap's resolve to free his motherland from Akbar's grip had grown fiercer, his every breath devoted to his land, his people, and his ancestors' legacy.
And while Pratap's love for his land had only deepened, the rest of his life had grown more complicated, more veiled in confusion.
Pratap now, at twenty three, was a warrior in his prime-tall, broad-shouldered, and every inch the Rajput that his people looked up to. His eyes, once brimming with youthful fire, now carried the weight of countless battles and unshed tears.
He had not yet realized the depth of his feelings for Phool, but he thought of her often, even as his duties to his motherland occupied the entirety of his mind. There was something about the way her memory lingered in his thoughts, like the soft fragrance of a rose, elusive yet persistent.
Amar Singh, his four-year-old son, was a living, breathing reminder of everything pure and joyful in his life. The little boy was the image of Ajabde, both in looks and in temperament.
Every time Amar Singh would smile, laugh, or ask questions in his sweet, innocent voice, Pratap and Ajabde would be reminded of Phool-of her bright, lively spirit, and the deep bond they all shared once, a bond that had been broken when Phool left five years ago.
Ajabde, dressed in her simple yet graceful attire, stood beside Pratap, watching as Amar Singh played with his wooden toys, completely unaware of the complexities of the world around him.
She had accepted her role as Pratap's wife with dignity and grace, even though she had accepted wholeheartedly that he doesn't truly love her. Yet, their respect for each other was unwavering, and their friendship, which had been the foundation of their marriage, was something she cherished.
But Ajabde had missed Phool deeply, her best friend from childhood, the sister of her heart. Every attempt to contact Phool over the years had been in vain.
Letters sent to Marwar were returned unanswered, and Ajabde often wondered if it was Phool herself who had chosen to sever all ties, or if her father, the powerful king of Marwar, had kept her isolated from her past.
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