Chapter 5: The Secret Chamber and the Double Shadow

After cleaning up this big mess, I finally had some free time.

At last, I’ve helped the Yuvraj secure the throne smoothly.

Actually, there wasn’t much to worry about. I’d arranged everything for this kid long ago—succession letter, supporting ministers, military power, treasury, all sorted clearly.

Even without me, he should be able to handle it—after all, I taught him myself.

Who would’ve thought, in the end, I just couldn’t let go of the burden.

I took the throne at fourteen, ruled for thirty years—not a great Raja, but at least diligent.

But at forty-five, I suddenly felt my energy running out. In the past, I could stay up half the night reading petitions, then recover with a chai break, but now I was always tired, never refreshed.

At first, I didn’t think much of it, but it got worse and worse, until I couldn’t even get out of bed.

The royal vaids said I was too worn out, my organs failing.

They found the best ayurvedic medicines for me, but they barely worked.

I knew my time was up.

Fortunately, everything was ready for the Yuvraj—he just needed to ascend the throne and be a relaxed Raja.

While bedridden, I went through all the court officials one by one, and nagged the Yuvraj over and over.

I wonder if I annoyed this brat so much he didn’t want to take the job?

So… he ran away at the last minute?

That’s not like a kid of our old Veerendra family.

Brat, when I find you I’ll give you a good shouting.

The memory of his sheepish grin, hiding behind the old swing in the courtyard, flashed before my eyes—some habits, it seems, never change.

When I realised I’d woken up in the Yuvraj’s body, I immediately stormed into the Royal Medical Office and grabbed a bunch of people.

“Take the pulse.”

I pointed at the coffin and ordered them.

They all immediately dropped to their knees with a thud.

“Maharaj, please restrain your grief and take care of your health.”

I grabbed a vaid at random. “I said take the pulse. Do it, or I’ll call your senior if you keep talking.”

A few of them, trembling, took turns checking, each shaking their head.

“Definitely no pulse?”

“Heartbeat?”

“None.”

I was silent for a moment, then said:

“I’ve heard there’s a yogic breathing technique that makes someone look like they’ve stopped breathing, but they’re actually alive?”

The vaids looked at me like I was mad, all kneeling and bowing. “Maharaj, please restrain your grief.”

I kept vigil by the coffin all night.

Later, I secretly had the body swapped.

What was buried in the royal tomb was just my clothes and crown—the real body is now lying on an ice slab in the secret chamber of my sleeping quarters.

Ice slab—it can keep the dead’s appearance from decaying.

Except for the bluish face, I look just as I did when I died.

I come to look every night.

“Cheenu, are you in there?”

I thought, since my soul came to Cheenu’s body, could his soul have gone to mine? So, I couldn’t let this body be buried. What if Cheenu suddenly woke up?

But after so many days, I’ve searched all the famous vaids, but no miracle has happened.

Still cold to the touch, freezing to the bone.

“Cheenu, where did you go?”

After closing the secret chamber door, I pondered for a long time and sighed deeply.

“Someone, summon the Jyotish Shastra Office.”

The servants scurried about, gossiping in low voices, while I waited under the yellow glow of an oil lamp, the stone corridors echoing with my footsteps and old regrets. The air in the secret chamber was thick with the chill of stone and the echo of every small sound, the flicker of the oil lamp stretching my shadow long across the floor.

I never believed in ghosts and gods.

But now I have to believe.

The night was deep, the bright moon like a hook.

The director of the Jyotish Shastra Office had been kneeling in the hall for two hours.

His head bobbed up and down, eyes darting nervously as he recited mantras under his breath. The faint scent of camphor lingered in the air, and somewhere a bell chimed the midnight hour.

“Say it again—what do you mean by ‘the Raja gives birth to double shadows’?”

He raised his head a little, sneaking a look at me.

“Reporting to Maharaj, according to the planetary positions, the Dhruva Nakshatra has been moving abnormally recently—a single star with two shadows, which is… a sign of double shadows.”

I was silent.

“Speak plainly.”

The director bowed hard, his sleeves trembling even without wind. In the end, he braced himself and said through gritted teeth:

“It means two Raja stars appeared, overlapping—one bright, one dark.”

After saying this, he seemed to have used up all his strength, slumping to the ground.

“Please punish me, Maharaj.”

I looked at him, confused. “Why punish you? Can you control the stars in the sky?”

Seeing I had no intention to blame, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, hesitated, and said,

“Maharaj, I really can’t control the stars, but all planetary movements have their correspondences—things depend on people, not fate.”

“……”

I really can’t stand the way he talks.

I never believed in this stuff before and rarely summoned them, so they don’t know my temper.

“Can you speak properly? Don’t go round and round with me.”

He wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Yes, what I mean is, planetary movements can only predict the general trend, but things depend on people. As long as we prepare in advance, anything can change.”

“Double shadows born from the Raja—must be the work of villains in secret, creating this shadow. I am untalented, but willing to help Maharaj eliminate the threat as soon as possible.”

I stared north for a long time.

My eyes got sore, but I couldn’t see the double shadow the Jyotish Shastra director mentioned.

Forget it—better leave professional matters to professionals.

When I turned around, I saw the man kneeling on the ground suddenly straighten up, staring at me with burning eyes.

“Maharaj, I will devote my life’s learning to help Maharaj eliminate the shadow and protect Bharatpur’s peace for ten thousand years!”

Truly full of heroic spirit, as if he’d charge into battle the next moment.

I waved my hand, signalling him to come closer.

He was very excited, quickly stepping forward.

I glanced at the secret chamber, then pointed at the northern sky and asked, “Is there a way to make the bright one disappear and the dark one shine?”

As the jyotishi stepped closer, I noticed the trembling in his hands, and the fine lines of age around his eyes—proof that wisdom and worry go hand in hand in this kingdom.

Hearing my words, the man looked like he’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place, unable to recover for a long time.

“Your… Your Majesty…”

“That bright one is…”

I waved my hand to stop him.

“I’m just curious, asking casually.”

After a while, he seemed to realise something, and with a ‘thud’ knelt down again, eyes shining as he looked at me:

“As expected of Maharaj, your thoughts are beyond ordinary people. You must want to find the weak spot, use their own methods against them, attack by surprise, take the initiative—brilliant! Wonderful!”

Ah, if you want to think that way, I can’t help it.

I was silent, watching him hesitate to speak.

“Get up.”

Well… he’s a talent, I guess.

I thought for a moment, then asked, “Can you calculate the location of that shadow?”

He shook his head, looking bitter.

Seeing this, I dismissed him.

Still, it wasn’t a complete loss.

From his mystical, rambling nonsense, I got the gist:

Cheenu is still here.

Once there’s a direction, things are easier.

I immediately ordered people to find experts in jyotish and tantra.

Outside, the palace courtyard buzzed with activity—tantriks in saffron, bearded astrologers clutching bundles of palm-leaf charts, all muttering predictions and bargaining for fees over chai in the kitchen verandah.

With great reward, there are always brave people.

They actually found some with real skill.

They said, everything has its set number, rise and fall, yin and yang: to weaken the dark, make the yang stronger; likewise, to strengthen the dark, the yang must be weakened.

In short, if I weaken, Cheenu strengthens.

Someone offered a method called the rakta shraap, transferring my released energy into Cheenu’s body.

In the secret chamber, I was ready.

Just waiting for the set time to cut and draw blood.

On the ice slab, my body remained unchanged.

As I watched, I couldn’t help but worry—if Cheenu wakes up and finds himself in my body, would he be scared?

Also, if someone sees, wouldn’t they say I’ve come back to life? What would I do then…

Before I could sort out these troublesome questions, I heard a voice call out:

Slightly trembling, “Pitaji Maharaj.”

The word echoed in the cold stone room, as if bouncing off the ancient arches and back into my heart. For a moment, my hands shook.

I immediately turned to look at the dagger nearby. So effective? I haven’t even started bleeding yet.

I rubbed my eyes, leaning closer to the ice slab.

“Cheenu?”

But the person on the slab didn’t move.

I pinched my forehead. Probably a hallucination. These days, those tantriks have been arguing all day, noisy enough, but mainly it’s exhausting.

I don’t know where they studied, but not a single one talks like a normal person.

It was about time, so I picked up the dagger to cut my wrist.

At this moment, an anxious voice sounded in my mind:

“Pitaji Maharaj, don’t.”

I paused, the cold metal pressing against my skin, uncertain if what I heard was real. But in that instant, hope surged—a stubborn, irrational hope, warmer than the first rays of sun after a long, northern winter night.

Somewhere in the palace, a bell chimed once—an omen, or just the start of another sleepless night.