Chapter 55 A Test of the Gods
"Varuna and I have joined forces," Vayu said, his voice strained with frustration. "Although we can summon rainfall for a short period, it's still not enough. If this continues, our divine powers will soon be exhausted."
"Damn Hiranyakashipu!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his face tight with anger. His lips were dry, and his weariness was evident in the haggard lines of his face.
Varuna stood beside him, his blue robes faded and dull, his expression mirroring Vayu's bitterness. The two Devas looked as if they'd been worn down by the relentless struggle, standing side by side like two little birds in a storm.
The rest of the Devas fared slightly better, though their exhaustion was palpable. The Sun God, riding in his golden chariot, was still radiant, his body shielded by the divine sun armor, but even he seemed somewhat subdued.
Agni, the God of Fire, appeared particularly solemn. His hands moved slightly, conjuring a handful of sacrificial Agni that flickered brightly in his palms. The red light cast eerie shadows, reflecting brief glimpses of yajna rites happening in the human world.
In the fire's glow, visions materialized—first a cave, then a cellar, and then they disappeared as quickly as they had come. The sacrifices were fewer and more secretive, dwindling with time.
"The evil Asura Hiranyakashipu," Agni muttered bitterly, his voice laced with fury. "He forbids yajna for the Devas, and now the human world offers us fewer and fewer. It's a grave injustice."
He clenched his fist tightly, his eyes flashing with anger. "Hiranyakashipu's actions have desecrated the sacred tradition. Anyone who dares to pray or tries conduct yajna to the Devas in his presence, he kills them all without hesitation!"
The fire in his hands blazed brighter as the bitterness in his voice deepened.
"Hiranyakashipu's crimes are becoming viler as time passes on!" he continued. "He not only bans our prayers but forces us to work endlessly without the offerings due to us. We control the sun and the moon, the wind, and the fire, yet we cannot receive the gratitude of the human world. What world are we living in?"
The Devas stood in a collective silence, their hearts heavy with sorrow and frustration.
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness—steady and calm, with a voice to match.
"Vayu and Varuna cannot bear the sole burden of bringing rainfall to ensure plentiful harvests and water for humans and all living beings. But there are other ways," came the measured voice of Rishi Brihaspati as he stepped into their midst, a knowing smile gracing his face.
"Pranam Teacher!" the Devas chorused in unison, their voices filled with reverence.
The Devas looked on in surprise, their hands clasped together in eager anticipation. Curiosity and hope filled their eyes as they turned toward Brihaspati, awaiting his words, which promised a new solution to their plight.
Rishi Brihaspati rose slightly, his posture graceful as he raised his hand with a deliberate, fluid motion. With a sweep of his fingers, he traced a circle in the air, pointing eastward with a knowing smile.
"Have you forgotten?" he asked softly, his tone carrying a hint of mischief.
"In the Nandana Gardens of Amravati, there are divine weapons belonging to the King of Svarga!"
At his words, a spark of realization flickered across the faces of the Devas. Brihaspati's smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with wisdom. The artifacts of the Devas, he reminded them, were vessels of their divine power. Among these treasures, Indra's weapons contained a tremendous amount of thunder and lightning energy. If they could secure one of these artifacts, their troubles could be swiftly resolved.
The Devas, understanding now, exchanged glances, a glimmer of hope igniting in their eyes.
"Of course!" Vayu exclaimed suddenly. "The Vṛṣṭi and Duṣkarṣa maces! They're in the Nandana Garden."
"Yes!" Varuna added, his voice filled with astonishment. "With those weapons, we won't have to drain our divine energy any longer."
The realization was like a breath of fresh air. With Indra's divine weapon in their possession, they would not only conserve their power but also have more time to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
"Thank you, Rishi, for your help!" the Devas chorused in unison, their voices brimming with gratitude.
Brihaspati nodded with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling. "Let us go."
Without hesitation, the Devas stood, their spirits lifted by newfound hope, and they quickly followed Brihaspati as he led them toward the Nandana Gardens.
Streams of light descended from the heavens as they approached the Nandana Gardens, the sacred grounds now within their reach. The Gandharva warriors stationed at the entrance looked excited, their faces lighting up with reverence. They clasped their hands together and bowed low.
"Pranam to the Teacher Brihaspati! Pranam to the Suryadev! Pranam to the Agnidev! Pranam..." they greeted.
Brihaspati acknowledged them with a warm smile, and the Devas, their pride evident, walked with confidence toward the entrance of the temple. Vayu and Varuna, in particular, wore expressions of satisfaction, their steps long and sure as they entered the hallowed halls.
Inside the temple, the grandeur was breathtaking. The golden pillars gleamed with divine radiance, while the ceiling was adorned with lustrous pearls. Agate decorations added a touch of elegance to the space, and the soft glow of divine light made everything appear as if bathed in an ethereal mist. The black stone platforms, simple yet regal, stood in stark contrast to the brilliance of the surroundings, lending a unique air of mystery.
"I was the one who suggested rebuilding this place," Surya remarked with a proud smile. His voice carried the weight of history as he stepped forward, his gaze focused on one of the black platforms. "I remember clearly—Surya Chakra, forged from a spark of my divine essence, is here. And it can still be used."
Surya's eyes gleamed with pride as he walked towards the platform, his steps steady and assured. The Devas followed, their anticipation growing as they neared their goal.
Surya turned his gaze away, his expression faltering. For a brief moment, the smile on his face froze, transforming into a look of confusion.
"???"
He frowned, a series of question marks seemingly appearing above his head, his confusion deepening.
"Um?!"
The Devas and the worshiping immortals, who had gathered around, drew closer, their eyes scanning the surroundings. Upon closer inspection, they saw the empty stone platform before them.
"No! Where did it go?!" Surya exclaimed in disbelief, his voice thick with shock.
He hurried to the next stone platform, muttering to himself, "I remember this place—it should be where the Vṛṣṭi and Duṣkarṣa are kept."
The Devas watched in stunned silence as Surya continued his search.
Empty!
"Still empty?!" Surya exclaimed again, his tone rising with panic.
He moved quickly, trotting towards the platform where the divine spear, Amogha, and the conch Panchajanya were supposed to be. His heart sank as he looked in vain.
Empty! Empty! Empty!
Rishi Brihaspati's face darkened with concern. He hurriedly scanned the remaining stone platforms, his eyes growing wider with each empty space.
"They're all gone!" Brihaspati said, shock evident in his voice.
"Impossible! This can't be happening!" Surya shouted in disbelief. "These weapons and artifacts were placed here just recently!"
"How could they be gone?" Vayu's voice trembled with panic.
Brihaspati stood still, his mind racing. A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he raised a hand, signaling for the Devas to follow him.
"Let's move," he commanded firmly.
He led the group swiftly to the temple doors, his steps filled with urgency.
"Who has been here?" Brihaspati asked the Gandharva warrior stationed at the entrance.
The Gandharva warrior, his excitement palpable, stepped forward with a wide-eyed expression. "Rishivar! The King of Svarga has been here! He came through earlier!"
Indra?
The realization struck the Devas like a thunderclap. Could it be that the King of Svarga had taken all the artifacts?
The Devas exchanged uncertain glances, confusion, and tension hanging in the air. For a moment, they were paralyzed by the mystery.
The worshiping immortals remained silent, their expressions unreadable. Without a word, one of them turned and flew swiftly toward the Zalin Garden. The Devas, after a brief pause, hastened to follow.
They returned to the lush garden, landing softly on the green grass beneath the towering Bodhi tree. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on them as they gathered in silence.
"Teacher, what should we do now?" Vayu's voice cracked with frustration. "Varuna and I can't continue like this. We're running out of energy!"
Rishi Brihaspati, his brow furrowed in thought, hesitated before responding. He glanced at Indra, his confusion deepening.
"Does the King of Svarga not want us to help with the rain?" Brihaspati muttered, almost to himself.
"It shouldn't be," he continued, pondering the possibilities. "If the King of Svarga's penance continues to affect the world, Lord Vishnu may intervene."
A moment of silence passed, and then Brihaspati's voice grew softer, thoughtful. "Should we ask Kama, the God of Love, to interrupt the King of Svarga's penance with desire?"
Brihaspati's mutterings trailed off as he considered the implications of such an action. Would it come to that?
A sudden, cheerful trumpeting sound pierced the air, reaching Brihaspati's ears with surprising clarity. It was the distinct call of an elephant—yet it seemed more than just a simple noise. The sound reverberated through his mind, like the echo of an ancient, epoch-shifting cry, as though it carried the guidance of the Vedas themselves. Along with this mysterious, joyful sensation came a flood of thoughts, spiraling in a whirlwind of clarity. The ripples of insight seemed to converge into a single, undeniable point.
"I see!" Brihaspati exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper as the realization struck him.
He froze for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, a look of awe spreading across his face. His mind raced as he turned abruptly, eyes locking onto the figure of a majestic white elephant with six tusks, spraying water into the lake not far from them.
"Airavata!" Brihaspati gasped, his voice filled with reverence.
The divine elephant, Airavata, was beloved by Indra, the King of Svarga.
A smile slowly spread across Brihaspati's face as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Indra has left us a way… and the answer is here, with us!"
---
Chapter 56 The Elephant Who Commands the Skies
The eyes of the Devas sparkled with awe, their attention drawn to the shimmering lake before them. Water sprayed gracefully from Airavata's mighty proboscis, cascading into the lake below. Each droplet reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, creating a dazzling Indradhanush that seemed almost otherworldly.
"Airavata!" Agni called out, their voice echoing with reverence.
Airavata let out a powerful, resonant trumpet, an exciting cry that reverberated across the landscape.
"Snow-white and flawless, majestic and proud~"
"The king of elephants, the Airavata~"
With a serene smile gracing his face, Rishi Brihaspati stepped forward, arms spread wide. A layered hymn poured forth from his lips, rich with melody and devotion, as he approached the magnificent creature.
Airavata tilted his massive head, his keen, intelligent eyes scanning the Devas curiously. A soft, questioning rumble escaped him, blending with the music in the air.
Thud! Thud!
The rhythmic sound of steps followed as Vayu and Varuna moved forward, their strides purposeful. Their voices joined the hymn, harmonizing in perfect unity.
"The mount of Indra, King of Svarga, unparalleled ruler of all beasts, clad in white~"
"Caller of storms, bringer of rain, conqueror of all~"
"Airavata~ Airavata!"
As the two Devas advanced side by side, divine light flashed in their hands. A shimmering golden shawl appeared, its surface glinting with celestial brilliance. With a graceful motion, they flung it into the air. The golden cloth floated gently before descending onto Airavata's broad, powerful back, cloaking him in regal splendor.
Surya and Agni stepped forward, their voices joining the growing chorus.
"What a majestic white elephant, drawing thunder and lightning with every step~"
"King of Elephants! Airavata~ Airavata!"
Surya raised his hands to the heavens, and beams of sunlight coalesced into a shower of golden marigolds. The flowers rained down in celebration, their petals glimmering like fragments of pure sunlight.
Agni, not to be outdone, conjured a burst of vibrant flames. The fire transformed into fine red powder, which swirled and danced in the air before settling like a veil over Airavata's form. The elephant's pristine white body now bore a brilliant blush of red, the colors blending harmoniously.
Yellow flowers bloomed and red powder fluttered through the air, creating a scene of unmatched beauty.
Ah-choo!
Airavata sneezed, curling his long trunk in a playful display, his mighty cry echoing once more. The Devas laughed in delight, their song swelling as they celebrated the king of elephants, the mount of their beloved Indra.
Rishi Brihaspati stepped lightly across the rippling surface of the lake, each step creating gentle waves that radiated outward. He approached Airavata with a serene expression, holding a jeweled gold circlet aloft in both hands. As he reached the majestic elephant, he carefully placed the ring upon Airavata's broad head and continued his hymn with unwavering devotion.
"The radiant light of Airavata brings forth clouds and rain," he sang, his voice resonating with divine energy.
"The roar of this sacred elephant shakes the skies, commanding the awe of all living beings. Born of the churning of the ocean of milk, the auspicious Airavata embodies wisdom beyond the reach of even three heads~"
"Airavata~"
The Devas joined in unison, their voices a harmonious chorus that filled the air.
"Airavata!!!"
Enraptured by the hymn of the Rishis and Devas, Airavata's spirit soared. His hind legs kicked with excitement, and he lifted his front legs high, his massive frame radiating power and grace. With a triumphant cry, he raised his head, trumpeting an earth-shaking call that sent water splashing in all directions.
"Airavata!" the Devas exclaimed joyfully, their faces alight with admiration.
As the hymn faded, the Devas gathered around Airavata, their expressions warm and encouraging.
"Airavata!" Surya said, stepping forward with a kind smile. "You are the embodiment of purity, nobility, and flawlessness—a symbol of the King of Svarga's power over clouds and rain."
Another Deva added, "We now face a daunting challenge, one only you can overcome."
"We have faith in you Airavata," said Rishi Brihaspati, his tone solemn yet reassuring.
Airavata tilted his massive head, flapping his great ears in contemplation. His large, intelligent eyes brimmed with curiosity and uncertainty. His rumbling voice seemed to echo in the air, carrying a note of doubt as he glanced at the gathered Devas.
But as the light of their encouragement surrounded him, the doubts in Airavata's heart began to waver.
…
Kailash.
Shiva sat in his eternal stillness, one foot resting on the ground and the other folded atop his knee, maintaining his meditative posture. His gaze was serene as he nodded slightly, acknowledging the distant efforts of the Adityas.
"The Devas have found their path," Shiva said, his voice a deep, resonant echo that carried the weight of the universe. "Indra can continue his penance."
As the guardian of ascetics, Lord Shiva's divine presence radiated a calm strength. It was said that those who harmed an ascetic risked invoking his fearsome wrath, a truth etched into the lore of the cosmos.
Standing nearby, Nandi, Shiva's loyal mount, watched his Lord with unshakable reverence. Yet, there was a flicker of curiosity on the sacred bull's face. His ears twitched slightly as he tilted his head, hands clasped together in an expression of devotion.
"Mahadev," Nandi began hesitantly, his voice filled with wonder, "Will Indra also undergo the trials of rigorous penance? He never seems to suffer the way ascetics do."
Shiva lowered his gaze to meet Nandi's questioning eyes. A soft smile played on his lips, as timeless and inscrutable as the mountain itself.
"Nandi," Shiva said, his voice gentle yet profound, "do you find joy in your dedication to me?"
"Of course, my Lord!" Nandi replied without hesitation, his voice ringing with sincerity.
Shiva's smile widened, a fleeting yet radiant gesture that seemed to hold the secrets of creation. He said nothing more, lowering his foot to the ground. Slowly, he stood, the movement graceful and unhurried, as if time itself bowed to his presence.
"It's time to gather flowers for Parvati," Shiva said with a light chuckle, his tone warm and tender.
With that, he stepped off the stone platform and began walking toward the lush groves of Kailash. Nandi remained behind, his expression contemplative as he watched his Lord depart. The question lingered in his mind, unanswered yet somehow comforting, a fragment of wisdom carried on the winds of Kailash.
...
Svarga
The realm of Svarga stretched out in magnificent splendor. Palaces adorned the landscape, each more resplendent than the last, and terraces formed in perfect symmetry sprawled like a divine tapestry. Towering spires, dark and square, pierced the heavens, their dim light casting long shadows across the sacred ground.
"Teacher!"
Hiranyakashipu's voice cut through the stillness, sharp and impatient. His brow furrowed deeply as he turned to face Rishi Shukracharya, frustration bubbling to the surface. "When do you think Indra will appear?"
His patience had worn thin, eroded by the relentless passage of years. Too much time had been wasted chasing Indra, and yet, he had not even glimpsed his foe.
Rishi Shukracharya, ever composed, met his student's ire with calm detachment. "What's the hurry?" he replied, his tone steady. "He will come soon."
Hiranyakashipu ground his teeth, suppressing his growing irritation. His fists clenched tightly, veins visible beneath his skin as he fought to rein in his temper.
Then, from the distant horizon, a dark cloud emerged. It churned and billowed, blotting out the light as fierce winds howled across the skies. Moist raindrops began to fall, soaking the earth below, heralding a presence of immense power.
"He's coming!" Rishi Shukracharya's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and calculating. "Indra is finally here."
"Indra!" Hiranyakashipu hissed, his golden, slitted eyes gleaming with anticipation as he covered his face with his hands. The faint tremor in his voice betrayed a joy akin to that of a farmer awaiting a bountiful harvest.
THOOM! A thunderous roar broke through the storm, reverberating across Svarga.
"That sound—it's Indra's mount!" Shukracharya said, his voice sharp with certainty.
Ecstasy surged through Hiranyakashipu. His fingers flexed and uncurled as visions of triumph danced in his mind. He thought of how he would crush Indra, forcing the King of Svarga to kneel before him.
The dark clouds thickened, crackling with divine energy. And then, a flash of white illuminated the heavens.
"He's here!" Hiranyakashipu's voice was a low growl, his eyes wide with anticipation.
From the swirling storm emerged a colossal figure—a three-headed Airavata, its majestic form shimmering with celestial brilliance. Its heads were adorned with intricate golden chains, and its vast body was draped in flowing divine satin. Massive legs, sturdy as mountains, were encircled with golden anklets that jingled as they moved.
"Airavata alone?" Hiranyakashipu muttered, his excitement faltering as he frowned. His gaze swept the surroundings, his divine energy probing for the unmistakable aura of Indra.
But there was nothing.
"No... This can't be," he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. "Where is Indra?" His frustration ignited into searing anger, a fire that blazed within his chest. His gaze locked onto the three-headed Airavata, watching as the divine beast descended toward the mortal world.
With effortless grace, Airavata extended its trunk, spraying water like a living fountain. The droplets shimmered as they fell, transforming akin to Amrita, the nectar of immortality, blessing humanity below with much-needed rain.
Then, as though satisfied with its work, Airavata turned and ascended once more, vanishing into the black clouds that had birthed it.
Hiranyakashipu stood rooted to the spot, his fists trembling at his sides. Fury consumed him, his rage an unquenchable inferno. "Indra..." he growled, his voice low and venomous. "Why aren't you here?"
The skies offered no answer, only the faint echoes of Airavata's departure lingering in the wind.
"What a clever King," Rishi Shukracharya remarked, his voice calm yet tinged with an undertone of respect. His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "I'm afraid he has already guessed that we're waiting for him. This Airavata—it's the bait he's dangled before us, a calculated temptation."
Hiranyakashipu's rage boiled over. His teeth clenched so tightly it seemed as if they might grind the heavens and earth together, producing a harsh, grating sound. The thought of Indra's cunning filled him with a burning desire to rip the King of Svarga apart.
"So treacherous!" he spat, his words laced with venom. "What do we do now, Teacher?"
Rishi Shukracharya remained unflustered. Turning slowly, he fixed his student with a steady gaze. "I'm afraid we have no choice but to wait," he replied in a deep, measured tone.
"Wait?"
Hiranyakashipu's face darkened further. The very idea seemed to weigh on him like a storm cloud. His fists trembled with barely contained fury as he hissed through gritted teeth.
"Then wait, we shall!" His voice rose, fierce and unrelenting. "If he makes me wait for five hundred years, I will wait for five hundred years! If it takes a thousand years, I will endure a thousand years! And if he dares to make me wait for ten thousand years, I will wait for ten thousand years! Indra!"
He bellowed the name as if it had become a sacred chant, his obsession etched into every syllable. "Indra!" The word tore from his throat, echoing with a ferocity that shook the air.
Rishi Shukracharya observed his disciple with a furrowed brow. Most would dismiss Hiranyakashipu's claims as mere hyperbole, but the wise sage knew better. Hiranyakashipu was not like most men.
The stubbornness that defined him was both his strength and his curse. Once he set his sights on something, no force in the cosmos could deter him. His determination was as unyielding as the mountains themselves.
"Alas," Shukracharya sighed, a shadow of pity crossing his usually impassive face. "I only hope you can endure this wait."
With those parting words, the sage turned and walked away, his steps measured and deliberate. In his heart, he carried a gnawing concern—Hiranyakashipu's obstinate nature would not lead him to a peaceful end.
Yet Hiranyakashipu heard none of it. He remained rooted to the spot, his fiery gaze fixed on the horizon. The storm within him raged on, his singular purpose consuming him utterly.
He would wait. No matter how long it took, no matter the toll it exacted, Hiranyakashipu would stand steadfast, his eyes burning with the promise of vengeance. Until the day Indra appeared, he would do nothing else.
For Hiranyakashipu, waiting was not a delay—it was a declaration of his unbreakable will.
Time flies like the wind, indifferent to mortal concerns. The sun and moon rose in the east and set in the west, marking the passing of days that stretched into years. In the blink of an eye, three hundred years had passed.
The place where Hiranyakashipu once stood had transformed into a towering high platform. Draped from the canopy above were cascading curtains of pearl and gold, shimmering like captured sunlight. At the center, a grand golden throne stood resplendent. On either side, Asura women wielded delicate peacock feather fans, their movements gentle and rhythmic as they attended the sovereign seated above them.
Hiranyakashipu reclined on his throne, his powerful hands gripping its gilded arms. His golden, vertical eyes remained fixed on the sky above, unblinking, unwavering. He was waiting, like a hunter poised in silence, patient yet deadly.
For over three hundred years, Hiranyakashipu had barely left this spot. His palace, his kingdom, even his family—his wife, his son—all were distant echoes, secondary to the singular purpose that consumed him. He lived only for one thing: to see Indra again and exact his vengeance.
But today, an unexpected disturbance broke the monotonous passage of time.
"Rajan!"
A voice pierced the serene stillness. An Asura soldier hurried up the steps of the high platform, his armor glinting dully in the ambient light.
"Speak quickly!" Hiranyakashipu growled, his eyes never leaving the skies.
"An ill-omened report, my lord. Someone is offering yajanas for Devas and Vishnu!"
Hiranyakashipu waved his hand dismissively, irritation flickering across his face. "If someone dares to perform such trivial acts, kill them and be done with it. Do not waste my time!"
The soldier hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under his lord's gaze.
"But... it is the prince, my lord. It is Prahlada, your son."
At that name, Hiranyakashipu froze. Slowly, his gaze dropped from the skies, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes. His focus turned to the soldier, the air around him seeming to thrum with a foreboding energy.
"What did you say?" His voice was low and menacing, like the growl of a beast lurking beneath the earth.
The Asura soldier visibly trembled, struggling to meet Hiranyakashipu's gaze. "Y-yes, my lord. The prince... the prince is offering yajanas and singing hymns."
"To whom?"
Hiranyakashipu's question was a command, sharp and cold as the edge of a blade. The soldier's knees buckled slightly under the weight of his king's fury.
"To... Indra and Vishnu," the soldier stammered, the words barely escaping his trembling lips.
The air around Hiranyakashipu seemed to darken. A terrible silence fell, broken only by the faint rustling of the pearl-gold curtains swaying in the breeze.
"Vishnu..." Hiranyakashipu hissed, his voice dripping with venom. His grip tightened on the arms of his throne, the golden metal groaning under the pressure.
---
Chapter 57 Battle of Beliefs
"Out of all devas he could worship. It turned out to be... them!"
Hiranyakashipu rose from his golden throne, his presence exuding an overwhelming and terrifying force. A sudden gale erupted around him, sending the Asura maids sprawling as they scrambled to avoid the tempest.
"Indra! Vishnu!"
The names hissed through his clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and raw with fury. His entire body trembled, vibrating with the storm of his rage. The words carried more than anger—they were a curse, spat from the depths of his being.
Betrayal.
This act of treachery struck him like a poisoned blade. Prahlada, his flesh and blood, daring to worship his mortal enemies.
"Prahlada!!!"
His roar shook the Svarga and the patala, the force of it sending violent shockwaves rippling outward. The echo reverberated across Svarga, a testament to his fury.
Without hesitation, Hiranyakashipu launched himself into the air, streaking across the sky like a meteor. His trajectory was unerring, his wrath a guiding force as he plummeted toward the palace below.
Boom!
The impact rattled the structure to its core, the foundations groaning under the force. Dust billowed in choking clouds as debris rained down like an apocalyptic storm.
Through the settling haze of destruction, Hiranyakashipu emerged. His towering form cast a menacing shadow across the ruined palace, his glowing eyes locked onto the figure seated amidst the rubble.
Prahlada.
The young prince, adorned in regal red garments and a golden crown, sat cross-legged before a blazing sacrificial fire. The flickering flames danced in his serene expression, their light casting an almost divine glow on his face.
"Om Indra Devaya Namah!"
Prahlada's voice was calm, reverent. A gentle smile curved his lips as he clasped his hands in prayer. He took a handful of red pollen from a mound beside him and scattered it over the sacred flames, the embers flaring in response.
Hiranyakashipu froze. His eyes widened, his body rigid with disbelief. Slowly, his fists tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Prahlada..." His voice was barely above a whisper, strained with suppressed rage.
At the sound of his father's voice, Prahlada turned, his face lighting up with unrestrained joy. His clear eyes sparkled with excitement, unclouded by fear.
"Father, you're back!"
Prahlada sprang to his feet, his movements light and eager. He trotted toward Hiranyakashipu with open arms, his expression brimming with happiness.
But Hiranyakashipu's gaze was cold and unyielding. His piercing eyes roved over Prahlada's form, scrutinizing every inch of him as if searching for the source of this betrayal.
"Who are you..." Hiranyakashipu's voice was low and deliberate, every word weighted with accusation. His fists clenched tighter as his body tensed, his rage barely contained.
"Are you..." His voice rose, sharp as a blade.
"…a devote of Indra?"
His question hung in the air, heavy with menace. Hiranyakashipu's fiery gaze bore into Prahlada, demanding an answer, his towering presence a storm ready to unleash its fury.
"Of course not!"
Prahlada's smile was radiant as he shook his head, his joy unshaken by the tension in the air. His clear eyes, full of warmth, met his father's cold gaze.
Hiranyakashipu froze, startled. Not a follower of Indra? The revelation struck him momentarily silent. If not, then why perform yajanas to Indra? The contradiction gnawed at his mind.
Before he could voice his confusion, Prahlada clasped his hands together in reverence. His voice was soft yet unwavering, carrying the sincerity of his heart.
"I am a believer of Lord Vishnu," he began, his tone light but resolute. "I made offerings to the King of Svarga because, Father, you've been away from home for so long."
Hiranyakashipu's brows furrowed further, the flicker of confusion replaced by growing irritation.
"Father, I hoped," Prahlada continued, his expression untainted by fear, "that you might let go of your hatred for Indra, and that the two of you could reconcile. If peace could be made, it wouldn't matter if we left Svarga behind. We would live just as well on Patalaloka."
His voice softened, his eyes bright with hope. "Then you could come home. We could be together again as a family."
Prahlada spread his hands, the simple, unguarded gesture embodying his dream of peace.
"Father!" he said, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation. "If you come back now, my yajana should already have reached the ears of the King of Svarga. Have you reconciled?"
With that, Prahlada stepped forward, his arms outstretched as though to grasp the father he idolized.
Boom!
A powerful hand slammed into Prahlada's chest, sending him staggering backward. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground, his back hitting the cold stone with a dull thud.
Prahlada gasped, propping himself up on his elbows as he stared at his father in shock and confusion.
Hiranyakashipu loomed above him, his face devoid of emotion, an imposing figure bathed in the flickering light of the sacrificial fire. His golden crown cast a shadow over his stern, unyielding expression.
"Stupid," he spat, his voice cutting like a blade. "Weak!"
His cold eyes bore into Prahlada's trembling form.
"You dare pray to my enemies? You plead for mercy as though it were something to be given freely. Are you truly my son? I am ashamed to call you that."
The words struck like blows, each syllable laced with disdain.
"Guards!" Hiranyakashipu barked, his voice echoing through the shattered palace.
"As you command, my king!" came the hurried response as the sound of armored feet rushed toward them.
"Take him," Hiranyakashipu ordered, his tone as unyielding as stone. "Lock him away for five hundred years. Let him sit in solitude and reflect on his foolishness. Perhaps he will come to understand the weight of his actions."
Prahlada's eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parting to plead, but no words came.
Hiranyakashipu turned away without sparing him another glance. His expression remained void of any paternal warmth as he strode out of the palace. The weight of his responsibilities—and his hatred—left no room for what he considered petty, sentimental distractions.
Behind him, the Asura warriors seized Prahlada, their iron grips dragging him away as he called out, "Father!"
But Hiranyakashipu's ears were deaf to the cries. He had more pressing matters: a war with the devas, and vengeance to secure.
Time passed, indifferent to rain or shine. Through the endless days and nights, Hiranyakashipu endured.
Seated on his golden throne, a sword resting at his side, he sprawled lazily, his left elbow propped on the armrest. His chin rested in his palm as he stared into the vast expanse of sky before him.
Another peaceful day...
After all these years, why has the power of the Devas not waned?
Hiranyakashipu's thoughts darkened, the question lingering in his mind. Is Brahma secretly aiding the Devas?
He rolled his eyes in frustration, feeling the weight of his long war against the devas. Slowly, he rose from the throne, the joints in his neck cracking as he twisted his head from side to side.
And then, a sudden flash of light streaked across the sky, heading straight for him.
"!!!"
Hiranyakashipu's pulse quickened, his senses sharpening. He stood up abruptly, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowed in anticipation.
But as the figure drew closer, a flicker of disappointment flashed across his features.
The approaching figure wore a black hood, obscuring their face, but their slender form was unmistakable—a far cry from Indra's imposing presence.
Not Indra, Hiranyakashipu thought, his grip on the sword loosening.
"Big brother, it's me!" The figure landed lightly on the high platform, the voice familiar and unmistakable.
"Holika!" Hiranyakashipu's voice echoed in recognition as he stepped forward.
Holika slowly lifted her black hood, revealing a face both smooth and radiant, her beauty now far beyond what it had been before. Gone were the scars, the marks of past suffering.
Her face shone with an ethereal glow—beautiful, yes, but with an alluring, almost mesmerizing quality that spoke of her transformation.
"You've completed your penance?" Hiranyakashipu asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
He had heard from Shukracharya that Holika had dedicated herself to an intense period of penance, praying to Lord Shiva since the churning of the Kshira Sagara, hoping for divine blessings to restore her appearance.
It was clear now that she had succeeded.
"Of course!" Holika's lips curled into a sly smile as she gently ran her fingers over her flawless skin, her pride unmistakable.
She reveled in her newfound beauty, the result of her devotion. She had once been scarred by the flames of Vasuki, her face burned beyond recognition. But now, through years of penance and divine blessings, Holika had restored her beauty to its full glory.
"Correct!"
Holika's voice broke through the air as she stepped forward, her tone light but tinged with mischief. "Brother, why do I hear the sounds of Vishnu's hymns in your palace? Have you forgotten your elder brother's revenge?"
Hiranyakashipu froze. His eyes narrowed, and the fire of anger ignited within him. He turned to his attendants, his gaze darkening with fury.
"Who is worshipping Vishnu?" His voice was like thunder, and his attendants flinched, exchanging nervous glances before lowering their heads.
"Answer me!" Hiranyakashipu demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The Asura guards, visibly trembling, knelt before him, fear evident in their eyes.
"The prince... is still praying to Vishnu," one of the guards stammered, his voice quivering. "He has organized yajanas daily in the palace—unceasing prayers to Vishnu, without rest."
Hiranyakashipu's eyes widened with rage. He seized one of the Asura guards by the head, lifting him off the ground, his grip like iron.
"Didn't I throw him into prison?!" His voice was a low growl of fury.
The attendant recoiled, his voice quivering with fear. "King... have you forgotten? You've been away for nearly seven hundred years. The prince has long since been released."
A wave of shock washed over Hiranyakashipu, followed by an overwhelming tide of anger. He shoved the guard aside.
"Prahlada!" he roared. "You won't change your mind, will you? Damn it all!"
Holika, observing the scene with amusement, couldn't suppress a soft laugh. She raised her fingers to her lips, hiding her smile behind them as she spoke with playful sweetness, "It seems your son doesn't listen to you brother."
She paused for a moment, her expression turning more serious, though still with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "But don't worry brother. I can help you."
Holika's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes.
"How?" Hiranyakashipu suddenly turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto Holika. "Explain!"
His voice was cold, demanding answers.
A flash of cold light flickered in Holika's eyes. She raised her chin high, her fingers curling around the air as she spoke. A flicker of fire ignited at her fingertips, its flames dancing with a fierce intensity.
"This is the Naga agni of Vasuki," she said, her voice low and steady. "I gathered it after I was disfigured during Samundra Manthan. Even this can't harm me now. I am granted the ability to not be harmed by fire."
Her eyes glinted with pride. "Through years of hard penance, I received a blessing—this veil shields me from the flames. I entered the fire with him, to see if his Vishnu could offer any help in the face of life and death."
Holika's words hung in the air, carrying the weight of her determination and the power she had mastered.
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