— A story set in the 17th century, as the winds of change blow over the Kondaveedu hills…
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The year was 1670.
From the crumbling ramparts of Kondaveedu Fort, old Veeranna, the last loyal sentry of the Kingdom lineage, stood with a hand shielding his eyes from the golden dusk. The once thunderous stronghold that had echoed with the footsteps of kings and warriors now whispered only to the wind.
He had grown old here—born within these stone walls, trained by his father in swordplay, and once rode with the soldiers who guarded the fortress boundaries. But now, all that remained were broken bastions, dry wells, and moss-covered stones that had forgotten the rhythm of marching boots.
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Far below, in the distance, Guntur was stirring.
Veeranna squinted to spot smoke rising from chimneys, carts wheeling in grain, and markets buzzing with life. A city of trade, of language, of movement. A place where gold changed hands more swiftly than swords were drawn.
“This is where kings now rule from… not from above, but amidst the people,” he muttered, almost in pain.
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To the north, whispers came from the banks of the Krishna River. The temple bells of Amaravati floated through the wind, not in defiance, but in peace.
Monks walked silently by the stupa’s ruins, and new shrines were being built with grants from the authorities. Amaravati had become a place where scrolls mattered more than swords, where blessings mattered more than blood.
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One evening, a young messenger from Guntur climbed the fort steps.
“Sir Veeranna,” the boy said, “The governer sends word. There is no need to guard the hill anymore. Kondaveedu is to be left… as a monument.”
Veeranna simply nodded. No anger. No sorrow. Just the weight of watching time pass, helplessly.
He turned around, his palm brushing the ancient wall where once a proud flag of the a kingdom had flown high. He whispered:
“We were the eyes of the kingdom… but now, they look elsewhere.”
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That night, under the stars, Veeranna left the fort quietly. No fanfare. No farewell. Just footsteps fading into history.
The Kondaveedu Fort stood still, cloaked in silence — a warrior gone to sleep, while Guntur and Amaravati rose to speak the language of the future.
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🌿 And thus, the fort became a memory…
But a proud one, resting on a hill, gazing forever at the land it once ruled.
- Jai Telugu Talli 🇮🇳
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