The faint morning sun cast a warm golden glow over the palace courtyard as Virendra sat on the balcony, watching the city slowly come to life. The marketplace gates opened, and merchants began arranging their stalls, laying out their wares with practiced efficiency. Farmers led their oxen to the fields, and the distant sound of hammers clashing against iron echoed from the smithy district.
It was a familiar sight, but today, Virendra's eyes were distant, his gaze unfocused as he grappled with a question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.
What should he teach them?
The queen had reluctantly agreed to the idea of learning halls, and the scholars were ready to follow his lead. The foundation was laid—but now came the most critical decision: what knowledge to impart first.
His hands rested lightly on the stone railing, his fingers idly tracing the intricate carvings. The morning breeze was cool against his skin, but he hardly noticed. His mind was already far away, sifting through fragments of his past life—memories of the modern world and the knowledge he once took for granted.
Electricity, engineering, science, mathematics—the sheer wealth of information he had once possessed felt both powerful and overwhelming. But now, with the power to share it, he realized how delicate and dangerous this process could be.
His brow furrowed.
He had once learned about the Renaissance in Europe, where knowledge had brought enlightenment but also upheaval. The same fire that had driven invention had also fueled wars and rebellions.
If he introduced too much, too soon, he would create chaos.
The people, still bound by centuries of tradition, would see it as blasphemy or witchcraft. They would not understand—and what they did not understand, they would fear.
Virendra let out a long, measured breath.
"No," he murmured to himself. "I have to start small."
---
By mid-morning, Virendra was seated in the palace library, surrounded by scrolls and tablets. The room was quiet except for the faint scratch of quills as a few scholars worked nearby, cataloging records.
He sifted through manuscripts and royal decrees, searching for insight. His eyes fell upon old census records, trade agreements, and historical accounts of neighboring kingdoms.
As he read, a realization slowly dawned on him.
Most of the kingdom's common folk could neither read nor write.
That was the answer.
It struck him with startling clarity—so simple, yet so significant.
If the people couldn't even read or record knowledge, how could they ever understand electricity or science?
His hands tightened slightly around the edge of the parchment.
He had been too focused on grand inventions and future possibilities. But before the people could comprehend such concepts, they needed the foundation—the basics.
Virendra sat back in his chair, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"I need to teach them to read and write first," he murmured under his breath.
---
That afternoon, Queen Yashodhara summoned the royal council. The chamber was filled with the familiar sound of shifting armor and the murmur of courtiers taking their seats.
The queen sat on her gilded throne, her posture as poised and commanding as ever. To her right sat Virendra, his expression calm but watchful.
Seated before them were several high-ranking ministers and scholars, their robes flowing elegantly, the colors denoting their positions and ranks. The weapon master, a shrewd man with gray temples and sharp eyes, sat toward the back, observing quietly.
Yashodhara's gaze swept over the gathered assembly, her eyes cool and piercing.
"Prince Virendra," she said, turning to him. "You called for this meeting. Let us hear what you have to say."
All eyes turned toward him.
Virendra slowly rose from his chair, his hands resting lightly against the polished wood of the table.
He scanned the room briefly, letting the silence linger just long enough to hold their attention.
"I have given much thought to how we should proceed," he began, his voice calm but firm. "The learning halls will open as planned, but…" he let his gaze sweep over the council, "we will start with literacy first."
A faint murmur rippled through the room, some of the scholars exchanging surprised glances.
"Literacy?" one of the ministers asked, his voice skeptical. "You mean to teach the commoners to read and write?"
Virendra nodded once.
"Yes," he said simply.
The room fell silent.
The weapon master's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Why literacy first?" he asked, his tone calculating. "You have introduced a power no one has seen before. Should you not be teaching them how to use it?"
Virendra's eyes hardened slightly.
"And if they cannot read instructions or write their thoughts, how will they learn?" he countered smoothly.
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over them.
Virendra continued, his voice calm but deliberate.
"We cannot force the people to leap into the future without first giving them the tools to walk forward. The light of knowledge will blind them if they are not ready."
He let his eyes sweep over the council, pausing for emphasis.
"Literacy is the foundation of understanding. If we teach them to read and write, they will seek knowledge on their own. They will begin to ask questions, to innovate—to embrace the future willingly, rather than fearing it."
His mother's eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp and calculating. She was measuring his words, testing them for flaws.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Finally, one of the elder scholars nodded slowly.
"He is right," the man said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years. "The people… they are afraid of this power. But if they understand it, they will accept it."
A low murmur of reluctant agreement spread through the chamber.
Queen Yashodhara's eyes remained cold and unreadable as she finally spoke.
"Very well," she said softly, her voice measured and cautious. "We will begin with literacy. But," she added sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly, "the teaching will be supervised by the crown's scholars. You will control the spread of knowledge. Not the people."
Virendra inclined his head slightly, feigning deference.
"Of course, mother," he replied smoothly.
But inwardly, he felt the faint stir of victory.
---
Within a week, several learning halls were established in the capital. The first students were drawn from among the nobles and merchants, their children given the opportunity to learn basic literacy.
Virendra personally oversaw the lessons, watching as the scholars slowly and methodically taught the students to form letters and write simple phrases.
By the end of the first month, the halls were filled with eager students, their once-skeptical parents surprised by how quickly they learned.
Soon, word spread beyond the nobility. The commoners, too, grew curious, seeking to enroll their children in the halls.
Slowly, one step at a time, the seed of knowledge began to take root.
---
The distant chime of temple bells echoed softly through the palace as the morning sun crept higher, its golden rays glimmering against the polished marble floors. The royal court was gathering once again, the atmosphere charged with tension.
The nobles arrived in clusters, their richly embroidered robes billowing as they walked with purposeful strides. Adorned with gems and gold, they carried themselves with the confidence of wealth—and the arrogance of privilege.
Their faces were set, their eyes sharp with barely restrained irritation. News of the education spreading to commoners had reached their ears, and they were far from pleased.
The throne room was filled with murmurs and low conversations, the nobles exchanging discontented glances. Queen Yashodhara sat on her throne, composed and regal, her expression betraying nothing. Beside her, Virendra sat calmly, his hands lightly clasped together.
The nobles bowed with forced courtesy, but their displeasure was evident in the stiff movements and the briefness of their greetings.
Finally, one of the most prominent nobles, Lord Adhinar, stepped forward. A man of broad frame with a piercing gaze, he was one of the wealthiest landowners in the kingdom. His voice was calm but laced with reproach.
"Your Majesty," he began, bowing deeply before straightening. "We come before you with grave concerns."
Queen Yashodhara's eyes narrowed slightly, but she gestured for him to continue.
"The news of learning halls for commoners has spread across the kingdom," Adhinar continued, his voice measured but firm. "And we have heard that these… initiatives are being funded by the crown."
There was a brief pause before he added, his tone carefully restrained,
"Surely, Your Majesty, you do not intend to educate peasants alongside noble children?"
A murmur of agreement swept through the noble ranks.
Another nobleman, Lord Mahadevan, added with a disapproving frown,
"It is one thing to teach our children the ways of letters and numbers, but to allow the lowborn to learn the same knowledge…" he trailed off, shaking his head in disdain. "Surely, this is unwise."
Virendra's jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his expression calm and unreadable.
The nobles' words dripped with entitlement, their polished tones barely masking the venom underneath.
Adhinar's voice grew sharper.
"If commoners gain knowledge, they will no longer be content with their place," he said pointedly. "It will weaken the noble class, Your Majesty. Their obedience will turn into rebellion. This is not progress—it is folly."
A low murmur of approval rippled through the gathered nobles. Their eyes gleamed with self-assured conviction, certain that they had made a persuasive argument.
For a moment, silence filled the chamber.
Queen Yashodhara's eyes remained calm and unreadable, her regal bearing unshaken. She glanced at Virendra, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.
She saw the faintest glimmer of cold calculation in her son's gaze, and she immediately knew that he had anticipated this confrontation.
The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.
She allowed the silence to stretch—letting the nobles feel the weight of their own words.
Then, she finally spoke.
Her voice was measured and deliberate, smooth as steel beneath silk.
"I understand your concerns," she said softly, her eyes sweeping over the nobles. "You are right."
There was a flicker of triumph in the nobles' eyes, their backs straightening slightly, emboldened by her concession.
But Virendra's expression remained impassive, his gaze sharp and watchful. He knew his mother well enough to recognize the faint glimmer of cunning in her eyes.
And then, she continued.
"The commoners must not rise above their place," Yashodhara said calmly, her tone soothing but sharp. "Their minds must be kept occupied and compliant, not emboldened with ambition."
The nobles nodded eagerly, their expressions softening.
Then, the queen's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But…" she added slowly, "there is another matter that concerns me."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharpening.
"I have heard that many of your homes lack the light of the palace," she said smoothly, her voice low and deliberate. "While the palace gleams with radiance, the manors of my most loyal nobles remain in darkness."
The nobles stilled, their expressions shifting slightly.
She allowed her words to linger, then slowly sat back, letting her gaze linger on the faces of the most influential lords.
Adhinar's eyes narrowed slightly.
He was no fool. He knew when he was being baited.
Yashodhara's voice was smooth and velvety, her tone deceptively gentle.
"Surely, my most trusted nobles deserve the finest the kingdom has to offer," she continued. "Electricity, like the palace itself, should be a symbol of your prestige."
The nobles exchanged cautious glances, sensing the shift.
Then, Yashodhara's voice hardened slightly, her eyes glinting with steely resolve.
"Of course," she said smoothly, her tone taking on a more businesslike edge, "this privilege will not come freely."
She let the words hang in the air, watching as realization slowly dawned on the nobles' faces.
"The crown will gladly extend this power to your manors…" she paused for effect, her voice growing cooler, "…for a suitable fee."
The chamber fell into a brief, stunned silence.
The nobles' eyes widened slightly, and several of them leaned forward in their seats.
Yashodhara's eyes gleamed coldly, her voice silky.
"The cost will be paid directly to the treasury," she added smoothly. "Of course, the sum will be significant—a privilege for the privileged."
Her lips curved faintly, her eyes flashing with sharp calculation.
"And the proceeds will be used to fund the… how did you put it?" She tilted her head slightly, her voice mockingly polite. "Folly of educating commoners."
Her words landed like a blow, and the nobles stiffened, suddenly realizing her true aim.
The chamber was deathly silent for a long moment.
Then, Adhinar's lips thinned, but he inclined his head slightly.
"A… reasonable proposition," he said slowly, though the bitterness in his voice was barely concealed.
One by one, the nobles grudgingly agreed, their greed outweighing their principles. The idea of lighting their estates with power was far too tempting to resist.
They could grumble about the commoners' education, but they would not refuse the promise of luxury.
---
Within a month, noble estates across the capital were slowly illuminated with electricity, the warm glow glimmering through stained glass windows and along the ornate pillars of their villas.
The nobles reveled in their newfound luxury, showing off their electrified manors during lavish feasts and banquets. The commoners, too, began to hear tales of the wondrous lights in the homes of their lords.
And while the nobles flaunted their wealth, the crown's treasury swelled with their payments.
The money was quietly funneled into the education initiative. New learning halls were built, more scholars hired, and the spread of literacy expanded.
Unknowingly, the nobles had funded the very thing they sought to suppress.
And from his balcony, Virendra watched it all unfold, his eyes calm but glimmering with satisfaction.
---