The Timeless Oath

Karan’s POV

The palace was alive with the glow of countless diyas, their flickering flames casting golden light over the marble corridors. Laughter and music filled the air, the scent of burning camphor and fresh marigolds mingling with the crisp night breeze.

Diwali. The festival of victory, of righteousness prevailing over darkness.

"Ek aur Ramayan likhi ja rahi hai." (Another Ramayana is being written.)

I stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching them—Maharaj and Bhabisa.

Arjun bhai stood tall, dressed in a royal angrakha of deep crimson, the flickering lamps casting shadows over his sharp features. And Abhira bhabisa… her gold lehenga shimmered under the moonlight, her veil framing her face like a goddess stepping out of legend. The way they looked at each other, the way they moved—if Ram and Sita had walked among us, they would look like this.

And me?

I was neither a king nor a queen . But I knew my role well.

"Ek aur Ramayan likhi ja rahi hai… aur main phir ek baar Hanuman banna chahta hoon." (Another Ramayana is being written… and once again, I want to be Hanuman.)

Or maybe Lakshman. The younger brother who would walk through fire, fight demons, and never let evil touch them.

But this wasn’t just another Ramayan.

It was also another Mahabharat.

Because the way men looked at Bhabisa sometimes… their eyes filled with something vile… reminded me of Draupadi in the sabha of Hastinapur. History repeated itself in ways we never expected.

Some things never changed.

But neither did my loyalty.

"Jo bhi aag aayegi, jo bhi yudh hoga… is Hanuman ka vachan hai, Ram aur Sita ko surakshit rakhoonga."
(Whatever fire comes, whatever war happens… this Hanuman swears to keep Ram and Sita safe.)

Even if it meant burning down Lanka again.

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Arjun’s POV

The rangoli at Abhira’s feet blurred as I stepped closer.

She was standing at the temple courtyard, gazing at the lamps, lost in thought. The glow of the diyas made her skin look even more radiant, her dark eyes reflecting the flames.

"Tum iss roshni mein dikh rahi ho jaise..." I murmured. (You look like in this light as if...)

She turned to me, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "Jaise?" (As if?)

I stepped even closer.

"Jaise tum khud ek diya ho… jo sirf roshni nahi deta, par us roshni ki chhaya se bhi mohabbat ho jaye."
(As if you yourself are a lamp… one that not only gives light, but even its shadows are worthy of love.)

Her breath hitched. The way her lips parted slightly, the way her fingers clutched the folds of her dupatta—I could read her just as well as I could read the stars in the sky.

"Kya tumhe sirf roshni pasand hai, Maharaj?" she whispered, tilting her face up to me. (Do you only love the light, Maharaj?)

I caught her wrist, pulling her close.

"Mujhe andhera bhi utna hi pasand hai, Chidiya…" I murmured, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. (I love the darkness just as much, Chidiya...)

Because I had seen both in her—the fire and the shadows. And I would worship them all.

Her fingers trembled as they rested against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. Her breath was warm against my jaw, her lashes fluttering as I traced my fingers along the side of her face.

"Arjun…" she whispered.

The sound of my name on her lips was enough to set my blood on fire.

I pulled her into the shadows of the corridor, away from the eyes of the festival, away from the world that kept trying to steal her from me.

"Abhira..." My voice was rough, desperate. "Mujhe mat chhodna." (Don’t leave me.)

Her breath shuddered. "Main jaa toh nahi rahi..." (I’m not leaving...)

But she wasn’t sure.

And I needed her to be sure.

So I silenced her doubts with my lips.

The diyas burned in the courtyard, but my fire burned here, in this darkened corner, where my hands gripped her waist, where she melted against me, where she clutched my angrakha as if I was the only thing keeping her in this time.

I kissed her like she was the only prayer I had ever spoken.

And she kissed me back like she was giving me her answer.

She was mine.

Mine.

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Karan’s POV

The night was filled with celebration, with firecrackers bursting in the sky, with the sound of drums and mantras echoing across the fort. I stood near the palace steps, my gaze sharp, scanning every face, every movement.

Something felt off.

And then—

A shadow moved.

Too fast. Too precise.

A glint of steel.

My heart stopped.

"BHAI!"

Arjun turned just as the assassin lunged.

I moved faster.

Throwing myself between them, I grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisting it violently. The dagger clattered to the ground as I kicked the man back, pinning him down with my knee.

"Pakdo isse!" I shouted. (Catch him!)

The guards rushed in, dragging the man up. His face was covered, but his eyes… they burned with a hatred I had seen before.

A hatred that came from those who wanted Arjun bhai dead.

Wanted us dead.

Abhira and Arjun had rushed out from the corridor, their faces pale, eyes wide with shock. Arjun’s gaze snapped to the dagger on the ground, realization settling in.

This wasn’t just an attack.

This was a message.

The enemy was already inside.

Abhira’s hand clutched at Arjun’s arm, and I saw it again—the same way Maa sita once looked at Shri Rama in the forest, the same silent plea.

"Unhe tod do, Karan." she whispered, her voice shaking. (Break them, Karan.)

And I swore—

If Lanka had to burn again , I would be the one to set the flames.