In the heart of Ayodhya, where the sacred Sarayu whispered tales of divinity, the royal palace buzzed with an electric anticipation. Golden banners unfurled in the gentle breeze, fluttering like blessings from the heavens. Servants adorned in vibrant silks scurried about, their laughter echoing through the halls, each step resonating with the eagerness of a city preparing to welcome a cherished guest.

The palace corridors echoed with the soft sounds of laughter and chatter, as attendants meticulously polished the marble flooring until it gleamed like the surface of a tranquil lake. In the grand hall, the aroma of saffron and cardamom wafted through the air as cooks prepared sumptuous feasts. Golden platters were filled with delicacies, each dish crafted with care to honor Princess Krishneshwari, or rather honour Rameshwari.

King Vishrutvaan, stood at the palace entrance, his eyes gleaming with pride and reverence. He gazed down the path lined with blooming lotuses, each petal a symbol of purity, celebrating the imminent arrival of Krishneshwari. The king, adorned in his finest royal attire, felt the weight of the ages upon him. Generations had awaited this day, a convergence of divine heritage and earthly celebration.

Rameshwari, daughter of Shri Ram, had once galloped across the vast expanses of the world, her valor unmatched, conquering lands and hearts alike. Her beloved Kosal basked in glory, thriving under her benevolent eye. As whispers of her feats echoed through the ages, it was said that the very earth flourished beneath her steed, a symbol of indomitable strength and grace.

King Vishrutvaan's heart swelled with pride and piety. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the royal entourage would emerge, and he imagined the moment he would lay eyes on the little princess. In his mind, he envisioned the joy of his ancestors, welcoming the goddess back home, as whispers of her name danced through the winds of Ayodhya. With each passing moment, Vishrutvaan’s impatience grew, a tidal wave of hope crashing against the shores of his heart.

In the vibrant streets of Ayodhya, the air buzzed with anticipation as the townsfolk prepared to welcome the royal guests from Ujjain. Colorful rangolis adorned the doorsteps, intricate patterns crafted from rice flour and flower petals, while fragrant garlands of marigold and jasmine hung from every balcony.

The rhythmic sound of wooden dhols echoed through the alleys, accompanied by the laughter of children, their eyes bright with wonder. Yet beneath the festive surface lay a current of unease. The common people, bustling with activity, exchanged whispers as they arranged banners.

"Kya Ujjayini hi Rameshwari hai ?"

"Pata nahi, kintu sab yahi kehte hai ki woh Akhand Maharani hai."

"Devi Rajkumari aur Akhand Maharani ek ho ke bhi bhinn hai !"

"Satyavachan, humari Devi Rajkumari ke samkaksh koi nahi ho sakta."

"Kintu yadi yeh wahi hai.... Toh humare samast janmo ka fal hoga aaj ka din."

Some wore smiles, but in their hearts lingered doubt. The tales of Rameshwari’s grace, strength, and benevolence were woven into the very fabric of their lives; she was their beloved princess first then a goddess, irreplaceable and unmatched. The crowd's innocence lay in their unwavering belief that no mortal could capture her essence.

Suddenly, conch shells erupted in a harmonious chorus, their echoes dancing through the streets, signaling the arrival of the royal family from Ujjain. The rhythmic beating of drums rolled through the city like distant thunder, invigorating the hearts of the gathered crowd.

The royal guards, clad in polished armor, galloped proudly on their horses, their disciplined formation creating a powerful spectacle. Majestic elephants adorned in rich fabrics strode forward, each a monument of grace and strength. On the first elephant, Kulguru Vedamurti sat with an air of wisdom, his presence commanding reverence. King Dilip and Queen Aarvi, regal and poised, followed on the second, their smiles radiating warmth and benevolence. But it was the third elephant that drew the most attention.

But it was the third elephant that drew the most attention. In an ornate carriage, Krishneshwari sat hidden behind the delicately embroidered curtains. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they strained for a glimpse of the reincarnation of their beloved goddess Rameshwari. Though her view was concealed by delicate curtains, her aura seemed to emanate a divine light, capturing the hearts of the people. While some held hope in their hearts, others clung to their skepticism, longing for the unmatched grace of the one they revered.

Inside the carriage, Krishneshwari sat against plush silks, the rhythmic sway of the elephant beneath her evoking a sense of exhilaration. She recalled the tales that storytellers spun about Rameshwari, the beloved daughter of Shri Ram, whose wisdom and grace had united kingdoms. She had absorbed every lesson from the sacred text Surajya Samhita written by Rameshwari herself.

Though she could not remember it, the essence of Rameshwari seemed to pulse within her, igniting a sense of purpose.As the carriage moved forward, her heart brimmed with hope. To Krishneshwari, Ayodhya was not just another kingdom; it was a sacred place, a living testament to the ideals she cherished.

Suddenly, a wave of fervor surged from outside. The crowd erupted in chants of "KRISHNESHWARI ! KRISHNESHWARI !"

Their voices intertwined, creating a powerful melody of hope and devotion. The air buzzed with an electric energy, as if the very essence of Ayodhya was yearning for a glimpse of her. Unbeknownst to her, they desperately sought reassurance that their ancestral goddess had returned in her form.

"KEVAL EK DRISHYA !"

"RAJKUMARI DARSHAN DE !"

Yet, modesty held her back. In Ujjain, she had always remained shrouded in mystery, a figure seldom seen by the public eye. Krishneshwari hesitated, an unfamiliar wave of emotion washing over her. The intensity of their calls pierced her soul, igniting a longing to connect.

"KRISHNESHWARI !"

"RAJKUMARI KRISHNESHWARI !"

Suddenly, amidst the enthusiastic shouts, one voice rose above the rest, piercing through the din with an impassioned cry: "RAMESHWARI !"

The name hung in the air, laden with devotion and longing. In that moment, a spark ignited within Krishneshwari. The yearning in the voices of Ayodhya's residents was irresistible, a call echoing from her very soul. With a swift motion, she pulled back the curtain, revealing herself to the throng below.

As the fabric parted, a hush fell upon the assembled throng—a collective breath held in reverence. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to freeze. The crowd’s gaze locked onto her. Krishneshwari's eyes sparkled like stars, her golden skin glowing in the sunlight, a mirror image of the revered statue that stood at the heart of Ayodhya. Gasps erupted as eyes widened, mouths fell agape in disbelief. The resemblance was uncanny, as if the goddess herself had stepped down from her pedestal.

"YEH WAHI HAI !"

"HA YEH WAHI HAI !"

Gazes locked onto her face—a visage that was both ethereal and grounded in familiarity. The tales had spoken of her: big heterochromic eyes that shimmered with wisdom, a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce through the veils of doubt, and a benevolent smile that radiated warmth, setting hearts aflame.

One by one, hands rose above heads, palms pressed together in reverence. The once bustling streets transformed into a sea of kneeling figures, bowed in worship before her. Krishneshwari, taken aback, felt a surge of emotions; she had always been a princess, a young girl in a distant kingdom, but now, she faced a legacy she didn’t yet comprehend.

In that precious moment, she felt the collective breath of Ayodhya being held. Wherever her eyes wandered, she found citizens kneeling, their expressions a tapestry of awe and reverence. Tears glistened in the corners of their eyes, reflecting the long-lost love for their goddess. Mothers clasped their children close, fathers bowed their heads in humility, and the elders' wrinkled hands trembled in prayer.

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A/N

Krishneshwari ko ek-tak nihaarat
Bhaav-vibhor Ayodhya-vaasi
Shanka miti, ha yahi hai wahi
Bhagwaan Siyapati ki woh dulari

Praja ne Ujjayini ko man mei utara
Mana Rameshwari hai yeh humari
Dekhe jaha jaha, mile waha waha
Haath jode Ayodhya-vaasi

KRISHNESHWARI IN THE CITY OF RAMESHWARI 😍❤️✨