The citizens of Ujjain gathered anxiously along the banks of the Kshipra River, their hearts heavy with worry. The sun beat down mercilessly, casting long shadows as they called out to their beloved princess, Krishneshwari, who stood motionless in her austere tapasya.

"Rajkumari ! Rajkumari !" their voices trembled, blending with the rustling leaves and the gentle lapping of the water.

Whispers of fear circulated among the crowd. What if she never emerged from this profound meditation? Without her there will be no heir, their future as a prosperous kingdom hung precariously in the balance. The harsh conditions of her penance—enduring the chill of night and the heat of day—only intensified their worries. The villagers could hardly bear the thought of a future devoid of their beloved princess and the hope she embodied.

Suddenly, the rhythmic pounding of hooves broke the tension. King Dilip burst onto the scene, galloping fiercely, his angvastra billowing like a flag of urgency behind him. The crowd parted, their anxious faces reflecting the same dread that gnawed at his insides. They murmured in hushed tones, their eyes darting between the princess and the churning waters. Dust swirled around Dilip as he leaped from his horse, his eyes wide with desperation.

"Krishneshwari !" He called, his voice a mixture of authority and dread, echoing across the water. "Putri tyaag do yeh tapasya !"

His heart ached at the sight—his only daughter, a beacon of hope, ensnared in a trance, oblivious to the fears that plagued the kingdom. At that moment, Aarvi came out of her carriage, her tear-stricken face a haunting reflection of her husband’s anguish. She clutched her shawl tightly, as if to anchor herself against the storm of worry.

"KRISHNESHWARI !" Dilip called, voice cracking under the weight of his emotions, desperation spilling into the air.

But the princess remained still, her brow furrowed in concentration, standing resolute in her tapasya, oblivious to the chaos around her, balanced precariously on one foot amidst the harsh conditions, seemingly unaware of the chaos around her.

But the king’s heart was a tempest, torn between duty and the primal instinct to save his only hope. He took a step toward the raging waters, instincts urging him to plunge in and pull her back to the comfort of the palace, but Aarvi held him back, her eyes fierce with conviction.

"Uske tapasya mei badha mat baniye, Arya." She implored, her voice a fragile thread of hope amidst the chaos.

"Woh putri hai meri ! Raj-putrika hai woh ! He insisted, desperation edging his tone. "Use nahi chhod sakta aise."

Aarvi, her gaze unwavering, said, "Niyati ko aap nahi badal sakte, Haiheya-samrat."

Dilip faltered, torn between paternal instinct and the weight of destiny. The river roared, mocking his indecision, while the citizens held their breath, their futures hanging in the balance. As emotions flared, Kulguru Vedamurti emerged from the throng of worried citizens, his presence commanding respect. He placed a calming hand on Dilip's shoulder, grounding him.

The old sage placed a weathered hand on Dilip’s shoulder, grounding him. "Rajan, kya aap bhul gaye aapki putri kaun hai ?"

Dilip's eyes softened, torn between duty and faith. "Jaanta hu... Kintu-... Parantu woh..."

"Moh ke bandhan ko kaat dijiye, Maharaj." Vedamurti said gently, "Kshipra ke iss hi tat par, Tretayug mei Devi Vidyashree ne 7000 varsh tapasya ki thi. Aur dekhiye, aaj punah iss tat par Rajkumari Krishneshwari tapasya kar rahi hai."

Dilip's disbelief flickered in his eyes. "Kya Krishneshwari bhi sahastro varsho tak tapasya karegi ?"

Vedamurti shook his head, a gentle smile breaking through his seriousness. "Nahi Rajan. Krishneshwari ke janm ka udeshya ati mahaan aur bada hai. Humare samajh se pare hai. Kintu itna jaan lijiye, yeh tapasya uske jeevan ke udeshya ka pratham charan hai."

Dilip, torn between a father’s love and the profound implications of his daughter’s fate, took a cautious step back. His heart ached with uncertainty, and he felt the shadows of doubt creeping in. Behind him, Aarvi’s tear-streaked face mirrored his turmoil, but her eyes held a glimmer of faith.

"Rajmahal ke liye prasthaan kijiye, Rajan." Vedamurti urged, "Bahut se karya aapko sambhalne hai."

Dilip, with a heavy heart, joined his hands before turning away from the raging Kshipra. His mind was a tempest of worry, but the wisdom of Kulguru Vedamurti resonated within him, grounding him. With a reluctant sigh, he approached his horse. He mounted and glanced back one last time at the small figure of Krishneshwari, her determination stark against the turbulent river.

Aarvi, her tear-streaked face a mask of maternal sorrow, stepped into her carriage, her heart aching for her daughter’s safety. The sound of hooves faded as Dilip rode away, the distant murmurs of the gathered crowd blending into a haunting lullaby.

Kulguru Vedamurti, meanwhile, stood resolute, his gaze fixed on Krishneshwari. Awe washed over him as he observed the young princess’s unparalleled resolve. Where most tapasvis began their journeys with subsisting on fruits first, and then only on leaves, before surviving on air, she had seemingly leapt straight to the last step.

Turning to the gathered citizens, Vedamurti raised his arms, commanding their attention. "Ujjain-vaasiyo, kripiya apne ghar ko prasthaan kare. Rajkumari ki tapasya mei badha nahi aani chahiye."

With those words, the citizens, moved by the gravity of the moment, began to disperse, murmuring among themselves, shadows of worry etched across their faces.

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A/N

Yeh kanya kabhi kuch chhota kaam karti hi nahi hai, SIDHA EXTREME PAR KUDTI-
Aaj ka nahi hai, iska purana janmo-janmantar se hai~