Chapter 54 - 52: Yami’s Shattered World... Chhaya’s Motivation...
(A/N):
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The echoes of applause slowly dissolved into the night, like ripples fading across a still lake.
One by one, the people of Gandhara and guests drifted away from the arena—voices softening, footsteps stretching into silence, excitement tucked away like a cherished memory to be spoken of for years.
The stage that had just held gods... now stood quiet.
But the kingdom itself—Was far from resting.
The focus shifted.
From performance... to ritual. From story... to destiny.
Across the palace grounds, preparations for the wedding ceremonies began to unfold in full rhythm.
This was no single-day celebration—it was a tapestry woven across days, each thread a ritual, each ritual a promise.
Priests chanted softly in the background.
Women arranged turmeric, sandalwood, and sacred threads.
Servants moved like clockwork, carrying trays of flowers and lamps that flickered like captive stars.
Every corner of the palace seemed to hum with purpose.
Because—Marriage was not just union.
It was... alignment.
Inside one of the grand courtyards—Laughter broke the ceremonial calm.
At the center of it stood Prince Shakuni.
Or rather—A prince under siege.
Still half-dressed from the performance, bits of Daksha clinging stubbornly to him, he found himself surrounded by his elder brothers.
And they were merciless.
"So, Prajapati Daksha,"
One of them smirked, circling him slowly,
-Smirk!
"planning to curse anyone tonight?"
Another added with exaggerated seriousness,
"Careful, brother. If you frown any harder, even the wedding fire might refuse to light."
Laughter erupted.
Shakuni pressed his lips together, trying—trying—to maintain some semblance of dignity.
It failed spectacularly.
"I was acting,"
He muttered, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed him.
"Oh, we know,"
Another brother chimed in.
"That’s what worries us. Our brother got a talent in acting."
More laughter echoed.
Prince Shakuni exhaled a sigh.
-Sigh!
"...."
Not irritated by the teasing. Not offended by their fun.
Just... resigned to his fate that he was going to be suffer in the coming age.
"...At least I survived Sage Durvasa."
That earned a pause.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then a collective nod from his brother.
-Nods!
"Fair," one of them admitted.
"Very fair."
Even they were little worried about their little brother.
Who might end up getting cursed just so he got talent in acting.
Prince Shakuni leaned slightly against a pillar, arms crossing loosely, a chuckle escaping him now—this time unguarded.
-Chuckle!
Because beneath the teasing... There was pride.
Not loud. Not declared.
But present.
Elsewhere—The palace corridors glowed under rows of oil lamps.
Soft music drifted through the air.
The night had settled gently over Gandhara... but in Devara’s chamber, silence had a different weight.
"...."
The lamps flickered low.
And in that stillness—A faint glow appeared before him.
It was his system notification.
[-DUM!-DUM!-]
[Performance Evaluation: EXCELLENT
Role Portrayed: Lord Shiva
Reward: +300 Karma Points.]
Devara’s eyes lingered on the translucent screen.
Three hundred karma points.
For a single day. And this would continue... for four days.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips.
-Smirk!
"Not bad..."
But there was no celebration in him. Excitement in his face.
Because for Devara—Even devotion had been rewarded with a karma points.
He closed the screen with a flick.
Yet... For a fleeting second—His reflection in the polished bronze mirror still looked like Shiva.
Ash-lined.
Still. Incomplete... and yet whole.
Far beyond Gandhara—Beyond earth, sky, and mortal reach—In the radiant expanse of Suryalok—A different kind of silence lived.
Within a chamber bathed in golden light, a lone figure sat before a shimmering veil of illusion.
A
And within it—The arena.
The performance which had took place.
Devara dressed like lord Shiva.
Yami did not blink. She couldn’t.
"...."
Because every time she did—The image felt like it might vanish.
There he was.
Standing beside another women.
Perfect. Aligned. As if the world itself had approved them.
Her fingers tightened slightly. Her breath grew uneven.
As she couldn’t take
"...So this is how it ends..."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Fragile. Like something that might shatter if spoken louder.
She hadn’t watched him for few days.
Not out of disinterest.
But fear. Because looking meant feeling. And feeling meant... this.
She found out that she was falling for him.
So decided to take few days break to have a breather. And think calmly before making decision of what was her feeling to him.
But when she came back sorting out her feeling decided she would pursue him.
Now—He was engaged.
In a week—Married.
The realization did not strike like lightning.
It seeped in. Slow. Relentless.
Like cold water filling a space meant for warmth.
"I was too late..."
The words slipped out, almost against her will.
Her vision blurred.
"...."
Tears gathered—Not falling down her cheeks. Not yet.
Held back by stubbornness.
By pride. By something that refused to break... even now.
But she didn’t notice—That she was no longer alone.
She didn’t notice another one entered her chamber.
A soft presence settled beside her.
Warm. Gentle. Familiar.
It was none other than Goddess Chhaya
Chhaya looked at the
At Devara. At Gandhari. And then—At Yami.
No questions at first.
"...."
Only understanding passed through her face.
Her hand rose slowly... And rested on Yami’s head.
A soft pat.
Not dismissive. Not pitying. Just... grounding.
"Why does my daughter look like the sky before a storm?"
She asked quietly. Even through she already knew the answer.
Yami’s lips parted. Closed.
Then uttered in low voice—
"...I was too late."
Chhaya’s eyes softened. But she did not interrupt.
"I didn’t go to him... I didn’t say anything..."
Her voice trembled now.
"...and now he’s going to belong to someone else."
That word—belong—Carried more pain than the rest.
"I’m going to lose him..."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"...for good."
The tears almost fell. Almost.
Chhaya sighed hearing her daughter’s pain filled voice.
Not in frustration. But in recognition of how genuine her feeling was.
Then—She tilted Yami’s chin slightly upward.
Not forcefully. Just enough. So their eyes could meet.
"And that is enough for you to surrender?"
Yami blinked. Caught off guard.
-Blink!
"...What?"
Chhaya’s gaze sharpened—not harsh, but firm.
"Is your love so fragile... that a single delay defeats it?"
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"Is it so shallow... that it bows before circumstance?"
Yami stared at her.
Confusion mixing with something else.
Something awakening in her heart.
Chhaya leaned closer.
Her voice softer now—but carrying weight.
"Love is not a race you lost because you started late."
A pause.
"It is a fire."
Her hand gently pressed over Yami’s heart.
"And fire does not die... unless you choose to extinguish it."
Yami’s breath hitched.
"If you step back now..."
Chhaya continued seriously,
"...then yes—you will lose him."
Another pause. Longer this time.
Giving time for Yami to think.
"But not because fate took him from you."
Her eyes locked onto Yami’s.
"Because you let him go."
Something shifted in Yami’s broken heart.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
But undeniably.
"...."
Yami’s fingers clenched. Her tears—Did not fall.
"...What should I do?" she whispered this time in determination.
Chhaya smiled faintly.
Not with answers.
But with certainty.
"That..."
She said softly,
"...is something you must decide as the one who loves him."
The
Still showing him. Still showing them.
But now—Yami was no longer just watching.
Somewhere deep within—The ache remained about loosing him once and for all.
But alongside it—A spark had been lit.
And sparks...
Have a habit of becoming something far more dangerous.
Next Day...
The dawn of the second day did not arrive quietly.
It arrived with ritual... with rhythm... with the slow, deliberate steps of tradition shaping destiny.
Before the stage could awaken again, the palace grounds bore witness to one of the most sacred pre-wedding rites.
The gathering of earth.
Not mere soil—but chosen ground, touched with rituals, destined to cradle the sacred fire that would bind two lives.
Priests chanted in low, resonant tones.
Golden vessels touched the earth.
Women carried the soil as though it were treasure drawn from the womb of creation itself.
Because in truth—It was.
And once the ritual concluded...
After few hours...
The stage called once more.
The arena filled again—faster this time.
Word had spread.
The first day had not been a performance.
It had been... an experience.
And now—No one wanted to miss what came next.
The lamps dimmed. The drums echoed.
And Rajmata Satyavati’s voice returned—Now heavier.
Carrying the slow passage of time.
"Years passed..."
Her words drifted like falling leaves.
"Years... into centuries..."
"And centuries... into silence."
The stage opened. Revealing the Dark. Still. Cold tone.
Suited with the heavy tone of the narration.
At its center—Lord Shiva played by Devara.
Unmoving. Unreachable.
No ash storms. No cosmic dance. No destruction.
Just... stillness.
The kind that comes not from peace—But from loss.
"Since the departure of Adi Parashakti..."
Satyavati’s voice softened,
"
No prayers reached him. No calls stirred him.
Even time seemed hesitant to move around him.
Then screen closed the stage which seems to be preparing for the next scene.
Then the screen opened showing the location is shifted.
And far away—Another world thrived.
The lights shifted.
The silence broke.
"...."
"...."
"...."
And the grandeur of a kingdom rose.
On the throne... Daksha Played by Prince Shakuni.
This time, there was no trace of hesitation in him.
Only authority. Only control.
His voice rang across the court.
"Let it be known—No offerings shall be made in the name of Shiva."
A murmur spread.
But none dared oppose.
"Those who follow him..."
He paused.
"...shall not be recognized."
The decree fell like iron.
Final. Unquestioned. By his authority and role in the vast universe.
"And let the path of righteousness be guided by—"
His chin lifted slightly.
"—the worship of my Lord Vishnu."
The court echoed in agreement.
Not all out of faith. Some out of fear.
Temples shifted. Priests adapted.
Voices changed not to anger Daksha.
And slowly—The name of Shiva faded from daily life. Not completely
Backstage—Even those acting felt the chill of that transition.
Fear no sage especially Durvasa to get angry and cursed them to death or worse.
Because this was not mere dialogue.
It was... suppression. Years rolled forward again.
Daksha’s kingdom flourished.
Wealth increased. Order strengthened.
His pride—Deepened.
But within the palace—There existed something softer.
Something untouched by politics.
Once again screen closed and opened after a minute changing the location.
A garden.
Sunlit on her face. Alive.
And within it—A young women.
Radiant. Curious.
Unaware of the storm surrounding her existence.
Sati. Who now played by Gandhari.
Her laughter rang like bells.
Her presence softened even the harshest spaces.
To Daksha—She was everything.
"My beloved daughter..."
His voice, for the first time, held warmth.
Real. Unfiltered.
But behind that love—Lay fear.
Because only a few knew the truth.
The truth of her birth. The truth of who she truly was.
And so—Daksha built walls.
Not of stone. But of control.
"No mention of Shiva."
"No sages who speak his name."
"No temples that whisper of him."
The world around Sati was carefully shaped.
Curated. Protected. Or rather—Restricted.
Because fate—Does not ask permission.
And somewhere—Deep within her—A pull existed to a far away place which she couldn’t pin point.
Unseen. Unexplained.
Toward someone... She had never met.
In the audience—A quiet stir passed.
Not loud. But knowing.
Because they knew—This innocence... Would not last.
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(Author note:)
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