Words - once spoken can only be forgiven. The irreversible nature of them have always made the oldest caution the young lest they carry the regret like their ancestors. Alas! No one learns this lesson until it is too late.
(Blurb to be edited)
Vāc i...
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The council hall of Indraprastha was vast, its marble columns towering like silent witnesses to the affairs of the state. Sunlight streamed through high-arched windows, pooling onto the polished floor, but the grandeur of the chamber did little to ease Abhijishya’s growing frustration.
She had envisioned many challenges when Jyesth Yudhishthir had entrusted her with the mantle of Rajneeti Mantrika. She had prepared for political maneuvering, for the quiet clashes of power beneath the veneer of civility, for the delicate art of strategy that ruled the court.
She had not prepared for this.
Six hours into her first council meeting, she realized that Indraprastha’s greatest enemy was neither war nor treachery.
It was bureaucracy.
She leaned back, her fingers drumming lightly against the wooden armrest of her seat. Across the council table, Minister Devpratap was still speaking, his tone slow and measured—his words yet another attempt to resist change under the guise of wisdom.
"Reforms must not be hasty," he was saying. "A steady hand is required, lest we disrupt the order that has kept Indraprastha strong."
Ah. That old argument again.
Abhijishya arched a brow. "And yet, when Maharaj Yudhishthir appointed me, you did not object. Only now, when I propose action, do you find cause for concern."
A flicker of hesitation crossed the minister’s face. "I merely suggest patience. One does not repair a house by tearing it apart."
"Nor does one strengthen it by refusing to fix what is broken," she countered smoothly. "Tell me, Minister—what is your concern? That we act too swiftly, or that we act at all?"
Silence.
From the other end of the chamber, Bheem made a low, deliberate sound—the unmistakable crack of knuckles.
The treasury minister, who had been poised to argue about military expenditures, abruptly decided that his point could wait.
Abhijishya allowed herself a small, satisfied breath. But her victory was short-lived, because the next matter on the agenda was presented with all the solemnity of a war declaration.
"A land dispute has arisen between the noble houses of Saunaka and Maitra," the court scribe announced. "The matter concerns a mango orchard along the eastern border of their estates."
Ah. The mango debate.
This, she had not been looking forward to.
What followed was nearly an hour of argument.
House Saunaka claimed that the orchard had belonged to them for generations, citing records that, unfortunately, had been lost to time. House Maitra countered that the land had always been theirs, pointing to a decree issued decades prior—one signed by a ruler long dead.
