The days of Viddhi's visit to Chandragarh had slipped away like grains of sand through an hourglass. The morning of her return to Suryagarh arrived, heavy with unspoken emotions and the weight of the role she had to resume. As promised, Raja Vidhaan himself arrived in a grand procession to bring his queen home. The royal carriage, flanked by a guard of honour from Suryagarh, its soldiers standing ramrod straight in polished armour, drew to a halt before the main gates of Chandragarh palace. The air, once filled with the joyous chaos of her arrival, was now thick with the poignant sweetness of departure.
A Grand Farewell and Affectionate Send-off
Inside the palace, the final moments were a whirlwind of suppressed feelings. Maharani Madhavi, her eyes already glistening, held Viddhi's face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm. "Beta," she said, her voice a tender, trembling whisper, "Now you must go back to your sasural. Remember your duties. Follow their customs and traditions with an open heart." She smoothed a non-existent strand of hair from Viddhi's forehead, her maternal affection a tangible force. "And most importantly, take care of Vidhaan. A husband's well-being is a wife's sacred responsibility."
Viddhi bowed her head humbly, the gesture now perfected to an art form. "Yes, Mother," she whispered, her voice soft and obedient. "I will remember everything you have taught me." The words felt like a betrayal of her true mission, but she wrapped them in a cloak of apparent sincerity.
Raja Vidhaan stepped forward then, and in a move that surprised no one yet touched everyone, he bent down and touched Maharani Madhavi's feet with genuine respect. "Mataji," he vowed, his voice clear and earnest, "Please be at peace. Viddhi is everything to me. I will guard her happiness as my most precious treasure. Her every comfort, her every wish, will be my command." He looked up, and his gaze was that of a devoted son-in-law, completely disarming in its apparent authenticity.
When the final moment of farewell came, the dam of Maharani Madhavi's composure broke. She pulled Viddhi into a tight, quivering embrace, her tears finally escaping to dampen the silk of Viddhi's shoulder. "Write to me, beta," she managed to sob. "Tell me everything."
Viddhi, her own heart a conflicted mess, returned the embrace with a genuine tightness she hadn't anticipated. She touched the Maharani's feet in a deep pranaam, a wave of unexpected gratitude and sorrow washing over her. This false family had begun to feel dangerously real, and that was the most perilous development of all.
The Journey Towards Suryagarh
Seated in the plush interior of the royal carriage as it rolled away from Chandragarh, Viddhi was intensely aware of the man sitting beside her. The initial silence was a living entity in the space between them. Vidhaan, perhaps sensing her melancholy, made an attempt to bridge the gap.
"Viddhi," he began, his voice softer than its usual commanding tone, "The palace felt incredibly empty without you. It was as if the light had gone out of its halls." He was trying to be poetic, to connect with her on an emotional level.
Viddhi offered him a small, fleeting smile—a mere curve of her lips that didn't reach her eyes—and then turned her gaze towards the window. "That is kind of you to say, My King," she murmured, her response deliberately non-committal.
As the familiar landscape rolled by, her mind, however, was not in the present. It was dragged back, violently, to a different journey on this very road. She wasn't a queen returning in a cushioned carriage; she was a terrified princess, her hand clutched in her brother Veer's, their clothes torn and stained, running for their lives through the darkness, the sounds of pursuit and slaughter echoing behind them. The comfort of the velvet seats felt like a mockery of the terror that had once fueled her every step on this path. She could almost smell the smoke and blood of that night, a stark contrast to the faint scent of sandalwood and roses that filled the carriage.
A Second Welcome in Suryagarh
Their arrival at Suryagarh was a spectacle meant to reinforce her status. As their carriage passed through the main gates, they were met with a reception fit for a conquering hero—or a beloved queen. The palace staff, maids, guards, and cooks were all lined up in neat rows, their heads bowed in a synchronized wave of respect as she descended. A shower of rose and marigold petals rained down from the balconies above, creating a fragrant, colourful carpet at her feet. The deep, resonant sound of conch shells being blown announced her return, their sacred notes echoing off the palace walls, a sound that was once a familiar part of her life but now felt like a fanfare for an imposter.
Chacha Veervar Singh stepped forward from the crowd, his presence a calming anchor amidst the pomp. He placed a gentle, blessing hand on her head. "Welcome home, beti," he said, his voice warm and sincere. "Remember, this is your own house now. You are its mistress."
Viddhi folded her hands and offered him a deep, respectful namaste. "Thank you, Chachashree," she replied, her voice the perfect blend of grace and humility. "It is good to be back." The lie tasted bitter, but she swallowed it with a smile.
Familiar Strangeness
As she walked through the grand corridors of the palace towards her chambers, a profound and disorienting sense of duality descended upon her. Every corner, every archway, every sunlit courtyard was a palimpsest of her past. There was the staircase where she and Veer Bhaiya would sit on the cool marble steps, huddled together as their mother narrated epic tales of gods and kings. There was the doorway to the gardens where their mother, Maharani Devyani, her eyes sparkling with mischief, would play hide-and-seek with them, her laughter mingling with theirs. There was the imposing entrance to the durbar hall where her father, Maharaja Veerendra Pratap, would dispense justice with a firm but fair hand, his voice the very embodiment of authority and safety.
But now, everything was undeniably different, overlayed with the new reality Vidhaan had imposed. The old royal emblems of her father's reign had been chiseled away from the walls, replaced by Vidhaan's more aggressive, stylized lion crests. The portraits that once depicted her lineage were gone, their places taken by paintings that celebrated Vidhaan's victories and sovereignty. The very air felt different—colder, more formal. This was her home, the place of her birth, her most cherished memories, but it had been stolen from her. She was walking through a museum of her own stolen life, a ghost in her own palace.
Return to the Chamber
Finally reaching the sanctuary of her chamber, Viddhi closed the heavy, carved door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, the solid wood a barrier against the world of pretense. The silence within was a welcome relief. She walked slowly to the ornate vanity mirror, its silvered glass reflecting the image of the Maharani of Suryagarh.
She stood there for a long time, simply staring at her own reflection. The expensive silks, the gleaming jewellery, the perfectly applied kohl—it was all a masterful disguise.
'You have returned, Vidhika...' she thought, her inner voice a stark contrast to the composed exterior. 'But now you are Maharani Viddhi. The princess is dead; long live the queen of vengeance.'
She reached out and touched her own cheek, the skin cool beneath her fingertips. 'This mask... this disguise... it cannot be worn forever. The weight of it is crushing my soul.' Her eyes, in the reflection, hardened with a renewed, fierce determination. 'I must find Veer Bhaiya soon. I cannot do this alone for much longer. Every day in this charade is a battle, and I am running out of strength.' The clock was ticking, and the carefully constructed walls of her deception felt increasingly fragile.