Empire of Ash and Silk

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Ashram Whispers

Rajkumari Anaya was only five years old, with wide, curious eyes that reflected the golden light filtering through the banyan trees surrounding the ashram. Here, life was serene, a place where the noble children were sent to learn the ancient wisdom and refine their minds. The ashram was her small world, filled with the steady chants of the learned gurus, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine, and the warmth of her older brother Aarav's protective gaze.

Aarav was ten years old, tall for his age, with the same dark, perceptive eyes that he shared with his sister. His calm demeanor belied a fierce loyalty to his family and, especially, to little Anaya, who adored him as only a younger sister could. He often roamed the ashram, a place that felt like both school and sanctuary, while she sat in the dim, cool classrooms with her best friend, Laxmi, the spirited princess of Maharashtra.

That day, Anaya and Laxmi sat cross-legged on the floor of the gurukul hall, listening to the guru speak about the Vedas. The sound of his deep voice was calming, but Anaya's mind was prone to wandering. She glanced sideways at Laxmi, who gave her a playful nudge and a grin. They both turned their attention back, but Anaya's thoughts drifted to the gardens outside, wondering where Aarav was.

Meanwhile, Aarav's curiosity had drawn him beyond the usual boundaries of the ashram. The quiet morning air was broken by the distant echo of approaching hooves, and as he turned a corner, he stopped, his gaze falling upon a small band of men entering the ashram grounds. They were richly dressed, unlike the simple robes worn here. Their turbans were adorned with feathers, and intricate embroidery adorned their tunics. Their eyes, sharp and appraising, scanned the surroundings.

One of the men, standing at the front with a commanding presence, noticed Aarav and called out. "Young man, come here."

Aarav hesitated but stepped forward with the poise taught to him by his father, the king. He inclined his head respectfully. "I am Aarav Dev, son of the King of Bengal. May I ask who you are?"

The man nodded, a glint of interest in his eyes. "I am Malik Qadir, an emissary from the Mughal court. We seek your father, the king, for matters of alliance and trade." His tone was even, but there was something about his gaze that was both intriguing and unnerving to the young prince.

Aarav's mind raced. It wasn't unusual for foreign emissaries to visit, but here at the ashram, so far from the palace? "My father is not here," Aarav replied, his voice steady. "But I can take word to him, or the court can send someone more suited to greet such esteemed visitors."

Malik Qadir's face softened slightly, a faint smile appearing. "Wise words from a young prince. And tell me, are you and your people familiar with the Mughal court?"

Aarav nodded cautiously. "Only in stories."

Malik exchanged a look with the other men, as though this answer amused him. "Well, perhaps it is time for Bengal to become better acquainted with us. It seems there may be much to discuss with your father."

Their gazes lingered on Aarav, as if studying him, before Malik motioned to his men to prepare to depart. Aarav held his ground, watching as they remounted their horses, the silence of the ashram disrupted only by the soft clinking of the men's armor and gear.

As they rode away, Malik looked back once, meeting Aarav's steady gaze. "We will meet again, young prince. And when we do, perhaps I will bring my own prince—a boy much like yourself."

Aarav stood silently as they disappeared down the path, his heart racing with a strange mixture of excitement and uncertainty. He knew, even at ten years old, that this encounter meant something. Something beyond mere trade, beyond words.