Rise, your Most Serene Highness! Allow the auriferous crown of the Guptas to embellish thine irradiant visage!"
Led by four ladies-in-waiting who clutched the fluffy robes of her overwhelming coronation gown, she promenaded towards the floral dais in short, cautious steps. Her gaze was riveted unto the crown shimmering in the rays that pierced the window-panes of the auditorium and bathed them all in a soothing amber hue.
The High Priest took a step back as she stepped onto the wooden staircase that led to the famed Peacock Throne of Jahangir―'twas a spectacle beyond the deficient utterances and ornamentations of human speech. The many rubies and opals it was studded with glistened in the orange rays of the sun; their sheen momentarily blinded her. She tried to regain composure by putting her arm around her delicate face.
In solemn yet majestic pursuit was a man of enrapturing features―deep-set hazelnut eyes, bushy eyebrows, muscular jaws and a countenance that commanded immediate awe and fear. His lips were asunder and exuding sugary breath; Oh Heavens! Her modesty faltered whenever she thought of him! He was none other than her beloved Aru-oh Lord, wherefore art thou, feminine modesty? Allay, prithee, allay this ecstasy! 'Tis overpowering, 'tis tantalising!
'Twas the Prince Consort, His Excellency Aruna. He wore an orange gown that was connected at the waist by a flap of muslin and dropped to his knees. His neck was covered by heavy necklaces and bracelets studded with the mosaics of lions—the emblem of the Gupta sovereigns, and in his right hand he carried the sheath of the sword of His Highness Avaneesh, her late grandfather.
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As he sauntered towards the dias, his eyes met hers, and she couldn't help blushing violently, trying in vain to avoid their hypnotizing gaze. Heavens! Those eyes!
She vividly remembered the ceremony. The priests and pundits were reciting all sorts of Vedic hymns and incantations to please the gods and bless her reign. The Prince Consort looked gallant in his princely robes, more so when he brandished the scintillating scimitar of the late emperor Avaneesh.
Amongst the dignitaries in attendance were the King of Dravidabhoomi Naresh II, the crown prince of the Confederacy of Rajputana, local chieftains and representatives of the recently crafted provincial assemblies. Looming over the distance was her extended family, dressed elegantly and smiling.
The "Queen" turned her face to behold the frail figure of grandaunt Rajani on the galleries above, who was aided by three maidservants and a carriage, for she was too old to walk on her own.
"Long Live The Queen!"
Proclaimed the High Priest.
She was overwhelmed. From being a mere princess prone to incessant crying to leading a battalion of gallant men in battle; from being a timid girl to the lioness that would lead India―she had undergone complete metamorphosis.
This is her tale―a tale of a queen in making.
