Twenty years ago, the Kingdom of Junagarh was bathed in celebration. A prince had been born to the King and Queen—the heir to the throne, named Vikramaditya. But in the shadows of the palace, a sinister minister was weaving a treacherous plot to secure his own daughter's future. He had proposed a betrothal between the infant prince and his newborn daughter, hoping to one day seize the throne. However, the King proudly rejected the proposal. Consumed by humiliation and rage, the minister waited for a moonless night to steal away the one-month-old Vikramaditya, placing him in a wicker basket and casting him into the turbulent waters of a rushing river.
By a stroke of fate, the basket floated away and eventually drifted to a riverbank in the neighboring land of Kanchangarh. There lived a humble farmer who played the flute with enchanting grace. Childless and kind-hearted, the man rescued the infant and took him in as his own. The moment he looked upon the child, he felt as if the infant was a radiant sun piercing through the darkness. Thus, with great affection, he named his foster son 'Aditya'.
Coincidentally, by the mysterious design of destiny, the lost prince of Junagarh, Vikramaditya, grew up in the home of the farmer-flutist in Kanchangarh under the name 'Aditya.' He was raised amidst the scent of the earth instead of the luxuries of a palace, yet his royal blood and the magical melodies of his flute set him apart from all others. Though he inherited the gift of music from his foster father, he remained unaware that the royal blood of Junagarh flowed through his veins.
Arohi was still away at her maternal home, but in Kanchangarh, Aditya's foster father had become restless with anxiety. For days, there had been no word from his son, and the enchanting melody of the flute had fallen silent. Driven by the bond of his soul, he rushed like a madman to the royal palace. Ignoring the guards' attempts to stop him, he cried out, demanding to see the Queen Mother.
The Queen Mother stood on the balcony with an air of arrogance. Looking down with pure hatred, she sneered, "You lowly peasant! How dare you barge into my palace and cause such a ruckus? Your flute-playing son tried to trap my daughter in a web of love. I have taught him a lesson and sent him far away from here."
Weeping inconsolably, the farmer pleaded, "Queen Mother, please return my son to me! He has done you no harm!"
The Queen let out a diabolical laugh. "No harm? A common beggar dreaming of marrying a princess—that is his greatest crime. Do you not know the laws of royalty? A princess only weds a prince, not the son of a peasant like you!"
At that moment, the farmer wiped his tears and stood tall. Letting out a deep, agonizing sigh, he spoke, "You are making a grave mistake, Queen Mother! Unknowingly, you have invited a catastrophe. Aditya is no ordinary beggar or a mere farmer's son. He is the sole prince of the Kingdom of Junagarh—Vikramaditya!"
The Queen was stunned, as if struck by a bolt from the blue. "What madness is this? Who will bear the burden of proof?"
Trembling, the farmer pulled out the twenty-year-old royal wicker basket and the tiny royal garment embroidered with the dynastic crest—the items he had found by the river when he first rescued Aditya. In a choked voice, he said, "Behold the crest of the Junagarh dynasty. Destiny sent him to me through the river's current, but royal blood flows through his veins."
The Queen's heart skipped a beat. Overwhelmed by sheer terror and guilt, she lost all self-control and shrieked, "Oh God! What have I done? Thinking he was a mere commoner, I forced him to drink that blood and turned him into a cursed Dracula! I thought he was a beggar, so I transformed him into a Dracula of the darkness and locked him away in that room forever!"
The horrific truth had finally escaped the Queen's own lips. The farmer stood frozen like a stone. He could never have imagined that such a piteous fate had been forced upon his beloved Aditya. Without wasting another second, the Queen Mother began to run frantically toward the cursed chamber in the North Wing. Only one thought consumed her mind—she had cursed him into a Dracula, but what would happen when Arohi returned?