The next morning, Rudura stood in the training yard before the sun had even risen.
Mist clung to the courtyard, and the chill of dawn bit into his bare feet.The dew on the stone tiles soaked through his soles, but he didn't care.
The words he had whispered to the moon the night before still burned in his chest:
"I will make this empire richer than any other."
As he practiced with the wooden blade, a plan began to form.
If I want to strengthen this empire, I need to know how it breathes. I need to see the market—the veins that carry wealth into these walls.
But it was not as simple as it sounded.
How would he convince his parents to let a one-year-old prince walk among the commoners?
He thought of asking his father, but Chandragupta's eyes were always on battles, not bazaars. His father would refuse without a second thought.
No. There was only one way.
Mother.
If he could make Durdhara believe that he wanted to go out, not for war, but for simple shopping, she might agree.
Later that morning, when he was brought to his mother's chambers, he put his plan into action.
He tugged at her hand. Then he gestured toward the window, pointed outward, and mimicked the clinking of coins with his fingers.The words wouldn't come—not yet—but the intent was clear.
A bond between a mother and child needs no language.
Durdhara tilted her head, studying him."You want to go shopping?" she asked softly.
His small hands clapped together.
She laughed, brushing a kiss on his forehead."Very well. Let's go. It has been too long since I walked among the people."
By the afternoon, Rudura's plan was in motion.
A royal palanquin carried them through the massive gates of Pataliputra. Behind them marched a retinue of guards, their spears gleaming under the sun.
The moment they entered the market, a tide of sound and color washed over them.
The scent of spices—cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric—mixed with the smoke of roasting meat. Merchants shouted their prices in voices hoarse from years of bargaining. Silk banners rippled in the warm breeze, and the roads pulsed with life.
To the guards and his mother, it was a simple shopping trip.
To Rudura, it was his first look at the heart of the empire.
For three hours, they roamed.
Durdhara let him point at trinkets and fabrics, smiling as the merchants scrambled to offer their finest goods. She bought small toys for him, food for the journey back, and even a silver anklet that jingled when he shook it.
But Rudura wasn't here for toys.
Behind those bright eyes, his thoughts were sharp.
Listen. Watch. Remember.
From the conversations of merchants, guards, and commoners, he pieced together the truth.
The Mauryan economy was weak at its core.
Taxes were collected, but no one ensured they were fair or efficient.
Agriculture lacked attention—fields were fertile, but poorly managed.
Merchants and artisans were ignored by the royal center, their guilds scattered and unprotected.
Exports were limited; the empire was rich in skills and resources, but trade beyond its borders was almost nonexistent.
This is why the Guptas are wealthier. They invest in their people. They build alliances with other nations. My father wins wars, but he hasn't yet built the foundation of wealth.
The realization hit him like a cold wave.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the market grew quieter, Rudura's small hand held tightly to his mother's.He glanced up at her—a queen loved by her people, a mother who understood her son's unspoken wishes—and a thought formed, sharper than ever before:
I will change this. I will make these streets flourish until no one in Bharat will dare to rival us.
By the time they returned to the palace, the guards were tired, and Durdhara was smiling at the rare day of freedom.
But Rudura?His mind was already elsewhere, plotting, planning, imagining the future.
He had seen the lifeblood of the empire with his own eyes.
Now he knew where to begin.
(To be continued in Chapter 7)