Chapter 134: Chapter 132: Way To Infiltrate... Coronation Of Dhritarashtra...

(A/N):

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Trivenivrata Kingdom...

Royal Palace...

Back in the royal gardens of Trivenivrata, the night was peaceful.

The moonless sky stretched overhead while countless stars shimmered above the palace grounds.

Lanterns illuminated the pathways between flower gardens and lotus ponds.

The distant sound of guards changing shifts echoed through the palace walls.

Completely unaware of the chaos unfolding hundreds of miles away, Devara sat beneath a large banyan tree.

Coiled comfortably around his forearm was his unusual companion.

The black cobra.

Its obsidian scales gleamed beneath the lantern light as it rested quietly upon his arm.

Devara absentmindedly stroked the serpent’s hood while discussing matters of the kingdom.

At least that was what he intended to do.

Instead, the conversation had somehow shifted into him describing a new irrigation project and asking the cobra’s opinion as though it were one of his ministers.

The cobra simply stared at him.

"...."

A reaction it had perfected over time.

Then suddenly the serpent lifted its head.

Its golden eyes narrowed.

For a brief moment, its attention shifted toward the northern horizon.

The cobra felt it.

A distant gaze on them.

Something had looked upon it.

Not physically. Not directly.

But enough for its instincts to notice.

The serpent’s body tensed slightly.

That immediately caught Devara’s attention.

"Hmm?"

He followed its gaze.

At the same time, a faint prickling sensation ran across the back of his neck.

The feeling lasted only a second.

Like someone watching from far away.

Judging.

Measuring.

Trying to understand him.

Devara slowly turned his head.

His emerald eyes swept across the gardens.

"...."

The palace walls.

The rooftops.

The night sky.

Nothing.

There was nobody there.

No hidden assassin. No wandering spirit.

No suspicious figure looking at him.

The feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

After a few moments, Devara shrugged his shoulder.

"Probably my imagination."

The cobra continued staring for several seconds longer before finally relaxing.

A moment later, Devara rose from the stone bench.

"Come on."

"We should head back."

The black serpent re-coiled itself comfortably around his arm as the king walked toward the palace.

Completely unaware that his brief glance moments earlier had caused absolute devastation elsewhere.

Far away.

Deep within the forest shared by the five kingdoms.

The surviving practitioners were still recovering from the disaster.

The ritual clearing looked as though a battle had occurred there.

Burn marks scarred the ground.

Several ritual circles had been destroyed.

Ash from the pishacha effigies covered the clearing like grey snow.

And four practitioners were dead.

The remaining members of the five clans stood gathered around a large fire.

Their earlier confidence had disappeared.

In its place was caution.

Fear.

And curiosity.

The elder of the Krityagarha Clan slowly addressed the survivors.

"What happened tonight tells us one thing."

Everyone listened carefully.

"The target is protected."

His gaze swept across the gathering.

"Not by ordinary blessings."

"Not by temple charms."

"Not by royal priests."

He paused.

"Something divine resides within King Devara."

Nobody argued.

They had witnessed enough to know that much.

The pishachas had not even reached him.

They had merely looked upon him.

And had been destroyed.

One practitioner from the Kaalashikha Clan frowned.

"Then what do we do?"

The elder remained silent for several moments.

Finally he answered.

"We gather more knowledge."

"We stop acting blindly."

Several nodded.

That seemed sensible.

The elder continued.

"If we are truly dealing with divinity, brute force rituals will achieve nothing."

"We need information."

"We need understanding."

"And above all..."

His eyes narrowed.

"We need people inside Trivenivrata."

That immediately captured everyone’s attention.

The elder pointed toward a map spread across the table.

"A kingdom cannot function without merchants."

"Travelers."

"Pilgrims."

"Workers."

"Artisans."

"If we place our own people among them..."

He tapped the map.

"...we learn."

The practitioners slowly began nodding.

Information was power.

Power often accomplished what rituals could not.

Meanwhile, another group was already preparing the next step.

Messages were being written.

Not on scrolls.

But through the methods their clans had used for generations.

Owls.

Ravens.

Night messengers.

Throughout the remainder of the night, birds departed the forest one after another.

Flying toward distant regions where the five clans maintained hidden settlements and followers.

The message was simple.

A new sanctuary had been found.

The forest between the five kingdoms would become their gathering point.

Their new base. Their new home.

And slowly, over the coming months, more members would arrive.

More practitioners. More knowledge.

More ambition.

As the final raven disappeared into the darkness, the elder stared toward the distant direction of Trivenivrata.

His expression remained thoughtful.

The others believed they were planning revenge.

Others dreamed of controlling the divine power hidden within Devara.

But the elder was not so certain.

Because the memory of those green eyes still haunted him.

Those eyes had not looked angry.

They had not looked threatened.

They had barely looked interested.

And somehow...

That frightened him more than anything else.

For now, all they could do was gather information,

Search through ancient texts, and hope that somewhere among the countless forgotten rituals of the world,

There existed a method to understand the mystery surrounding the king of Trivenivrata.

Whether that hope would save them...

Or doom them...

Remained to be seen.

After Few Months...

The months passed peacefully.

The prosperity of Trivenivrata continued to grow with every passing season.

Trade flowed through the three sacred rivers, farmers celebrated successful harvests, and the people spoke proudly of their young king.

Far to the north, however, another kingdom was preparing for a historic occasion.

The mighty city of Hastinapura had transformed into a festival of celebration.

Every street was decorated.

Colorful banners bearing the emblem of the Kuru dynasty fluttered from towers and gates.

Flowers adorned roads and marketplaces.

Musicians played throughout the city.

Citizens poured into the streets from dawn itself, eager to witness a day that would be remembered for generations.

Today was the coronation of Dhritarashtra.

The kingdom had spared no expense.

Nobles from distant lands had arrived.

Kings, princes, sages, merchants, and dignitaries filled the guest quarters and royal compounds.

Among the honored guests were Devara and his household too.

How can he miss this. This was one of the important event in his

When the royal procession of Trivenivrata entered Hastinapura, many people gathered merely to catch a glimpse of them.

At the center rode Devara upon his royal chariot.

Beside him was Gandhari, returning to the city for the first time.

Behind them at the same chariot traveled the five apsara sisters who had now become part of Devara’s household.

Many citizens stared openly.

Stories of the cursed apsaras had already begun spreading across neighboring kingdoms, becoming the subject of countless exaggerated tales.

Some stories claimed Devara had fought river demons.

Others claimed he had descended into the underworld itself.

The truth varied depending on who was telling the story.

Following them was Rajmata Satyavati, whose arrival was greeted with immense respect by the people of Hastinapura.

When the royal family entered the city, cheers erupted from every direction.

Flowers rained from balconies.

Conch shells echoed across the capital.

Children ran through the streets trying to keep pace with the procession.

The celebrations continued for several days before the coronation itself.

Finally, the auspicious day arrived.

The great royal arena of Hastinapura was packed beyond capacity.

Kings and nobles occupied the elevated galleries.

Sages and priests sat near the ceremonial platform.

Thousands of citizens filled every available seat.

The air buzzed with anticipation.

At the chosen moment, Dhritarashtra entered the arena dressed in magnificent royal garments.

Years ago, many had doubted whether he would ever rule.

Now he walked confidently toward the throne.

Not as a prince.

But as a king.

The ceremony proceeded with all the grandeur expected of the Kuru dynasty.

Sacred waters gathered from holy rivers across Bharatvarsha were used during the rites.

Priests chanted ancient Vedic hymns.

The blessings of sages echoed through the arena.

When the crown was finally placed upon Dhritarashtra’s head, the entire city erupted into celebration.

The roar of the crowd could be heard throughout Hastinapura.

Trumpets sounded.

Conch shells echoed.

Drums thundered like rolling clouds.

And thus Dhritarashtra officially became king of the Kuru Kingdom.

Among the loudest applause came from Devara himself.

A proud smile rested on his face as he watched his elder brother achieve what had once seemed impossible.

Yet for a small group seated near the royal platform, another moment held even greater significance.

A promise.

A promise made years ago.

One that had shaped the life of a legendary man.

After the coronation celebrations concluded,

Dhritarashtra rose from the throne and addressed the assembled court.

The chamber slowly fell silent.

Then the newly crowned king turned toward a single figure.

Bhishma.

The entire court became attentive immediately.

Because everyone knew the history.

Everyone knew the sacrifice.

The terrible vow.

The promise that had defined Bhishma’s life.

Dhritarashtra descended from the throne and approached him personally.

Then before the entire royal assembly, he bowed.

A gesture that stunned many younger nobles.

The king of Hastinapura bowing before another.

But nobody questioned it.

Not when that man was Bhishma.

Dhritarashtra’s voice carried clearly through the hall.

"Grandfather."

"Years ago you sacrificed your future for this family."

"You carried burdens that should never have been yours."

"You fulfilled every duty expected of you."

His eyes grew moist.

"And now it is my turn to fulfill my promise."

The hall became utterly silent.

Then Dhritarashtra spoke the words many had waited years to hear.

"I release you from your obligation."

"You are free."

No duty. No responsibility.

No chains of the throne. No burden of succession.

For the first time in decades, Bhishma belonged only to himself.

The legendary warrior stood motionless.

Many present saw emotion appear upon his face for the first time in years.

Even Devara felt his chest tighten slightly.

"...."

Because everyone understood what this moment meant.

A lifetime of sacrifice.

Finally acknowledged. Finally repaid.

For several moments Bhishma simply stood there.

Then he smiled. A genuine smile.

One rarely seen.

The court erupted into applause.

Some nobles openly wiped tears from their eyes.

Even many hardened warriors found themselves moved.

A few days later, after bidding farewell to the royal family, Bhishma departed Hastinapura.

Not as a regent. Not as a guardian.

Not as the burden-bearer of a kingdom.

But as a free man.

Mounted upon his horse, carrying little more than his weapons and simple belongings, he began a long pilgrimage across Bharatvarsha.

To sacred rivers. Ancient temples.

Forgotten shrines. Places he had protected all his life but never truly had the freedom to visit.

As he rode away from the capital, many citizens gathered along the roads to pay their respects.

And for the first time in many decades, Bhishma’s journey belonged to no kingdom.

It belonged to him alone.

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(Author note:)

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Guys I have a new fic which named: Karuppan: King of Openings.