A short while later, the palace corridors grew heavy with tension.
Servants walked faster than usual. Guards stood straighter. Whispers traveled like an unseen wind.
Everyone was heading toward the royal court.
Mannikarnika noticed the unease immediately. The confident spark in her eyes sharpened as she turned toward Vahini.
"Why does everyone look so frightened?"
Vahini glanced at the anxious faces around them before answering quietly, "British soldiers have arrived in the court."
For a split second, something fierce ignited inside Mannu.
Her blood boiled.
But her face remained composed.
Without another word, they moved toward the darbar hall and stopped behind a grand embroidered curtain that separated the inner quarters from the main assembly.
From behind the veil, they could hear everything clearly.
A British commander stood in the center of the court, his red coat immaculate, boots polished, chin lifted in arrogance.
He laughed.
"In this entire state," he declared mockingly, "there is no one strong enough to stand against us."
His gaze shifted toward Peshwa Baji Rao II, who sat on the throne — regal, yet restrained by invisible chains of political helplessness.
"That is why," the commander continued, "we can collect as much tax as we desire. And do not forget — we placed you here. You are meant to remain loyal to us… not bark against us."
The insult struck like a whip.
Behind the curtain, Mannikarnika's fingers curled into fists.
The veins on her temple pulsed.
Before anyone could anticipate her move, she reached for the sword of a nearby guard, unsheathed it in one swift motion, and leapt from behind the curtain.
The steel flashed.
She charged toward the British commander with blazing fury.
But before her blade could reach him, Tatya Tope and several others rushed forward and restrained her. They held her firmly — not out of weakness, but out of necessity.
Even then, her eyes burned like wildfire.
For the first time, the British commander faltered.
There was something in her gaze — something untamed.
But when he realized she was being held back, his arrogance returned.
"You filthy Indian girl," he spat. "How dare you."
Then he turned sharply to his soldiers. "Arrest her. Immediately."
The British troops stepped forward.
And in that very instant—
The metallic sound of dozens of swords being unsheathed echoed through the court.
Almost every Maratha warrior present had drawn his blade.
They stepped forward as one.
"Oye!"
The single shout shook the air.
The British soldiers froze.
The atmosphere thickened. One spark could turn the hall into a battlefield.
Peshwa Baji Rao II rose slightly from his throne.
His voice was calm, but firm.
"We are prepared to pay the additional tax demanded by the British government. However, she is our princess. You will not lay a hand upon her."
His gaze hardened.
"Otherwise… the consequences will not be pleasant."
The commander narrowed his eyes.
Silence stretched painfully as he assessed the room — the drawn swords, the united stance, the unwavering loyalty toward the girl.
After a moment, he spoke coldly, "Very well. We shall pardon her."
A brief pause.
"But she will kneel and apologize to us."
The words struck like thunder.
Baji Rao's voice rose sharply, "You are crossing your limits, George."
So this was his name.
George.
He studied their reactions carefully now. It was clear — the girl held immense value here.
But pride would not let him retreat easily.
"Will you stand against the British Empire?" he challenged.
The tension reached its peak.
Then—
Moropant stepped forward.
He folded his hands respectfully and bowed his head slightly.
"On behalf of my daughter… I apologize."
George stared at him.
For a moment, his expression remained hard.
Then the advisor standing beside him leaned closer and whispered in a low voice, "We came for increased tax. They have agreed. There is no need to escalate further."
George clenched his jaw.
"But that filthy girl—"
"We can deal with her another time," the advisor murmured. "For now, we leave."
After a few seconds of visible internal struggle, George finally gave a slow nod.
He turned back toward Baji Rao, his voice regaining its polished tone.
"Well then. As an honest British soldier, I shall overlook this matter."
The hypocrisy in his words hung heavily in the hall.
Without another glance, he signaled his men.
The red-coated soldiers marched out of the court.
Only after they disappeared beyond the palace gates did the hall exhale collectively.
But Mannikarnika's eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway.
The fire inside her had not dimmed.
It had only begun to grow.
The moment the British soldiers disappeared beyond the palace gates, the suffocating tension inside the court dissolved.
A ripple of restrained laughter spread across the hall.
Peshwa Baji Rao II leaned back slightly on his throne, his stern expression softening as he looked at Mannikarnika.
"So this," he said with amused pride, "is our bravery against the British. Our Chhabili."
His eyes twinkled.
"If Tatya ji had not stopped you, you would have cut that Englishman's head clean off."
A faint smile tugged at Mannu's lips, though the fire inside her had not fully cooled.
The Peshwa then extended his hand affectionately. "Come here. How is our Chhabili?"
Mannu immediately returned the sword to the guard and hurried forward. She bent to touch his feet, but before her hands could reach them, the Peshwa stopped her and pulled her into a warm embrace.
"I am well, Dada Saheb," she said softly. "And you? Did you remember me?"
The Peshwa chuckled. "I heard you have brought someone with you."
At that, Moropant stepped forward with Aarav beside him.
Aarav still wore his modern-style clothes — slightly different from the traditional attire around him, making him stand out subtly yet distinctly.
The Peshwa observed him carefully.
"Is he from outside?" he asked thoughtfully. "He looks Hindustani… but different."
Aarav folded his hands respectfully. "Pranam."
The Peshwa's sharp eyes scanned him from head to toe.
"He appears civilized… educated," he murmured. "Perhaps accounts would suit him. You are literate, are you not?"
Moropant hesitated. "Maharaj… his memory is gone. He remembers nothing except his name. Will he be able to manage calculations?"
Before the doubt could deepen, Aarav spoke calmly, "Please do not worry, Moropant ji. I can handle the accounts."
Moropant leaned slightly toward the Peshwa and whispered, "But Maharaj… we know nothing about him. What if he belongs to our enemies?"
The Peshwa gave a soft, reassuring laugh. "Moropant ji, do not worry. Tatya ji will keep an eye on him. Won't you, Tatya?"
Tatya Tope gave a slight bow. "Yes, Your Highness."
With that, Tatya gestured for Aarav to follow.
---
Inside one of the administrative chambers, Tatya briefly explained the structure of palace finances — tax records, military provisions, grain reserves, and supply distribution.
He then handed Aarav a document.
"Calculate this."
The parchment contained figures — revenue columns, expenditure notes, adjustments.
For Aarav, it was child's play.
His eyes scanned the numbers once.
His mind captured them entirely.
Within moments, he wrote down the corrected totals and handed the document back.
Tatya glanced at it.
His brows lifted slightly.
He nodded.
For the first time that day, something close to approval flickered in his expression.
He then explained the various responsibilities — recording tax collection, verifying supply logs, assisting treasury clerks. Once satisfied, he left.
Aarav stood alone for a moment.
Photographic memory.
That was his hidden advantage.
Numbers stayed with him as if etched in stone. Patterns formed naturally in his mind. Within a short span of time, he finished the remaining pending work with remarkable efficiency.
Once done, he quietly made his way toward the training arena.
---
The sun had begun to descend slightly, casting long golden shadows across the akhada.
There she was.
Mannikarnika.
Still practicing.
Her sword cut through the air in swift arcs. Her movements were precise, relentless, disciplined.
Aarav leaned lightly against the balcony railing, watching.
And slowly, he understood.
It was not mere talent.
It was devotion.
Every strike she made carried intention. Every step was deliberate. She repeated movements again and again — not satisfied until perfection answered her effort.
She wasn't gifted.
She was forged.
As if sensing his gaze, Mannikarnika's instincts sharpened.
Without stopping her practice, her eyes flickered upward toward the balcony.
Their gazes met.
For a brief second, neither looked away.
Then—
Her expression changed.
Her sword speed increased.
The blade blurred in motion. Her footwork became sharper, more aggressive. The wooden training dummy before her suffered the assault — one powerful combination after another.
And then—
With a final spinning strike, the dummy split apart.
Four… five pieces scattered across the ground.
She finally stopped.
Her breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat glistened along her forehead.
A maid hurried forward and handed her a towel.
Mannu wiped her sweat slowly, but her eyes never left Aarav.
He was still watching.
Curious.
Observant.
She tilted her head slightly.
"What are you staring at?" she asked. "Do you wish to learn swordsmanship as well?"
Aarav immediately raised both hands in denial.
"No, no. I get scared just looking at a sword."
There was a flicker of mischief in his tone.
But behind that harmless expression…
His eyes were calculating something else entirely.
On the other side of time…
On the other side of the universe…
Kirti had finally told everyone the truth.
Aarav was gone.
Now all of them stood gathered near the garden area where he had disappeared. The evening air felt unusually heavy, as if reality itself had thinned at that exact spot.
Venkatesh walked around the patch of ground carefully, examining every inch. He searched for a pit, a crack, any sign of collapse.
But there was nothing.
He turned to Kirti, frustration visible in his eyes.
"Are you sure Aarav fell into some hole here?"
Kirti nodded at first, but uncertainty crept into her voice.
"Yes… but… maybe it wasn't a hole."
"A door."
The voice came from behind.
Everyone turned.
Rasika was walking toward them, calm yet intense. Suraj followed closely behind her.
Aliya spoke quickly, "I called them here."
Rasika stepped into the garden's center and closed her eyes briefly. The wind stirred slightly around her.
"I can feel the residue in the environment," she said slowly. "A gateway was opened here. A portal to another dimension."
Silence.
Another dimension?
Venkatesh swallowed. "What do you mean… another dimension?"
Nikhil suddenly spoke, his voice tense. "Could this be what Vikram— I mean… Vasukinath ji was warning us about?"
Chandni's face paled. "Maybe… but what do we do now? What if Aarav is in danger?" She looked at Rasika urgently. "Can't we find him?"
Rasika shook her head. "Opening that gateway again is beyond my capability."
Disappointment spread across their faces.
Venkatesh stepped forward. "So there's no other way?"
Rasika hesitated.
"There is… one way."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Venkatesh demanded.
Rasika's gaze grew serious. "I can send a soul into that dimension. The soul can locate him and establish contact."
A pause.
"But only someone blood-related to him can do this."
Venkatesh did not hesitate.
"I'll go."
---
Moments later, Rasika and Venkatesh sat facing each other in the garden, legs crossed.
The others formed a circle around them.
Both closed their eyes.
The atmosphere shifted.
Rasika began chanting silently, her lips barely moving. The air thickened. The ground beneath them vibrated faintly.
And suddenly—
Venkatesh felt something pull from within him.
His soul detached.
He saw his own body sitting below, eyes closed.
Then darkness swallowed him.
---
Just like Aarav before him, Venkatesh found himself floating through a tunnel of swirling energy. Colors streaked past him like cosmic lightning.
He tumbled sideways—
And suddenly fell.
He was plummeting from the sky.
Below him, the ground looked at least a hundred feet down.
He screamed.
But then—
Rasika's voice echoed inside his mind.
"Stop screaming. You are in soul form."
Venkatesh forced himself to calm down.
He focused.
Instantly—
He stopped midair.
He was floating.
Weightless.
He looked at his hands — translucent, faintly glowing.
For him, this was completely new.
Slowly, he tried moving forward.
He flew.
Then faster.
Then he twisted midair, experimenting with turns and spins like a child discovering flight for the first time.
After a few playful loops, he stopped and laughed.
"This is… awesome."
Rasika's voice came again, slightly annoyed.
"If you're done playing, try finding your son."
Venkatesh straightened immediately. "Right."
"I sense his presence in the northern direction," Rasika guided.
Without wasting another second, Venkatesh shot toward the north like a streak of light.
---
Meanwhile…
In the palace of Bithur, life continued.
Aarav had blended seamlessly into the environment.
If Mannikarnika was known for her valor and unmatched skill in warfare, Aarav had quietly built a different kind of reputation.
He helped Vahini with household tasks.
Cooking.
Arranging supplies.
Tending plants.
Managing small domestic duties with surprising sincerity.
At first, Vahini had scolded him repeatedly.
"This is women's work!"
But Aarav never argued.
He simply continued helping.
Over time, even Vahini stopped protesting. She no longer shooed him away. In fact, sometimes she silently left tasks unfinished — knowing he would complete them.
The palace staff whispered.
Some found it strange.
Some amusing.
But slowly, they began to accept him.
He did not fit the era.
He did not fit expectations.
Yet he belonged.
---
Far above that very palace, unseen by mortal eyes—
A faint glowing figure streaked across the sky.
Venkatesh.
High above Bithur…
Venkatesh floated silently in the sky, directly above Peshwa Baji Rao's palace. The structure below him stood majestic — wide courtyards, domed roofs, and guarded entrances.
From above, he could see people moving inside like tiny figures in a living painting.
He narrowed his eyes and asked,
"Is Aarav really here?"
Rasika's voice echoed inside his consciousness, steady and focused.
"I can feel his presence very close. He is inside that palace."
Venkatesh frowned slightly.
"But what place is this?"
There was a brief pause before Rasika replied dryly,
"I don't know… but it's definitely not hell."
Venkatesh blinked midair.
"Have you actually seen hell?"
"Yes," Rasika answered calmly. "And it is far more terrifying than anything you can imagine."
For a second, Venkatesh didn't respond.
Then, slowly floating toward the palace roof, he muttered,
"I never thought I'd witness something like this in my lifetime."
Rasika's tone turned cryptic.
"You've seen nothing yet."
Without resistance, Venkatesh passed straight through the palace roof as if it were mist. The material world offered no barrier to his soul form.
He descended into the grand darbar hall.
His translucent figure hovered unnoticed as he looked around.
"This looks like a king's palace," he murmured. "And these people… they're dressed like old Maratha nobles."
His gaze moved across turbans, angarkhas, swords resting at waists, heavy jewelry glinting under oil lamps.
"Are we… inside past memories?"
Even Rasika sounded unsettled now.
"That shouldn't be possible."
"But maybe that's exactly what happened," Venkatesh whispered.
Then—
His eyes fell upon two young men seated together among the courtiers.
They were leaning slightly toward each other, speaking in low tones, occasionally laughing.
One of them—
Venkatesh froze.
Aarav.
There was no mistake.
Beside him sat another young man of the same age — dressed richly, carrying himself with natural authority.
Nana Saheb.
The two seemed close — far too comfortable for a mere acquaintance. Aarav had clearly integrated himself into the royal circle.
Rasika's voice softened slightly.
"You found him."
Venkatesh stared, emotions mixing inside him.
"Yes… I found him."
Below, Aarav and Nana Saheb were sharing a quiet joke. Aarav said something that made Nana grin openly. Their camaraderie was effortless.
"What is he doing sitting in a royal court?" Venkatesh whispered in disbelief.
"He isn't lost," Rasika replied thoughtfully. "He's adapting."
Venkatesh observed more carefully now.
Aarav wasn't behaving like someone stranded.
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't searching for a way back.
He looked… involved.
Engaged.
Even included.
"Not only that," Venkatesh added slowly, "he's been given permission to sit in the court itself."
Which meant—
He wasn't just surviving.
He was becoming part of this era.
And suddenly, a chilling thought crossed Venkatesh's mind.
"If this really is the past…"
His voice trailed off.
Rasika completed the thought quietly.
"Then Aarav is not just in another dimension."
"He may be in another time."
The realization hung heavy between them.
Below, unaware of being watched by a soul from another age—
Aarav laughed again.
As if he had always belonged there.