True to the nature of any mother, the girdle of mountains encircling Panchal protected and nourished at the same time. The tough rocky barrier formed a natural protective belt around the country. The sparkling brooks and rivers that emanate from them nourish the forest uphill, the agricultural fields and throngs of civilization downhill.
Both Southern as well as Northern Panchal were prosperous and thriving. But the ruler of Southern Panchal situated in Kampilya was never truly happy. He would never openly claim it but every action of his whether covert or overt was directed at his one motive, to avenge the humiliation he faced at the hands of the Kuru princes, disciples of his childhood friend and now foremost enemy, Guru Dronacharaya.
King Drupad of Panchal now sat in one of the benches of the royal gardens, contently watching the milieu of activity around him, going on a lull pace in the late afternoon hours. Somewhere far away he could hear the sounds of soldiers engaged in military exercises.
Somewhere nearer, he could hear his elder daughter Shikhandini practise with stone figure at the female lawns. His younger daughter, Draupadi was married off to the Pandavas and settling in the newly established Indraprasth, while his son Dhristyadyumna was soon to return from a military campaign.
He smiled a partially content with the manner he was building up the structures of his ambition.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crown prince of Panchla now donning the armour he had been born with, galloped at a leisurely pace through the scenic rural landscapes. His army trotted behind him, by tomorrow afternoon they should be at Panchal.
Only one watching keenly would have noticed the ever so slight frown make way to his handsome face. He enjoyed the outdoors partly because his fiery being found great joy in the outdoors and the consequent freedom and partly because the luxurious royal palace truly didn't give him much to look forward to.
He took a deep breath, his life was not truly his own to live but he could not complain nor did he want to, when suddenly the few soldiers travelling before him stopped bringing the entire battalion to an abrupt halt.
"What happened?" Dhristyadyumna called out.
"Yuvraj, a couple of villagers have blocked the way demanding to speak to you" a footman informed running up to him.
His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he rode up to the protesting villagers. There were mostly elderly and middle aged men and some bunch of youngsters. Some distance away he could see groups of ladies craning their heads to get a view of the royal company.
"What is matter Shriman Mahoday (respected sir)?" he asked politely to a respectable looking old man with a whitening beard, bending a little, apparently heading the other rustic folks, "Why have you blocked our path?"
"Yuvraj Dhristyadyumna of Kampilya, it is in a situation of utmost emergency that we are forced to stop you" the man answered "Our village is under the constant attack of robbers and dacoits and we are helpless. We had earlier gone with our grievance to your esteemed father, King Drupad and he had sanctioned to guards for the village but they were killed in one of the attacks soon enough and after that we have not receive any support or help for our situation and that is why we are being forced to appeal to you in this uncustomary manner..."
Dhristyadyumna nodded gravely, his eyes scanning the crowd that had collected around.
"We will camp here for the night" he announced to his commander in chief, "We can talk about their problems then."
YOU ARE READING
The Other Fire-Born
Historical FictionDhristyadyumna is silent but has much he can speak of, he is a great warrior but his heart harbours warmth,but most people around him chose to look at his aggressive masculinity instead, he is not noticed much but he is not unnoticeable- until som...
