A Glimpse of Red

Return of Raj Rawal

The sun was setting over the Rawal Palace, casting a warm, golden glow upon the Sheesh courtyard where the retired King Daksh Singh Rawal standing with his family. Next to him, Queen Durgavati, regal and composed, presided over the scene. Their daughter-in-law, Arpita, pregnant and glowing with expectation, stood quietly by their side, awaiting the arrival of her husband. Today was a day of triumph for the Rawals—their son, Raj Rawal, had returned victorious after expanding the Rawal empire’s influence into the Middle East. Rawal was known for two things: its royal heritage and its unwavering commitment to promises, which the Rawals would protect with their very lives. 

A ripple of excitement passed through the courtyard as Raj Rawal finally entered, his presence commanding. He was dressed in a tailored suit, yet there was an unmistakable aura of a warrior about him. His eyes were sharp, his stride confident. As he approached his parents, he bent down to touch their feet, a gesture of deep respect. 

His father, King Daksh, beamed with pride. “Rajé, you have made me prouder than ever. The victories you’ve achieved fill my heart to the brim. You’ve shown the world the true might of the Rawal name.” 

Before Raj could respond, his mother, Queen Durgavati, stepped forward with her thali for the traditional pooja. “Stop it, Rawal sa," she said, interrupting with a warm smile. "First, let me remove the evil eye that might be upon my son. No harm must come to him.” 

Raj smiled as his mother performed the ritual with loving care. As the pooja concluded, his gaze fell upon Arpita, who stood demurely to the side, waiting her turn to greet him, as custom dictated. In the Rawal family, the daughter-in-law did not raise her eyes before her elders. 

When Raj Rawal finally approached his wife, she bent down to touch his feet. But Raj gently stopped her midway, placing his hand under her arm to raise her up. “Arpita,” he said softly, “you know I don’t believe in these things. And especially not now, with you carrying our daughter.” 

Arpita’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know it’s a girl?” she asked with a smile. 

Raj chuckled. “Because I want a daughter. Your son, Pratham, is already enough to keep me on my toes,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. 

Arpita, fueled by her pregnancy hormones and protective instinct, playfully swatted his arm. “You’re terrible! How could you say such a thing about our Pratham? You may wish for a daughter, but don’t speak ill of my son!” Her voice, though light, held a hint of mock indignation. “Say another word, and I’ll show you what the Queen of Rawal can do when someone insults her prince.” 

Their banter was interrupted by the unmistakable clash of swords ringing from the living room. The sound startled them, and they hurried inside, to find out the reason behind it. What they saw left them speechless. 

In the middle of the grand hall stood seven-year-old Pratham, wielding a sword with skill beyond his years. He was sparring with none other than Keshav Singh, the most trusted and loyal warrior in the Rawal household. Keshav Singh was known throughout the land for his bravery, having defended the Rawal family through countless battles. Yet here he was, locked in a fierce but respectful duel with the young prince. 

As soon as Raj Rawal entered the room, Keshav paused, lowering his sword and preparing to bow to his king. But young Pratham, ever vigilant, took the opportunity to strike. With a swift move, he tapped Keshav’s shoulder with the blade, pinning him down. It was a move that made Keshav Singh smile with pride. 

Keshav, despite his defeat, felt a surge of joy. He had been the one to train Pratham, and he had always taught him one golden rule—never let your focus waver in the midst of a battle. And today, the prince had demonstrated that lesson perfectly. 

As Pratham sheathed his sword, he turned and walked toward his father. Without hesitation, the boy knelt and touched Raj Rawal’s feet, seeking his blessings. Raj, having witnessed the skill and determination of his young son, placed a hand on his head with a mix of pride and awe. “You have fought well, my son,” he said quietly. “One day, you will lead this family to even greater heights.” 

Keshav Singh followed suit, touching his king’s feet, his loyalty unwavering. Raj raised him with a smile. “Keshav,” he said, “you are like an elder son to me, not just because you are Pratham’s bodyguard, but because you are the younger brother of my childhood friend, Bhairav Singh. I trust you with my life, and today you have done me proud.” 

As the family gathered, a messenger suddenly entered the room, bowing deeply before King Daksh. “Hukum,” he began, his voice tinged with urgency, “there is news.” 

King Daksh’s brow furrowed slightly, and he gestured for the messenger to continue. 

“The Rajput family has welcomed the birth of a princess. They have named her Nitya Ranjith Singh Rajput.” 

At the mention of the name, a curious silence fell over the room. Arpita looked toward Queen Durgavati and asked quietly, “Maa, given our family’s ties with the Rajputs, will we send the traditional THAAL to them?” 

Raj Rawal, his gaze thoughtful, asked the messenger, “what did you say the princess’s name was?” 

“Nitya Ranjith Singh Rajput,” the messenger repeated. 

The name seemed to stir something deep within the young prince Pratham, who had been silent throughout the conversation. In a voice barely above a whisper, he repeated the name, “Nitya…”

King Daksh’s sharp ears caught the utterance, and he looked at his grandson with a knowing expression. Turning to his wife, Queen Durgavati, he spoke with authority, “What is there to think about? We will do as we have always done. Send the THAAL, as tradition demands, and let time reveal the rest.” 

Queen Durgavati nodded, but her gaze lingered on her son, Raj, and then on Pratham, who still seemed deep in thought. The air was thick with unspoken questions, as if the arrival of Princess Nitya had stirred a hidden current in the lives of the Rawals. What lay ahead was uncertain, but in the hearts of the family, there was a shared sense that this birth was not just a simple royal occasion—it was the beginning of something far greater. 

The thaal is an ancient and revered tradition practiced among royal families. When a princess is born, each royal house sends a beautifully adorned thaal, filled with auspicious symbols of suhaag—bangles, sindoor, jewelry, and fine garments—representing the sanctity of marriage and the strength of heritage. The significance of this ritual lies in the belief that the princess, still an infant, will be guided by fate to touch one of the thaals. The family whose thaal she touches first is said to have their destiny intertwined with hers, whether through alliances, protection, or a deeper, fated connection. This symbolic act carries the weight of shaping her future and aligning her path with that of the chosen royal family.