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Vikramaditya's Sword
A long time passed, and one day a remarkable spectacle unfolded in the grand metropolis of Peshawar. On a dark night, a fire's glow, like a flickering lamp, shone beneath a majestic banyan tree, some distance from the town. Soon, news of this strange sight spread throughout the village. People gathered, drawn by the unusual display. Women, pausing from their cooking, emerged from their homes, their hands laden with dough. Elders, with children perched upon their shoulders, coughed and stood up. Newlywed wives, shy to leave their rooms, peeked through the cracks in their doors, seeking solace for their anxious hearts. That faint flicker of light in the vast darkness beneath the dome-like tree was a striking image of a soul shrouded by the clouds of sin.
Tek Singh, nodding sagely, declared, "I understand. It must be a gathering of spirits."
Pandit Chet Ram, with the assured conviction of a scholar, remarked, "You are perceptive. I see the truth. A serpent has left its treasure and is grazing elsewhere. Let those with doubts witness it for themselves."
Munshi Gulab Chand spoke, "Whoever retrieves the jewel at this moment will undoubtedly become a king. But the risk is great."
Prem Singh, an elderly Jat, listened intently to these learned men.
Prem Singh was utterly alone in the world. His entire life had been spent in battles. But as the evening of his life approached, and he returned to the dilapidated hut of his early days, a wish arose within him. "Alas, I have no one in this world! If only I had a child!" That longing, which draws birds to their nests at dusk and guides animals toward their dens, stirred within him. There was no one to whom he could bring a warm meal at night or to whom he could sing lullabies. These aspirations had never stirred his heart before. However, the solitude of the day was not as isolating as the quiet of the evening.
One day, while visiting the market, Prem Singh witnessed a house engulfed in flames. High, terrifying flames danced in the air, and a woman stood at the door, wailing and beating her head. She was a widowed woman, her child fast asleep within. As the fire intensified, and a raging torrent of flames tore her away from her beloved child, Prem Singh's heart was pierced by her anguished cries. He courageously plunged into the inferno and retrieved the sleeping child, carrying him safely outside. The widowed woman, embracing her child, kissed his soft cheeks repeatedly, tears streaming down her face. She cried, "Your Majesty, whoever you may be, I offer my child to you. You may have other sons. Please look after this orphan. You possess a compassionate heart. The fire goddess has taken everything from me; I have nothing left but the clothes on my body. I will earn a living for myself and my child. This child is now yours."
Prem Singh's eyes welled up. He said, "My dear, do not say such things. Come home with me, and partake of whatever meager food we have. I too am completely alone in this world. Perhaps God brought us together for a purpose." As Prem Singh returned home that evening, he carried a smiling, flower-like child and a pale, withered woman behind him. His home was blessed that day. From then on, he was never seen sitting alone by the riverbank in the twilight.
Resolving to retrieve the serpent's jewel for the child, Prem Singh, sword at his side, moved cautiously towards the banyan tree in the middle of the night.
Upon reaching the foot of the tree, the jewel's brilliance grew ber. But there was no sign of the serpent. Prem Singh rejoiced; perhaps the serpent had wandered off to graze. However, when he reached out to take the jewel, he found nothing but bare earth. The old Jat's heart sank, and his flesh crawled. Suddenly, he saw something dangling before him. It was a banyan tree's knotted roots. Prem Singh's fear vanished. He began to dig at the source of the light with his sword. When he had excavated a small area, the sword struck something hard, and a flame erupted.
It was a small sword, but upon entering Prem Singh's hands, its fiery brilliance vanished. It held within its hilt precious gems, and the inscription 'Vikramaditya' was engraved on its top. This was Vikramaditya's sword, the sword of the sun of India, whose fame is still sung in every home.
This powerful sword had witnessed the company of India's immortal Kalidasa. During the nights, when Vikramaditya, disguising himself, would go forth to hear stories of sorrow and witness acts of cruelty, this magnificent sword adorned his side. The sword, a symbol of compassion and justice, had endured throughout the ages, gracing the very throne upon which even King Bhoja never sat.
This sword possessed an extraordinary radiance. Though buried for centuries, no trace of rust could be seen upon it. It cast a brilliant light within darkened homes, shining like a star throughout the kingdom, though it would disappear once held.
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