In the quiet chambers of the royal palace, Mahārāṇī Kārttikī, with her radiant glow and the anticipation of motherhood in her eyes, sat in the embrace of her opulent surroundings. She gently caressed her swollen belly, her touch conveying a love and tenderness that only a mother could possess. Soft whispers filled the air as she spoke to the life growing within her, a conversation between a mother and her unborn child.

"Little one," Kārttikī murmured, her voice a gentle psalm that resonated in the stillness of the chamber. "Can you hear me? Can you feel the love that surrounds you, even in this very moment? You are the yearning of dawn, my precious one, a beacon of light in the darkness."

As if in response to her mother's words, the child within stirred, a benign flutter that reverberated through the chambers. Kārttikī smiled, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of joy and apprehension. She knew that the time of birth was drawing near, and she called upon her sister-in-law, Rāgiṇī, for assistance.

Rāgiṇī, her presence as palliative as a gentle breeze, entered the chambers with her daughter, Lakṣmaṇa, by her side. The kanyā had an air of mystique about her, an all-knowing smile that hinted at secrets held deep within her being. It was as if she possessed a connection to the forces of the Brahmāṇḍ, an understanding of the exalted play that was unfurling.

Kārttikī's eyes met Lakṣmaṇa's, and for an ephemeral moment, time stood still. In that exchange, unspoken messages passed between them, a silent recognition of the cosmic energies at play. The Mahārāṇī understood, without words, that her daughter's birth held a significance beyond the realm of mortal understanding.

With a graceful gesture, Rāgiṇī motioned for the midwives to enter the chambers. Their presence, like a celestial chorus, filled the room with a sense of purpose and determination. They moved with a gentle urgency, their skilled hands and compassionate hearts attuned to the sacred act of bringing life into the world.

Outside the chamber, Rāgiṇī and Lakṣmaṇa stood together, their eyes fixed on the closed doors. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, a palpable tension that seemed to vibrate in the air. The sky itself seemed to hold its breath, the clouds thickening and darkening as if in synchrony with the imminent arrival.

Lakṣmaṇa's gaze, filled with enigmatic knowing, shifted towards the Shangri-la. Her smile deepened, and her eyes scintillated with a pearl of tranquil wisdom. She felt the ethereal energies aligning, the resplendent forces converging upon this sacrosanct moment. It was as if the very universe held its breath, waiting for the dawn of a new era.

Within the chambers, Kārttikī's laboured breathing harmonized with the rhythm of the universe. The midwives, with their diaphanous touch and palatial words, guided her through the sacred passage of birth. Time seemed to stretch, each moment pregnant with the weight of augury .

And then, at long last, the cry of a newborn pierced the air, like the triumphant song of a thousand birds heralding the dawn. Kārttikī, her body filled with both languor and delirium , beheld her daughter for the first time. The infant, swathed in lissome fabrics and cradled in loving arms, emanated a apotheotic beauty that transcended mortal cognizance.

As if in response to the birth of this celestial being, the heavens themselves opened. Raindrops, like shimmering pearls, cascaded from the darkened sky, an ethereal downpour that washed over the land. Each droplet carried the blessings of the divine, an affirmation of the cosmic significance of this momentous occasion.

The atmosphere within the chamber shifted, infused with a sense of awe and reverence. It was as if the very fabric of existence had been rewoven, an aubusson where mortal and divine intermingled. Kārttikī, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude, whispered a silent prayer, acknowledging the elysianess of her daughter's arrival.

At that moment, a profound epiphany washed over those present. They knew, deep in their souls, that this child, born amidst astral signs and heavenly blessings, carried within her the noumenon of something greater. The world stood witness to the convergence of mortal and celestial destinies, a reminder that in the grand passementerie of life, even the smallest threads can hold immeasurable power and salience .

As the cries of the newborn princess filled the chambers, Mahārāṇī Kārttikī, her heart brimming with tenacious maternal love and unwavering determination, knew that the battlefield must be informed of this portentous occasion. With a regal command, she summoned a messenger, whose swift feet would carry her words like the wind, bridging the gap between the palace and the battlefield where Maharaj Dyutimata waged his war against the Kshudrakas.

With eyes that blazed like the fire of a thousand suns, Kārttikī entrusted the messenger with a message that held the weight of her love and the exigency of their daughter's fate. "Tell Mahārājā Dyutimata," she commanded, her voice resolute and unwavering, "that within the embrace of our kul, an auspicious daughter has graced our presence. As her mother, I beseech him to fight with valour and unwavering determination. Let him know that our daughter's future, her destiny, rests on the outcome of this battle. Let him draw strength from her innocent gaze, for she is the embodiment of our hopes and dreams. He must conquer the enemy with a warrior's heart, for in his victory lies the promise of a bright and prosperous future for our beloved daughter."

With every word that fell from her lips, Kārttikī evoked the strength and power of a lioness protecting her cub. Her message carried the weight of a queen who would stop at nothing to ensure the safety and triumph of her lineage. The imagery of a roaring lioness guarding her rarefied young resonated within the heart of the messenger, who understood the significance of his task and the alacrity with which it must be accomplished.

At this moment, Kārttikī embodied the quintessence of a resolute queen, her words akin to arrows piercing through the veil of battle. She imbued her message with the symbolism of a pharos of light, guiding Mahārājā Dyutimata through the darkest of times. The kismet of their cherished daughter intertwined with the outcome of the war as if her existence depended on his triumph.

With the messenger now carrying her words like a sacred scroll, Kārttikī, in her royal grace, turned her attention back to the infant princess cradled in her arms. Her resolve burned brightly, a flame that flickered with the ardor of a queen who would move heaven and earth to ensure her daughter's safety and happiness. At that moment, she embodied the sinew , gallantry , and implacable love that could inspire a king to achieve the quixotic .

And so, as the messenger ventured forth, carrying the weight of Kārttikī's words, the battlefield became more than a mere clash of swords and spears. It became a crucible where the destiny of a princess and the future of a kingdom were entwined, awaiting the triumphant return of Mahārājā Dyutimata, guided by the love and determination of his beloved queen.

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I want to extend my deepest gratitude for your continued support and presence on this literary journey. Your enthusiasm and engagement have fueled my passion for storytelling, and I hope this chapter has left you craving for more. Your feedback and comments are invaluable to me, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts. Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment, where new twists and turns await. Until then, may your imagination soar and your hearts be filled with anticipation.

Also a DISCLAIMER.Vijayā's and Lakṣmaṇa's mothers' names weren't mentioned in any of the scriptures I referred to.So I took creative liberty with their names.If any of you want to use the names ,you can only use them after getting permission from me.