There he was, Pratap, wide awake in the middle of the night, his room barely lit, and his mind? A complete mess, thanks to the latest drama surrounding his sister's suitors.

Honestly, what is it with these guys? He's always looked up to his sister, but he also knows it's his job to look out for her-she's his sister, for heaven's sake. But now, with these so-called suitors popping up left and right, his protective instincts are hitting the roof. And not in a good way.

First, there was Shishupal. The mere thought of him trying to worm his way into being worthy of his goddess-like sister was enough to make him see red. The guy's arrogance was through the roof, and the smug look he carried around...ugh, it's unbearable. The idea of his jiji, the sweetest person he knew, ending up with someone like him?

Not happening on his watch. "Over my dead body," he muttered to the empty room. There's no way I'm letting that happen.

And then, of course, there's Shri Krishna. The whole world seems to be in awe of him-tales of his bravery, wisdom, and supposed miracles.

Sure, he gets it, he's something special. But sitting here in the quiet, thinking about his Jiji's future, he can't help but demand more.

Just because the world sees him as some sort of demigod doesn't automatically make him the right choice for his jiji. "He may be everyone's hero, but he's got to prove he's right for my sister,"

So, here's the deal, he'll keep a watchful eye on these suitors, and scrutinize their every move. Their character, their intentions, it all has to be checked out.

This isn't just a promise; it's a mission. Whoever wants to win her heart had better be prepared to go through him first. And if they think they can bring any sort of trouble her way, well, they're in for a rude awakening.

I'm the guardian of her happiness, her shield against the world. And I'll be damned if I let anyone-especially not some overconfident suitor-dim her shine.

**********

As the pre-dawn hours wrapped the world in a soft, gray hue, Devashree, restless and stirred by dreams of Krishna, rose from her bed.

With a heart fluttering like the wings of a caged bird at the thought of him, she sought the solace of her private gardens.

The cool air of the early morning brushed against her skin as she walked through the archway leading into the gardens. The world around her was silent, save for the occasional chirp of a waking bird or the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The fragrant aroma of jasmine and the earthy scent of dew-soaked soil filled her senses, grounding her thoughts, all because of Krishna.

As she walked along the stone path, her mind replayed the moments spent in Krishna's arms, each memory a treasure she held close to her heart. The way his presence had soothed her turmoil, how his gaze seemed to penetrate to the very depths of her soul, left her yearning for more-more moments, more glances, more of him.

A prickling sensation crept upon Devashree, a sudden tightness in her stomach that had nothing to do with the butterflies that had taken residence there. It was as if the air had shifted, carrying with it a chill that spoke of danger, of ill intentions lurking in the shadows.

Her steps faltered, and she paused, her senses heightened.

The garden, once a refuge, now felt like a dangerous ground.

Devashree's eyes darted to the dense foliage, to the darkened corners where the light of dawn had yet to reach. There was a heaviness, a feeling of being watched by eyes filled with malice.

Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to seek the safety of the palace walls, yet she stood her ground, unwilling to show fear to the unseen watcher. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady, tinged with a firm resolve.

"Show yourself," she demanded, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. "I will not be intimidated in my gardens."

The silence that followed was pregnant with anticipation.

Then, rustling from a nearby bush, a figure emerged, stepping into the open with a confidence that contradicted his nefarious intent.

Shishupal.

His presence, uninvited and unwelcome, was like a dark cloud over Devashree's tranquil sanctuary. His eyes, gleaming with a mixture of arrogance and ill intent, settled on Devashree, who stood her ground with a dignity that seemed to only irritate him further.

"Itna dussahas!!How dare you enter the private gardens of a princess?" Devashree's voice was ice, her stance regal, betraying none of the apprehension that his presence invoked.

"I see no reason why I shouldn't be able to enter the gardens, or even the quarters, of my soon-to-be wife," Shishupal replied with a smirk that failed to reach his cold eyes.

The audacity of his claim sent a ripple of anger through Devashree.

"Your wife?" she echoed, her voice rising in disbelief and fury. "By what twisted delusion do you consider yourself entitled to such a claim?"

Shishupal stepped closer, his confidence unshaken by her clear repudiation. "It's only a matter of time, Rajkumari. Your family will see reason. Who better to marry you than a prince of my standing?"

Devashree recoiled, not from fear, but from the sheer repulsion of his proximity.

"You are overstepping your bounds, Prince Shishupal. My hand, my heart, they are not tokens to be bartered and claimed by the likes of you."

Her rebuke seemed to only fuel his arrogance.

"We'll see about that," he sneered, mistaking her disgust for hesitation. "I always get what I want, and I want you."

"Then hear me now, Prince Shishupal, for these words will be my first and last on this matter." Devashree's voice was a steel blade, her eyes flashing with an unyielding resolve. "You will never have me. Not by claim, not by conquest. My heart belongs to another, and even if it didn't, it would sooner cease to beat than be claimed by you."

Shishupal's smirk faltered, the first crack in his veneer of smug confidence.

"Your defiance will cost you, woman," he spat out, the threat clear in his tone.

"And your arrogance will be your downfall, Shishupal," she countered, her voice steady. "Leave these gardens, and do not presume to return. You are not welcome here, nor will you ever be."

"Such tone with me, I would enjoy taming that voice of yours, soon you will be begging to me,"

Shishupal took an audacious step forward, grasping Devashree's hand so boldly that a wave of revulsion surged through her.

It was an invasion, a violation of her space, her autonomy, and her very essence. The contact of his skin against hers sent a jolt of disgust so potent, it seemed to echo through the very depths of her being.

And then, without warning, a sharp pain lanced through Devashree's head, a piercing agony that seemed to split her world in two.

It was as if the touch had not only marred her physically but had also awakened a tumult of memories, visions of a past so distant yet so painfully clear.

Visions flashed before her eyes-golden deer in enchanted forests, a love so pure it defied the machinations of demons, and then, the ultimate betrayal, a kidnapping that tore her from the side of her beloved.

These memories cascaded through her mind with the force of a raging torrent, overwhelming her senses, and blurring the lines between past and present.

In that moment, Devashree was no longer just the Rajkumari of Kripalakshaya; she was Sita, and the man before her was not just Shishupal, but Ravan, reborn to haunt her once more.

With a strength born of desperation and the fierceness will of a woman who had faced and overcome such trials before, Devashree wrenched her hand away from Shishupal's grasp. "Release me!" she commanded, her voice laced with a power that seemed to transcend her physical form, a command that resonated with the authority of a soul who had once moved the very heavens with her plight.

Panting, Devashree clutched her head, trying to steady herself against the onslaught of visions that continued to assail her.

"You are nothing," she spat at Shishupal, her voice a whisper yet carrying the weight of eons.

"A mere shadow of the past, doomed to repeat your failures. You will never have me, in this life or any other."

In that moment of profound revelation and defiance, something extraordinary occurred.

Devashree, standing tall amidst the twilight of dawn, began to emanate an ethereal glow.

It was as if the very essence of her soul had ignited, a luminous manifestation of her indomitable spirit. The air around her seemed to shimmer, charged with an ancient, divine energy that whispered of her true nature, a reminder of the celestial lineage that flowed through her veins.

Shishupal, still reeling from the force of her rebuke, watched in disbelief as Devashree transformed before his eyes.

The hand that he had dared to grasp, the hand of a princess, a goddess reborn, now radiated a light so pure, and fierce, it was as if the sun itself had been captured within her skin.

And when Devashree, fueled by a wave of righteous anger and the awakening of her past life's memories, turned her gaze upon him, Shishupal instinctively knew he had overstepped a boundary that was not meant to be crossed. In a futile attempt to reclaim his hold over her, to assert his delusional claim, he reached out once more, his hand driven by a mixture of fear and desire.

But the moment his skin came into contact with the radiant light emanating from Devashree, he recoiled in agony. The touch, which should have been soft, was instead an inferno, a scorching blaze that seared his flesh, burning him with the intensity of her divine wrath. It was a physical manifestation of her refusal, a tangible declaration that she was beyond his reach, untouchable, and sacred.

Shishupal, nursing his burnt hand, stared at Devashree in a mixture of horror and awe. The pain was a stark reminder of the power she wielded, a power he had foolishly underestimated.

With the light of a thousand suns in her eyes, Devashree stood unharmed, untouched by the flames that had lashed out in her defense.

"This," Devashree said, her voice resounding with the authority of the divine, "is the touch of one who is beyond your grasp, Shishupal. Let this burn remind you of the folly of your ways, of the sin of your intentions."

Shishupal, his hand burned by the divine touch of Devashree fled the gardens in a state of terror. The pain searing through his hand was nothing compared to the fear that now clutched his heart-a fear of the unknown, of a power far greater than any he had ever known. But his arrogance was still high.He gritted his teeth. He will see her bend before him.

Left alone in the aftermath of the confrontation, the glow that had enveloped Devashree slowly faded, her strength waning as the divine energy receded. The burden of her awakened memories, coupled with the exertion of manifesting her celestial power, proved too much for her mortal frame. With a soft sigh, she collapsed onto the cool grass of the garden, her form seemingly anchored to the earth by a weight far beyond the physical.

It wasn't long before Pratap, drawn by a sense of urgency and concern for his sister, found Devashree lying motionless in the garden.

Panic seized him as he rushed to her side, attempting to lift her, only to find that he could not budge her an inch. It was as if she were tied to the very essence of the earth, her weight infinite, immovable.

"Bhratashree!" Pratap called out, desperation coloring his voice, hoping that his elder brother would succeed where he had failed.

Dharmendra arrived swiftly, his own worry evident as he took in the scene.

He too tried to lift Devashree, straining with all his might, but it was futile. She remained grounded, as if held by an invisible force.

The brothers exchanged worried glances, their minds racing for an explanation, for some way to help their sister.

It was then that Krishna arrived, drawn by a pull he could not ignore, a sense of unease that had whispered to him of Devashree's distress.

Without a word, Krishna approached, his expression calm, a serene counterpoint to the brothers' panic.

He knelt beside Devashree, his hands gently cradling her. And then, with a grace that masked the simplicity of the act, he lifted her with ease, as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Pratap and Dharmendra watched in amazement as Krishna carried Devashree, her form cradled gently in his arms. There was no strain in his movements, only the effortless strength of one who was bound to her by ties that transcended the mortal realm.

Pratap stood there frozen, trying to articulate what had just happened.

There he was, muscles bulging, trying to lift his sister off the ground. You'd think she'd eaten a whole elephant the way she wouldn't budge.

Then his Bhrata, looking like he was about to burst a vein or two, gave it a shot.

Nope, nothing.

It was like trying to lift a mountain with a toothpick. The absurdity of it all had them panting and sweating, looking more like they'd run a marathon in a desert than anything else.

Enter Krishna, strolling in like he's about to perform a magic trick. And what do you know? He lifts Jiji as if she's made of clouds, with this serene smile on his face like he's just picked a daisy.

Pratap's jaw hit the floor, and he swore it could have swept the palace floors.

There was no straining, no huffing, and no puffing-just Krishna being ...... magical.

One moment he's all puffed up with protective brotherly concern, ready to grill this suitor to ensure Krishna's worthy of his sister, and the next, he's questioning whether he has been doing his arm exercises all wrong. Was there a secret technique to lift someone with gravity-defying qualities?

In that instant, he felt a hand on his chin, snapping his jaw close.

He looked up to see his Bharatashree. Pratap mimicked Krishna, trying to pick up the air.

"Bhratashree, ye aise, ...aise utha liye jiji ko, main toh hila bhi na saka!"

"That's your Jijashree for you."

With that, his brother followed Krishna, who escorted Devashree to her room.

Jijashree. Brother-in-law.

Jijashree, his jiji's knight in shining... well, whatever. It wasn't because of his heroics or the fact that he could probably bench press a mountain if he wanted to.

No, it was that darned effortless show of care for his jiji that did it.

His heart did a weird little flip-flop thing-a mix of annoyance, begrudging respect, and maybe, just maybe, a sprinkle of relief. Like, "Alright, you win this round. He's cool, I guess. Heck I would even campaign for him."

As the sun began to rise, casting its first light on what felt like the start of a very interesting chapter, Pratap couldn't help but smirk.

Maybe being Jijashree's brother-in-law wouldn't be so bad.

After all, if he could handle Jiji in her most unliftable state, he might just be right in his book.

********

These weren't mere fragments of dreams or echoes of a life lived as Devashree; these were lifetimes lived, centuries traversed, each moment entwined with the essence of each other.

At first, it felt like being swept away by a relentless current, each memory a wave crashing over her with overwhelming force.

Devashree saw herself in myriad forms and epochs, each incarnation distinct yet invariably connected by the golden thread of love that bound her to him - Krishna, her eternal consort.

She remembered the lush gardens of Vrindavan, where love first blossomed amidst the playful calls of peacocks and the gentle rustle of the leaves. His flute's melody, enchanting and soul-stirring, became the soundtrack of their love, drawing her to him with a force beyond her understanding.

She remembered the moment their eyes met for the first time, amidst the grandeur of her swayamvara. The air was thick with anticipation, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he effortlessly lifted the bow of Shiva, a feat no one else could achieve. The moment the string twanged, signifying his victory, was the moment the souls recognized each other in that life, a silent vow of eternal togetherness rekindled.

The memory of their wedding was a blaze of joy, hearts uniting amidst the chants and the sacred fire as witnesses. Their love was a serene river, flowing through the verdant landscapes of Ayodhya, our hearts in blissful confluence.

Yet, not all memories were cloaked in happiness. She remembered the heartache of separation, the pain of exile. The forests of Dandakaranya became both a sanctuary and trial. The memory of his unwavering righteousness, the way he protected the innocent and upheld dharma, filled her with pride.

The abduction by Ravana, was a harrowing ordeal, a test of faith and love. The memory of her time in Ashoka Vatika, surrounded by adversaries yet unwavering in her devotion to Rama, was as clear as crystal.

The memory of the bridge built across the ocean, of the valorous fight in Lanka, and of his unyielding quest to rescue her, was a testament to the invincibility of their bond.

The joy of the reunion was unparalleled, a moment of triumphant love, yet shadowed by the trials they would face, testing the fidelity and purity of our connection.

As the flood of memories began to ebb, a profound sense of peace enveloped her. The realization dawned with the clarity of the first light of dawn: She was not merely Devashree, the princess of Kripalakshaya;

She was Sita,

And she was Radha

She was the Gopis

And she was Devashree

She was his, eternally and irrevocably.

As Devashree regained her consciousness, these memories remained with her, a profound part of her identity.

A single word escaped her lips, almost unconsciously.

"Swami," she whispered, the term of reverence and love that she had used countless times across lifetimes to address her beloved.

As the haze of unconsciousness lifted and reality seeped back into my senses, she opened her eyes and found herself back in the familiar confines of her chamber.

A lone dasi was standing beside her with a mixture of concern and urgency.Her voice, hesitant yet laden with news that could not wait, broke through the remnants of her trance. "Rajkumari, the assembly is in session. They discuss matters of your marriage, and Shishupal... he advocates fiercely for his claim."

Her words, though softly spoken, struck her with the force of a tempest. The assembly, the very heart of the kingdom's decision-making, now held her fate in its hands. The thought of Shishupal, a man whose presence had only ever brought her discomfort and dread, fighting for a chance to claim her as his wife, sent a shiver of revulsion through her being.

She couldn't sit idly by, not when the threads of my future were being woven without her consent, not when the whispers of her heart screamed in opposition. With thoughts clouding her mind like a storm on the horizon, she pushed herself to her feet, a determination fueling her actions.

She would not be a silent participant in the narrative of her own life.

Taking a deep breath to steady the tumult within,she grabbed the folds of her lehenga and moved with purpose, her steps carrying me swiftly through the corridors of the palace.

She approached the assembly hall, not through the grand entrances reserved for royalty and dignitaries but through an inner door, a path seldom used and reserved only for the royal ladies of the palace. It was a passage that allowed her a degree of privacy and haste, away from prying eyes and formalities that could delay her intent.

With a gentle push, the door yielded, and she stepped into the shadows of the assembly hall, her presence unnoticed by the gathered crowd. From her vantage point, she could see the assembly in session, the figures of Krishna, Shishupal, and the elders engaged in a dance of words and wills.

The sight of Krishna, a beacon of calm amidst the storm, steadied her racing heart.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. Because she saw her Narayan, her Vishnu, the eternal consort of her soul, the divine other half of her being. It ignited a flame of divine love within her heart, a love that was as boundless as the ocean and as enduring as the mountains. This love was not just an emotion; it was the very fabric of her existence, a force that had propelled her through the ages, guiding her back to him.

The booming voice of her father cut her musings, and she quickly brushed off the tear. The king addressed Shishupal and his father King Damagosha.

"Maharaj Damagosha and Rajkumar Shishupal,we have great respect for you, but the matters of marriage proposals between Rajkumari Devashree and Dwarikadhish Shri Krishna have been discussed, decided upon, and accepted by both parties involved. This is not a decision made lightly, nor is it one that can be swayed by latecomers or reconsidered on a whim."

Shishupal's expression was a mix of shock and defiance, and his father seemed to wrestle with disbelief and outrage. The very air in the room felt charged, as if a storm were about to break.

"As the Maharaj of Dharmasamrajya," my father continued, his stance firm and unwavering, "my word is my Dharma. It carries the weight of my honor and the honor of our kingdom. To renege on this agreement now would be to forsake that honor, to betray the trust placed in us by Dwarka.

His gaze swept across the assembly, settling for a moment on his daughter.

Shishupal, unable to contain his fury and thwarted ambitions, turned to his father. His face was a mask of anger, and his teeth gritted so tightly that it seemed they might shatter. In his eyes burned not just the fire of personal rejection, but the embers of a deeper, more dangerous ambition.

"Pitashree," he hissed, voice low and laced with venom.

"Speak, think of something before it is too late.Do you not see the opportunity before us? Kripalakshaya is not just any kingdom. It's a land brimming with wealth, its coffers overflowing, its lands fertile and prosperous. Imagine the power, and prestige that could come from bringing such a kingdom under our dominion."

His words were like daggers, each one aimed to wound, incite, and seek to manipulate his father's influence for his own gain.

Shishupal continued, his voice growing fervent with his plotting. "Is it not the duty of the stronger to lead? To take what is rightfully ours with the might of our arms and the sharpness of our wit? With your guidance, father, we could press them, force their hand. The entire kingdom, with its enormous profits, could be ours for the taking."

Maharaj Damaghosh, swayed by his son's vehement ambition and perhaps blinded by the glittering prospect of power, turned towards Krishna. His approach was calculated, and his demeanor was falsely genial, as if attempting to cloak his true intentions beneath a veneer of diplomacy and reason.

As the assembly buzzed with the murmur of countless conversations, a hush fell over the crowd as he approached Krishna. With calculated steps and a demeanor that bespoke of desperation cloaked in diplomacy, he stood before Krishna.

"Krishna, my dear nephew," he began, his voice laced with a feigned sincerity that could fool those unacquainted with his guile. "I come before you, not just as the father of Shishupal but as someone who respects the sanctity of promises. You, above all, understand the weight of words, the binding nature of vows made."

He paused, his eyes searching Krishna's, seeking any sign of yielding, any crack in the facade through which he could weave his manipulative plea.

"Putra,you have graciously promised to forgive a hundred sins of your little cousin brother , a vow that speaks volumes of your magnanimity and your greatness."

Drawing a deep breath, he ventured further, threading his words with emotional manipulation, aiming to strike a chord within Krishna's heart.

"To turn away from Shishupal now, to deny him his heart's desire, would not only be to forsake him but to forsake the very promise you have made. A promise that, I daresay, upholds the very order of dharma."

The air seemed to thicken with tension, the assembly silent, hanging on every word, every subtle exchange between the two.

Maharaj Damagosha of Chedi, with the skill of a seasoned orator, painted a picture of duty, attempting to ensnare Krishna in a web of emotional blackmail.

Yet, Krishna, whose wisdom spanned the ages, whose understanding of dharma was unparalleled, met his gaze with a serenity that hid the storm he sought to stir.

"The forgiveness of sins," Krishna spoke, his voice clear, resonant, and imbued with an authority that echoed in the very foundations of the assembly hall, "is not a license for adharma. It is a chance for redemption, an opportunity to correct one's path."

He continued, the divine light in his eyes unclouded by the attempt at manipulation before him.

"Shishupal's heart's desire, as you put it, cannot be fulfilled at the expense of another's free will, especially not when it goes against the sacred bond that ties souls beyond the confines of this mortal plane."

"In the grand stage of dharma," Krishna concluded, his gaze unwavering, "each thread must find its rightful place, guided not by coercion or promises of forgiveness but by the truth that resonates within the heart. And it is in adherence to this truth, to the eternal laws of dharma, that my actions, and my heart, are bound.

Maharaj Damagosh gritted his teeth. He had never felt so insulted before. There were hundreds of people in this assembly, and he felt extremely insulted as his proposal was refused a second time.

He took a look at the king,and saw an unyielding father gazing sternly at him.

He took a look at Krishna, and saw a being whose aura was unassailable, whose presence commanded respect not through the might of arms but through the sheer force of virtue and wisdom.

He took a look at Rajkumari Devashree and saw a figure of serene dignity, her poise unshaken by the turmoil that had engulfed the assembly. In her eyes, there was a depth of resolve, a quiet strength that bespoke her royal heritage, and her unwavering commitment to her own heart's truth.

He then turned to the Yuvraj and smirked.

"Yuvraj Dharmendra, marriages are supposed to be between the families of equal stature and standing. Dwarka has not even been standing for a decade yet, while the Chedi kindom is much richer and more ancient than Dwarka. I don't think you would let your sister marry in such a dynasty, would you?"

"Maharaj Dwarka, under Lord Krishna's guidance, has become a beacon of righteousness, a kingdom where justice, compassion, and truth are the pillars upon which it stands. Its foundation, though recent, is laid upon the eternal principles of dharma, making it as noble and venerable as any ancient dynasty. Moreover, it is not just the stature of the kingdoms that determines the worthiness of a union, but the qualities of the individuals involved. This union is according to the dharma to which my kingdom adheres."

King Damaghosh's face reddened with anger as he listened to Yuvraj Dharmendra's impassioned defense. The calm and dignified rebuttal, which placed virtues and dharma above material wealth and ancient lineage, seemed to strike a nerve. His clenched fists and the tightness around his jawline betrayed his rising fury.

"Dharma, you say?" Shishupal spat. "What about your Dharma towards my father Yuvraj? Don't forget he completed your education when your Guru had perished in the battle!"

"Dharmendra!"King Damaghosh finally burst out, unable to contain his ire.

"You stand before your people, your ancestors, and the gods themselves. As your guru, I have guided you, taught you, and completed your education when there was no one! Now, I ask you to make a choice that will define the future of Kripalakshaya.Give the hand of your sister, Rajkumari Devashree, to my son, Shishupal. Bind our kingdoms with this union and ensure peace and prosperity for your people. Or,"

He paused, letting the threat hang in the air, "refuse, and accept the sovereignty of Chedi over Kripalakshaya. Bend the knee in front of your subjects and acknowledge Chedi's rule by submitting your crown at my feet in public. Show to your people how their Yuyraj could not even fulfil his Guru Dakshina."

Shishupal smirked as he took in the shock that had spread over Devashree.

"Give your sister to me, Yuvraj Dharmendra, or sacrifice the crown, you will be losing face either way."

----------------------------------------------

A/N

Ek aur paap jod le Shishupal apne paapon ke ghadon mein!

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Kripalakshaya is the area marked in red arrows.