"Blessed be your brains and backsides, my sons!" Mura wailed, hugging Chandragupta's waist and patting Raja on the head like he was still eight—which, to be fair, is what he looked like. Behind them, Vishnugupta was already halfway up the road, muttering something about "emotions being inefficient baggage."
"Ma," Raja said, grinning, "We're just going to overthrow a tyrant and rewrite the destiny of Bharat. You make it sound like we're going off to war."
"You are going off to war!" Mura shrieked. "Don't forget to eat! And don't let the old one get you killed!"
"I'm not that old," Vishnugupta called from up ahead, scowling.
And so, with one last round of overdramatic wailing, excessive hugging, and a slap from Mura for good luck, the three conspirators departed for the capital of the Nanda Empire—Pataliputra.
On the third day of travel, as they camped under the ghostly arms of banyan trees, Raja stood atop a rock dramatically, holding his arms wide like a discount wizard. "Whistled Loudly," he Shouted, "Aizen."
In a flash of shimmer, Cawing from the sky above. Thirteen genetically enhanced Kasugai Crows which has 100 year life span and can talk fluently; burst forth—sleek, shiny, and wearing tiny goggles that recorded everything. Their caws sounded like punk rock played through a tin can.
"Crows?" Chandra asked, half-asleep. "We have a literal spy army made of crows?"
"Not just crows," Raja said proudly BSed. "These are My homegrown Crows which were feeded with Human souls using the Black magic which was written by aghori, they can talk," Raja made the crow leader Aizen talk making both Chandra and Vishnugupta, jaw drop on the ground.
MAYA buzzed in his head. " Master You literally imbedded Aizen characteristics and Voice into the crow in the chaos rider space ship for a year."
One crow did a barrel roll midair and dropped a tiny poop on Chandra's shoulder making him draw his bow to shoot arrows like hell.
"Accident," Raja said. "Or an omen."
Vishnugupta sighed. "Why do I travel with you lunatics?"
Once in the outer districts of Pataliputra, Vishnugupta pulled a surprise move: he opened a tea house. Not just any tea house—"The Philosopher's Caravan", which soon became a haven for disgruntled scholars, underpaid generals, and spice-deprived merchants.
The secret? Chai. Not the muddy water nonsense common in the streets but with pure Cow milk. This was the divine brew, crafted from hyper-tea powder Raja had "borrowed" from ancient China, then genetically enhanced in his personal pocket dimension, with a hint of cinnamon, cardamom, and dark vengeance.
"Why does this taste like enlightenment?" asked a sacked army commander, sipping his third cup.
"That's the aftertaste of revolution," Vishnugupta replied with a serene smile, pocketing a donation.
Soon, debates about metaphysics, war strategy, and tax evasion became daily events, with intellectuals quoting Vishnugupta's snide remarks as if they were scripture.
"Pride is a fart of the ego," he said once. It was printed on banners the next day.
Meanwhile, Raja had... other ideas.
With a twinkle in his eye and complete disregard for dignity, he disguised into his newest persona: Rani, a ravishing young lady with a voice like honey-dipped thunder and dance moves that could cause minor earthquakes.
Rani became the rising star of the Noble Market, where bored noblewomen sipped beetle-leaf wine and judged everything.
"Who is she?" gasped Lady Arundhati, dropping her grape kebab. "That voice… that art… that eyeliner!"
Raja, as Rani, sang operatic tales of sorrowful queens and heroic mango-sellers, painted their portraits mid-song, and waltzed barefoot across silk-clad stages like a goddess with no rent to pay.
By sunset, Rani would give a fourth of her earnings to poor old vendors with too many wrinkles and too few teeth, whisper blessings and vanish into the night like a sari-wrapped Robin Hood.
Until the drunkards came.
One unfortunate evening, four particularly tanked nobles decided Rani was too pretty to be walking home alone.
"Where's a lovely lass like you going, sweetheart?" one slurred, drooling down his jewel-studded beard.
"Oh, just to find peace," Rani said sweetly, as they followed her into the jungle.
Hours later, the city awoke to find four mutilated corpses hanging from a banyan tree, arranged in a perfect square like an artistic horror exhibit. No one knew what happened. The guards muttered something about tigers. The city blamed the gods.
But Lady Rani? She reappeared the next day, dancing even more beautifully.
"Tragedy," she sighed during her next show, sketching a rose with thorns. "So many men… so little sense."
By week's end, Rani was legend.
Lady gossip carried her name into the palace. The Royal Handmaiden, a sharp-eyed woman who could sense scandal from three districts away, whispered to Princess Durdhara, daughter of the tyrant Dhana Nanda.
"Your Highness," she said, fanning herself, "this Rani girl sings like Saraswati and dances like Apsarasas. The noble women are obsessed."
Durdhara, intrigued and terminally bored by daily palace life, raised an eyebrow.
"Fine. Invite her to perform."
Raja showed up at the palace gates in full Rani regalia—layers of silk, anklets made of enchanted bell-metal, and a soft smile hiding lethal intent.
As he stepped into the royal court, MAYA muttered in his head, "Careful. There are ten guards, two hidden blades under the floor rug, and one extremely bored princess. Try not to fart."
He bowed low, struck his tanpura, and began.
First came the song with sitar: Chanakya - Rishab Rikhiram Sharma
Then the dance: Pranavalaya - Video Song | Shyam Singha Roy.
Finally, he painted—right there, on cloth pulled from his sleeve—a perfect likeness of Princess Durdhara, smiling slightly, hope glimmering in her eyes.
The court was silent. Durdhara blinked. Once. Twice.
Then she clapped. Once. Twice. Then like a full monsoon.
"That… was the most beautiful thing I've seen since I made my math tutor cry," she said.
"You shall perform for me personally, every week."
Rani curtsied deeply. "I would be honored, Princess."
In his mind, Raja grinned like a cat with a laser cannon.
"First task complete," he thought. "Now… let's dismantle an empire from inside the velvet cushions."
That evening, Raja returned to the tea house, dropping his disguise like a coat.
"How'd it go?" Chandra asked, sharpening his twin swords.
"I'm now the princess's favorite dancer, singer, painter, and spiritual therapist," Raja said, flopping onto a couch.
"You're also technically her entertainer-in-residence," Vishnugupta said, flipping through scrolls. "Which makes you a state employee."
Raja smirked. "Then I want back pay, a bonus, and a tiger for a company vehicle."
MAYA beeped. "Suggest requesting two tigers. You never know when inflation hits."
Chandra stared. "You're playing princess's pet to break the kingdom?"
"What pet, I'm just making friends with my future Sister-in-law before she will marry you," making Chandra stun and blushed to the comment "I never agree to that plan."
Raja yawned. "OH Yeah, I already know you stole her portrait that I draw, Get ready to join the army we need a hero for our Rebellion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go feed crows and write love poetry in code. This rebellion isn't going to ignite itself."
Vishnugupta sipped his chai, staring into the distance. "Raja chaos has no bound who in the right mind will disguise as a lady and get a job to entertain the princess. He is going Unite Baharat with his chaotic schemes."