TURN OF EVENTS

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The grand hall hummed like a hive of bees, alive with murmurs and anticipation, as golden zeniths shimmered beneath the summer solstice. Flower garlands, woven from the rarest blooms in shades of yellow, pink, purple, orange, and red, draped gracefully around towering pillars, each intricately carved with peacocks and lotuses. At the heart of the hall, a grand stage rose, its three-tiered steps leading to an aisle where thrones stood in regal splendor—reserved for the kings, princes, and noblemen who had journeyed from distant lands to display their valor and stake their claim for a bride.

Meanwhile, in the princesses' chamber, giggles and hushed whispers filled the air as Ambika and Amballika gossiped, their hearts fluttering like butterflies at the thought of the svayamvara's aftermath.

"Rajakumari, the prince of Asmaka is here. You can catch a glimpse of him through the window," Tarini whispered mischievously. At once, the girls rushed to the aperture, their eager eyes drawn to the regal figure below. "He looks so handsome," Amballika murmured, admiration evident in her voice. "I agree, Ammu," Ambika said, momentarily lost in thought. Just then, another noble figure entered—the prince of Kamboja. His presence was just as striking, his stance exuding effortless confidence.

"Didi, you choose Asmaka's prince, and I'll choose him!" Amballika declared excitedly, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"What are my darlings discussing?" Kaushalya asked curiously as she entered the chamber, her gaze warm and knowing. The girls flustered, their giggles abruptly halting. "Nothing, Maa," they said in unison, hastily concealing their blush. Kaushalya smiled, gently warding off the evil eye from her daughters before speaking. "It is time for the festivities to begin."

The girls nodded, falling into step beside their mother. As they walked through the grand corridors, they crossed paths with Amba, resplendent in turquoise silk—the one she had finally chosen after rejecting countless attires.

"You look beautiful, Didi," Ambika whispered, wrapping her in a side hug.

Though Amba had never been fond of physical affection, she hesitated only for a moment before embracing her younger sister. Amballika, not the one to be left out, pouted before eagerly joining the hug. "You both look even prettier," Amba said with a rare, loving smile.

Her gaze softened as she gently cupped their faces. "Even if we part ways after the svayamvara, in our hearts, we will always be together."

The weight of her words settled between them, and for a moment, they simply stood there, their eyes glistening with unshed tears, bound by a love stronger than any distance fate could bring.

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The girls were led onto the grand golden stage, their presence illuminating the arena like celestial beings descended from the heavens. A hushed silence fell over the assembly as awe-struck gazes drank in their divine beauty—countenances so radiant they seemed akin to apsaras gracing the earth.

Amba, poised with regal grace, cast a coy smile in Shalva's direction. Their eyes met across the vast hall, a silent promise lingering in the air. Shalva, unfazed by the grandeur of the moment, winked at her as a soft blush crept onto her cheeks. 

Ambika's gaze met the prince of Asmaka's, and for a fleeting moment, the world around her faded. His soft smile held no trace of the hunger that lurked in so many other eyes—only a quiet warmth, pure and unspoken, that made her heart flutter.

Meanwhile, Ambalika's eyes remained fixed on the prince of Kamboja, her admiration evident and unguarded. He caught her stare, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes at her open appreciation. Instead of looking away, she held his gaze, emboldened by the silent challenge in his smirk.

Suddenly, the serenity in the air shattered as the massive metal doors of the arena swung open with a resounding clang. The force of it sent a ripple of unease through the assembly, silencing whispers and stilling movements.

Bhisma stepped in, his towering presence exuding an unyielding authority, his stance radiating a silent challenge. His eyes, sharp as a warrior's blade, swept across the gathered suitors, daring any to question his purpose. Laughter erupted from a few of the assembled kings and princes, their mirth laced with mockery.

"I suppose Gangaputra now craves a wife after years of celibacy," one of them jeered, smirking.

The taunt hung in the air, but Bhisma remained unfazed. His expression did not waver, nor did his resolve falter. He had not come for jest—he had come to claim.

"Silence."

King Kashya's voice rang through the arena, firm and commanding. He knew Bhisma was no ordinary man—he was a warrior of unparalleled skill, a force even the bravest dared not provoke needlessly.

"I am here to take the brides to Hastinapura as Vichitravirya's queens. Anyone who dares to oppose me may face me in battle." Bhisma's voice rang through the arena, laced with unshakable confidence—an arrogance that struck a nerve in every warrior present.

Before the blink of an eye, a furious roar erupted from Shalva, his rage igniting the air like wildfire. The divine svayamvara hall, once adorned with an empyrean aura, now transformed into a battlefield, the clash of honor and arrogance reverberating through its sacred walls.

Ambika swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat as she instinctively clutched Amballika's trembling hand. Chaos unfurled before their eyes—swords unsheathed, and the dreamlike festivity now a distant memory.

The dream—was it a prelude to this?

As Shalva crashed to the ground, defeated and wounded by Bhisma's unrelenting strike, a sharp gasp escaped Amba's lips. Horror gripped her as she struggled to rush toward him, but before she could take a step, her world twisted into a waking nightmare.

The grandeur of the svayamvara hall was now unrecognizable—trampled garlands, overturned thrones, and the metallic scent of blood staining its once-sacred air. Amidst the ruin, Bhisma's chariot stormed in, its wheels crushing remnants of the shattered festivity.

Before they could resist, he seized them, forcing them into the chariot. Ambika and Amballika stood frozen, their bodies trembling, their minds struggling to grasp the cruel turn of fate. Amba, too stunned to react, felt her heart hammer in her chest, her gaze flickering helplessly toward the fallen Shalva.

Bhisma, unmoved by their fear, paid no heed to their silent pleas. With an air of triumph, he took the reins and rode toward Hastinapura, his mind filled only with the victory of securing them for his brother—oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the storm he had unleashed in their hearts.

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The second chapter is up!

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