A wholesome musculature once filled Ajamidha’s armors and made them tight. Now the armor felt heavy to his frail bones, hiding numerous cuts, scars and lasting injuries from decades of warfare. He felt frequently out of breath and leaned heavy on his walking stick. Most of his pate was bald, the dense beard that once covered his face now survived by wispy, cotton-like puffs. The sun was out today, but its rays hidden under the winter mist that wafted from the confluence. Ajamidha shivered but held his ground, surveying the gathering around him with the proud eyes of a grand patriarch.
He thought of his late wife, Maitri- the mother of his three children. Ajamidha had a long list of achievements to his name, but now, at the age of eighty-four, no achievement seemed greater than the one that spread out in front of him- his vast family and descendants. His janapada. The Bharata janapada. He silently thanked Maitri, wishing she could have been here to see the day he stepped down and gave the janapada to his elder son. One of his great-grandsons, the twelve-year old Samvarna, broke into his thoughts- “When will you give your speech,...
