Chapter 113: chapter 113

S A N M A Y I ---The morning air in Kosala was crisp, carrying with it the fragrance of dew-soaked earth and wildflowers. I stood by the window of our modest chamber, gazing out at the vibrant countryside. Kosala had a way of wrapping itself around my heart, filling it with a bittersweet mixture of nostalgia and longing. But this morning, something else stirred within me—an unfamiliar yet undeniable sensation that made me press a hand gently to my abdomen.Could it be?“Sanmayi,” Ranajay’s voice called softly from behind me, breaking my reverie. I turned to see him sitting on the edge of the cot, running a hand through his tousled hair. The sight of him, bathed in the golden morning light, brought a sense of calm that I desperately needed.“Good morning,” I replied, managing a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”“Well enough,” he said, standing and crossing the room to me. He rested a hand on my shoulder, his dark eyes searching my face. “You seem…distracted. Is something troubling you?”I hesitated, unsure of how to voice my suspicions. The memory of my previous loss still lingered like a shadow, a constant reminder of how quickly joy could turn to sorrow. But the gentle concern in his eyes gave me courage.“Ranajay,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “I think…I might be with child again.”For a moment, his expression was unreadable, as though he were processing the weight of my words. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a smile so radiant it made my heart ache with love.“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice filled with a cautious hope.“Not entirely,” I admitted, lowering my gaze. “But I feel it. The same way I did before.” I placed my hand over his, letting him feel the warmth of my touch. “Ranajay, I am afraid. What if—”He silenced me with a kiss on my forehead, his arms encircling me in a protective embrace. “We will face this together, Sanmayi,” he said firmly. “Whatever happens, you are not alone. Our love is stronger than any fear.”Tears welled in my eyes, and I leaned into him, drawing strength from his steadiness. “I want to believe that,” I whispered. “But after what we lost, it’s hard to hope.”“Hope is what carried us through,” he said, tilting my chin to meet his gaze. “And now, it will carry us forward.”---The day passed in a blur of activity as we prepared to visit the remains of my ancestral home. I hadn’t yet shared the news with anyone else, not even the village healer who might confirm my suspicions. There was a fragile beauty in holding this secret close, as though speaking it aloud might shatter it.As we rode through the fields, I found myself lost in thought. Memories of my childhood intertwined with visions of a future where a child—our child—might run through these same meadows. The idea both thrilled and terrified me.“Sanmayi,” Ranajay said, drawing me out of my reverie. He gestured ahead, where the faint outline of crumbled walls and overgrown gardens came into view. “We’re almost there.”The sight of my family’s ruined estate was a dagger to my heart. Time and neglect had turned it into a shadow of the vibrant home I had known. Yet, as we dismounted and walked through the remains, I could feel the whispers of its former glory.“This is where it all began,” I said softly, tracing the outline of what used to be the threshold. “This is where I learned to dream.”Ranajay placed a reassuring hand on my back. “And now, it is the foundation for everything we will build together.”His words, simple yet profound, gave me strength. I knelt by a cluster of wildflowers growing amid the rubble, plucking a single blossom. “For my mother,” I murmured, pressing the flower to my lips before tucking it into the folds of my saree.---That evening, we sat under the banyan tree in the heart of the village. The villagers had gathered once more, their laughter and chatter filling the air with a sense of celebration. Ranajay and I shared a meal with them, our presence a reminder that the bond between rulers and subjects was more than ceremonial.One of the village women, a matron with kind eyes and a warm smile, approached me with a bowl of freshly cooked rice pudding. “Devi,” she said, offering it to me, “this is an old recipe your mother loved. We made it in her honor.”My throat tightened as I accepted the bowl. The aroma brought back memories of my sixth birthday—the last time I had shared this dish with my mother. Though the memory was tinged with sorrow, it also carried a sense of comfort. “Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “This means more to me than I can express.”As I took a bite, I felt a surge of warmth—not just from the food, but from the love and reverence these people had for my family. It was a reminder of the strength that came from community, from the ties that bound us together.Ranajay, seated beside me, leaned closer. “Sanmayi,” he murmured, “Kosala has given us so much. Perhaps it is time we give something back.”I nodded, understanding his meaning. “We will return to Amaravati soon,” I said, my voice steady. “But we will not forget this place. Kosala will always be a part of us.”“And our child will know its story,” he added, his hand brushing against mine. “The story of resilience, of love, and of hope.”I smiled, tears glistening in my eyes. For the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace. Though the road ahead was uncertain, I knew that with Ranajay by my side, we could face anything. And as I looked out at the stars, I whispered a silent prayer—not just for the life growing within me, but for the future we would build together.Rekindling.