Chapter 448 - 416: Pain Of The Curse...

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

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The old man lowered his head slightly, though his anger had not diminished.

"Very well. If You will not answer me, then I shall find the answer myself."

He turned away from the sanctum.

What he failed to understand was that his question had been built upon an assumption he had never once considered challenging.

He believed that Devara’s reforms were an insult to Dharma.

He believed that the divine weapon had been bestowed upon an unworthy king.

And he believed that his own understanding of tradition was sufficient to judge the will of the Supreme Lord.

Yet the very Lord before whom he had raised his accusations was the one who had personally trained Devara, tested his understanding, and entrusted him with the Narayana Astra.

For Lord Vishnu, the worthiness of a wielder was never determined merely by how closely he followed the customs of a particular kingdom.

It was determined by his understanding of Dharma, his intentions, and what he chose to protect with the power entrusted to him.

No matter how many questions the guru raised, the idol of Lord Vishnu remained silent.

The serene expression of the deity never changed.

The lamps continued flickering, the fragrance of incense filled the sanctum, and the priests maintained their prayers as though nothing unusual had happened.

The guru stood there for a little longer, waiting for something that never came.

Eventually, he let out an irritated breath and turned away.

"Come," he instructed his disciples.

The old man walked out of the temple without offering another prayer.

His mind remained occupied with Devara, and the more he thought about the events of the battlefield, the more his resentment grew.

He had spent years warning kings about the dangers of allowing Devara’s reforms to spread.

Yet the very man he considered a threat had now defeated one of his most trusted former students and demonstrated mastery over a divine weapon that even he had considered extraordinarily rare.

The guru had no intention of accepting that outcome quietly.

Meanwhile, the situation inside Vrishabhapura was becoming increasingly complicated.

The news of the king’s defeat had spread throughout the capital and reached even the remotest villages.

People gathered in marketplaces, near temples, at wells, and outside administrative buildings, discussing the events of the war.

The returning soldiers had brought back stories of the battlefield, and every retelling seemed to make the defeat more difficult for the kingdom to bear.

"Did you hear what happened to Maharaja Vrishasena?"

"They say Devara himself severed his tongue!"

"I heard that the king’s Narayana Astra was overwhelmed by another Narayana Astra. Is that even possible?"

"Two Narayana Astras on the same battlefield? I have never heard of such a thing!"

The conversations continued everywhere.

Some people were more concerned about the losses suffered by the army, while others worried about the political consequences.

"Our king has never suffered such a defeat. What will the neighbouring kingdoms think of us now?"

"That is precisely what worries me. We have always been regarded as a powerful kingdom. If other kings learn that our army was defeated so badly, they may begin questioning our strength."

"Some might even see this as an opportunity to challenge our borders."

"Or worse, they might demand concessions from us."

An elderly merchant shook his head.

"Kings do not forget such opportunities. Today, they hear that Vrishabhapura has lost a war. Tomorrow, they may begin wondering how much they can take from us."

Not everyone shared the same concerns.

A group of younger townspeople, who had heard about Devara’s reforms through travellers and merchants, began discussing a different aspect of the conflict.

"Wasn’t the war started because our king wanted Devara to abandon his reforms?"

"That is what the soldiers have been saying."

"But why should another kingdom decide how people in Trivenivrata receive education? If their system is working, why interfere?"

One of the older men immediately objected.

"Be careful with your words. You are speaking about the king."

"I am only asking a question. We have lost thousands of soldiers, and our king has returned severely injured. Was all of this necessary?"

The conversation quickly became uncomfortable.

Many people were afraid to openly question Vrishasena’s decisions, particularly given how he had dealt with opposition in the past.

Yet the defeat had created something that had rarely existed in the kingdom before.

Doubt.

People were beginning to ask whether the war had truly been fought for the protection of Vrishabhapura or whether it had been driven by the personal convictions of its ruler and those who advised him.

Inside the royal palace, the ministers were facing similar concerns.

The royal council had assembled to discuss the consequences of the defeat.

Several ministers sat around the central table, while military officers provided reports concerning the surviving soldiers, damaged equipment, and the kingdom’s border security.

The Mahamantri looked over the documents before him.

"Our military strength has been reduced considerably. Even after accounting for the soldiers who have returned, we will require considerable time to restore our formations."

Another minister nodded.

"Furthermore, the neighbouring kingdoms have already received news of the defeat. We have received several enquiries from their courts. Some have requested clarification regarding the condition of His Majesty, while others have simply remained silent."

"Silence can be more troubling than questions,"

another minister remarked.

A senior noble leaned forward.

"We must consider what this means for our diplomatic position. Vrishabhapura has always maintained its influence through its military strength. If that reputation is damaged, several kingdoms may reconsider their existing arrangements with us."

"And what of Trivenivrata?" another asked.

"Devara now has even greater influence among the allied kingdoms. His victory will undoubtedly strengthen his position."

The Mahamantri sighed.

"That is precisely why we must be careful. We have lost the war, but we cannot afford to lose the kingdom’s stability as well."

For a moment, the council fell silent.

Beyond the chamber, the palace corridors remained unusually quiet.

The queen was attending to Vrishasena, while the young prince had been spending most of his time near his father’s treatment chamber.

The king himself had not appeared before the council since his return.

His wound remained unchanged, and although the physicians had managed to control the bleeding, he was still unable to speak.

Messages had to be written or conveyed through gestures, making even routine royal administration difficult.

The Mahamantri looked towards the closed doors of the king’s private chamber.

"Whatever happens next, we must ensure that His Majesty recovers. The kingdom cannot afford another crisis."

Yet every minister gathered there understood that the consequences of the defeat would not disappear simply because the army had returned home.

Vrishabhapura had entered the war intending to establish its authority over another kingdom.

Instead, it had returned with a defeated army, a wounded king, and a reputation that would take years to rebuild.

The days following Vrishasena’s return to the palace proved to be considerably more difficult than he had anticipated.

Although the royal physicians had managed to stop the bleeding, the wound across his mouth remained stubbornly unchanged.

The curse continued to prevent the damaged flesh from healing, leaving him with an injury that affected even the simplest activities of daily life.

Eating and drinking had become particularly painful.

That evening, the queen personally supervised the preparation of his meal.

Knowing that her husband was struggling, she had instructed the royal cooks to prepare soft foods that would require as little effort as possible to consume.

A thin rice porridge, lightly seasoned vegetables, and a few mild preparations were arranged on a silver plate.

She carried the food into his chamber herself.

"Your Majesty, you should eat something. You have barely eaten since morning."

Vrishasena was seated near the window, looking through some documents that had been brought to him by the ministers.

He glanced at the plate before slowly shaking his head.

"Please," she said gently, placing the plate on the table.

"The physicians have already warned us that you cannot continue neglecting your meals. Your body needs strength to recover."

He looked at her for a moment before reluctantly picking up the spoon.

Taking a small portion of the porridge, he carefully brought it towards his mouth.

The moment the food touched the injured area, his expression tightened.

He attempted to swallow, but the movement caused another sharp wave of pain.

His fingers trembled, and he immediately placed the spoon back on the plate.

The queen hurried towards him.

"Are you all right?"

Vrishasena raised his hand, signalling that he needed a moment.

His eyes remained closed as he endured the lingering pain.

After a while, he tried again, taking an even smaller portion.

It was no better.

The damaged tissue around his mouth made every movement uncomfortable, and the absence of his tongue had left him unable to taste the food properly.

What had once been an ordinary part of his daily routine had become an exhausting ordeal.

He finally pushed the plate away.

"I know," the queen said quietly, understanding his frustration.

"But you must eat something."

Vrishasena shook his head firmly.

He reached for his writing board and wrote a few words.

It hurts. I cannot taste anything.

The queen read the message, her eyes becoming moist.

"I know, but perhaps the physicians can prepare something different. We can ask them to make a thinner preparation, something you can drink without having to chew."

Vrishasena looked at the plate with visible displeasure.

He had never imagined that he would reach a point where he would dread sitting down for a meal.

He had always enjoyed the dishes prepared in the royal kitchens, and even during military campaigns, he had never allowed himself to neglect food.

Now, even the smell of his favourite preparations brought little comfort.

The queen took the plate away and returned with a small vessel containing a thin medicinal drink prepared by the physicians.

"Try this. They said it might be easier."

Vrishasena reluctantly accepted the vessel.

He took a cautious sip.

Even that caused discomfort, and he had to pause before swallowing.

His eyes narrowed as the liquid passed through his mouth and throat.

After managing only a few sips, he placed the vessel down.

The queen watched helplessly.

"That is enough for now," she said, taking the vessel from him.

"We will ask the physicians to find another way."

Vrishasena lowered his gaze.

He was frustrated, humiliated, and increasingly exhausted by an injury that refused to heal.

He could no longer speak, could barely enjoy his meals, and had to depend on others for even the simplest instructions.

The queen sat beside him and gently held his hand.

"You do not have to force yourself to finish everything at once. We will find a way."

Vrishasena looked at her.

For a moment, he wanted to tell her how unbearable the situation had become.

He wanted to complain about the pain, about the helplessness, and about how much he missed being able to speak freely.

But the words remained trapped within him.

He simply tightened his grip around her hand.

The queen leaned closer and rested her head against his shoulder.

Outside, the palace continued its daily routine.

Ministers attended to administrative matters, guards maintained their duties, and servants moved between the royal chambers.

Yet inside the king’s private quarters, even something as ordinary as sharing a meal had become a reminder of the consequences of the war.

And Vrishasena was beginning to understand that his defeat had left him with far more than a damaged reputation.

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(Author note:)

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