A Glimpse of Red

Oath of Blood

The grand Crown Room of Rewar Palace was enveloped in a charged silence, thick with anticipation. The entire royal family gathered, standing solemnly as they awaited their king's arrival, knowing that his decision today would shape the future of their legacy and intertwine their fates with that of the Rajputs once more. King Daksh Singh Rawal's eyes were bloodshot, still bearing the weight of painful memories that had been unearthed from the shadows of his past.

Then, the heavy doors opened.

King Pratham Singh Rawal entered with an air of gravity, his cream kurta and royal pagadi worn like a declaration of resolve. Unlike his usual attire, today he donned the ceremonial garb with purpose, a choice that underscored the weight of his impending decision. At his side was Keshav Singh, his devoted protector, moving like a shadow, his silent presence an assurance that anyone seeking the king's audience would first face him.

The royal assembly rose in acknowledgment as Pratham strode forward. Ramdevi, the emissary from Rajgarh and loyal servant of Queen Mother Antra (Nitya's Grandmother), stepped forward with reverence. With a deep bow, she knelt before him, her head lowered, whispering, "Hukum." Her voice quivered as she extended her hands, revealing a pink chunni of Princess Nitya wrapped carefully, a powerful symbol from Rajgarh—a pledge, a plea, and a reminder of a bond once promised and now demanded action.

A hush fell across the room as Pratham's steely gaze rested on the chunni, its vibrant red a symbol of commitment and sacrifice. His eyes moved from the chunni to his grandmother, Queen Durgavati, whose posture was as resolute as ever, despite the storm of memories this moment stirred.

In a voice that commanded absolute authority, Pratham turned to his grandmother. "Tell me, what do we send back to the Rajputs in answer of our acceptance?"

Queen mother Durgavati met his gaze unflinchingly. "Your Highness, accepting this chunni requires a response. Tradition would have us send back a red chunni dipped, the color of suhaag, as a sign of consent and acceptance."

Pratham nodded, a dark resolve settling over him. His eyes flicked to Keshav Singh, who immediately moved forward with a chunni, pristine and white, folded in a silver case. Pratham took the silver case in his hands and held it out to Ramdevi, who accepted it carefully, prepared to inspect it before delivering it to Rajgarh.

Ramdevi lifted the lid of the silver box and her face paled as she saw the untouched white fabric inside. She looked up, horrified, the color draining from her face. "Hukum...?"

Pratham's eyes narrowed with a cold, dangerous gleam. He leaned in, his voice a soft but lethal murmur. "Tell your Queen mother Antra her granddaughter will indeed receive a chunni, but it will not bear the color of marriage. She will wear a red chunni stained with my blood."

Without a moment's hesitation, Pratham drew a small dagger from his waist, the blade sharp and gleaming under the light. He raised his hand, and in a single, decisive movement, cut across his palm. Blood welled up, crimson and thick, spilling onto the white chunni.

A gasp ran through the assembly, and Ramdevi's eyes widened in shock as she watched the red stain spread across the fabric, the stark red on white a chilling testament to Pratham's vow. He extended the blood-stained chunni to her, his voice firm and unyielding.

"Take this to Queen mother Antra," he commanded, his voice echoing with finality. "Tell her that the Rawals do not forget, nor do we forgive so easily. Her grand-daughter will wear this chunni as a reminder of what their family owes us—and what I am willing to give for my family."

A dark, bitter smile crossed his lips as he spoke, and his laughter—a fierce, unforgiving sound—rippled through the Crown Room. It was a laugh that promised vengeance and sealed a pact in blood.

The reign of King Pratham Singh Rawal had begun, his words bound in blood, his legacy poised to reshape history.