IDENTITY REVEALED

The weight of the past pressed heavily on Rudra and Smitha, a haunting echo of their childhood trauma. For Rudra, the desolate battlefield mirrored the day his world shattered, while Smitha, now revealed as the lost Persian princess, found her buried grief resurfacing with a motherly touch.

Rudravathi, the queen, found Smitha weeping in her chamber, a sight that pierced her heart. "My beautiful daughter," she inquired, her voice laced with concern, "what makes you cry like this? Is someone bullying you? Do you dislike the food, the dresses, or the jewels I've crafted for you?"

Smitha, wiping her tears, replied, "Mother, everything you've given me is exquisite, beyond the dreams of even the Persian princesses of old."

The queen's eyes widened. "What are you saying, my dear? Are you speaking of the lost Persian princess? How do you know of her?"

A gentle smile played on Smitha's lips. "Mother, I am that abandoned princess, orphaned at ten. Even after thirteen years, I remain a princess, albeit one without a kingdom." She recounted the tragic events of that fateful day, the chaos, the loss, and her escape, revealing her true identity.

The queen, deeply moved, led Smitha to a secluded burial ground behind the palace. Tears streamed down Smitha's face as she recognized the simple grave marked with a Persian inscription. It was her mother's resting place.

"Your mother and I were dear friends," Rudravathi explained. "Your father came to purchase weapons from us, drawn to the skill of our blacksmiths. Our friendship blossomed. But one day, a counterfeit weapon was sold to him, and blame fell upon our kingdom, igniting a war."

She continued, "The day before the war's end, your mother came to me, revealing that the original weapon had been switched by King Arun Verma, the Indian king's brother. Soldiers, seeing us together, suspected me and attempted to kill me. Your mother took the blow, dying in my arms. I punished those soldiers and buried her here, to honor her sacrifice. When you arrived at the palace, your resemblance to your mother was uncanny. Today, you've confirmed my suspicions. You are my daughter now, and your safety is my paramount concern."

Meanwhile, Rudra stood on the barren battlefield, the air thick with the ghosts of the past. The scorched earth, the scattered skeletons, and the lingering scent of dried blood painted a grim tableau. He sat on a weathered rock, the memories of that horrific day flooding back.

A short distance away, a mound of earth caught his eye, a solitary Persian flag standing defiantly amidst the desolation. He approached, his heart pounding, and tears welled up as he saw his father's name etched on the makeshift memorial. He clutched the flag, his grief erupting in a raw, childlike cry.

A soldier, witnessing Rudra's anguish, approached cautiously. "Why do you cry, sir? Is this man related to you? This is the memorial of our late Persian emperor."

Rudra wiped his tears. "This is the first time I've seen my father in thirteen years."

The soldier recoiled, bowing deeply. "Forgive me, my prince. I failed to recognize you, to protect you. I deserve your punishment."

"Rise, uncle," Rudra said, using a term of respect. "You were on the battlefield then. How did you protect me?" He recounted his escape, the harrowing journey, and his survival.

The soldier, overwhelmed by emotion, wept. "It was our king's folly to wage this war, my son. The weapons were counterfeited and sold to your father. We blamed the Indian king, but it was his brother, Arun Verma, who orchestrated the deception. The superior Indian weaponry, known for its strength and lightness, was replaced with inferior imitations, leading to our defeat.

He continued, "Our king acted rashly, without investigation, causing the downfall of the Persian Empire. Landlords and merchants now rule; the monarchy is no more. After the war, we feared imprisonment or death, but the Indian king offered us a place in his army, sending our salaries to our families in Persia. We are allowed to visit them once a year. We are content here."

Rudra, absorbing the soldier's words, felt a wave of bittersweet relief. He had found a piece of his past, a connection to his father. After performing the traditional Persian rituals for the deceased emperor, they returned to the palace.

The Persian soldiers celebrated the return of their prince and princess with a feast. The news spread, reaching the Persian rulers, who sent gifts as a gesture of goodwill.

The relationship between the two nations began to heal. Trade flourished, and the animosity born of war transformed into friendship. This newfound amity spread like wildfire, reaching distant lands. Merchants from the West, Germany, and Asia flocked to India, drawn by its rich resources and skilled artisans.

Talents were exchanged, and Indian craftsmanship gained international acclaim. The nation prospered, and poverty dwindled. The ancient Indian texts spoke of a golden age, where commoners dined on gold and silver, and the wealth of Indian merchants surpassed even the most prosperous nations of today.

The tales of India's prosperity reached the ears of Thor, a wealthy Greek merchant residing in what is now Paris, France. The French Revolution had concluded, leaving the business community thriving. Intrigued by the stories of Indian jewelry, weaponry, and architecture, Thor, whose English name was Alexander, embarked on a journey to India.

He was awestruck by the reality of the tales, the grandeur of the Indian courts, and the exceptional craftsmanship. He was particularly impressed by the royal jewelers, the "Sonars," who worked with gold, silver, diamonds, and precious gems. He also marvelled at Rudra's military prowess.

Thor sought and received permission from King Patap to establish a jewelry business in India. He recognized the immense potential of the Indian market and the unparalleled skill of its artisans.

This marked the beginning of a new era, an era of cultural exchange and economic prosperity. The seeds of friendship sown by Rudra and Smitha's return blossomed into a thriving trade network, connecting India to the world. The echoes of the past, though painful, had paved the way for a brighter future, a future where the bonds of commerce and friendship transcended the scars of war.

The story of Rudra and Smitha is not merely a tale of lost royalty and rediscovered identity. It is a testament to the power of forgiveness, the resilience of the human spirit, and the transformative potential of cultural exchange. It is a narrative that highlights how the wounds of the past can be healed, and how the seeds of peace and prosperity can be sown, leading to a golden age of collaboration and mutual benefit.

In the tapestry of history, the threads of their story weave a pattern of hope, reminding us that even in the face of adversity, the human capacity for compassion and understanding can prevail, forging a future where nations thrive in harmony and prosperity. Their journey is a timeless lesson, a beacon illuminating the path towards a world where unity and collaboration reign supreme.