Chapter 157: Chapter 155: Announcement Form The King...

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

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A small home made from mud bricks and timber.

Nothing grand.

Nothing luxurious.

A few flowering plants decorated the front yard.

Bundles of drying herbs hung beneath the roof.

An old clay lamp burned beside the entrance.

The entire place felt warm.

Comfortable.

Lived in.

The kind of home built through years of honest work.

The grandmother pushed open the door.

"You can stay here while you’re in the village."

Devara immediately folded his hands respectfully.

"You are very kind, Grandmother."

The old woman snorted.

"Flattery won’t get you extra blankets."

Devara laughed.

Shakuni hid a smile.

Inside, the house was simple.

A few clay pots.

A wooden shelf.

Some woven mats.

A small shrine in one corner.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

After helping them settle in, the old woman disappeared into the kitchen area.

Soon the smell of food drifted through the house.

Shakuni’s expression brightened slightly.

After travelling for several days, the thought of a warm meal was welcome.

Unfortunately...

The food turned out to be much simpler than he expected.

A clay plate was placed before each of them.

There was millet rice.

A simple lentil curry.

A few pieces of boiled vegetables.

Some pickle.

A handful of onions.

And several green chilies.

That was all.

The meal was far from royal standards.

Even calling it modest felt generous.

Shakuni stared at the plate.

Then at the plate again.

Then at Devara.

His expression clearly said everything.

This is dinner?

Devara noticed immediately.

The king simply smiled.

Without complaint.

Without hesitation.

He joined his hands respectfully toward the old woman.

"Thank you for the meal."

Then he began eating.

Not politely pretending to eat.

Actually eating.

And enjoying it.

The grandmother watched curiously.

Most travelers who visited from larger towns usually complained.

Some wanted more spices.

Others wanted richer food.

A few complained about the simplicity.

Yet this merchant seemed genuinely pleased.

Devara scooped some rice and curry together.

Took a bite.

Then nodded appreciatively.

"This is excellent."

The old woman looked surprised.

"Excellent?"

"Very."

She looked suspicious.

Then Devara picked up one of the green chilies.

And bit directly into it.

The crunch echoed through the room.

Shakuni stared.

The grandmother stared.

Devara calmly chewed.

Then took another bite of rice.

A content expression appeared on his face.

The old woman blinked.

"Boy, that chili is spicy."

Devara laughed.

"It is."

"And you’re eating it like a snack."

"That means it’s a good chili."

The old woman couldn’t help smiling.

Meanwhile, Shakuni was beginning to question whether his brother-in-law had finally lost his mind.

The minister leaned closer.

Lowering his voice.

"So..."

Devara glanced toward him.

Shakuni whispered,

"Is the food actually good?"

The question was so sincere that Devara nearly laughed.

Instead he took another bite.

Then looked toward his brother-in-law.

"It is good."

Shakuni narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Truly?"

Devara nodded.

Then his smile softened slightly.

"Very few people get to eat food made without expectations."

Shakuni looked confused.

The king continued quietly.

"So enjoy it."

The minister remained silent.

Devara gestured toward the meal.

"No royal cooks."

"No servants trying to impress us."

"No banquets."

"No ceremonies."

"No politics."

"Just a grandmother feeding two travelers because she doesn’t want them sleeping hungry."

The words made Shakuni pause.

For a moment he looked at the food again.

Then at the old woman who was busy serving more curry despite their protests.

Then back at the plate.

Slowly his expression changed.

He took a bite. Then another.

The food was simple.

Very simple. Yet somehow... Comforting.

The grandmother noticed.

A victorious smile immediately appeared on her face.

"There."

She pointed her spoon at Shakuni.

"See?"

The minister coughed awkwardly.

Devara laughed openly this time.

For the next hour, the three sat together sharing stories.

The old woman spoke about village life.

About flowers. About harvests.

About troublesome goats. About children who refused to listen. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

About the day Sage Veenadhara arrived and transformed the peaceful village into a battlefield of riddles.

Every story seemed to carry years of experience.

And as Devara listened quietly, occasionally laughing or asking questions, the old woman found herself strangely comfortable around him.

She couldn’t explain why.

This merchant listened differently.

Most people waited for their turn to speak.

He listened. Actually listened.

As though every story mattered. As though every word held value.

Eventually the meal ended.

The lamps burned lower.

Outside, the village slowly drifted toward sleep.

And somewhere in Mallikavana, Sage Veenadhara Kashyap was almost certainly lying awake.

Staring at the ceiling.

Thinking about riddles. Thinking about answers.

And most importantly... Thinking about a moustached pottery merchant who had somehow ruined his entire day.

Several days passed peacefully in Mallikavana.

To the disappointment of many villagers...

And the secret amusement of Devara and Shakuni...

Sage Veenadhara Kashyap never returned.

At least not yet.

The villagers had expected him to appear the very next morning.

Then the next day.

Then the day after that.

Yet there was no sign of the sage.

Only rumors.

Some claimed he had locked himself inside a hut while trying to solve every question Devara had asked.

Others claimed he had travelled to a nearby forest seeking inspiration.

One particularly imaginative child insisted the sage had challenged his own reflection and lost.

Nobody knew the truth.

But one thing was certain.

Veenadhara’s absence had brought a strange peace to the village.

Meanwhile, Devara and Shakuni continued living as ordinary pottery merchants.

Every morning they opened their cart.

Every morning they displayed their wares.

Clay pots.

Storage jars.

Water vessels.

Decorative lamps.

And every day villagers stopped by to chat.

Some bought pottery.

Others simply came to hear stories.

Devara had somehow become popular among the villagers.

Not because of the challenge.

But because he listened.

He remembered names.

He remembered problems.

He treated everyone equally.

Old or young.

Rich or poor.

Farmer or flower grower.

Even Shakuni had become accustomed to village life.

Though he still occasionally complained whenever he had to carry heavy pots.

One particular morning, while the marketplace was busy with its usual activity, a loud drum suddenly echoed throughout the village.

DUM! DUM! DUM!

The sound immediately caught everyone’s attention.

Farmers stopped working.

Merchants paused their sales.

Children ran toward the main road.

Devara looked up.

"So something interesting is finally happening."

Shakuni nodded.

"That sounds official."

Soon a group of mounted soldiers entered the village.

The royal insignia of the Kingdom of Pushkaranya fluttered proudly from their banners.

Behind them walked an announcer carrying a large ceremonial drum.

Every few steps he struck it loudly.

DUM! DUM! DUM!

The villagers quickly gathered around.

Devara and Shakuni joined them.

Pretending to be curious merchants.

The announcer unrolled a scroll.

Then spoke in a powerful voice.

"Hear this proclamation of His Majesty King Padmanabha Varman!"

The crowd immediately became silent.

The announcer continued.

"In seven days’ time, His Majesty King Padmanabha Varman, accompanied by Her Highness Princess Indhumati and Prince Dhumakethu, shall arrive in Mallikavana!"

Excited murmurs spread through the crowd.

The royal family was coming here?

To their village?

The announcer raised his voice further.

"They shall preside over the grand Pushpotsava Mahamaham!"

The villagers immediately erupted in excitement.

Even Shakuni looked curious.

The announcer smiled proudly.

The Pushpotsava Mahamaham was the most celebrated flower festival in the entire Kingdom of Pushkaranya.

A festival so famous that visitors travelled from distant provinces merely to witness it.

For months, farmers and gardeners cultivated their finest flowers.

Rare jasmine varieties.

Golden marigolds.

Blue lotuses.

Moon lilies.

Sun orchids.

And countless other blossoms.

During the festival, every village displayed its finest creations.

Entire streets would be decorated.

Massive floral arrangements would be constructed.

Garlands stretching hundreds of feet.

Flower sculptures depicting gods, animals, and legendary events.

Perfumed pathways.

Floating flower displays upon ponds.

Every year the competition became fiercer.

The announcer continued reading.

"The finest flower cultivators shall present their work before the royal family."

"The most beautiful display shall receive the Golden Lotus Garland Award directly from His Majesty."

The crowd cheered loudly.

The Golden Lotus Garland was no small prize.

The winning family received royal recognition.

Land grants.

Tax exemptions.

And enough gold to change their future.

For many villages, winning even once became a matter of pride for generations.

The announcer continued.

"Preparations are to begin immediately."

"All villages are invited to participate."

"May the blessings of nature and prosperity shine upon Pushkaranya!"

The drum sounded once more.

DUM! DUM! DUM!

Then the soldiers and announcer moved onward toward the next village.

The marketplace immediately erupted into conversation.

Everyone was talking at once.

Excitement filled the air.

Flower growers began discussing preparations.

Children ran around imagining the royal procession.

Women talked about decorations.

Farmers discussed which flowers had the best chance of winning.

The entire village suddenly felt alive with anticipation.

Nearby, an elderly flower farmer sighed.

"This year’s competition will be difficult."

Another nodded.

"Very difficult."

"The royal family themselves are attending."

Devara listened quietly.

Then his attention shifted.

Not toward the festival.

Not toward the prize.

But toward one particular name.

Princess Indhumati.

The villagers seemed especially excited whenever her name came up.

Several spoke fondly of her.

Others praised her kindness.

Some admired her knowledge of flowers and medicinal plants.

Devara quietly noticed every detail.

Meanwhile, beside him, Shakuni smirked.

"You noticed too."

Devara raised an eyebrow.

"Noticed what?"

"The villagers spoke about the king."

"About the prince."

"But whenever they mention the princess..."

Shakuni grinned teasing his brother in law.

"...their faces light up."

Devara chuckled hearing the hint.

-Chuckle!

"A good ruler’s daughter, perhaps."

"Or perhaps someone interesting."

Shakuni’s grin widened.

"Careful."

The minister adjusted his fake moustache.

"Your apsara wives already suspect every journey involves meeting a princess."

Devara nearly laughed aloud.

Immediately remembering Varga’s suspicious expression before he left Trivenivrata.

Far away in Trivenivrata...

If Varga somehow heard this conversation...

She would undoubtedly claim her suspicions had been confirmed.

Fortunately for Devara...

She wasn’t there.

Unfortunately for him...

Destiny often enjoyed proving suspicious wives correct.

The excitement in Mallikavana did not die down even after the royal announcer and his soldiers left.

If anything, it only grew stronger.

Every street seemed louder than before.

Groups of villagers immediately gathered beneath trees, near wells, and around market stalls.

Everyone had something to say.

Everyone had something to prepare.

Flower growers began discussing which flowers they would display.

Children started arguing about who would get the best view of the royal procession.

Women spoke about cleaning and decorating the village.

Even the elderly men, who normally complained about everything, looked unusually cheerful.

Devara and Shakuni quietly observed the entire scene.

As merchants, they naturally joined the conversations.

As travellers, they asked questions.

And as rulers disguised as commoners, they listened carefully.

The elderly grandmother who had given them shelter noticed their curious expressions.

She chuckled.

"You two are looking around like lost calves."

Shakuni smiled politely.

"We’ve never seen an entire village become excited over a flower competition."

The old woman laughed.

"A flower competition?"

She shook her head.

"You outsiders really know nothing."

Devara leaned forward slightly.

"Oh?"

The old woman adjusted her shawl and sat upon a nearby wooden stool.

Several children immediately gathered around her.

Whenever Grandmother Kamala began telling stories, half the village usually ended up listening.

"This festival isn’t just about flowers."

Her voice became more serious.

"It never was."

Even some nearby villagers stopped their work to listen.

Clearly they had heard the story before.

Yet nobody seemed tired of it.

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(Author note:)

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Don’t forget to review guys...

Guys I have a new fic which named: Karuppan: King of Openings.