✦ 𑁍 Chronicle Note: Year of the Turning (1841 CE) 𑁍
Narasimha Reddy: 41 years old – Emperor, war veteran, immortal in secret, still looking more like a man in his early thirties.
Kaveri Devi (Empress): around 38 – Queen of the southern seas, political partner, mother.
Rudrama Devi: 12–13 – Elder twin, a fierce, sharp-eyed princess already sitting in council lessons.
Rajendra: 12–13 – Younger twin, curious, softer in manner but keen in thought.
Sri: late 30s – Chief administrator and mind behind reforms.
Gosayi Venkanna: late 60s – Mentor, sage, the old lion's counselor.
The year is 1841.
The wars are long over.
The treaty with Europe is signed.
The Southern realm is no longer bleeding.
Now comes the hardest part:
To turn victory into a civilisation that will stand—even if one day the people holding power forget their dharma.
I. A Realm That Has Settled
Across the Mandala of the South, the changes of the last decade had quietly taken root.
In Odisha, by the coast, a fisherman's village had a new stone pier.
Children learned to read Odia and Telugu both in a school built beside an old shrine to Jagannath.
In Hyderabad, once a node of intrigue and Company intrigue, the streets felt different.
The palaces still stood.
But:
tax collectors answered to a mixed council of locals and Dakshina appointees,
police units now had men from multiple castes and communities,
courts started to record proceedings in Persian, Telugu, Urdu, and Marathi side by side.
In Goa, church bells and temple bells rang over shipyards where:
carpenters carved hulls for a navy that no longer served Lisbon or London,
Dakshina flags flew beside old merchant pennants,
contracts were written under Narasimha's seal.
In Rayalaseema, canals dug with war-time urgency had matured into a network feeding fields.
Old drought-prone lands now felt the steady touch of water.
In Kesarinagara, the capital formerly known as Kurnool, broad new boulevards coexisted with ancient lanes.
The Lion Banner fluttered on towers.
Under it, the machinery of rule, now more complex than most kingdoms in the world, turned day and night.
The conquered lands were no longer "conquered".
They were integrated—stitched into a single fabric called, increasingly, the Mandalic Federation of the South.
And in that fabric, a familiar old stain remained:
the arrogance of those born with titles, land, and caste pride.
II. The Day of Petitions
The great hall of Kesarinagara's palace was crowded.
It was "Day of Petitions", when anyone—from village headman to widow to merchant guild—could present grievances directly before the Emperor's court.
Narasimha sat on the Lion Throne, dressed simply:
white and gold dhoti,
lion torque,
sword at his side more as symbol than weapon today.
To his right, Kaveri.
To his left, Sri with scrolls, and Gosayi Venkanna on a slightly raised seat.
Rudrama and Rajendra sat to one side, ordered to "listen more than speak".
A guard announced the first case.
"From Kalinga coastal mandal, Your Majesty," he called. "A petition against Lord Bhavani Deva Sāmanta."
A thin man stepped forward, flanked by villagers.
He folded his hands, eyes lowered.
"Speak freely," Narasimha said. "This hall is not a battlefield where only the loudest wins."
The man swallowed.
"Mahārāja," he began, "Lord Bhavani Deva's men… they stopped our people from drawing water at the old well.
They say:
only his caste may use it,
others must wait or go a long way."
Another villager, a woman in worn clothes, added, voice trembling but fierce:
"Even after your officers read your proclamations on no untouchability, they laughed.
They said:
'What does the Emperor know of our customs? This land is ours. We will do as we please.'"
Murmurs.
Narasimha's gaze hardened.
He had issued edicts against caste oppression.
Most obeyed. Some bent slowly.
But here was open defiance.
"Has Lord Bhavani been summoned?" Narasimha asked quietly.
A guard replied, "Yes, Maharaja. He waits outside, under guard."
"Bring him," Narasimha said.
A stocky man in rich clothes was escorted in, trying to look dignified despite the chains at his wrists.
He bowed stiffly.
"Your Majesty," he said, "these are local customs—"
"Local customs that spit in the face of my proclamation?" Narasimha interrupted softly.
"Tell me, Lord Bhavani, when our soldiers bled on your fields to drive out the Company, did we ask:
'What caste is this villager?' before we shielded him?"
The noble flushed.
"It is not the same, Maharaja," he said.
"No," Narasimha agreed. "It is worse.
They risked their lives for your lands, and you deny them water."
A pin-drop silence.
"Do you deny the charges?" Sri asked.
Lord Bhavani hesitated.
"I… followed the customs of my ancestors," he tried. "This is how it has always been."
Venkanna's voice cut in, calm but steely.
"And before 'always', what was it?" he asked. "We are changing things now.
'Always' is not an excuse for adharma."
Narasimha leaned back, gaze never leaving the noble.
"In the new order," he said, "title is not armour against dharma.
You call yourself Sāmanta—protector of your region.
Instead you have:
humiliated those under your care,
mocked the Emperor's word.
The first is sin before the gods.
The second is treason before the state."
He raised a hand.
"Lord Bhavani Deva Sāmanta," he said, voice echoing, "by the authority vested in me as Chakravartin of this realm, I:
strip you of your title,
confiscate half your estate for public works,
and place you under house arrest until a full inquiry is done."
Gasps.
The noble began to protest.
"You cannot—"
Narasimha's aura flared just a little.
Not Asura-rage, but something colder, implacable.
"I can," he said. "And I have."
Guards hauled the man away.
The villagers dropped to their knees, stunned.
Narasimha looked at them, eyes softening.
"You will not be refused water again," he said. "If any man tries, send word.
Not just to me—" he nodded at Sri "—to any official of this new state.
If they ignore you, then call it loudly in our courts."
As the petitioners left, whispers spread.
"He is punishing nobles now."
"Even they are not above dharma anymore."
This was only one case.
In the weeks that followed, more came:
nobles who misused levies to fund their luxuries,
minor kings who barred certain castes from temples,
landholders who forced widows off fields granted in earlier royal edicts.
Each time, Narasimha acted:
suspending,
fining,
stripping titles,
ordering retrials.
Justice was being done.
And yet, something gnawed at him.
No matter how many he struck down, others sprouted.
Adharma was not just in individuals.
It was hiding in the structure.
III. The Night of Knives That Failed
It happened on a rain-scented night in Kesarinagara.
The palace was quieter, the court day over.
Narasimha walked along an open corridor lined with carved pillars, Kaveri at his side.
Guards shadowed them at a polite distance.
They were discussing irrigation reports.
"Yes, if we link the new canals in Deccan with the older Chola-style tanks in Tamil—" Kaveri began.
Narasimha's steps slowed.
His neck prickled.
A flash of instinct—one that had saved him on battlefields—shivered up his spine.
He stopped mid-footfall, hand rising.
Kaveri knew that look.
Without a word, she shifted slightly behind him.
From the shadows between pillars, three figures lunged:
blades drawn,
eyes wild,
one wearing a courtier's cloak to blend in.
Their target was not the royal couple's hearts—they aimed for throats.
Silent, precise kills.
They almost succeeded.
Almost.
Narasimha moved.
Not as a slow king.
As the warrior Prince of Uyyalawada who had fought British cavalry and sepoy volleys.
His hand was at his sword and in motion before most men would have blinked.
Steel flashed.
One attacker's knife spun into the air, severed hand following.
A second assassin's blade met Narasimha's forearm—then slid away as battle-honed reflex twisted his body, and the Emperor's elbow drove into the man's jaw with a sickening crack.
The third came from Kaveri's side, misjudging her.
He should have known better.
She stepped in, grabbed his wrist, pivoted smoothly, and used his momentum against him, throwing him hard onto the stone.
By then, the corridor exploded into shouts.
"Protect the Maharaja!"
Guards swarmed.
Torches flared.
Within heartbeats, two attackers lay wounded and pinned, the third unconscious.
Blood spattered the once-peaceful walkway.
Later, in the secure depths of the palace, interrogation began.
Trinetra and Rahasya Seva officers watched from the shadows.
One conscious attacker, jaw broken and arm bound, spat at Narasimha's feet when brought before him.
"You shame the old ways," the man hissed.
"We are nobles.
You make us stand equal with peasants in courts.
You strip lords in front of untouchables.
You think we will bow?"
Narasimha's eyes were cold.
"You attacked me," he said mildly. "But what you truly attacked was:
the farmer drawing water freely,
the child walking into a school where caste does not bar the door."
Another conspirator, sweating, blurted,
"We… we had blessings, Maharaja.
Some smaller lords, some Mandala chiefs—they think if you fall, we can restore the old order.
Where nobles decide, not councils.
Where Emperor closes one eye, and we do as we please."
Under careful questioning—and sharper methods from Trinetra—it became clear:
the assassination attempt had been funded by a cluster of resentful nobles,
all those whose privileges had been punctured by Narasimha's recent reforms,
men who saw the Emperor's siding with common folk as a betrayal of "their class".
That night, after the prisoners were taken away, Narasimha stood on a balcony overlooking Kesarinagara.
Rain clouds massed over the city.
Kaveri joined him, a shawl around her shoulders.
"You nearly died today," she said quietly.
"As many nearly die in wars," he replied.
She gave him a look.
"You could have turned this into a purge," she said. "Hanged a dozen nobles, seized estates, made an example so terrifying that no one would dare lift a dagger again."
"I could," he said.
He stared at the dark city.
"But would that cure the disease?
Or only scare the current carriers?"
He thought of Lord Bhavani at the well.
Of old zamindars in Odisha.
Of proud landlords in Deccan.
"I have been cutting off bad branches," he murmured.
"But the tree itself is shaped so that bad fruit grows easily.
A system where:
birth gives you power,
power rarely answers to anyone,
is bound to rot."
Kaveri folded her arms.
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"You cannot cut down the whole tree."
Narasimha exhaled slowly.
"I cannot," he agreed. "But I can:
graft new branches,
change the trunk,
set rules so that even if a rotten man sits on a throne, the throne itself cannot easily crush people."
He turned to her.
"I have wielded absolute power for years," he said. "It saves time.
But if this civilisation is to last beyond me, then even I must be bound."
Kaveri's eyes softened with pride and worry mixed.
"Then bind yourself," she said.
"Before someone worse sits where you sit."
The rain began.
Below, in the city, lanterns flickered to life.
A new thought took shape in Narasimha's mind.
Not of a new campaign.
Not of a new fortress.
But of something more radical:
A Constitution that would make dharma not just a matter of the king's conscience, but written law—above kings, nobles, priests, and even himself.
IV. The Great Dharma Sabha
A month later, the Sabha Mandapa of Kesarinagara was overflowing.
This was no ordinary court session.
Narasimha had summoned:
kings and chiefs from allied realms,
nobles—hereditary and merit,
leading scholars from gurukulas and universities,
guild representatives,
village heads,
even a few chosen commoners from each major region.
Rudrama and Rajendra sat near their parents, eyes shining.
On a raised platform, Narasimha stood, flanked by Kaveri, Sri, and Venkanna.
Trinetra agents watched from unseen vantage points.
The hall buzzed until Narasimha raised his hand.
Silence fell.
"Brothers and sisters of this Mandala," he began, his voice carrying to the far corners, "ten years ago, this land:
bled under Company bayonets,
bent under taxes that did not care if children starved,
feared that our gods and gurus would be called demons and fools."
"We fought," he said. "We won.
We pushed the Firangi out of our south.
Now:
our flags fly from Goa to Kalinga,
our schools teach children of all castes,
our courts hear the weak and strong alike."
A murmur of pride.
He let it pass.
"But victory in war is not the end of the story," he continued.
"Recently, some among you—" his gaze swept the nobles "—have abused your station:
denying water at wells,
closing temple doors,
using titles as shields against law."
He did not flinch from the next part.
"And recently," he said, "some of you tried to kill me."
The hall stiffened.
The story of the assassination attempt had spread in whispers. Hearing it spoken aloud sent a ripple.
"I was angry," Narasimha admitted.
"I could have:
hanged a hundred nobles,
seized their estates,
ruled through fear.
But tell me," he asked, "if we build our order on:
my temper,
my judgment alone,
what happens when someday a lesser man sits on this throne?
Or when I finally choose to lay down this life?"
Silence.
He lifted a hand to the pillars, the banners, the crowd.
"Dharma cannot depend forever on one man's mood," he said.
"In Kaliyuga, even kings can be wrong.
So we will do something dangerous and new.
We will:
take the power I hold,
the power nobles hold,
the power priests hold,
and tie it to law.
A law rooted in dharma, but:
written,
debated,
enforceable,
that will outlive us."
He turned to Sri.
She stepped forward with a bound stack of palm-leaf and paper.
"Over these months," she said, "we have:
studied our shastras,
Arthashastra, Dharmashastras,
rajadharma from epics,
and, yes, samples of European charters and constitutions brought by our friends—"
She glanced briefly at envoys in one corner, including Edwin's circle.
"From all of this," she continued, "we have woven a new framework.
Not purely ancient.
Not blindly western.
A Mandalic Dharmic Constitution."
Eyes widened.
"A country with… constitution?" someone whispered.
"Not just a country," Narasimha corrected.
"A Mandalic Dharmic Federation."
He gestured.
"Listen."
V. The Preamble – Many Realms, One Dharma
Sri began to read.
Her voice was clear, measured, like a veena string.
"We, the peoples of the Mandalic Dharmic Federation,
united in many realms but bound by one dharma,
to protect justice, freedom, and dignity for all,
to honour both ancient lineages and earned merit,
to allow all faiths while preventing abuse of faith,
do establish this Constitution."
The words rolled through the Mandapa.
Village heads shifted—hearing themselves named as part of the sovereign "we", not as subjects only.
A merchant whispered,
"Not just 'king speaks from on high'… but we?"
Narasimha nodded slightly.
"Sovereignty," he said, "will no longer be claimed by the crown alone.
It will rest in the people, and be expressed through:
an Emperor,
elected councils,
and the realms themselves."
The murmur this time was one of shock and awe.
VI. Rights and Faith – Boundaries Around Power
Sri continued, summarising key articles instead of reading every line.
"First," she said, "we declare basic rights.
Not as favors from the king—but as guarantees."
She listed them:
equality in dignity and before the law,
no discrimination by religion, caste, clan, birth, sex, language, occupation,
right to life and liberty,
freedom of faith and worship (so long as others' rights and safety are not harmed),
freedom from caste oppression and untouchability in public spaces,
right to speech, assembly, and fair justice,
right to petition.
The villagers who had complained about the well listened, eyes glistening.
"In short," Sri said, "no one can:
deny you water,
deny you entry to schools or courts,
because of caste or religion—and claim 'custom' as shield."
A Brahmin priest cleared his throat cautiously.
"What of temples?" he asked. "There are shrines where:
the deity is worshipped with particular vows,
certain parts of the inner sanctum have restrictions.
Will all such customs be smashed?"
There were nods; this was a real concern.
Narasimha addressed it calmly.
"We have allowed," he said, "for narrow sacred exceptions.
If:
a temple's core tradition, established over long years, requires certain restrictions inside a very specific space,
and it does not claim that the excluded group is inferior,
and the excluded still have other ways to worship that deity in the same complex…
then that practice may continue."
"But," Sri added, "such exceptions:
are not automatic,
must be reviewed by the High Court,
and can be cancelled if abused to spread wider discrimination."
"This is like separate baths or dormitories," she explained. "For privacy and ritual, not for humiliation.
Temples cannot be used to re-invent old chains in new language."
Some priests looked relieved; others, uneasy.
But even they could not deny that abuse had become rampant in some places.
The Constitution drew a line:
Faith: protected.
Oppression in the name of faith: forbidden.
VII. Nobles, Merit, and the Dharmic Ladder
The nobles in the hall sat straighter as Sri turned to the next part.
"Now," she said, "about nobility."
Eyes sharpened.
"There are two kinds of nobles in this new order:
Hereditary Nobles – titles passed by blood,
Merit Nobles – titles earned by examinations, service, and achievement."
Gasps from some hereditary lines.
"Any commoner," Sri emphasised, "can become a Merit Noble.
From:
Commoner → Merit Grāmapati → Merit Thākura → Merit Sāmanta → Merit Rāja → and so on."
Narasimha allowed himself a slight smile.
"Those of you with old lineages," he said, "your ancestors' work will be honoured.
But gone are the days when:
one glorious king's deed gives twelve useless generations a free ride."
Sri outlined the Dharmic Ladder of ranks:
Grāmapati / Grāmadevi – village lord/lady
Thākura / Thākurānī – town/small estate lord/lady
Sāmanta – larger regional lord
Rāja / Rāṇī – king/queen of a realm
Mahārāja / Mahārāṇī – great king/queen
Chakravartin – Emperor/Empress
"Nobles," she said, "will still have:
ceremonial precedence,
some estates,
first invitations to top academies and officer schools.
But:
they will not be above law,
they will not have automatic government posts,
all serious state roles will require merit examinations and service records."
Venkanna added,
"We have created a body—the Dharmic Honors and Nobility Commission (DHNC).
It will:
examine nominations for titles,
distinguish between Merit and Hereditary nobles,
and strip titles from those who abuse dharma."
He explained:
Merit nobles are rewarded for great one-time or short-period achievements.
Hereditary nobles must show repeated, long-lasting contributions at that level.
"One brilliant general might be a Merit Sāmanta," he said.
"But only if he, over years:
trains successors,
builds institutions,
leaves lasting reforms,
can his line become Hereditary Sāmanta.
Hereditary rank is not a birthright. It is earned many times over."
A young noble, jaw tight, asked,
"And who judges us?"
"DHNC," Venkanna replied.
"Composed of:
the Chief Justice,
senior Merit nobles,
senior Hereditary nobles,
eminent commoners,
and a Merit Commission representative."
"And," Sri added, "all their decisions and reasons will be public.
Even a sweeper can request:
'Why does this king deserve his title?'
The answer will be written down where all can read."
A shiver went through the noble rows.
Power was not vanishing.
But it was being caged in transparency.
VIII. Realms, Mandalas, and Councils
Next came the shape of the state itself.
"The lands we hold," Narasimha said, "are many realms:
old kingdoms,
new provinces,
allied circles.
We will not erase their identities.
Instead, we form a Mandalic Federation."
Sri explained:
The Imperial Crown Realm – core territories under direct imperial administration.
Federal Realms – full members ruled by Rājas/Mahārājas, fully bound by the Constitution.
Mandala Realms – allied or semi-autonomous regions bound by treaties to respect basic rights, cooperate in defence and trade.
Each realm would send a representative to the Council of Realms.
The Council of Realms would:
approve major treaties and war,
arbitrate disputes between realms,
advise on inter-realm matters.
Alongside it would stand:
the Council of Commons – elected by the people by population, making laws and controlling budget.
the Council of Nobles – hereditary and merit nobles, able to review, delay, suggest changes to laws affecting land and succession, but not block forever.
"In making federal laws," Sri said, "we require:
Council of Commons approval,
Council of Nobles review and acceptance,
then the Emperor's signature.
If the Emperor returns a law once, the Councils can still override by joint re-approval."
Gasps.
A king… overruled?
Narasimha met their eyes.
"Yes," he said.
"From now on, even the Chakravartin is not an unbound lord.
He is:
guardian of the Constitution,
unifier,
referee.
Not a capricious tyrant."
IX. Election of the Emperor – The Dharmic Mandate
This was the part that made some hearts skip.
Sri laid it out carefully.
"The Chakravartin," she said, "will no longer be a purely hereditary throne.
He or she will be elected."
A stunned silence.
"Not by mob," she added. "By a Dharmic Mandate Vote."
Only nobles of Rāja rank and above—hereditary or merit—could stand as candidates:
Rāja / Rāṇī
Mahārāja / Mahārāṇī
"But a commoner," she stressed, "can rise through:
Merit Thākura → Merit Sāmanta → Merit Rāja…
and become eligible.
From there, the Mandate Vote has three parts:
People's Vote – 50% weight
Merit Nobles' Vote – 30% weight
Hereditary Nobles' Vote – 20% weight"
Within noble groups, rank would affect voting strength:
Grāmapati – 1
Thākura – 2
Sāmanta – 3
Rāja – 4
Mahārāja – 5
"All three groups," Sri said,
"will cast their votes.
Each group produces a percentage for each candidate.
Final Score =
(People % × 50) + (Merit Nobles % × 30) + (Hereditary Nobles % × 20).
The one with the highest score above threshold becomes Chakravartin."
A low roar of whispers.
"So the people's will is half," a guild leader murmured.
"Merit and heritage share the rest."
"It balances," Venkanna said.
"The crowd's heart, the meritocracy's judgment, the old lineages' continuity.
No one group can dominate alone."
Rudrama whispered to Rajendra,
"So… one day, if Appa chooses to step down, we might have to win elections?"
Rajendra whispered back,
"Or we help someone better suited.
And if someone unworthy rises, at least they will be trapped by this net of rules."
Narasimha overheard and smiled faintly.
For all his immortality, he was preparing for a time after himself.
X. The Emperor as Referee, Not God
To calm some rattled noble nerves, Venkanna outlined the Emperor's new role.
"In this Federation," he said, "the Chakravartin is:
Symbol of Unity:
The face of the Mandalic Federation and its dharma, above realm rivalries, religions, and castes.
Appointer-in-Chief:
Appoints top officials—generals, governors, judges, ministers—only from lists of highest-ranked merit candidates, approved by the Merit Commission and Council of Commons.
War & Diplomacy Head:
Supreme Commander in war, signer of major treaties—but only with approval from:
Council of Commons,
Council of Realms.
Guardian of the Constitution:
Can:
send laws back once,
call joint sessions in crises,
and is sworn to protect basic rights against mobs and tyrants.
Keeper of Honors & Nobility:
Grants and revokes noble titles and honours, based on DHNC advice.
He honours history—but cannot let nobility override the Constitution."
"In short," Venkanna said, "the Emperor:
unites,
oversees,
guards dharma,
but does not rule alone like a god-king of old."
Narasimha felt a strange lightness in his chest.
He was, in essence, cutting his own absolute power.
And it felt right.
XI. Defense, Courts, and Amendments
Sri did not read every clause in full, but summarised key pillars.
A Unified Federal Army and Navy, with realms allowed local forces that come under federal command in war.
Supreme Command vested in the Chakravartin, but:
day-to-day control in hands of PM and Ministers,
actions bound by law and oversight.
A Dharmic Defense Council to advise in crises.
Declarations of war require approval by:
Council of Commons,
Council of Realms,
and Emperor.
A High Court of the Mandalic Federation to:
protect the Constitution,
strike down laws violating rights,
review emergencies and sacred exceptions.
Citizens' Duties:
uphold Constitution,
respect rights of others,
defend the Federation.
Amendments:
only via:
2/3 Council of Commons,
2/3 Council of Nobles,
majority Council of Realms.
cannot:
remove basic rights,
reintroduce caste/religion discrimination,
abolish people's role in choosing Chakravartin,
remove civilian control over Armed Forces.
This was not just law.
It was a cage for future tyrants.
Even one like Narasimha, if he ever forgot himself.
XII. Oath Under the Lion Banner
At the end of the reading and explanations, Narasimha stepped forward.
Before him, on a stone pedestal, lay:
a copy of the Constitution,
his sword,
a bowl of sacred water.
He picked up the bowl, poured a few drops on the document, then on his own head.
"In the presence of:
my ancestors,
the Trimurti,
the gods of this land,
and in witness of:
my queen,
my children,
my nobles,
my people…"
He placed his palm flat on the Constitution.
"…I, Narasimha Uyyalawada Reddy, Chakravartin of this Mandalic Dharmic Federation, swear:
to be bound by this law,
to protect it, even when it limits me,
to stand as its guardian, not its master.
If ever I break it for my own pride or fear, may dharma itself spit me out."
He then set his sword down beneath the pedestal.
"From this day," he said, voice ringing, "this document is placed above my blade.
If someday a ruler sits here who despises dharma, this net will:
slow him,
expose him,
give the people and the realms tools to correct him."
Kaveri stepped forward, placed her hand beside his.
"I, Kaveri Devi," she said, "swear to stand with this dharmic order.
Not above it, but within it."
One by one, key representatives stepped forward to swear:
a Maratha chief,
an Odia merchant,
a Tamil priest,
a Deccan noble,
a village Grāmapati,
even a former sepoy.
The Federation was not yet perfect.
But it now had a heart made of more than one man.
XIII. In the Eyes of the Gods
High above, beyond clouds and treaties, the Trimurti and Tridevi watched.
Lakshmi smiled faintly.
"Our child," she said, "has:
conquered,
ruled,
and now… bound himself."
Saraswati's eyes shone.
"In the age of Kaliyuga, to voluntarily give up absolute power," she said, "is rarer than any yajna.
He is building not just an empire, but a framework for dharma to survive bad rulers."
Parvati Devi's voice was soft.
"When he was first created," she murmured, "we hoped he would be Manu—the measure of men.
He cracked, lived many lives, stumbled.
Now, in this life…
He may not yet be Manu.
But today, he has taken a step only a true dharmic soul can take:
to place law and people above his own ego."
Mahadev closed his eyes in quiet approval.
"Good," he said. "Let the Mandalic Dharmic Federation stand.
For there will come a time when:
foreign gods in armour,
men in metal suits,
children of atom and star,
will walk this Earth.
When that time comes, this land will need more than one lion.
It will need a living dharmic order."
XIV. In the Streets and Fields
Word of the new Constitution spread.
In a small village, a potter asked the headman,
"So… even the Emperor has to follow rules now?"
The headman, holding a copy of the simplified version sent to every mandal, nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "And if a noble or officer wrongs us, we can:
petition,
appeal to courts that must listen,
and know the law is on our side."
In a noble's haveli, a young heir read DHNC rules with a mix of horror and excitement.
"So my rank… depends on my actual deeds," he muttered.
His sister smirked.
"Terrifying, isn't it?" she said. "You might have to do something useful."
In a temple, a priest ran fingers over the lines about sacred exceptions.
"It is… fair," he admitted finally.
"We preserve true traditions, but cannot hide behind them to keep others out of wells, schools, courts."
In Trinetra safehouses, agents studied the sections on:
rights,
emergencies,
power limits.
"This will shape how we fight in future," one said.
"Not just against enemies from outside, but also against corruption within."
As 1841 ended, the map of Bharat had not changed shape.
But something deeper had changed:
The soul of the Southern Empire.
It was no longer just Narasimha Reddy's kingdom.
It had become the Mandalic Dharmic Federation:
many realms,
one dharma,
one Constitution,
and a lion who chose to be:
not just a king who roars,
but a guardian who kneels willingly before the law he forged.
The world—British, European, American, northern Indian—saw only another royal decree.
They did not yet understand that in a century where empires would rise and fall like tides, this quiet act:
an immortal, battle-proven conqueror placing shackles on his own power,
would matter as much as any war he had ever fought.
✦ End of Chapter 50 – "The Lion Binds Himself to Law" ✦