In a sun-dappled clearing within the lush forests of Ujjain, laughter and giggles echoed like melodic notes through the trees. Queen Aarvi, adorned in elegant silks, stood gracefully among the vibrant greenery, her eyes glowing with maternal pride. Her female guards, vigilant and poised, stood at a respectful distance, weapons gleaming in the dappled sunlight, ever watchful for any threat to the tender gathering.

Behind the queen, her handmaidens whispered amongst themselves, their eyes twinkling with amusement as they basked in the innocence of youth of their children.

The young girls practiced their graceful strides, their laughter danced through the air. Krishneshwari and her friends, a lively band of eleven and twelve-year-olds, were adorned with flower girdles made of kesar blossoms. The girdles, artfully crafted yet intentionally oversized, swayed gently with every movement, compelling the girls to walk with a feminine elegance.

As they practiced their steps, the soft rustle of leaves mingled with their playful shrieks, creating a symphony of youthful joy. As the girls attempted to walk gracefully, their hips swayed delicately, the girdles threatening to slip down if they faltered. With each careful stride, the girls wobbled slightly, their laughter bursting forth, echoing the spirited energy of their blossoming womanhood.

A giggle erupted as Hemangi, caught unawares, felt her girdle beginning to slide. With an instinctive sway, she regained her balance, laughter spilling from her lips. The sight was too comical; the other girls burst into fits of giggles. The handmaidens too chuckled, their eyes sparkling with delight, sharing in the innocence of the moment.

"Hemangi, Rajkumari Krishneshwari ko dekh ke sikho." One girl said.

All eyes turned to Krishneshwari, whose movements were fluid and confident, embodying the very essence of womanhood that her mother sought to instill. With each carefully measured step, she moved with a gentle sway of her hips, her walk was deliberately slow, as if savoring the moment, her flower girdle swaying rhythmically with her movements. The sway of her hips was complemented by a subtle undulation of her torso.

A soft smile graced her lips, illuminating her youthful face with an aura of poise and assurance. Her gait was reminiscent of a majestic elephant—graceful and elegant, commanding attention without uttering a word.

The handmaidens whispered praises among themselves, admiring not only her physical beauty but also the aura of femininity she radiated. Aarvi watched with pride swelling in her heart; her daughter had indeed mastered the walk of a Gajgamini.

Krishneshwari’s eyes sparkled as she glanced at her mother, Queen Aarvi. The queen's approving nod brought a burst of happiness to her heart, feeding her spirit. A grin blossomed on her lips, transforming her already enchanting presence into something ethereal.

After a while, Aarvi raised her hand gently, signaling the end of their lesson, "Aaj ke liye itna bahut hai, kanyao." she announced, a smile gracing her lips.

The girls sighed in unison, a mix of disappointment and contentment dancing in their eyes. They had revelled in the joy of their femininity. With graceful reluctance, they unfastened their flower girdles, the kesar blooms tumbling softly to the ground like scattered jewels.

"Mata, kya hum krida hetu jaaye ?" Krishneshwari asked, her eyes sparkling with youthful exuberance.

Aarvi knelt to cup her daughter’s face, her fingers gently brushing against the soft skin. "Awashya jaao."

With that, the girls erupted into a flurry of excitement, racing across the clearing, their giggles mingling with the rustling leaves. Aarvi watched them go, a serene smile settling on her face. She made her way to the temporary canopy, the ornate chair waiting for her. Once seated, her handmaidens flitted around her, attending to her needs, their presence a comforting reminder of her status.

Aarvi kept a watchful eye on her daughter Krishneshwari and the group of lively girls, bubbling with energy. As they settled on a patch of soft grass, the girls began to toss around ideas for their game.

One girl, with sparkling eyes, suggested a game of catch. Another, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, pointed to an open space nearby and proposed a ball game. A third girl, with a playful grin, suggested they played bunny hops. As they pondered the options, their eyes wandered to the towering trees and the mysterious nooks of the forest.

"Chhupan-chhupaai khele ?" Hemangi suggested.

A moment of stillness fell over the group, a shared understanding glimmering in their gaze. With a collective nod, they chose the timeless game of hide and seek. However Krishneshwari’s heart sank. The thought of hiding among the gnarled trunks and dense underbrush filled her with unease. The playful giggles of her friends echoed in her ears, but the thought of being in the wilderness felt daunting. Her previous experience of being alone in the forest wasn't the most ideal.

"Koi anya krida nahi kar sakte ?" She asked.

One girl replied, "Kintu baaki krida mei itna anand nahi hai."

"Ha Rajkumari ! Yahi krida sarvottam hai !" Another girl said.

The thought of slipping away into the darkening woods sent a shiver down her spine, but the innocent excitement of her friends echoed in her ears, urging her to join in their delight. With a reluctant sigh, Krishneshwari relented, the pressure of their joy nudging her into compliance.

"Mai ginti shuru karti hu !" Hemangi grinned, a spark of mischief glinting in her eyes.

She closed her eyes, fingers pressed against her temples, as the rest of the girls scattered, laughter trailing behind them like the flutter of wings. Krishneshwari hesitated a moment longer, her heart racing, before finally darting into the trees, seeking her own hiding place.

She pressed her back against the rough bark of a sturdy tree. Its gnarled roots twisted beneath her feet, grounding her in this moment of uncertainty. She could hear Hemangi’s soft voice counting, each number echoing like a drumbeat in her chest.

Krishneshwari peered around her hiding spot, her heart racing as the laughter of her friends faded into the distance. Though she was mere paces from Hemangi, and knew she could easily be discovered, a part of her longed for the safety of the game to end. She'd rather be found than linger in this fearful solitude.

The air was heavy, laden with the scent of damp earth and the distant rustle of unseen creatures. Krishneshwari’s heart raced as a chill slithered up her spine. A gut feeling stirred deep within her, a whisper of instinct that urged her to leave. She glanced around, her wide eyes searching the undergrowth.

Suddenly an extremely tall cloaked figure came into view, his silhouette dark against the sunlit foliage. The air thickened, and Krishneshwari's breath caught in her throat. The figure's face was obscured, but his deep, hoarse voice pierced the silence, reverberating against her heart, "Rajkumari..."

Fear clutched at her chest, and she instinctively pressed her back harder against the tree, her heart sinking with each passing moment. In that moment, innocence of childhood shattered, replaced by a stark awareness of danger.

He knelt before her, the cloak parting slightly to reveal his mouth—a sinister crescent of inhumanly sharp teeth glinting in the dappled light. "Iss pathit ko aapse kuch chahiye." he rasped, his breath cold and foreboding.

Panic surged within her, but she straightened, forcing her fear down as she met his gaze with determination.

"Yadi bhook lagi hai, toh bhojan de sakti hu." she stammered, her voice steadier than her heart, "Yadi pyaas lagi hai, toh jal de sakti hu. Yadi deen-daridra ho toh apne abhushan de sakti hu."

Each word felt like a lifeline, a way to negotiate her safety. "Agar iske atirikt kuch aur chahiye toh mai nahi de sakti." she continued, her voice hardening, "Tumhe yaha se jana hoga."

Slowly, he removed his cloak, revealing a tall, imposing form adorned with intricate markings that spoke of ancient power. It was none but Arishtak.

"Mujhe pratishodh chahiye." He growled, his expression twisted with a fury that seemed almost palpable. He reached out to grasp her delicate wrist. Before she could scream, he swiftly covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her cry

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A/N

Chalo iska bhi Ram naam satya ho gaya~

Anyway, the oversized flower girdles were used in ancient India to teach young girls how to walk gracefully. Because if you don't sway your hips properly, the girdle would fall. This is seen in Kalidasa's Kumarasambhava.

Indeed, back in those times, we embraced how to be feminine ❤️✨
But sadly we have lost this now......