The moonlight poured down over the kingdom of Kuntala, casting its silver glow on the rugged hills and winding rivers.
From the outskirts, the city seemed to slumber peacefully, its streets bathed in the flickering light of torches and oil lamps.
But from a distance, one structure stood apart—an island of brilliance in the sea of dimness.
The palace of Kuntala shone like a beacon, its windows aglow with steady, golden light.
The walls glimmered softly, illuminated by the constant luminance of electric lanterns, their light never flickering nor diminished by the wind.
To the commoners, it was a miracle—the royal family's home radiated with the warmth of the sun even at night.
But inside the palace, it was more than a marvel—it was a revolution quietly brewing.
---
Virendra was now 15 years old, standing nearly as tall as Jayvarma, with a lean, powerful frame hardened by years of swordsmanship and training.
His dark hair hung slightly longer, falling over his forehead, and his sharp, piercing eyes reflected the keen intellect and relentless ambition that had grown over the years.
His skills with the sword rivaled even some of the palace guards, and his command over strategy and diplomacy had matured remarkably.
He had learned to mask his knowledge and cunning behind the same sharp wit and disarming charm that had become his signature—a clever and calculating mind hidden behind a wry smile.
But despite his growing strength, his greatest influence was not through the blade or politics—it was through his invention.
The electricity he had helped create was now woven into the fabric of palace life, reshaping their daily existence.
---
As Virendra strolled through the corridors, he observed how the electrical lamps bathed the palace in a constant, golden glow.
No longer did the faint, smoky scent of oil lamps linger in the halls.
The flickering shadows that once haunted the corridors were gone.
In the grand hall, glass chandeliers filled with bulbs now hung from the ceiling.
Their soft radiance illuminated the marble floors and silk tapestries with a brilliance that seemed almost ethereal.
The kitchens bustled with efficiency, as the palace servants used the steady light to prepare meals long into the evening without straining their eyes.
The royal physicians worked late into the night, performing delicate procedures with the clarity that only constant light could provide.
In the libraries, scholars studied texts long after sunset, no longer bound by the meager lifespan of candle flames.
The once dimly-lit chambers were now illuminated by the steady gleam of electric lanterns.
---
But the progress came with limitations.
While the palace flourished under artificial light, the rest of the kingdom remained in darkness.
The villagers would gather on the outskirts, staring in awe at the gilded glow emanating from the palace windows.
Whispers of divine blessings spread through the town, with peasants believing the royal family had captured the sun itself.
But the reality was far less magical.
Virendra stood on the palace balcony, watching the faint torches and lanterns flicker in the village below.
The sight weighed on him, a constant reminder of how slowly true change came.
Despite his knowledge, the spread of electricity was painstakingly slow.
---
The primary challenge lay in the cost and infrastructure.
While Virendra's generator and the scholars' rudimentary batteries could power the palace, expanding it to the entire kingdom was a monumental task.
The copper and iron required for wiring were difficult to acquire in large quantities.
The rudimentary batteries lacked longevity, requiring frequent replacements.
The maintenance and distribution of electric current demanded skilled labor, which was in short supply.
Virendra scowled, pacing in his study as he reviewed the numbers the scholars had presented.
The cost of laying copper wiring through the streets alone was staggering.
Even with the kingdom's resources, it would take years to expand the power grid beyond the palace.
And then there was the question of practicality.
The people of Kuntala were used to firelight.
The concept of electric lamps was alien and unnerving to them.
Yashodhara, ever the pragmatic queen, had warned him against rushing the process.
"We cannot force the people into the future overnight," she had said, folding her arms as she observed the glowing bulbs.
"They will not embrace it until they see the benefit with their own eyes."
And she was right.
---
Later that day, Virendra gathered the royal scholars in the council chamber, seeking their expertise.
The men were older and wiser now, having worked alongside him for years.
As they sat around the long table, scrolls and diagrams depicting the power grid were spread out before them.
The scholars debated in hushed tones, their voices overlapping softly.
"The wiring alone will cost more than we can allocate this year," Acharya Vishranth pointed out, his voice firm but regretful.
"We cannot produce enough copper to sustain the expansion."
Another scholar, Vidhur, shook his head.
"Even if we could, the people would not understand it. They will resist it. The very idea of light without flame frightens them."
Virendra leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood.
His sharp eyes scanned the diagrams, searching for possible solutions.
After a long silence, he spoke.
"Then we will not rush it," he said calmly, his voice measured.
"We will let the palace remain the beacon—for now."
The scholars exchanged uncertain glances, but they nodded in agreement.
---
As Virendra left the council chamber, he walked the corridors of the palace, observing the subtle changes electricity had brought to their daily lives.
In the nursery, his younger siblings, Devasena and her cousins, played under the bright glow of electric lanterns.
Their laughter filled the room, unbothered by the passing of day or night.
In the throne room, his mother, Yashodhara, worked late into the evening, her desk illuminated by a steady, unyielding glow.
She read correspondence and decrees, her eyes no longer strained by candlelight.
And in the private quarters, the warm golden light spilled softly across the marble floors, making the palace feel perpetually kissed by the sun.
Though Virendra knew the kingdom beyond the palace was still shrouded in darkness, he also knew that progress could not be rushed.
The light of the palace was only the first step.
---
That night, Virendra stood alone on the balcony, watching the village below.
The torches flickered faintly, while the palace glowed steadily behind him.
He could hear the laughter of his siblings from inside, their lives made easier and safer by his creation.
And yet, he knew the kingdom was not yet ready for this light.
But in time, they would be.
He would make sure of it.
He stared at the distant horizon, where the stars still gleamed faintly in the sky.
Someday, his kingdom would glow just as brightly.
But for now, he was content with the light of the palace—a spark of the future in a kingdom still rooted in the past.
---
The palace of Kuntala, perched atop the hill, shone with a steady, golden radiance, visible even from miles away.
Unlike the wavering flames of lanterns and torches, the palace's light was constant, unwavering, and strange.
To the commoners, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Some whispered that the royal family had captured the sun itself, while others feared it was a sign of divine wrath.
But no matter the interpretation, one thing was certain—the palace no longer belonged to the world of mortals.
---
In the village of Varnapura, just a few miles from the capital, farmers and merchants gathered on the hilltop after dusk.
They stared at the palace's glow, the golden light shimmering against the dark silhouette of the hills.
An elderly woman, her face lined with age and wisdom, clutched the wooden beads around her neck.
"The gods walk among us," she whispered, her voice trembling with reverence.
A young boy, no more than ten, tugged at his father's sleeve.
"Baba… is it true? Did the queen capture the sun?"
His voice was filled with awe, his wide eyes reflecting the palace's glow.
The father, a wiry man with sun-weathered skin, watched the distant light in silence.
He had seen many strange things in his lifetime—droughts that stretched for years, monsoons that swept away villages—but never had he seen the night banished so thoroughly.
"It is no sun, boy," he muttered, fear flickering in his eyes.
"It is something far more dangerous."
The villagers murmured amongst themselves, whispering in hushed tones.
Some believed the royal family had made a pact with celestial beings, while others feared dark magic was at play.
But no one could deny the strangeness of it all.
The palace, once a symbol of earthly power, had become otherworldly—a beacon of light piercing the night.
---
As weeks passed, the stories spread like wildfire across the kingdom.
In the small temple of Tulyaka, the priest spoke in solemn tones during his sermon.
"The gods have chosen the palace as their abode," he declared, arms raised toward the palace's glow visible through the temple window.
"The light is their blessing—and their warning."
The villagers bowed their heads, murmuring prayers.
They offered incense and garlands, hoping to appease the celestial powers that had taken residence in the palace.
In other villages, superstitions flourished.
Farmers avoided looking directly at the palace at night, believing that its light could blind them.
Merchants carried talismans, fearing the glow was an ill omen that would bring misfortune.
Some believed the royal family had unlocked the power of fire spirits, while others whispered of curses disguised as light.
Even the nobles and merchants in the outer districts, who prided themselves on rationality, were unsettled.
They spoke cautiously of the palace's glow, unsure whether it was blessing or blasphemy.
---
But the kingdom's whispers did not stay within its borders.
News of the palace's unyielding light spread far and wide, reaching the ears of neighboring kingdoms.
In Mahishmati, the grand capital of the realm, the royal court buzzed with disbelief.
Rajmata Sivagami, the matriarch of Mahishmati, sat on her throne in the grand hall, her eyes narrowed as she listened to the reports.
Her advisors spoke with hesitant incredulity, not daring to believe the rumors.
"They say the palace of Kuntala never dims," one minister murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Even the darkest night is as bright as day within their walls."
Another minister scoffed.
"Impossible," he declared, waving his hand dismissively.
"They have merely filled their halls with hundreds of candles."
He chuckled dryly.
"A fool's luxury. What a waste of wax."
The other ministers chuckled in agreement.
To them, the idea of constant light was nothing more than a foolish display of wealth—an extravagant excess, not a technological marvel.
But Sivagami's eyes remained cold and calculating, her fingers gripping the arms of her throne.
She did not laugh.
Her gaze drifted east, toward the direction of Kuntala, dark with thought.
"Send spies," she commanded quietly, her voice like iron.
"I want to know what they are doing. If this is sorcery or science, I will find out."
---
In Vaidharba, a smaller neighboring kingdom, the royal council laughed off the news.
King Vikramaditya, a stout man with a rich, booming voice, roared with laughter as he heard the report.
"Light without flame? Bah! What nonsense," he declared, slapping his knee.
"Are they so wealthy that they waste a thousand torches on their corridors? Let them burn through their coffers like fools."
His nobles laughed along, dismissing the news as mere propaganda.
"Perhaps their queen lights her palace with jewels," one lord sneered.
"A fool's vanity, nothing more."
To the rulers of other lands, the idea of a constant, unwavering light was simply too far-fetched.
In their eyes, it was either a grand illusion or a pointless indulgence.
---
While the kings and nobles dismissed the rumors, the traders and merchants were more curious.
In the bustling ports of Dwarka, sailors returned with tales of Kuntala's shining palace, describing it as a jewel of light that never dimmed.
Their fellow merchants listened with skeptical amusement, assuming they were embellishing stories to impress.
"A castle made of light?" one trader snorted, his face creasing with disbelief.
"Next you'll tell me they caught the moon in a net."
But despite their skepticism, the stories persisted, growing with each retelling.
---
Back in Kuntala, the commoners continued to watch the palace from a distance, their fascination mixed with dread.
On moonless nights, they would gather in small groups on the hills, watching the golden glow on the horizon.
Some prayed, some whispered rumors, and some simply stared in awe, unable to look away.
To them, the palace had become divine—a temple of light, where the sun never set.
And even though they feared its power, they could not resist its allure.
---
From the palace balcony, Virendra watched the villagers in the distance, their tiny torchlights barely visible against the vast darkness.
Their fear and awe weighed heavily on him.
He knew the light in the palace was no miracle—it was simply knowledge and progress.
But to the people, it was magic beyond comprehension.
Jayvarma approached, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"They think you have captured the sun," he said with a grin.
"You might as well let them believe it. It makes for a good legend."
Virendra smirked faintly, but his eyes remained distant, staring into the dark.
"Legends can be dangerous," he muttered.
"Especially when people would rather believe in them than the truth."