Prince Indra walked towards the cheering crowd with a spring of victory in his step. Ladies of the court were keenly waiting on the sidelines, stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of the new consort of the kingdom. They decided he looked adequate for Princess Na'arvi. He was not taller than most men, nor was he bigger. But he had a charming line of mustachio that most men would envy, and most women would desire. It gave him an air of assurance and reliability.

However, the main object of their interest was the golden Prince, the one whose tales of beauty and bravery were surging through the five kingdoms. And now, they saw why. He donned a golden armor, matching his epithet and his skin. His rounded shoulders molded into the armor. His clean black hair stirred slightly in the breeze and his cheeks were tinged with a rush of excitement.

"A glorious victory to you, your grace." Prince Surya called out to the winner. Indra turned and waited for his friend to join his side. He detected some humor in Surya's voice.

"Which I share with you." Indra relented to Surya's subtle patronage, a gracious smile on his face. They continued on their path to the adjacent hall, where the garland exchange ceremony was to be held.

"No need to be humble, my friend. You had your moments," Surya teased his childhood friend.

Being the heir apparent to their respective thrones, the two forged a kindred bond. Growing up, they had, at times, lived and studied in the same Gurukuls. Together, they had learned to wield their weapons and practice the divine art of Mantra. Just as Surya had been blessed by the Sun God, Indra had been blessed by the ancient God of Thunder, Lord Indra, his namesake. The blue flags and banners marked with the lightning sigil reminded people of the lineage of the rulers of Indraprastha, who were said to be the descendants of Lord Indra, the ancient deity.

"Would your grace be so generous as to sit by my side at the feast, tonight? My half of the dinner table wouldn't be so empty then." Indra pleaded.

The suitors that came to partake in Swayamvar ceremonies were only allowed to be accompanied by their preceptors and few knights of their kingdoms. Rest of kin were strictly forbidden. This sacrifice was small compared to the sacrifice of the prize bride, who left her folks and old life behind to follow the groom.

"I am honored by your offer, your grace. However, I will have to confer with Guruji before I give you my word. He mentioned a myriad of names earlier that he wanted me to mingle with at the banquet."

"Fret not. I would not be offended if you do not chaperon me. But I will await your company, my friend." Indra assured him as he patted him on the shoulder.

Surya heard the giggles of the young ladies in the crowd but did not dare peek at them, lest he caught a bashful gaze. He could also hear few youthful and high-pitched shouts praising the lad in black, walking behind them, the last competitor to walk out of the arena. Surya did not think that Tantrics were allowed to wed, let alone partake in a Swayamvar ceremony, but he kept the shock to himself.

As the competitors entered the archway leading out of the arena, Surya allowed Prince Indra to walk ahead, since the crowd in the wedding hall would be waiting to give the winner a champion's welcome. Instead, he hung back and slowed his pace till he was joined by his rival from the arena, the sorcerer, Tantric Vidyut.

"Well fought." Manners got the better of Prince Surya. His courtesy was, however, met with a loud scoff from the black-clad Tantric who quickly strode past him, and caught up with Prince Indra, who was walking far ahead. Surya saw them exchange a few polite words before they were drowned in loud rhythmic music coming from the wedding hall.

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They rounded the corner and there it was, the majestic wedding hall, decorated in garlands of orange marigold, waiting to welcome all the heroes. It was a grand affair, teeming with spectators and the royal guests. The walls were covered in banners and flags of the kingdoms and noble families who had come to partake in this elaborate ceremony. Wedding music echoed from the walls of the hall.

Rows of young maidens showered the warriors with rose petals, giggling and blushing. The royal family of the Southern Kingdom of Mayalapuram had occupied their seats on the enormous stage at the far end of the hall, with the bride sitting elegantly in the center. As the last hero took his place in the hall, the music stopped and the King stood up from his royal seat.

"Honored guests and beloved people of my Kingdom. Today, a brave warrior, Prince Indra, has earned our daughter's hand in marriage. The Queen and I thank you all, for witnessing this sacred moment and sharing in this joyous occasion. As you bless this match that the heavens have favored, Princess Na'arvi will formally accept the brave man as her husband."

He gestured to the Princess. She descended the stairs with ginger steps, wedding garland in hand, mindful of the probing eyes, her embellished red wedding robe sweeping lightly on the patterned floor. Although perfunctory, the garland exchange represented the pinnacle of the nuptials, the first dalliance between the two mates. Na'arvi slowly passed the rank of the nobility to reach the gallant hero in blue standing at the end, with his back straight and his heart thumping and put the garland around his neck with quivering hands.

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Prince Indra was in his chamber, alone, furiously scribbling away on a sheet of paper. A tiny lamp sat on the desk, its flame flickering. He could hear the faint sounds of the wedding celebrations in the main hall. He was expected there very shortly. A soft knock came from the door to the chamber.

"Come in."

A dark figure entered, locking the door behind him, and turned to face the Prince.

"You kept me waiting." The Prince said irately. He stared at the dark sorcerer, still cloaked in black, face barely visible in the ill-lit room.

"And I won't delay you any more. Once I have it, I will soon be on my way before the frosty piece of snow turns into a puddle of water," the sorcerer humored.

For a moment, the Prince gazed at Sorcerer Vidyut, not hiding his contempt. Then, he pushed back the chair, stood up, and walked towards the dresser. He pulled out the top shelf and retrieved the glass dome with a sparkling piece of ice in it.

"Here. Now leave and never mention any of this to another soul," said the Prince, handing over the artifact.

"No need to feign honor with me, Prince. I am not the one to renege on my word."

As soon as he finished speaking, the black-clad youth left the room. Prince Indra breathed deeply a few times to temper his heart. He then walked back to his desk and resumed his furious scribbling.

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It was deep into the night, but the wedding celebrations were at full swing. Famed artists were invited from faraway lands to entertain the guests at the ceremony. They filled the banquet hall with their enchanting songs to the praise of the audience, while others captivated the spectators with their seductive movements. Streams of Madeira were flowing endlessly from every open vessel. The cuisine had selections of fare both familiar and exotic, served hot and steaming from the royal kitchen of Mayalapuram.

Prince Surya stood at an isolated corner that gave him a sense of detachment. His friend, Indra, had been delayed and Surya hardly knew the rest of the wedding party at the royal table. Below, the noblemen and the knights had flopped down onto the cushioned floor seats, drinking themselves blind, cracking bawdy jokes and choking on their own laughter. Surya sighed in the comfort of the shadow of a pillar, when he felt a tap on his right shoulder and turned.

"Mahaguru! Regards." The Prince was caught somewhat off guard.

"Why are you sulking here by the pillar, huh? Have you greeted all the seniors I pointed out to you before? They may become your master someday, train you, impart you with knowledge." The old Sage Briharshi was speaking in an unusual, slurred manner.

The man had always looked old to Surya, from as far back as he could remember. No one in the Kingdom knew his exact age and everyone addressed him as Mahaguru. He was a constant steadying presence for King Shaktidev through many turbulent years. He took Surya under his wing when he was ready to begin his training. The wrinkles on his face and the greying of his long beard successfully hid the agility and quick thinking that he still possessed. Now though, his usual darting eyes were a bit lethargic from the chalices of Madeira he had consumed earlier.

"Yes, I have." The Prince paused and then continued. "Since we ride at dawn, why don't I escort you back to your chamber."

"Can't an old man have some merriment? I have not even curtseyed the royal couple yet."

The Prince gave the elderly a shoulder and began to walk him back to the guest wing of the palace, unhearing of his protests.

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