Kavi Akhilesh Ranjan had heard about the patronage of Neelambargarh’s Rajputra Mrintyunjoy Dev Varman from the bards who had visited the capital city recently. Being from a small village on the fringes of the forest of Dhuari, he had travelled for over a month to reach the state hoping to find work. After all, his farmer father knew little about poetry but much about how useless it was to feed a poor family.
Throughout this time, he had managed to put together a piece, scribbling down his ideas as he abandoned home and travelled across the state, and finally put down his words in verses, in neatly cut-out paper leaves. Today was the day he had been waiting for. The Rajputra, about eighteen, looked much younger than his age but his eyes had an intelligent spark. Akhilesh Ranjan waited patiently for his turn in the garden where the Rajputra met with eminent and amateur poets. He had heard from a fellow traveller that he held such gatherings for musicians too. God Bless the soul that patronizes art!
Akhilesh Ranjan cleared his throat as he stood up and bowed to the prince when the courtier called his name. The prince nodded with a smile of approval and closed his eyes. He opened his leaflets and began to recite.
Akhilesh Ranjan cleared his throat as he stood up and bowed to the prince when the courtier called his name. The prince nodded with a smile of approval and closed his eyes. He opened his leaflets and began to recite.
“The sun that shone brightest in the east,
Reached the west weary, in need of rest.
The darkness seemed to engulf his might,
Doubts shrouded his mind and pride.
The stars aligned as he roamed,
A gust of wind brought him home.
A beauty of art, as brave as the sword,
Could the Sun ignore such warmth of hope?
He spread his shine, wherever he went,
Rose as though from the West again.
But his shine couldn’t outdo Hers
She, who lived in his home and heart.
Hear the tale of such Bravehearts,
Come hear this story of immortal love.”
And thus begins our story...
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