Author POV:

Princess Siya Kumari of Mewar sat in her ornate chamber, the warm glow of afternoon sunlight filtering through the intricately carved windows.

She was surrounded by her dashiya, sisters, and friends, who busied themselves with preparing her for the grand occasion of her swayamvar.

The room was filled with laughter and chatter as they expertly applied her makeup and styled her hair, weaving delicate flowers into her braids.

Siya Kumari was renowned throughout Rajasthan, her beauty surpassing even that of the legendary Queens of her time. From head to heel, she was a vision of perfection, an embodiment of grace and elegance that left all who saw her in awe.

Her long, lustrous hair cascaded down her back in waves of ebony, shimmering like the night sky.

It framed a face that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves: her skin was smooth and radiant, with a natural glow that needed no enhancement.

Her almond-shaped eyes were a deep, mesmerizing brown, fringed with long, thick lashes that fluttered like the wings of a butterfly.

They held a spark of intelligence and kindness, capable of conveying both strength and gentleness.

Siya's eyebrows were perfectly arched, giving her an expression of perpetual grace.

Her nose was straight and delicate, and her lips, full and naturally rosy, curved into a smile that could light up the darkest room.

When she laughed, it was like the tinkling of silver bells, enchanting everyone around her.

Her neck was slender and graceful, leading to elegantly defined shoulders and a figure that was both slender and curvaceous, exuding femininity and strength.

She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, each step as light as a feather, every gesture exuding an effortless elegance.

Siya's hands, adorned with intricate henna designs, were delicate yet strong, a symbol of her ability to balance beauty and duty.

Her fingers were long and nimble, perfect for the fine arts she so excelled in.

Her attire, always rich and regal, only served to accentuate her natural beauty, with colors and fabrics chosen to complement her exquisite features.

Her feet, like the rest of her, were graceful and well-formed; each step she took was a testament to her poise and training as a princess.

Anklets adorned her ankles, their soft jingling a constant reminder of her presence.

The palace outside was a flurry of activity, decorated more extravagantly than for any festival.

Garlanded arches, colorful silk drapes, and twinkling lights adorned every corner.

It seemed as if the entire kingdom had come alive to celebrate the princess's swayamvar, a testament to her importance and the grandness of the event.

"You're so lucky, Siya," teased her younger sister, Rani.

"So many suitors are here for you. It's like a dream come true!"

"Yes," chimed in one of her friends,

"I've never seen the palace this beautiful. It's as if the gods themselves are attending your swayamvar."

Siya smiled faintly, her thoughts elsewhere. Her father, the Maharana, had already chosen a groom for Prince Yashwant Holkar of Gwalior.

She just has to choose him, that's what her father wished for. She thought.

Though she knew it was a wise political alliance, her heart yearned for something more.

She dreamed of marrying someone who truly loved her, not just someone who would strengthen her father's kingdom.

As her friends continued to laugh and tease her.

Siya found herself zoning out, lost in her thoughts.

Would she ever find the love she longed for? Or would her marriage be just another duty she had to fulfill?

A gentle nudge brought her back to the present.

"Siya, are you already dreaming about your prince?" her sister Jaya asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Siya shook her head with a small smile.

"No, I'm not," she replied softly."

Oh, look at her, already lost in thoughts of her husband, yet denied it," another friend teased, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

Despite her inner turmoil, Siya couldn't help but join in the laughter, forgetting about her worries.

She cherished these moments with her sisters and friends, knowing that soon she would be leaving the palace and them behind.

This was her last day of carefree joy, surrounded by those who loved her unconditionally.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the palace, Siya took a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead.

No matter what the future held, she would face it with grace and strength, just as a princess of Mewar should.

And perhaps, in the depths of her heart, she still held onto a sliver of hope that love would find its way to her, even in the midst of duty.

------

The sun began its descent over the sprawling Mewar palace, casting a golden glow over the courtyard where an array of suitors had gathered for Princess Siya Kumari's swayamvar.

Each suitor arrived with pomp and splendor, heralded by their companions and escorted by guards.

The courtyard buzzed with anticipation as they awaited the arrival of the princess.

Inside the grand hall, Maharana Vikram Singh, ruler of Mewar, sat upon his ornate throne, regal and composed.

On one side of him were seated the assembled suitors, distinguished men from far and wide, each showcasing their lineage and prowess through their attire and demeanor.

On the other side sat the ministers and advisors, solemn and attentive.

The servants and maidservants moved about quietly, their eyes wide with awe as they served refreshments and observed the suitors.

They whispered among themselves about the striking appearance of each suitor in intricate silks and jewels from distant lands, others in armor that spoke of battlefield valor.

Each carried a unique sword, a symbol of their martial power and honor.

"This one is from the deserts of Rajasthan, look at his turban!" one maid murmured to another, discreetly pointing towards a suitor clad in vibrant hues of orange and gold.

"Did you see the one from the mountains? His sword is said to have felled many enemies."

Another servant whispered, eyes fixed on a stoic figure with rugged features and a weathered cloak.

Meanwhile, in the queen's chamber overlooking the courtyard, Queen Mother Maya Devi observed the proceedings with a mixture of maternal pride and concern.

Beside her, Queen Vasundhara watched with a keen eye, her thoughts hidden behind a serene expression.

Back in the courtyard, Maharana Vikram Singh addressed the gathered suitors with a commanding voice that echoed through the hall.

"Gentlemen, I welcome you all to the swayamvar of my beloved daughter, Princess Siya Kumari.

Is there any among you who faces a challenge in participating in this auspicious event?"

One by one, the suitors stood proudly, each eager to impress the king with their eloquence and confidence.

They spoke of their lineage, their accomplishments, and their unwavering dedication to honor and protect Princess Siya Kumari.

Their voices rang out with conviction, vying for the king's favor and the chance to win the hand of the princess.

As the last suitor finished his declaration, Maharana Vikram Singh nodded with satisfaction.

He didn't know that this many suiters would come for the princess's hand. But he didn't care for he only had one suiter for his daughter, whom she would choose.

His eyes then sought out a particular figure among the suitors- Prince Yashwant from Gwalior, whom he had chosen as the most suitable match for his daughter.

Seeing Yaswant's presence filled him with quiet pride and contentment.

Not wanting to delay any longer, the king signaled for Princess Siya Kumari to make her entrance.

The courtyard fell into hushed anticipation as the princess stepped gracefully into view, her beauty transcending all expectations.

She wore a resplendent attire of royal blue and silver, adorned with jewels that sparkled in the fading sunlight.

Her dark hair was intricately braided and adorned with jasmine blossoms, adding to her ethereal presence.

In her hands, she held a garland of flowers, a symbol of her choice that would bind her fate to one of the suitors.

As she approached the line of suitors, each one straightened in their seats, captivated by her radiance and elegance.

The air was filled with palpable tension as they waited for her to make her decision, knowing that the garland she bestowed would determine the course of their lives.

Princess Siya Kumari's heart beat with a mix of excitement and trepidation as she neared the end of the line.

Her gaze swept over the faces of the suitors, their eyes full of hope and anticipation. Amidst the sea of admirers, her thoughts lingered on the promise of love and companionship, hoping that amidst the politic

al alliances and grandeur, her heart would find its true match.

21st Century

Author POV:

In one of the most luxurious apartments in Mumbai, the morning sun found a narrow slit in the drawn curtains of the balcony doors.

The heavy, opulent fabric, designed to keep out the city's hustle, couldn't entirely block the persistent sun.

A single, sharp ray of sunlight pierced through the gap, slicing through the dim room with surgical precision, landing directly on the face of Ekansh Rathore as he slept.

The soft linens of his king-sized bed cradled him in comfort, but the intrusive beam of light forced him to stir.

Irritated, Ekansh turned away from the light, his face burrowing deeper into the plush, goose-down pillow in a futile attempt to reclaim the last remnants of sleep.

The high-thread-count sheets, cool against his skin, were a stark contrast to the warm, insistent sunlight.

Minutes later, the persistent ringing of his phone shattered the fragile silence of the morning.

The phone, a sleek, latest-model smartphone, vibrated insistently on the elegant mahogany bedside table.

His hand, emerging from beneath the plush pillow, groped for the phone with a languid, practiced motion.

With a groggy swipe, he silenced the call, only to have the phone ring again almost immediately.

Frustration flared in his half-closed eyes as he grabbed the device, the cool, smooth surface of the phone a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand.

He growled into it, his voice rough and deep with sleep.

"Who is it?" he snapped, a note of impatience evident.

"Sir, it's me, Arjun," came the calm, efficient voice of his assistant.

"Just a reminder about the ten o'clock meeting at the office.

"The call ended abruptly, leaving Ekansh staring at the ceiling, realizing the inevitability of the day.

Resigned to the demands of his schedule, he sighed deeply and decided to rise.

As he sat up, the blanket slipped from his chest, revealing his chiseled torso, a testament to countless hours of disciplined workouts and strict nutrition.

Standing at 6'3" with a muscular build and an eight-pack abdomen, Ekansh Rathore was the epitome of physical perfection.

His handsome face, framed by tousled, jet-black hair, was often the subject of admiration and envy.

Dark eyes, still heavy with sleep, scanned the room, taking in the modern, minimalist decor accented with luxurious touches - a designer rug, abstract art pieces, and state-of-the-art technology seamlessly integrated into the space.He swung his feet to the floor, feeling the cool, polished marble underfoot, and stood up slowly, the sunlight now fully bathing his impressive physique.

Moving to the balcony doors, he drew back the drapes entirely. The room was flooded with light, the panoramic view of Mumbai's skyline coming into sharp focus. The morning light illuminated his well-defined features, casting a golden hue over his skin.

Despite the beautiful weather outside, Ekansh's day was off to a rough start.

The headache that had begun as a dull throb now pulsed sharply in his temples.

Grimacing, he stepped back into the room, massaging his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the pain, but the headache persisted.

The grandeur of his surroundings offered little comfort as he paced back to the bed, the echoes of his assistant's reminder ringing in his ears.

With a sigh of resignation, he headed to the bathroom, knowing that a long, demanding day awaited him.

The city of Mumbai was waking up, and so was Ekansh singh Rathore, the eldest son of Anuj Singh Rathore and the formidable CEO of SR Industries.

His day had begun, though not as smoothly as he would have liked.

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

After a refreshing shower, Ekansh Rathore stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind him.

The bathroom, a spacious and modern marvel of white marble and glass, gleamed under the soft lighting

He grabbed a plush, monogrammed towel, wrapping it around his waist as he moved towards his closet room.

The walk-in closet was more of a personal showroom, lined with custom-made shelves and racks, each displaying an impeccable array of designer suits, shirts, and accessories.

Ekansh lived alone by choice, preferring solitude over company in his luxurious apartment.

The only two people allowed in his space were the servants his mother had insisted upon, ensuring his home was kept pristine.

They came only after he had left for work and left before he returned, a condition he had enforced to maintain his privacy.Standing before his closet, Ekansh scanned his collection with a discerning eye.

Today's meeting was crucial, potentially propelling SR Industries into the ranks of the top five tech companies in the world. He reached for a bespoke navy blue suit, tailored to perfection.

The fabric was exquisite, soft yet structured, a testament to the craftsmanship of the renowned designer who had created it.He dressed meticulously, each movement precise and deliberate.

The crisp white shirt, the perfectly knotted silk tie, the polished leather shoes - every detail was immaculate.

Moving to his watch drawer, he opened it to reveal an impressive collection of the finest and most expensive timepieces.

He selected a platinum Rolex, its sleek design complementing his suit.

After a few sprays of his signature cologne, he stood before the full-length mirror. His reflection revealed a man of striking appearance, dark hair neatly styled, his sharp features exuding confidence and authority.

Satisfied with his appearance, Ekansh walked back to the bedroom, collecting his car keys from the nightstand.

Passing through the living room, he barely glanced at the tastefully decorated space.

The apartment, though luxurious, served mainly as his resting place, earning it the nickname "Riches."

He descended to the garage, where his collection of sports and luxury cars awaited.

Each vehicle was a testament to his success, their combined worth running into millions.

He chose a sleek, black Aston Martin for the day, appreciating its blend of elegance and power.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the engine, the car purring to life. Connecting his phone to the car's Bluetooth, he called his secretary.

"Good morning, Sir," He answered promptly.

"Morning." He replied thinking what so good about morning, he's having crazy headache here.

"Are all the preparations for the meeting in place?" Ekansh asked, his tone all business.

"Yes, Sir. Everything is set.

The presentation is ready, and the team is prepared," He confirmed.

"Good, also prepare my coffee, I am on my way to the office," he ordered, ending the call and focusing on the road.

Navigating through Mumbai's bustling cityscape was always a challenge, the constant traffic a headache in itself.

Adding to it was the persistent throbbing in his temples, a reminder of the previous night's excesses.

As he drove, memories of the night before resurfaced.

He had spent the evening with his friend Karan, who had been lamenting over his girlfriend.

Despite knowing how much Ekansh hated such discussions, Karan had pressed on, unloading his romantic woes.

To make matters worse, a woman at the bar had tried to get close to Ekansh.

Her unwanted advances had angered him, and if Karan hadn't intervened, the situation might have escalated.

Ekansh's disdain for such encounters was clear - he believed women should either focus on their work or behave with decorum, not chase after men indiscriminately.

After the confrontation, Ekansh had drowned his irritation in vodka, finishing an entire bottle before stumbling home and passing out in his bed.

Karan's parting words, however, lingered in his mind, even through the haze of alcohol.

"You can dismiss women all you want, Ekansh, but don't forget - everyone has a partner, a soulmate out there, waiting for their chance to meet. And mere bhai tere liye bhi bhagwan ne koi na koi toh banai hogi(Bro, I sure god had made a girl for you too)".

Back in the present.

Ekansh scoffed at the thought, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

The idea of a woman entering his life, only to disrupt it, was unacceptable.

He was convinced that no woman was meant for him, determined to keep his life and heart shielded from potential destruction.

Arriving at his office, a towering edifice of glass and steel, Ekansh parked and exited the car, his headache a dull reminder of his solitary resolve.

With a deep breath, he prepared to face the day, the success of SR Industries firmly in his sights.

_________________________

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