The Queen Mother and former Queen Regent, Sivagami Devi was a canny woman. 

One has to be, if they have to reign over an empire, rule over a court of power hungry men for years. 

She was not ashamed of accepting that she has taken some extremely unsavoury decisions during her reign and neither did she shift the blame of the consequences on her circumstances as many would be wont to do. 

Sivagami had considered herself above mere pettiness, once upon a time. 

But it would be a disgrace to her own exacting standards if she doesn't accept that the distance she had maintained from her elder daughter in law was somewhat petty. 

In Devasena, she had ironically seen a her own shadow. 

Once when she was young, naïve and had a strong sense of right and wrong. 

Age and experience had forced her to concede that those lines were often blurred in a troublingly large area of grey. 

Age and experience, which Devasena had sorely lacked, five years ago. 

When she had stood glaring at her from beneath the throne, undeterred in the middle of a court which would not have hesitated before devouring her. 

A small stab of appreciation had been overshadowed by a huge wave of wrath. 

Wrath, which Sivagami had not realised then, was only borne from her own headstrongness and maybe a bit of ego. Yet, even in that inferno, a spark of that wisdom which had silvered her raven hair, had been speaking in lilting undertones in her heated ears. 

'They will consume her. And him. They will crush both of them and their beautiful, youthful naivete under their feet. And you will see your empire collapse along with them.'

They said. The voices which had whispered to her throughout her life. 

Advising, taunting, warning and supporting. 

She had stared into her younger son's earth brown eyes and had seen the regret, and the determination. The overpowering love which swirled around him and his princess like a golden rope which had them bound. 

And she knew. 

She knew, Bahubali would fight to his death to keep his Devasena with him. He doesn't care about the throne or the crown. 

Her heart had thundered, terrified and lost as realisation had crashed into her with the force of an ascending gale. 

Amarendra would never care about the empire like it deserved to be. 

Like his father and mother had. 

Like she had. 

Her poor, lovely, brilliant child will forfeit this power, this luxury, this responsibility without batting an eyelash if there is ever a choice made. 

He will always choose his princess. He will always choose his family. 

For Bahu was a man composed of emotions and he gave precedence to emotional bonds more than anything else. And that was why, the subjects fell over themselves for him. They identified with his simplicity and his infinite capacity of kindness. 

A kindness which can very well come at the cost of Mahishmati herself. 

She had sense him move from beside her. 

An aura of a caged panther, struggling within the bonds which had him tied together in an unforgivable knot.

The bonds of blood and honour and that of duty. 

Bonds which couldn't be ripped apart as easily as her wily husband thinks. 

Her first born, her only... born. 

He had more of his mother in him than he would ever know or rather, accept.  

He had thought he could manipulate her. 

Her... 

She had chortled mentally. 

Sivagami had been playing this game long before Bhallaladeva had known what the meaning of the word was. 

She knew her apathy, her coarseness and her deliberate move of pushing him aside had alienated her elder son from her. Perhaps, drawn a chasm between them so wide, a gorge so deep than they will never be able to cross it. 

He hadn't known, her Bhalla.. that she knew where his insecurities came from. Where the burning, insane desire to prove himself over and over again had arisen. She knew the moment she had seen him look at that floor length painting of Devasena, hanging from the wall. 

A last ditch attempt at winning this imaginary rat race which the brothers had concocted unknowingly betwixt them. 

She had known. 

That was not love. 

That was not even attraction. 

Because that is not how she, had looked, when she had first felt that feeling. There was none of that hunger, that ever consuming wildfire of desire, that absolute enraptured visage which had threatened to rip her apart from the seams. 

That was not love in his eyes. 

That was... a conflicted darkness which was battling with the light in furore. An artificial layer of a barely strung together charade of infatuation. 

But she had gone along with it. After all, Devasena was truly a sight to behold. She had all the qualities of being queen. But that was before she had known Bahu had gone and fallen for the same woman. 

Now she knew. 

Whom she had to choose. 

It had become as clear as a daylight to her. 

For if there was one person who could plough through being called a monster, wash off the blood and gore and mud they splashed on him, bear through the hatred and vitriol they spew at him and still tow that incredibly hazy line of right and wrong, it her elder son. 

For he had never had anything other than the crown, the thrown and will never be able to hold onto anything as fiercely as he can, this empire. 

He was way too much like her. 

Much more than she would have liked. 

For only Bhallaladeva, would be able to sacrifice anything and everything he held dear, for Mahishmati... 

Even if it ends up killing, him and everyone he holds close to his heart, in the end. 

Just like her. 

Only she had not factored him suddenly flipping at the end. The light ripping through the darkness like a merciless canon ball and left her floundering for control at the edges. Very rarely have people managed to completely blindside her. 

She had thought it would be easy because as far as she had judged, her elder son wanted the throne and that is why he had laid such an elaborate scheme. But then why did he deliberately sabotage his own well laid plan.  

It hadn't made any sense. 

And the only option she had left was to react as predictably as possible. 

No one is exempted from the fury of Sivagami Devi when she is defied. Not even her own sons. Especially not them. The court had swallowed it up with relish and she had seen Amarendra's shock translate into gratitude. Something softening in his eyes as he had beheld his cousin. 

Love. 

That same incandescent, iridescent, irrevocable love which will ruin him one day. 

But she had breathed a sigh of relief. 

Distancing herself from Bhalla and showing her displeasure at Bahu and Devasena's marriage , she had irrevocably brought all three of them closer. Bonds of understanding created at such a time of adversity will take a lot more to break. 

Sivagami had as much regret in being the villain in this story as her eldest born has, for doing what he believes is in the interest of Mahishmati and the empire in general.

"Oh my.... "

Sivagami turned sharply towards her attendant who was dutifully following her and had been unable to stop the disbelieving gasp from escaping her, as she had turned to look at the arena which was clearly visible from the corridor. 

"I am so sorry your highness.. I was just.."

She waved away the flustered apology and turned to look at what had elicited such a reaction from her usually stoic attendant. Her heart jumped to her throat and for a scary moment she envisioned the organ leaping out of her mouth and writhing at the floor in front, in a bloodied mess. 

She saw the Commander, her elder son, in the middle of the arena surrounded by a squadron of his infamous Kalki's. But that wasn't what made her feel a little lightheaded at the moment. 

It was that Bhallaladeva was blindfolded, unarmed, unarmoured and his arms were tied all around the torso with ropes as thick as an elephant's trunk. 

The Kalkis, seemed like they have been given permission to go all out on him. 

It was a no bars hold, multi-pronged attack. 

And they didn't hesitate to draw blood. 

Sivagami knew her son was a little hypervigilant about his training sessions and seemed to inevitably always go overboard, if the Rajvaidya's complaints were to be taken seriously, but this was something never seen before. 

The General has been seen training with his notorious shadow hunters before, and it was a terrifying yet magnificent sight but it has never been this extreme. 

'Has he turned suicidal!'

Sivagami watched with baited breath, her lungs burning up a wildfire as he successfully dodged a massive long range mace thrown right where his neck had been and leaped up the next second to avoid a sword swipe at his knees by the man behind. The men were coming at him relentlessly and he seemed to be doing an odd dance with them, twisting and turning, surprisingly flexible, for a man. 

It was more defence than offence. 

Which was not the Commander's style at all. He was like a battering ram on a normal day and a rampaging rhinoceros on his best. This looked like a strange mix of martial arts and hand to hand combat in a wildly compromising position. 

The Rajmata could judge by the way the men were moving that they were trying to corner him, trap him without much field of range so that he could be struck down. A frightening coordination between a group of the deadliest killers she has ever seen. And she has seen a lot.

It was like seeing a band of sharks trying to fight a single prey. 

But thankfully, her son looked impossible to catch. He was flighty and light on his feet and the men floundered continuously. As she saw one of them throwing his sword at him, frustrated, grimy and blinded with desperation, Sivagami smirked, straightening. 

He was tiring them out, looking for an opening. 

A mistake. 

Which that idiot had just done by throwing his sword. 

For she knew, you had to be a special kind of an oblivious ignorant fool, to literally offer up a blade to a man celebrated for being near invincible in swordplay. 

In a move, which made his opponents gawk in befuddlement, he came at the blade sideways, let it slice across one of the ropes around his torso, splattering blood along his collarbone and bicep, from where it had nicked him. 

And in matter of seconds, he had ripped open the ropes and had a weapon. 

Air whooshed into Sivagami's chest like a tidal wave of relief and she could finally breathe again. It was just a matter of minutes now. The Kalkis were exhausted and Bhalla had a sword. The blindfold did embarrassing little to reduce his speed and dexterity.

The dusty grounds met the drained, blood streaked, tired bodies of the men soon enough and Mahishmati's best warriors found themselves groaning and gasping for breath. 

The Commander tore open the blindfold and dropped the cloth and the sword with a nonchalant clang on the ground, listless, smoothly hiding the wince as his newest injury stretched along painfully with his movement. 

His eyes roamed disappointed over his men and he waved away the attendants who had came immediately, to perhaps see to his wounds. He was gearing up to give them what must have been a lecture, when his eyes met hers. 

Sivagami saw her elder son staring at her piercingly. Those charcoal pupils resembling volcanic ash after an explosion and she could almost smell the burning odour of the magma covered cinders in the air which separated the distance between them.

A distance seemingly crossable but she knew better. 

 Her stomach hollowed out as his expression changed just minutely. 

Almost invisible to anyone but her and his gaze became empty. 

She had shut him out and he was leaving no stone unturned to return the favour. 

She didn't deserve to see inside his soul. 

Not anymore. 

Maybe she never did. 

His pasty face in court that day came back to haunt her and not for the first time since the past five years, Sivagami Devi was forced to wonder miserably, whether in her bid to be the perfect Queen, she had forgotten to become a mother. 

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Air slammed back into her chest with a force which made her simultaneously nauseous and stumble on her usually nimble feet. Radha squeaked and she felt her friend and chief attendant's fingers grip her arms from behind, tightly. 

She had no idea that she had not been breathing. 

At least not till he had dropped the blindfold and the sword on the ground. 

She had no idea that one of her hands had gripped the fabric of her angavastram wrapped around her chest, so tight that it had almost ripped. Her knuckles had become white and she had left it midway to clutch at a necklace lying at the hollow of her breasts. 

The mangalsutra...

She had barely managed to stop her hand from creeping towards her own throat to somehow aid the breaths to find its way back in again, throughout those agonising twenty or so minutes of the duel. 

"Your highness, brace yourself... the Rajmata is here.."

Radha's gentle words brought her back to earth and the dark spots cleared off from her vision and the surrounding noises came back with vengeance. 

And with it came a viscous, cloying, red. 

Rage. 

Unfiltered. 

Unmanageable. 

And completely unprecedented. 

A vitriolic anger which she had strived her entire life to keep at bay. All those years of rigorous meditation and struggle to block this destructive force of emotion, hide it behind an avalanche of ice became futile within a few minutes.

What she had feared the first day their eyes had met in the court, came back to creep at the edges of her mind. 

He can tear through your self made defences very easily, don't let him get inside too much. The damage done would be irrevocable. 

But unfortunately none of her own reason or her wise attendant's sudden whispered pleading could cut through that foggy haze of apoplectic fury which had her in a chokehold. 

All she could hear was her mother's screams, erupting from somewhere deep within her. 

Mrignayani forced herself harshly away from her handmaiden and stormed towards the arena, uncaring of the whispered mutterings following her lead. 

She barely paid attention to her mother in law's hawk like eyes zeroing on her. 

All her focus was on the man in front. 

Her husband. 

And she was going to tear him a new one. 

She didn't care if it resulted in her doom or spread in the palace like wildfire within a few seconds. 

How fucking dare he!

Suffice it to say the Commander was not prepared for the thunderstorm about to fall on him. He barely saw his wife appear out of nowhere before she had a sword in her hand and he was forced to stop mid lecture and duck as she swiped it with deadly force, drawing blood and tearing off his medallion which skittered in the dust somewhere. 

And the worst part was, seeing her doe eyes blazing with white hot rage, he wasn't sure whether she had intended for that attack to miss or not. It was pure luck as he could duck and avoid the next one which would have surely taken his head off and he mentally answered his previous question, himself. 

He could barely get a word in sideways as she kept slashing the sword madly but with an astounding skill, her heavy embroidered skirts, silks and jewellery doing nothing to stop her progress. 

Bhalla figured his men may have been rendered into inaction by sheer shock just like him, as they stood gaping and scrambled away to avoid getting hit themselves. He could sense the guards fidgeting confused and more than a little scared, not knowing whether to interfere or not. 

But he didn't have too much time to dwell on it seeing that his wife had suddenly started hungering for his blood. He finally managed to find another sword and clashed it along her's, blocking the next move. 

She didn't even wait for a second before pushing the blades hard enough, with perfect precision, which shockingly made him stumble and hit the pillar near the boundary of the training grounds, towards which she had cornered him.

She had managed to bring the blades dangerously close to his throat again and kept glaring at him from across the sharpened edges, her face set in granite and the usual playful coyness completely absent. He got a waft of the ever present fragrance of jasmines. 

Only that it was mixed a little with sandalwood and incense giving evidence that she had been doing her daily puja before coming here. 

He was slightly disturbed by the fact that the first coherent thought which came to him as both of them breathed heavily in a cloistered proximity was that he had no idea, women can look so bloody ravishing when completely unhinged with incomprehensible rage. 

But he was sure she would drive the blade through him if he even tried to let her know of that particular fact at this particular moment. 

Which made him come back to the present and he gasped a bit feeling the edge of the blade graze along his already nicked throat. 

"I am sure the person given a death sentence is also told about their offence before the execution... wife."

He said breathlessly as her eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"Oh, there is no offence at all. Seeing that all I am doing is fulfilling your own wish... my lord."

The way she spat at the end, would have made his hackles rise at the sheer disrespect, if only she would have let gone of this strange intoxicating hold, she had on him. 

He could almost feel his facial muscles straining for a smile. 

Not a good idea..

"My wish...? I don't quite understand."

"Because of course, fighting blindfolded and tied up in a no bars hold battle with your most dangerous men on a whim, is your idea of training. And definitely not a death wish!"

"Nayani I.."

"Maybe you should start these conversations with your intended, before the wedding. 'I am suicidal and if you don't wish to be a widow, please don't marry me.'"

"But I.."

"Maybe then she can make a choice for herself properly. But no! You have to trick everyone into doing whatever is convenient to you!"

"What are you..."

"It doesn't matter as long as you get what you want! Everyone else can burn into ash! Is that right! Isn't it?"

"My dear..."

"Don't you dare 'my-dear' me! I know all your manipulative tactics, General! Actually this is not your fault! Its all in the blood!"

"..."

"I am sick and tired of playing these games with you! I am... I am..."

Bhallaladeva looked alarmed as her breathing went out of control and the swords dropped to the ground between them. He awkwardly moved his hand in the air above her shoulder, not knowing whether he was allowed to touch her. She was trembling, but this time, it seemed more like restrained hyperventilation than outright anger. 

He squashed his hesitance and drew her in his arms but kept the hold lose enough so that she could escape if she wanted. Her body went rigid and didn't relax even after a few seconds and he cursed himself mentally and was about to let go. 

Then she seemed to panic at that notion and melted in his embrace, not bothered about the sweat and grime and blood which stained her face as it came in contact with his bare chest. Her fingers almost dug in the skin of his chest painfully, where she had held onto him but he didn't seem to mind.

It was strange, how the strong sickly cloying smell of blood, the tang of metal and the dusty odour of the arena had mixed with his natural fragrance which smelt like coal tar and woodsmoke.

The noises in her brain were clamouring for control and she felt her eyes sting at the overpowering cacophony which was loud enough to drive monsters insane. 

Then he whispered in her hair, his voice gravelly with the tamped down volume but heavy with his usual baritone. 

"Breathe, Princess..."

Two words and she felt the sounds in her head quieten down almost instantly as if scared into submission by a force acknowledged to be more powerful. 

"Breathe along with me."

She closed her eyes and focussed on the dull thuds vibrating against her cheek and tried desperately to sync her hammering heart beats to follow them. It may have been a minute or maybe an hour but slowly she could feel everything slow down. 

The nausea was back in full force. As if she had thrown herself off a cliff and had finally found her feet firmly on the ground but her stomach had decided to stay in the suspended state, mid air.

 And with it came an insane desire to merge herself with the ground. 

Bhalla felt her move away from him sharply, her eyes wide on that pulchritudinous face which had turned a sickly white from her usual amber cream. There a faint smudge of his blood on her cheek and her hair had become slightly dishevelled at the initial scuffle between them and from the fingers which he had been running through the silken strands to calm her down. 

She looked like a doe caught in headlights. 

He finally realised that they had an audience. 

Not a very dignified way of losing control in front of a host of his warriors and more tragically, the Queen Mother herself. He could almost taste her embarrassment beneath his tongue. 

Thick and lead like. 

Her face had slowly started burning into a warm shade of pink and she straightened her spine ramrod, before adjusting her open expression into some semblance of decorum. 

He had to give it to her then. 

His wife was very adept at the chameleon tactics. 

He had opened his mouth to say something, her prior jumbled rant becoming slightly clear in his memory and something like concern had started pooling in the pit of his stomach like an uncomfortable weight, when she turned and strode off with her usual grace. 

Almost as if mocking them. 

As if she didn't nearly murder him with his own sword and then had a nervous breakdown in his arms the next minute. 

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