Great King Shaktidev held courts that were grand and splendid. Vidyut first attended the assembly six years ago. Since then, it only grew in its magnificence and pageantry. The seat of the assemblies was the great hall of the Sun Palace, an architectural marvel. A sun crowned its dome, with undulating rays of gold emerging from it. Soon as he entered the hall, Vidyut’s eyes naturally wandered up to the ceiling, one of its kind in the entire Asaya, to gaze at a million reflections of his person. The mosaic of million miniature mirrors on the ceiling was embellished with colored glass panels and foils, creating a sparkling jewelry box that enclosed the court and its attendees.

The group of tantrics sat among the courtiers like a flock of ravens surrounded by colorful birds. The courtiers had their best silks on, paired with their flashiest ornaments of the rarest gems and metals. It was a sea of silks and feathers with glitter and gold. The hall was abuzz with feverish excitement. The ladies were up in the pavilion, wrapped in their softest sarees, every visible part of their body covered in gold. The male courtiers were seated down in the hall on either side of the main aisle in gilded chairs, cushioned with soft padding. What they lacked in gold, they made up in finest velvets and gaudy jewel-encrusted feathered turbans.

Some might find it dissonant, all the shameless abundance of the capital city, alongside the struggles of the people living further away. But Vidyut saw no shame in this glitzy affair. The visual spectacle gave people something to dream about when they did not have any of their own, something to root for. But even among all this flamboyance, Vidyut held his own thick black robe with great vanity. He had seen enough of the world to know the glib reality of this pomp and show. Beneath the colorful layer of fortune and luxury wriggled the foul worms of deceit and misery.

As they waited for the great King to arrive, the courtiers engaged in loud banters, their servants seated a few steps behind them, chattering quietly among themselves. The buzz of the distinguished crowd was drowning the musical notes resonating from one corner of the hall, where the artists continued to diligently play the stringed instruments and the hand drums, despite the crowd’s disinterest.

Close to the throne, the floor of the hall was raised several steps to form a higher platform where high-ranking officials of the King’s court occupied the seats: the High Minister, the Knight Commander, the Great Master, the Royal Healer, the High Scholar, the Royal Historian, and other closest advisers. This illustrious group of men sat fairly quiet, engaging only in dialogues of meaning and intellect. It was also on this level that Vidyut sat with his entourage of apprentices.

Further along, the aisle now climbed ten steps to open into the great platform where the royal family presided. In the center was the coveted golden throne of the Great Kingdom of Rakhtaprasta, presently empty, adorned with ornate ivory plaques and a lavish gold umbrella. On the right side, Great Queen Rukmini had already occupied her regal seat. Beside her, a young lady sat with a sour look, chin perched upon the heel of her palm. The petite queen turned to whisper something in her ears, which soured the princess’s face.

On the other side of the royal throne sat the golden Prince. Unlike other days, today, he was dressed in his full regalia, with his scabbard hanging from his waist carrying his sword. White cotton robe wrapped around his waist and legs and was knotted at the back, and a silk stole hung from his right shoulder, all embroidered heavily with pink floral patterns. His hair was expertly arranged around his glittering ruby tiara, and strings of pearls covered his neck and hands. The prince turned to his left, towards a tall youth standing beside him, who was leaning forward to murmur something into the prince’s ear.

The prince’s right ear was adorned with rare pink tear drop pearl. Whatever exchange he was having with his attendant caused him to agitatedly nod his head, making the tear drop pearl dance with every shake. Two fingers shot up and rubbed the earlobe, right next to where it was pierced. The lobe turned pink in an instant, matching the color of his lips that quirked up for a second from some amusement. Prince Surya suddenly turned, and his eyes found Vidyut’s.

The Tantric instinctively jerked his face away, staring now at the floral relieves that adorned the far wall. He did not expect to be caught off-guard. He now turned to his apprentices, urgently looking for something to occupy his flustered mind. Little Tilak found his eyes.

“What is it?” Vidyut whispered to the boy, careful not to alarm the illustrious figures seated before them.

Little Tilak raised his right hand holding out his little finger with a silent pleading look. The tantric huffed loudly and gestured Rig to escort the boy. The pair discreetly left. Right on the heels, the Great King of Rakhtaprastha, Shaktidev, arrived at the booming sounds of drumbeats, showered with red and yellow rose petals as he walked the golden carpet leading to his magnificent throne. His aides and royal bodyguards trailed close behind, till the last few steps, when they parted and ushered to the sides.

Once the big brawny man settled into his regal seat, he raised a hand that halted the noise and celebrations of the assembly. He gave the entire court a careful sweeping glance, his ornate golden crown moving in sync with his head. The scars and freckles on his dark face spoke of the battles he had fought and won under the sun. The firm set of his jaw buckled the knees of his foes and extended the hands of his allies.

“I welcome you all, today, to the royal court. Begin the proceedings!” The King’s deep gravelly voice boomed through the hall.