KathaAnjali

Many ages after Rama’s lamps lit the path of hope, the world faced darkness again - and this time, it was a woman who carried the light.

Her name was Satyabhama - queen, warrior, and the flame that even gods revered

The Untold Chapter of Kohima, 1944

It was April 1944

The hills of Kohima, draped in early monsoon mist, were calm — until the earth began to shake with artillery fire.

✨ Once upon a time, in South India, there lived a man with a restless ambition. He was not content with wealth, family, or even the respect he enjoyed in his town. He wanted something far greater—supernatural powers.

In the heart of Midnapore, among fields where the soil is red and the air smells of freedom, a boy was born in 1889, Khudiram Bose. He was just another village child, barefoot and bright-eyed, until destiny called him to a place in history.

The forests of Jungle Mahal were restless. The wind carried whispers of revolt, and in the heart of Midnapore, the earth seemed to tremble under the weight of injustice. In that age of despair, when the East India Company bled farmers and tribals with merciless taxes, a queen rose—not from legend, but from flesh and blood. Her name was Rani Shiromani of Karnagarh.

Long before Kurukshetra thundered with conches and chariots, there lived a mighty rakshasa-prince named Ghatotkacha, son of Bhima and Hidimbi. In the far east, he married Maurvi (Ahilavati), the famed daughter of the asura Mura. Their child arrived like a streak of dawn—broad-chested, bright-eyed, crowned with bristling hair. Seeing those wild locks, Ghatotkacha named him Barbarik.

Long ago, in a small village, famine had turned the earth into cracked clay and the air into dust. Wells lay dry, and the sound of cooking had vanished from homes

After crossing rivers, razing empires, and renaming cities after himself, Alexander of Macedon arrived in Corinth, crowned not by war, but by praise.

In the golden court of Akbar the Great—emperor of Hindustan, lover of the arts, and patron of genius—there stood a man whose voice could summon rain and set lamps alight.

My name is John Fernandes. I’m 72. And I’ve lost count of how long I’ve been alive without really living.

Haven’t read Part 1 yet? Check out The Bench by the Lake (John’s Story) - Part 1 to see how it all began — and to truly understand both sides of the story