𑁍 Chronicle Note: Time of Building 𑁍
Year: c. 1824–1828 CE
Era: Early Golden Age of Dakshina Rajya
Narasimha's Age: ~24–28 years
The British have been pushed from Madras.
The Treaty of Kesarinagara binds their hands—for now.
The Confederated Southern Kingdom holds the land.
Now begins a far harder war:
Not against foreign soldiers,
but against chaos, corruption, and the laziness of habit.
The lion must turn his claws into a pen, his roars into law.
I. "We Have Won a Kingdom. Now We Must Deserve It."
One afternoon in Kesarinagara's Sabha Mandapa, Narasimha sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scrolls.
Not glorious battle reports.
Not treaty drafts.
Worse.
Revenue charts, grain ledgers, and complaint petitions.
Sri walked in to find him staring at three different columns all describing the same thing in three different systems:
a Tamil account book with local land terms,
a Telugu palm-leaf ledger using old village units,
a Company-era register full of English figures and incomprehensible abbreviations.
All were supposed to record something simple: how much paddy a cluster of villages had produced.
He looked thoroughly defeated.
"This," he said, pointing at the mess, "is worse than facing two regiments and a cannon line."
Sri's eyes flicked over the documents.
"In Tamil they use ma, in Rayalaseema they say kandam, in old Andhra they used varisai… and the Company layered their 'acres' over all of it," she said. "Excellent. We've inherited Years of confusion."
Ayyappa sauntered in with a cup of buttermilk.
"What's wrong with a little chaos?" he asked. "Keeps life interesting."
Narasimha glared.
"Chaos is fine when it's enemies tripping over their own plans," he said. "Not when a farmer in Madurai and one in Bellary both pay tax, but nobody can explain why one pays more for the same grain."
He rubbed his forehead.
"We have won a kingdom," he said quietly. "Now we have to deserve it. Not just in battle songs, but in how a man weighs his harvest without being cheated."
Sri nodded.
"Then we need three things," she said. "Standardisation, self-governance, and a system that can survive us."
Venkanna entered, as if summoned by the word "system."
"The ancients did not leave us empty-handed," he said. "Sabhas, samitis, panchayats, the Arthashastra, shreni-guilds. And in your strange memories, Narasimha, you carry fragments of a future India's ideas."
He smiled faintly.
"Let us weave old and future together."
The Root: Village as Kingdom in Miniature
They began where Bharat had always begun:
Not in capitals.
In villages.
"Gramam is the first kingdom," Venkanna said, chalk in hand, sketching on a board. "If that is rotten, no fort can save us."
He drew concentric circles:
Gramam (village)
Nadu / Mandala (cluster of villages)
Zilla (district)
Pranta (province: Rayalaseema, Andhra, Tamilakam, Karnataka, Kerala)
Dakshina Rajya (Confederated Kingdom)
"For each level," he said, "we create:
a Sabha – council of elders, experts, elected or chosen voices.
An Adhikari – executive head, answerable to the Sabha and to the level above.
some written standards – so a man in one village will recognise the measures used in another."
Ancient India had known sabhas and panchayats.
Modern India—centuries yet unborn—would dream of Panchayati Raj and local self-governance.
Narasimha, balanced between those timelines, felt a strange déjà vu as they spoke.
"We call the village council Gram Sabha," Sri said. "All adult residents can attend. They vote on:
common well upkeep,
irrigation rotations,
local disputes,
whether a new tax change is fair."
"Won't that be slow?" Ayyappa asked. "Do you really want every farmer arguing over every decision?"
Sri smirked.
"I would rather they argue in the open once a month," she said, "than quietly curse us for years."
To handle day-to-day, each village would also have a Gram Panchayat:
five to seven chosen members—mix of elders, capable women, respected traders, and at least one younger person—
elected or affirmed every few years,
bound by written oath:
"We serve not the crown alone, but dharma and the people."
"And if they misuse their power?" Kaveri asked later, listening in.
"Then the Gram Sabha can remove them," Sri replied. "Not easily, not on a whim—but with process. And Trinetra's successors will… quietly encourage removal of the worst."
III. Standardising a Realm
Once you decide every village is a mini-kingdom, you must decide what language the kingdoms share.
Not spoken language—Dakshina Rajya would remain gloriously multilingual.
But measures, money, and law.
1. Weights & Measures
In a hall filled with merchants, farmers, and temple treasurers, Narasimha stood by a table where different weights lay:
smooth stone measures,
brass weights stamped with guild marks,
English iron blocks marked "lb" and "oz",
crude village coins of variable metal.
"We will fight over this," he said frankly. "So let's fight now, here, with words, not later with riots."
After days of debate, they agreed:
A standard grain measure – Simha Ser – is defined precisely by weight and volume, with official brass measures kept in:
each Zilla seat,
each major temple,
merchant guild halls.
Field area units harmonised into a Dakshina Bigha—still locally convertible, but with clear conversion charts.
Every official measure bore:
the Lion's face,
a serial marking.
Fraudulent weights would be:
confiscated,
owners fined or, for repeated offences, publicly shamed.
2. Coinage
Previously, the South was a jumble of:
Old Kingdom coins,
Company rupees,
foreign pieces,
temple tokens.
Now, the mint in Kesarinagara began striking:
Simha Rupee – silver coin, lion on one side, mandala ring on the other.
Half-Rupee, Quarter, Anna – smaller denominations.
Copper Kas for everyday market use.
"Will we accept British or other coins?" a merchant asked.
"Yes," Narasimha said, "but at rates we declare. They no longer dictate the value of our labour."
3. Law Code
Under the Ministry of Dharma & Justice, a code emerged:
Not a single book like some Western laws, but a layered system:
At base: shared principles drawn from:
Dharmashastras,
customs,
Arthashastra's practicality,
filtered to remove:
egregious biases,
outdated cruelties.
On top: region-specific customs, documented and affirmed.
Above all: a Royal Edict:
"In matters where old custom clearly violates basic compassion and fairness—for women, for lower castes, for tribals—the Rajya reserves the right to override tradition in favour of dharma."
This was not a revolution.
Not yet.
But it placed a lever in Narasimha's hand that future reformers could use.
"You're planting seeds," Kaveri said, after reading a draft. "You know they may not sprout fully in your lifetime."
"I have time," he replied wryly. "More than most. And a stubborn habit of watering."
IV. A Ladder of Councils
From the Gram Sabha upward, they built the ladder.
1. Mandala / Nadu Councils
Clusters of villages formed Nadu Sabhas:
representatives from each Gram Panchayat,
oversight on:
canal projects,
inter-village disputes,
market locations.
An Adhikari at this level was like a modern Block Officer—coordinating, mediating, reporting upwards.
2. Zilla Sabha – District Councils
At the Zilla (district) level, a Zilla Sabha comprised:
elected/appointed members from Nadus,
seats reserved informally (for now) for:
farmers,
traders,
artisans,
women of standing,
learned persons.
A Zilla Adhikari (proto-District Collector) oversaw:
tax collection implementation,
court operations,
disaster response.
Unlike the Company's district officers, these were:
drawn from the Dakshina Civil Service,
answerable to:
the Zilla Sabha,
the central ministries.
3. Provincial Councils
Each cultural region—Rayalaseema, Andhra, Tamilakam, Karnataka, Kerala—had a Pranta Sabha:
a council blending:
major chiefs,
guild leaders,
temple representatives,
scholars.
Their role:
adapt central policies to the local context,
veto obviously harmful edicts (subject to central review),
propose region-wide initiatives.
"We are not creating a rigid empire," Narasimha said in the inaugural Rayalaseema Pranta Sabha. "We are making a federation before the word is fashionable."
4. Central Dual Sabha
For Dakshina Rajya as a whole, they formed two bodies:
Janata Sabha – a "People's Council":
representatives filtered up from Zilla Sabhas,
voice for commoners, guilds, rural blocks.
Mandala Sabha – a "Circle of Realms":
members from Pranta Sabhas,
representing regions as equals.
Together, they acted as:
advisory and consent bodies for major laws,
a check on the King and ministries.
"Will they have the power to remove you?" Sri asked once, half-teasing.
Narasimha considered.
"Not yet," he said. "But they can refuse to cooperate. And if they ever all stand together against me, that means I have already failed so badly that removal by law is the least of my problems."
Venkanna chuckled.
"In future ages," he murmured, "someone might look at this and call it a parliament. For now, we call it… the place where Narasimha gets headaches from too many opinions."
V. The Dakshina Seva – A New Civil Service
Even the best council design collapses without capable officials.
In ancient days, kings often relied on:
family,
hereditary roles,
favoured favourites.
Narasimha had seen where that led.
In some future life's echo, he remembered exam halls where youth competed to become "officers" of a great state.
He decided to borrow that spirit, if not the exact forms.
Thus was born the Dakshina Rajya Seva – Dakshina Service.
1. Selection
For the first batch, they chose promising individuals by recommendation:
clerks who had shown unusual integrity,
village record keepers with sharp minds,
younger sons and daughters of chiefs who were not spoiled,
Brahmins and non-Brahmins alike, selected by ability.
Later, they introduced examinations:
in languages (at least one regional + the court language),
basic maths and accounting,
knowledge of law and dharma,
practical problem-solving.
"Talent exists in all castes," Narasimha insisted. "If we ignore it, we weaken ourselves."
This was radical in its own quiet way.
2. Training
In Kesarinagara, a Rajya Gurukula campus emerged:
classes on:
Arthashastra,
village administration,
irrigation planning,
the new law code,
conflict resolution.
older gurus taught ethics and dharma.
mystics occasionally visited to remind them:
"Power is a loan, not your birthright."
Each trainee took an oath:
"I serve the Rajya, not for my prosperity alone,
but for the well-being of those who cannot sit in these halls.
I serve the law, not the whim of any one man—even my king.
And when dharma and command conflict, I will seek the path that harms the least and upholds justice the most."
Sri, watching the first batch recite these words, felt something settle in her.
"This," she thought, "might be what truly outlives us."
VI. Forging the Lion's Claws: Army, Navy, Special Forces
With governance webs spun, the realm's teeth needed proper shaping.
1. Army – Dakshina Sena
The army of Dakshina Rajya unified under the name Dakshina Sena.
Its pillars:
Lion Legion (Simha Sena) – core infantry, professionally trained, drawn from across regions.
Elephant & Cavalry Commands – specialised units for specific terrains.
Regional Militia – village and town levies trained periodically, organised by Zilla Adhikaris.
Royal Guard (Simha Rakshaka – 108) – elite bodyguard, drawn from proven Tiger Corps veterans, oath-bound to protect the King, Queen, and key institutions.
Training grounds across the realm were standardised:
drills,
codes of conduct,
rules forbidding molestation of civilians and looting.
Violations were:
punished swiftly,
recorded visibly,
used as negative examples in training.
"If we become what we fought," Narasimha told his generals, "then we have already lost."
2. Navy – Garuda & Makara Fleets
The sea-arms evolved into:
Garuda Fleet – blue-water capable escorts and commerce protectors, built with help from Travancore, Cochin, coastal guilds, and even the study of captured British designs.
Makara Fleet – riverine and littoral craft, excellent in deltas, estuaries, and close to shore.
Shipyards grew at:
Machilipatnam,
Kochi,
a new dock complex near Kesarinagara's river links.
Naval codes emphasised:
protecting the Dakshina trade,
interdicting smugglers who trafficked humans (slavery was outright banned),
keeping eyes on foreign fleets.
Young boys—and now, some daring girls—from fishing communities dreamt of serving on Garuda ships, seeing more of the world than their grandfathers did.
3. Special Forces – Tiger Corps Ascendant
The Tiger Corps, forged in the early rebellion, became the realm's Asura Vahini – shadow warriors.
Officially:
a small, elite special operations unit under the Ministry of Defence.
In reality:
the blade Narasimha drew when conventional methods failed.
They trained in:
stealth,
unconventional warfare,
hostage rescue,
leadership decapitation strikes.
Many Asura Vahini also held peacetime roles as:
trainers,
guards,
investigators.
But every one of them knew:
"When the lion roars quietly, we move."
VII. The Official Intelligence: Rahasya Mandal
The question of spies could not be avoided.
Trinetra—Narasimha's three-eyed network—had grown from:
rumour-gatherers,
caravan informants,
temple boys,
into a web spanning the south and touching foreign coasts.
But a growing kingdom needed formal intelligence too.
Under the Ministry of Intelligence & Trinetra Affairs, they created:
Dakshina Rahasya Seva – Southern Secret Service.
On paper, this:
took over all functions of Trinetra,
organised intelligence into branches:
Internal Security – tracking banditry, sedition, corruption,
External Intelligence – foreign powers, northern empires, Company remnants,
Analysis Wing – scholars and clerks turning reports into patterns,
Counter-Subversion – watching for infiltration by hostile spies.
A training centre taught:
cipher-writing,
languages,
disguise and observation,
report structuring.
The public face was modest.
"Just another department," some said, "like Finance or Irrigation, but with more secrets."
At the inauguration of Dakshina Rahasya Seva, Narasimha gave a short speech.
"Information," he said, "is a blade sharper than steel. Used rightly, it saves lives. Used wrongly, it turns a kingdom against itself. This Seva exists:
not to watch every breath of our people,
but to protect them from those who would tear this fragile peace apart."
He paused.
"And let it be written," he continued, "that no intelligence service of Dakshina Rajya shall ever be beyond any law. If we let our shadows grow without limit, they will one day swallow us."
The assembled officers bowed.
Many believed him.
Most meant well.
Almost none of them knew that this was only half the story.
VIII. Trinetra in the Dark – The Hidden Eye
The official narrative proclaimed:
"Trinetra has been dissolved and merged into Dakshina Rahasya Seva. Its symbol retired, its members absorbed or pensioned."
Ceremonies were held:
old Trinetra seals burned,
Some field agents were publicly reassigned,
archives "transferred".
But in a cave-chamber beneath Nallamala's roots, lit by quiet lamps, a smaller gathering occurred.
Here stood:
the oldest Trinetra handlers,
a handful of Tiger Corps veterans,
Sri,
Venkanna,
Narasimha.
On a stone slab rested the original Trinetra insignia: a simple marking of three eyes in a triangle.
Narasimha looked at the faces before him.
"All empires," he said, "eventually create spider webs of spies. We are no different. What we must be different in is this:
Whom do those webs ultimately serve?
Dakshina Rahasya Seva is necessary. It reports to ministers, sabhas, and future parliaments. It will have oversight, rules, and paperwork. That is good. That keeps its power from becoming a monster."
He gestured to the Trinetra sign.
"But there are threats," he continued, "which will not respect our sabha schedules:
things from beyond our borders,
beyond Bharat,
beyond even this world.
There will be times when those in power are themselves compromised, or simply too slow."
He looked each person in the eye.
"Trinetra will not truly die," he said softly. "It will descend deeper. It will become:
a nameless, deniable order,
an eye that watches over all—including me and those who sit on any throne after me.
You will:
answer directly to the King-Protector,
Later, when the shape of governance changes, to the equivalent of a Pradhanamantri—if they are worthy.
If neither king nor minister is fit… then you will at least protect the people from the worst outcomes."
Sri added quietly,
"You are not above dharma. You are not gods. You are an emergency knife hidden in the stitching of the kingdom's cloth. Drawn only when nothing else works."
Venkanna placed one gnarled hand on the Trinetra symbol.
"The Arthashastra spoke of spies," he said. "So did many kingdoms. But always in service of a court, a dynasty. You will serve:
the continuity of this land,
The long story of Bharat,
not just current rulers' convenience."
They formalised it:
Trinetra's existence would be:
erased from most records,
known only to:
King-Protector,
one or two top ministers,
and a living chain within Trinetra itself.
No grand buildings.
No visible uniforms.
No budgets in ledgers.
Instead:
folded inside other duties,
hidden within merchant guilds, temples, universities, even future… ministries that did not yet exist.
Narasimha pressed his palm to the stone, tracing the three eyes.
"Centuries from now," he murmured, "when other flags fly over parts of Bharat, when men in metal suits and hammers from the sky walk the earth, when secret agencies call themselves S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra or Kingsman or RAW… you will still be here.
Not to mimic them.
To anchor what we began."
One by one, the assembled agents knelt.
They took an oath never written, only spoken.
Words that bound them not to the Lion Banner alone, but to an idea:
"Bharat, in all her forms—ancient, confederated, fractured, reunited, cosmic—shall not be left without at least one loyal eye watching for her harm."
When the lamps were extinguished, Trinetra did not vanish.
It simply learned to live in the dark.
IX. The Lion in the Archive
Years later, in a quiet hour, Narasimha walked alone through an archive hall in Kesarinagara.
Shelves held:
the first standardised weights,
copies of the law code,
records of the first Gram Sabhas' resolutions,
early Dakshina Seva training manuals.
He ran a hand over a stacked bundle of palm leaves.
"This," he thought, "is more dangerous than any sword."
Kaveri found him there, fingers stained with old ink.
"Reading your own history as it's being written?" she teased.
"Trying to imagine who will curse me in a hundred years," he replied. "Some future official will blame me when he has to fill out six forms to build a new well."
She laughed.
"Better they curse your forms," she said, "than your wars."
He smiled faintly.
"Do you think this system will last?" he asked. "The sabhas, the standards, the Seva, the… shadows?"
She considered.
"Parts will break," she said honestly. "Some councils will grow corrupt. Some officers will forget their oaths. Some future king may be unworthy.
But roots this deep?" She gestured outward. "Village sabhas, shared coin, common roads, trained civil servants, a habit of questioning authority while working with it… Those things are hard to kill."
She took his hand.
"And even if," she added quietly, "foreigners return, or new powers rise, they will have to contend with a south whose people remember they once ruled themselves, well."
He exhaled.
"That," he said, "is enough."
X. The Gods Approve a Blueprint
Far above, the divine assembly watched the slow, boring, utterly crucial work of governance years.
Lakshmi's eyes shone.
"He is doing what few kings manage," she said. "Building not just monuments, but systems,"
Saraswati added,
"He bridges:
The Gram Sabha of ancient Bharat,
The parliament dreams of future Bharat,
and the strange councils of a Marvel-world.
This web he weaves will catch more than he knows."
Parvati smiled.
"When the storms come," she said—the storms of war, of ideology, of alien skies and mutant uprisings—"this south will not stand because he wielded a sword once. It will stand because he taught them how to think, argue, decide, and defend themselves."
Vishnu leaned back.
"Good," he said. "The timeline weaves strangely, but some anchors are holding."
Maheshwara's eyes half-closed.
"Let empires rise and fall," he murmured. "So long as somewhere, a village sabha still meets under a banyan, weighing justice in their own tongue, we have not lost."
Brahma scratched in his endless manuscript.
"Chapter: The Lion's Web of Law," he wrote.
"Impact: Will echo in:
the making of future constitutions,
the ethos of hidden agencies,
the stubbornness of a people who refuse to be merely ruled ever again."
In the early years of Dakshina Rajya's golden age, while bards still sang of Madras' fall and the British retreat, another song was quietly being composed:
Not of battles and banners,
But of:
standard measures,
honest ledgers,
local voices,
Civil servants are afraid of their own conscience more than their king,
an official intelligence tied to law,
and a hidden Trinetra watching over all.
The lion had learned to govern.
The South, in turn, learned to govern itself.
Centuries later, when Marvel's heroes would collide with Bharat's gods, when new governments and new secrets rose and fell, echoes of Narasimha's design would still ripple underfoot.
For now, in Kesarinagara, at the end of one long day of meetings, the King-Protector stared at yet another stack of papers and muttered,
"Next birth, I'm choosing to be a village potter. Clay doesn't file complaints."
Sri, passing by, only smiled.
"Too late," she said. "The gods already put your name in the chapter called The Lion's Web of Law."
✦ End of Chapter 44 – "The Lion's Web of Law" ✦