She Who Wears the Veil

The sky above Padmavati was moonless — black silk stretched tight, pierced only by a few faint stars. The palace walls were quiet, lanterns dimmed, guards in their posts.

But one person was watching the sky.

Dattadevi stood near the eastern pavilion, eyes trained on the horizon. She wore a pale-blue sari, soft as smoke, her hair pinned back with simplicity. The royal anklets had been removed. Her bangles tucked away. She appeared as the dutiful princess. Still. Composed.

But her heart beat to the rhythm of fire.

A flicker.

Then another.

From the distant hills — a trail of tiny sparks rose into the sky.

Firecrackers.

No festival. No celebration.

Just three sharp bursts.

She narrowed her eyes. Amruta.

The girl from the village near the marshes. The one with brave eyes and scars she never explained. Dattadevi had told her once: "If danger comes again, don't shout. Don't run. Light the sky."

Now, the sky was alight.

And Dattadevi was already turning.

In a dark corridor near her chambers, Rajima waited, holding a rolled bundle of cloth. Her aged hands trembled just slightly.

"Again?" she whispered.

"The people are calling," Dattadevi replied, taking the bundle.

"You bled last time."

"I will again, if it saves them."

Beneath the princess's sari was a tightly bound ghagra and a warrior's kurti, fitted for movement. Her hair was braided and wrapped under a cloth turban. A sword hung hidden beneath the long scarf draped like an uttariya.

Rajima opened a small side gate, nodding toward the shadows.

"I've placed your lookalike again. She won't speak a word."

And Dattadevi vanished into the night.

_____________________

Far from the palace, smoke curled above rooftops. Veerkund's hired men, dressed as raiders, swept through the village. Fires had already caught on thatched roofs. Women ran, clutching children. Men tried to fight with sticks and rusted blades.

And from the trees came a whistle — sharp, high, familiar.

A masked figure appeared — sword drawn, eyes burning.

Dattadevi cut through them like a storm. She moved with practiced rage. A guard lunged — she blocked, twisted, elbowed him back. Another grabbed a child — she leapt forward and knocked him out cold.

But she was still not healed. Her side ached. Her arms trembled.

Behind her, one of the raiders raised a blade to strike.

"Behind you."

The voice came not from the crowd.

But from a man leaning against a tree, arms crossed, calm like moonlight.

She turned just in time, parried, and brought her sword to the attacker's throat.

When she looked back toward the tree — he was gone.

=========

Samudragupta, standing at a distance, watched from the shadows. He had followed rumors of these attacks. Someone within the Padmavati court was orchestrating violence under false banners. And tonight confirmed it.

But what intrigued him more was the warrior in blue.

Not tall. But fierce. Precise. Masked. Skilled.

He had seen her before.

Not here. But on a road. In the wild grass. Bleeding, but proud.

"You again," he murmured. "What are you hiding, warrior?"

He remebered her - the brave one with eyes full of fire

He turned away before anyone saw him.

______________

By dawn, Dattadevi had returned. Rajima helped her change, washed the dirt and blood from her arms, and placed her back in her chambers.

Not long after, Veerkund stormed into the King's private hall.

"Your Majesty, there are rumors — masked warriors again. The people call one of them divine. Others say it's your daughter."

King Ganapati Naga rubbed his forehead, tired.

"She is in her chamber."

"You should check. The people should see her — now."

Queen Sharvani, already present in the hall, narrowed her eyes.

"You speak as if eager to find guilt, Veerkund."

Veerkund didn't flinch.

The King ordered a visit.

When they entered Dattadevi's room, she lay beneath a light quilt, half-asleep, face calm. The girl standing and tending to her beside — the lookalike — greeted the Queen with a sleepy bow.

Veerkund looked hard. But there was nothing to accuse.

___________

They left the chamber in silence.

That evening, Sharvani came alone to her daughter's chamber. Dattadevi sat by the window, a small lamp beside her.

"You were not here last night," the Queen said softly.

Dattadevi looked at her.

"I was seen."

"Yes," Sharvani replied. "But by who?"

Dattadevi didn't answer.

Sharvani sat beside her and held her wrist gently.

"You were given to me by fate. But I raised you with truth. Don't make me lie for you, Devi."

There was a pause.

Then Dattadevi opened her hand. In it lay a scrap of burned cloth — from the village.

"They would've died, Ma. I couldn't wait."

Sharvani nodded. She didn't scold. She didn't cry.

She only took out the necklace from dattadevi's jewelery box where the necklace was peacefully lieing  — the one with the etched gods — and tied it back around her daughter's neck.

"If you go again," she whispered, "take this light with you."

___________________

The next day, the court was tense. Whispers filled the corners.

Veerkund, burning with frustration, rose in court with a scroll in hand.

"A new scroll was stolen from the royal archive — the same one that holds the treaties with our southern neighbors."

He turned to Dattadevi.

"Only she entered that section last moon."

Dattadevi stood, her veil lowered, her eyes direct.

"And I found it untouched. I was looking for a healer's record."

"Yet your hand was on the gate," he sneered.

King Ganapati Naga rose suddenly.

His voice cut the room like thunder.

"Enough!"

The court fell silent.

The King looked at Dattadevi, and something — exhaustion, sorrow, anger — passed across his face. He stood and left. 

______________

In the hall

Where veekund , queen and dattdevi present -

King Ganapati Naga's voice echoed in the hall, the weight of his words dropping like iron against stone.

"She was left at the temple gates. She is no heir of mine. I believed you… until now."

A silence fell so sharp it could cut through steel.

Sharvani stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm.

"She may not be of your blood, Ganapati… but she is my daughter."

He looked at her — pain, pride, and betrayal flickering all at once.

Dattadevi's throat burned, but her voice did not shake.

"Then I owe you nothing but the truth," she said, her hands clenched at her sides.

"I will not stop being who I am. Not even if I'm not yours by blood."

She turned slightly — not in defiance, but with the grace of someone who had grown from storms.

"I protected your people, even when your eyes were turned away."

"I carry your name, even when the name does not carry me."

"And I will not kneel for permission to do what is right."

Veerkund stepped forward, smirking slightly, ready to strike her with another accusation.

But Sharvani blocked him with a single, icy glance.

"Careful, nephew," she said coldly.

"Even a lion forgets its claws in a palace of whispers. But it never loses them."

The King sat down slowly, visibly worn, pressing his fingers to his temple.

"Leave me," he said.

Dattadevi bowed once — to both of them — and walked out with her head unbowed, the pendant from her mother glinting softly against her chest.

______________

That night, far from the palace, Samudragupta stood on a hill, staring at the faint lights of Padmavati.

"A warrior with no name," he said. "And a palace full of lies."

He didn't know her face.

But he remembered her fire.