Chapter 90 Dice of Destiny
"Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu both fell in the schemes of Indra and avatars of Vishnu!"
The words escaped Hayagriva's lips, barely audible, but full of reverence. His gaze, solemn and calculating, bore into the depths of his thoughts.
"Worthy to be the Lord of Svarga. Worthy to be the king of the Devas. King among kings..."
With a murmur, Hayagriva straightened, his posture unwavering as he rose from the throne. The air thickened with each deliberate step he took. His aura flared like an unstoppable storm, every movement punctuated by invisible thunder that cracked the stillness of the chamber. It reverberated with power, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.
His mane swayed as if caught in the winds of destiny, amplifying his presence.
"This Indra... stronger, wiser than I remember..." he muttered to himself, his thoughts turning to the unfolding plans.
His gaze shifted toward the horizon beyond the temple. The vast, dim land stretched out before him, a silent witness to the ongoing battle of forces.
"To claim the Vedas, we must first expel the Devas from the Brahmaloka and Svarga..." Hayagriva's eyes narrowed, a dark glint flashing across them. A sudden, chilling thought took root, its arrival like a lightning strike in the depths of his mind.
Boom!
The idea exploded in his consciousness, sharp and clear.
Without hesitation, he raised his hand, his fingers tracing an invisible arc through the air. Divine light cascaded around him, its radiance pulsing in the silence.
Uh-huh!
The light gathered, shaping into a stone platform that materialized before him. It was simple, but its presence was undeniable—a chessboard-like creation, etched with meticulous, orderly markings. The design was a perfect cross, four lanes and three columns, eight squares in each row, the pattern unyielding.
Hayagriva lowered his gaze to the stone, his right hand extended as divine energy coiled around it. Slowly, deliberately, he opened his palm, and from the light, a rectangular die appeared, etched with intricate dots on all six sides.
Bar la la!
He threw the die onto the board, watching as it clattered across the surface, finally settling on a three.
A dark smile curved across his lips.
"Hum hum..." he chuckled softly. "Call Mayasura!"
Turning back toward his throne, Hayagriva's confidence grew. He already knew the path ahead—his plan was set into motion.
Not long after, a figure appeared.
A gaunt, wiry Asura entered the chamber. His face was drawn, eyes heavy with exhaustion, like those of a creature barely awake. Dark rings circled his eyes, and a harsh, black-and-white crown rested atop his head, resembling a spider's grotesque web of teeth and claws. His slender form barely seemed to fill the doorway as he entered, and he carried a long, black double-horned staff in his hand.
Mayāsura. Master architect of the Asuras—peer and rival to Viśvakarmā, the divine artisan of the Devas. Where Viśvakarmā built in harmony with Ṛta, the natural order, Mayāsura wrought wonders through mystic craft and sheer will. His creations did not echo Dharma—they asserted dominion.
This Danava was born from Rishi Kashyapa and his wife Danu., a being imbued with immense talent in Maya. It was this extraordinary gift that earned him the name Mayasura, for his mastery over Maya—the art of illusion—was unparalleled. But his talents did not stop there. Mayasura was also a renowned blacksmith, his craft so skilled that every enchanted weapon wielded by the Asura clan had been forged by his hand.
With slow, deliberate steps, Mayasura approached the throne where Hayagriva sat, his presence almost as imposing as the mighty deity himself. His strides were long, each one purposeful, filled with the quiet confidence of a master craftsman.
Hayagriva, seated upon his throne, seemed to smile—but it was a smile that barely touched his eyes. The coldness in his gaze was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the warm, almost regal demeanor he projected. He stared at Mayasura with an intensity that could freeze the very air around them.
"I know you are a divine craftsman, Mayasura," Hayagriva said, his voice smooth yet commanding. "Now, I have a task for you. I need you to create a dice—a dice that will ensure my victory, no matter the game. It must be flawless, a tool of absolute trickery. And it must remain undetected by the Devas."
Mayasura stood silent for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking to the cross-shaped game board before him. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers closing around the rectangular dice, studying its form as if weighing its very essence.
"If you want this dice to always roll in your favor, without fail, and without the Devas ever noticing, then you will need to craft it from the bones of the thrower," Mayasura replied, his voice calm yet tinged with a hint of pride. His eyes gleamed with a knowledge only he possessed, a knowledge that only someone of his craft could understand.
"The bones of the thrower contain the essence of his destiny—his will, his power, his very dream. The dice will be bound to him in ways the devas cannot see or interfere with."
Hayagriva's eyes glinted as his lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. His fiery mane swayed gently as if responding to his thoughts. But it wasn't a mere smile of amusement—it was the smile of a king who had already anticipated the challenge and had decided upon the solution.
"Very well, Mayasura," Hayagriva said, his tone resonating with a divine power that made the air itself quiver. "The bones of the thrower... very well."
Mayasura raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Hayagriva's words. He watched, perplexed, as Hayagriva's gaze grew distant, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as if the weight of his decision was beginning to settle in.
"Give me your bones," Mayasura continued, his voice slightly hushed. "I shall make the dice from your very being, Hayagriva."
Hayagriva's eyes met Mayasura's. A flicker of surprise passed over the divine craftsman's face, quickly masked by his stoic demeanor. Hayagriva's request was not just bold—it was unprecedented. The very idea of sacrificing one's bones for the creation of a powerful tool was not only unheard of, but it also bore tremendous risk.
"Then be it," Hayagriva replied, his voice a thunderous affirmation. "If my bones are to be used, then it shall be so. Let the dice be forged from my essence, for the victory it shall bring is worth the cost."
Mayasura looked at him carefully, sensing the gravitas of the moment. He could see the resolve in Hayagriva's eyes, the power that surged from him like a tide ready to crash upon the shore. There was no hesitation in his words, no second thoughts. Hayagriva had made his choice.
"Very well," Mayasura said, his voice deepening with respect. "I will craft it, then. A tool of absolute trickery that even devas won't be able to detect it."
Without another word, Hayagriva closed his eyes and began to channel his divine energy, focusing his will on the task at hand. He stood tall as if preparing to offer himself for a sacrifice that would forever alter the course of his life.
"I shall give what is needed," Hayagriva said, his voice steady yet imbued with an ancient power that resonated through the very air.
His eyes met Mayasura's with an unspoken understanding, and the ground beneath them seemed to tremble as if the earth itself acknowledged the magnitude of the sacrifice about to unfold.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Hayagriva's fingers curled around his rib, and with a soft, almost imperceptible snap, the bone came free from his side. The crack echoed through the stillness, sending shivers through the space between them.
Mayasura stepped forward, his eyes focused intently on Hayagriva's offering. He reached out with both hands, reverently touching the bone.
The words echoed in the air like a sacred chant, resonating with the ancient power that both men understood. Mayasura's gaze shifted, the pride in his eyes burning brighter as he acknowledged the challenge before him. The task was set. And with it, a new tool would be forged—one that would defy the devas themselves.
…
In Svarga, outside the grand temple, the atmosphere was filled with anticipation and pride. The Gandharva warriors stood in perfect formation on both sides of the path, their sacred spears tapping rhythmically against the ground, creating a deep, resonant beat. The air was alive with energy as they performed the ceremonial welcome.
Bang! Bang! Thump, thump, thump!
The sound of victory conches echoed through the sky like the crashing waves of the ocean, while the beat of war drums thundered relentlessly, adding to the dramatic reverberations.
The Devas, radiant and confident, strutted through the procession with beaming smiles. Cloaks fluttering behind them and magic weapons in hand, they walked with a sense of purpose and pride, their every step accentuated by the cheers of the Gandharva warriors lining the path.
Suddenly, a gust of air followed the graceful movement of the beautiful Devi, who danced elegantly past the Devas. As she moved, delicate red pollen fell like marigold petals in the sunlight, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that heightened the sense of triumph.
The Devas, basking in the jubilant atmosphere, entered the temple, their faces lit up with satisfaction. The Gandharvas continued their lively song, their voices intertwining with the joyful dances of the Devis, who showered the Devas with golden victory rings. Laughter and music echoed throughout Svarga, a city alive with joy and celebration.
"We've triumphed over the Asuras in Brahma Loka!" Surya said, his lips curling into a proud smile as he basked in the light of his victory. "This is the Devas' victory!"
The air was thick with pride, but there was an undertone of disappointment.
"The glory of the Devas shines across the Triloka," Vayu added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But it's a pity the Indra couldn't join us."
Agni, the Dev of fire, let out a deep sigh. "This glory, this victory, should be enjoyed by our king. But instead, he remains preoccupied with worries that Asura will attack Svarga again." His voice held a hint of frustration, tinged with concern.
"It's the Asuras' fault!" another voice echoed bitterly from among the crowd, the anger still fresh from the battle.
As the Devas continued down the vibrant path, the festive mood suddenly dimmed, as though the very air had thickened with unease. The sounds of celebration slowed, faltering for a moment. The joyous energy that had once filled the air now seemed more distant, as the Devas could not ignore the absence of the King of Svarga.
"Where is he?" Soma whispered.
For a brief moment, the triumphant noise was replaced by a heavy silence, a quiet reflection on the void left by the King's absence.
…
At that very moment, deep within the Palace of the King of Svarga, a quiet murmur escaped Indra's lips.
"Hayagriva is quite powerful... Madhu and Kaitambha are even more formidable."
"But I've figured out a way." His voice was calm, yet there was a flicker of determination in his eyes.
Indra sat cross-legged before a fire pit, surrounded by golden plates laden with offerings. Towers of sweet yellow laddos, mangoes, and piles of delicate turmeric powder were carefully arranged in front of him.
His mind was focused, plotting his next move.
"The wisest move against the unkillable foes," he muttered, half-laughing to himself, "is to not die trying."
The three Asuras were indeed a challenge, but fleeing to Kailash to do penance in solitude might be the best course of action. Even Asuras won't be foolish enough to barge into Kailash. Even Ravana had paid very dearly for interrupting the peace of those mountains.
Ravana, known for his intelligence, strength, and arrogance, was determined to gain Lord Shiva's blessing. He believed that with Shiva's blessing, he could become invincible, defeat Indra, and become the king of Triloka. But Ravana, in his pride, did not want to simply worship Shiva traditionally. Instead, he thought to prove his strength by lifting Mount Kailash.
The mountain itself was considered a divine and immovable object, representing the stability and power of the gods. But Ravana, with his ten heads and twenty arms, set his sights on it. He believed that if he could lift Kailash, Lord Shiva would be forced to recognize his superiority and grant him the divine boon he sought.
With great effort, Ravana gathered all his strength, and with a roar, he attempted to lift the massive mountain. His muscles strained as he tried with all his might, but Kailash, being the residence of the Shiva, did not budge. It was as though the mountain itself was anchored to the earth by the very essence of the universe, impervious to any force Ravana could muster.
As Ravana strained, sweating and grunting, the earth shook with the force of his effort. The Devas watched in astonishment as the mighty Asura king attempted to lift the sacred mountain. But Shiva, ever calm and unperturbed, remained meditative, seated atop Kailash, indifferent to Ravana's futile attempt.
Finally, with an amused and almost playful look, Lord Shiva decided to teach Ravana a lesson in humility. With just a slight movement, Shiva lifted his toe, gently pressing it down on the mountain.
The moment Shiva's toe touched Kailash, the mountain sank deeper into the earth, trapping Ravana beneath it with its sheer weight. Ravana, despite his vast strength, finds himself helpless, pinned by the mountain, unable to move. His immense pride had led him to challenge the sacred abode of Shiva, and now he was paying the price for his arrogance.
Ravana struggled to free himself, wriggling and thrashing beneath the weight of Kailash, but it was no use. His cries echoed through the skies as he realized the immense power of Lord Shiva. With each cry, the weight of the mountain seemed to press harder on him, and Ravana's pleas grew louder.
Lord Shiva, amused by Ravana's plight and unable to resist his dramatic display, smiled and addressed him. "Such a mighty king you are, Dasagriva," Shiva said with a calm voice, "but your pride has led you astray. The strong are always kind, not arrogant."
Ravana, his body pinned beneath the mountain, began to weep and plead for mercy. His cries were so loud, so intense, that they reverberated through the heavens, reaching the ears of the gods and sages. Shiva, who had been silent, finally spoke, naming Ravana in the moment of his suffering.
"Since you cry so much," Shiva said with a chuckle, "I shall call you 'Ravana,' the one who cries."
The name stuck, and Ravana, humbled by his defeat, was finally released from under the weight of Kailash.
...
As for who could replace Indra as king of Svarga in the meantime... he already had that figured out.
A sly smile curled on Indra's lips as he clasped his hands together, his plan solidifying in his mind.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the turmeric powder from the golden plate and cast it into the yajna fire.
Swaha!
In an instant, the flames leaped to life, burning brightly and soaring into the sky like the crown of a great tree. The fire illuminated the room with a radiant, golden light, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.
"Om Vayuve Namah! Om Varunaya Vidmahe!" Indra chanted, his voice rich with reverence.
As he spoke, a steady stream of sweet steamed dumplings began to fall, one by one, into the yajna agni. The laddos moved with a graceful slowness, creating a pale yellow arc in the air before disappearing into the blaze.
Bang!
The laddos fell, and the fire roared back to life, its intensity growing stronger with each offering.
In the flickering flames, the ethereal forms of the wind gods Vayu and Varuna, began to take shape, their figures appearing like shadowy reflections within the blazing light.
At that very moment, amid the banquet, the two devas—Vayu and Varuna—felt a strange sensation. The sound of thunder seemed to vibrate through the air, echoing in their ears.
Boom!
Boom!
Both gods froze for a moment, then raised their gazes, their eyes narrowing with focus as if they had sensed the surge of power from the blazing yajna fire.
Indra, watching from his throne, couldn't help but smile slightly, knowing that his plan was already set in motion.
---
Rāvaṇa was originally known as Daśagrīva—'the one with ten necks'—a name he earned due to his ten heads, which symbolized immense knowledge, power, and mastery over the four Vedas and six Śāstras.
---
Chapter 91 Sweet Lesson
Indra clasped his hands together in reverence, his smile serene yet commanding. He reached for a golden plate adorned with vibrant red flowers, their faint fragrance reminiscent of an ethereal garden. With a graceful motion, he scattered the flowers into the air, their delicate forms descending like a celestial offering.
Splash!
The petals rained down, fluttering gently before meeting the sacrificial fire. The red hues swirled amidst the flames, creating a mesmerizing spectacle. In that instant, the air shifted—a sudden gust carried the faint whispers of the wind, light and agile, its melody otherworldly. It harmonized with the gentle murmur of water, its sound cascading like a stream, persistent yet soft, like droplets carving through stone.
Then, they appeared.
Two divine figures emerged, their Devic auras radiating unparalleled power. The first, Vayu, wore light armor resembling deerskin, his form slender and his visage strikingly handsome. Beside him stood Varuna, clad in water-blue armor accented with golden brilliance, his regal appearance exuding a calm, commanding presence.
"We are very pleased with your offering."
The voices of the two devas resonated as one, echoing through the sacred space. Their gazes fell upon Indra, King of Svarga, and at that moment, their expressions shifted.
Boom!
The divine eyes of Vayu and Varuna widened, their brows lifting as if struck by revelation. A silent roar filled their minds, a thunderous realization that left their countenances painted with astonishment.
Indra remained unshaken.
Sitting cross-legged before the fire pit, he had shed his usual splendor. The golden armor, the dazzling crown, and the regal crimson cloak were gone, replaced by a simple white robe. A string of vajra bodhi seeds adorned his wrist, exuding a quiet, spiritual energy. His calm demeanor radiated tranquility, as though he were one with the elements he revered.
"Pranam Vayu, the Deva of Wind! Pranam Varuna, the Deva of Water!" Indra intoned, his voice steady and reverent. Once again, he brought his hands together, his smile warm and unwavering.
The flames flickered, the air stilled, and the world seemed to pause, hanging on the unspoken bond between the king and the devas of wind and water.
Vayu and Varuna brought their hands together in a gesture of respect, their gazes fixed on Indra with an air of surprise.
"Pranam King of Svarga! Praise Indra!"
"Pranam, brother Indra!"
Their voices resonated in unison, yet their expressions were a mix of admiration and unease.
That outfit...
Was the King of Svarga preparing to embark on another ascetic journey?
Indra, seated cross-legged on the ground, lifted his head, his demeanor calm yet authoritative.
"Since my offering has satisfied you both and brought you here, I ask that you continue to oversee the clouds and rain in my absence. Fulfill my wishes, O Lords of Wind and Water."
He pressed his palms together in reverence, his serene smile unwavering.
At his words, it was as if a thunderclap split the svarga. An invisible shockwave seemed to reverberate through the chamber. Vayu's eyes widened in disbelief, while Varuna's lips parted slightly, his astonishment plain. Both devas stared at Indra as if unable to process his request.
What? Them? Again?
Memories of their last endeavor resurfaced—the grueling effort they had put forth to temporarily manage the affairs of Svarga. Back then, they had worked tirelessly, finally stabilizing the kingdom before handing it back to Indra.
And now?
The offerings and prayers were restored, Svarga had been reclaimed, and divine power was in abundance. Why should they shoulder this burden again?
Yet, they were here.
The yajana had summoned them, bound by divine law and duty. This, too, was part of the Dharma.
Reluctance flashed across their faces, but slowly, they raised their right hands, pale and luminous, palms open as sacred light radiated forth. The brilliance descended upon Indra like a gentle wave of divine energy.
"Thata astu!"
"Thata astu!"
The voices of Vayu and Varuna intertwined, echoing like ripples in a still lake. Their words reverberated through the grand palace, lingering in the air until they reached Indra's ears.
Their expressions were an intricate tapestry of resignation, reverence, and frustration.
Indra's face remained solemn, his composure unshaken, but within, he brimmed with satisfaction. He was careful to mask his delight, holding back a victorious grin.
With an air of feigned seriousness, he straightened and met their gazes, his voice firm yet laced with subtle amusement.
"You are finally here." He gestured toward the space before him. "Sit down."
Indra rose slowly, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He walked around the sacrificial fire, the glow of the flames casting shifting shadows on his white robes, and approached the two deities. With a gentle pat on their shoulders, he gestured for them to sit.
Vayu and Varuna knelt gracefully, settling cross-legged on the plush red carpet beside the fire. Their gazes met briefly, a shared confusion evident in their eyes.
Why was the King of Svarga embarking on another round of ascetic tapasya?
Here's the corrected and refined version of your passage:
As they pondered in silence, Indra approached and seated himself beside them. A flicker of light danced in his palm, and in an instant, a golden plate materialized. Neatly stacked upon it were soft, yellow, sweet laddos, their delicate aroma filling the air with warmth and sweetness.
"???"
Vayu and Varuna exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowing as they took in the peculiar scene before them.
Indra tilted his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Tell me, do you know how mortals would eat these laddos if their hands could not bend?"
The question lingered in the air—light as a breeze, yet strangely heavy.
The two devas turned their gaze to the plate. It shimmered faintly with a golden glow, and the laddos radiated a honeyed sweetness that stirred their appetites.
No divine powers. No bending of hands.
Their minds raced.
For them, the task was simple—summon divine winds, control flowing waters, or employ any number of supernatural abilities to consume the laddos. But to imitate mortals, bound by such limitations? That was the challenge.
Vāyu furrowed his brow, raising his right hand to pluck one of the laddoos. He held it gingerly between his fingers, preparing to guide it toward his lips with the gentlest pull of air.
"Only your hands," Indra's voice cut in—calm, amused, and firm as a closed gate. "No divine powers. Nothing else."
Vāyu froze, laddoo poised mid-air. His frown deepened.
If their hands could not bend…
Varuṇa's expression darkened in tandem. Mortals with such restrictions had only one choice: to stretch their necks awkwardly toward the food. He mimed the motion, leaning forward, chin first, attempting to bridge the gap between his lips and the plate.
Futile. The distance refused to shrink. No matter how far he strained, the food remained just out of reach.
"No," Vāyu muttered, withdrawing his hand with a frustrated sigh. "If they cannot bend their arms, it's impossible. Mortals wouldn't be able to eat at all."
Varuṇa nodded slowly, his voice matching the weight of the moment. "They wouldn't even taste a crumb. Not without help."
Their verdict was clear.
Indra, however, remained silent. His calm, knowing smile lingered as if he held the answer to a question neither of them could fathom.
Indra's smile widened, his expression calm yet filled with an unspoken warmth. He lowered his head slightly, leaning forward as his right hand reached for a sweet laddo from the golden plate. With deliberate grace, he picked up the delicacy, careful not to make any unnecessary movements, and brought it directly to Vayu's lips.
Vayu's eyes widened in shock. He froze, staring blankly at the laddo hovering before him.
At that moment, it was as if a thunderbolt had struck him, splitting his thoughts wide open. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.
So that's it!
"Family!" Vayu murmured, his voice trembling. His expression sharpened, his gaze focused with newfound understanding.
Beside him, Varuṇa's eyes remained fixed on the laddoo. His expression was unreadable—a still lake beneath which deep thoughts stirred. And then, the meaning began to dawn on him.
"We are family," Varuṇa echoed, his voice low yet unwavering.
Vāyu's solemn gaze did not falter. He spoke with calm conviction, his words carrying the unmistakable weight of revelation. "Among mortals… even if one cannot bend their hands, they can still eat. Because family is there to help them."
Indra's smile deepened, quiet and satisfied. Slowly, he placed the laddoo back onto the golden plate, his movements unhurried, each gesture as serene as flowing nectar.
"Exactly," Indra said softly.
He rose from his seat, turning his back to the two deities as his expression grew pensive. A sigh escaped his lips, heavy with the weight of responsibility.
"Now, Hayagriva, Madhu, and Kaitambha lurk in the shadows," he began, his tone grave. "They are blessed with immense power, granted by the Lord Brahma Himself. Their strength is formidable, they even dared to target the Vedas. But now, as they have failed, we don't know what treacherous schemes they are weaving."
His voice carried through the chamber, steady and resolute. "I am the King of Svarga."
Indra's words were like a declaration, his voice echoing with the authority of his station.
"It is my unshirkable duty to protect Svarga, to safeguard the Devas, to shield our families, and to preserve peace across the three realms. This is not a responsibility I can ignore."
His tone deepened further, filled with determination.
"The only way I can stand against these three asuras is to practice asceticism, to seek divine boons that will empower me to protect all that we hold dear. Yet, I cannot neglect the responsibility of bringing rain to the mortal world."
Indra's shoulders straightened, his figure radiating strength.
"I refuse to abandon the dharma. I will not betray the expectations of the Devs, nor will I forsake this sacred duty."
With a sudden movement, Indra turned to face Vayu and Varuna. His gaze locked onto theirs, his eyes blazing with resolve.
"Vayu, Varuna," he said, his voice quiet yet commanding. "My brothers."
The words hung in the air, a mixture of trust and expectation.
Vayu and Varuna stood abruptly, their expressions mirroring Indra's seriousness. A shared sense of purpose ignited in their eyes as they stared at him unwaveringly, their postures strong and ready.
The room fell silent, the weight of Indra's words settling over them like a mantle. It was clear—this was not just an exchange of words but the birth of a shared mission.
---
Chapter 92 Thunder King's Retreat
"Brother!" Vayu called, lifting his head high. His eyes burned with determination as his deep voice carried across the space.
"Brother!" Varuna's usual calm was shattered. His voice, sonorous and commanding, echoed as he locked eyes with Indra.
"Vayu! Varuna!"
Indra stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. His gaze softened, shifting first to Vayu's youthful, fiery expression, then to Varuna's composed and serene demeanor.
"The next crucial task—the duty of bringing rain to the mortal realm—rests with you."
His voice was steady, yet brimming with authority. Slowly, Indra withdrew his hands and extended them before him, palms upward. Lightning flickered across his fingers, twisting and coiling like serpents.
Boom!
Boom!
Thunder exploded from his hands, rolling through the skies of Svarga.
Vayu and Varuna gasped, their eyes widening in awe as two radiant maces materialized before them—a sky-blue mace, shimmering with black clouds, and a dark-red mace, crackling with thunde clouds.
"Vṛṣṭi...Duṣkarṣa..." Vayu murmured, his voice tinged with wonder.
The brothers reached out solemnly, each grasping a divine artifact. As their hands met the maces, the sound of thunder erupted once more, reverberating across the skies and shaking the earth below.
Indra smiled faintly, the weight of his role evident in his expression. Relief mingled with pride as he watched his younger brothers accept their burdens.
Vayu's excitement was palpable; his breaths came sharp and quick like gusts of wind. Varuna, in contrast, held his mace with a calm determination, his face resolute as if already bracing for the monumental responsibility ahead.
"I will begin my penance now," Indra said, tilting his head back, his tone solemn but resolute. "Svarga will depend on you."
"Do not worry, Brother," Vayu declared, his voice steady despite his excitement.
"We will ensure your return is met with triumph," Varuna added, his tone low but unwavering.
The three exchanged a lingering gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This was not merely a farewell; it was a vow. They were entrusting each other with their lives, their duties, and the future of the world.
Indra turned slowly, his broad, muscular back the last thing visible as he prepared to depart.
"Where will you go to perform your penance?!"
Vayu's voice rang out, cutting through the heavy silence.
Both Vayu and Varuna stood frozen, their eyes locked on Indra's tall, imposing figure. Their expressions wavered between anticipation and fear as if drawing strength from the sight of their elder brother.
"Kailash," Indra replied, his voice low but resonant, his head tilting slightly forward.
Kailash... Kailash... Kailash...
The name echoed like a divine mantra, and almost immediately, a low rumble of thunder emanated from his body. Lightning crackled wildly around him as dense clouds and swirling mists engulfed him in an instant.
When the mist dissipated, Indra was gone.
Vayu and Varuna stepped out of the palace, their eyes fixed on the heavens. They gazed at the vast, distant sky, their hearts heavy with respect and determination.
Go and perform penance for the Devas!
As expected of Big Brother!
Even in departure, he had not forgotten to bestow upon them the precious artifacts of rainfall. Compassionate, wise, and endlessly generous—that was their brother.
High above the sea of clouds, Indra shrugged his shoulders and brought a hand to his face. A mischievous grin broke free, and before he could stop himself, he burst out laughing.
"Haha! Hmm… Hahaha!" He chuckled deeply, his voice rolling like thunder through the skies.
"Those three fools in Patalaloka aren't to be underestimated. If I stayed back and waited in Svarga, I'd have been defeated sooner or later. Better to retreat now—call it a tactical escape out of respect for their boons!"
His laughter continued as the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. "I can finally leave Svarga!"
His mood lightened further, and the corners of his mouth curled upward. Even when he managed to stop laughing, his lips stayed pressed in an amused smirk.
The wide seas for diving, the skies for soaring—it's my time to move freely once more.
Kailash awaited him, the sacred mountain where no force could hinder his penance.
He thought back to recent events, a faint sigh escaping his lips. His strength had dwindled, much of it consumed by past exertions. Back in Vaikuntha, he had expended a significant amount of his energy cursing Narada. That meddling muni's misdeeds had forced his hand, and even a minor curse had drained him.
"Ah, Narada," Indra muttered, shaking his head. "That curse was justified—he violated dharma and fled the battlefield. Still, my strength shouldn't have been so easily taxed."
The realization weighed on him. His penance had been insufficient. His strength, though formidable, was no longer at its peak.
"I must try to do a harder penance at Kailash," he resolved. "There's no room for complacency!"
Determined, Indra moved like the wind, streaking across the skies in a flash. As he soared, he looked down upon the majestic Mandala Mountain and the vast, sprawling expanse of the four continents—east, west, north, and south.
Kailash awaits, he thought, his resolve solidifying.
The skies stretched infinitely before him, and Indra felt a thrill of freedom, as though the universe itself was urging him onward.
At this time, the seven continents were gradually returning to life.
From high above, the land below unfolded like a vivid tapestry. Majestic mountains stretched toward the sky, green trees swayed gently in the wind, and even the wild weeds seemed to hum with vitality. Life thrived everywhere—humans, beasts, Yakshas, Rakshasas, and countless other creatures lived and flourished, filling the land with an energy that was impossible to ignore.
Indra gazed down at this vibrant scene, his heart stirring with a rare sense of awe.
"The earth... it has almost fully recovered," he murmured.
A sudden thought crossed his mind, a memory that brought a faint smile to his lips.
"It's been a long time since I've seen Devi Bhumi," he mused. "Her dance... it was mesmerizing."
Nostalgia flickered in his chest. Perhaps when there's time, I'll visit her once more, he thought. With that, he steadied himself, his form shimmering as he shot forward, slicing through space like a radiant streak of light.
Whoosh!
Breaking through layers of space, Indra emerged as a breathtaking sight. Before him stood a range of snow-capped peaks, their grandeur unmatched.
The mountains rose with an otherworldly majesty, their presence exuding a divine, unshakable sanctity. The sunlight, brilliant though it was, seemed pale compared to the radiance emanating from the mountains themselves. The pure and flawless glow of the peaks was unparalleled.
This was no ordinary place.
The abode of Shiva. A sacred haven for ascetics. Kailash.
"Finally," Indra said softly as he descended, his feet touching the snow-dusted ground.
Standing at the base of the holy mountains, he pressed his hands together in a gesture of reverence, bowing slightly.
"Om Namah Shivaya!"
"Om Shree Matre Namah."
His voice was calm, steady, and imbued with quiet reverence. A faint smile graced his lips as he straightened, his resolve unshaken, and stepped forward. As Indra advanced, the very air seemed to bow to his presence, yet it carried a foreboding weight—a testament to the sanctity of the place he was approaching.
The once-pristine atmosphere began to shift, the skies dimming as if the heavens themselves were veiling their light in deference. The earth beneath his feet changed, transforming from lush, green life to barren desolation. The ground cracked and crumbled into a wasteland where jagged, dry trees clawed skyward, reminiscent of Asuras' hands reaching for salvation. Fires smoldered in scattered patches, their embers consuming the earth with an eerie hunger.
A blanket of bone-white ash coated the ground, whispering tales of both destruction and renewal. This was no ordinary place—this was the Mahashmashana, the great cremation ground, where life and death intertwined in an eternal cycle. Here, bodies were burned and returned to the elements, a sacred act reminding all of life's impermanence.
Amid the ashes, figures moved with purpose and devotion. Their bodies were smeared with sacred ash, their faces serene and detached from worldly concerns. These were Shiva's chosen—the Aghoris and ascetics who renounced all attachments, embracing the ultimate truth of existence. Their chants resonated with the power of cosmic understanding, carrying the essence of Shiva's eternal dance of creation and destruction.
Indra's gaze softened as he observed them. With a slight nod of respect, he acknowledged their presence, for even the King of the Devas recognized the divinity in their devotion.
Without breaking his stride, he moved through the surreal and haunting landscape. His expression remained composed, his focus unwavering. The weight of the place could unnerve even the mightiest of beings, yet Indra pressed on.
Beyond this sacred ground, where life dissolved into ash, the ultimate destination awaited.
Kailash.
With measured, steady steps, Indra moved forward. His gaze sharpened as the atmosphere shifted subtly around him. Passing through a veil of space, he reappeared in an instant, now standing at the base of the towering, snow-capped mountains.
Kailash!
Indra tilted his head upward slightly, clasping his hands together in reverence.
The domain of Shiva.
Though the sanctity of the place demanded respect, Indra had not come here to meet the great ascetic. His purpose was clear—he sought penance, not an audience. There was no need to climb further up the sacred peak.
Resolute, he turned toward a nearby jungle nestled beside the mountains.
The forest was a vision of natural beauty. Towering trees stretched toward the heavens, their canopies thick and vibrant, interwoven with patches of green grass and colorful wildflowers. The air was alive with a serene energy, a fitting retreat for seekers of enlightenment.
As Indra ventured deeper into the jungle, his keen eyes caught sight of figures clad in dark red robes—Rishis engaged in their rigorous ascetic practices.
"Pranam King of Svarga!"
"Pranam Indra!"
The Rishis, startled by his unexpected arrival, quickly recovered and bowed, their hands pressed together in reverence. Their voices carried a mix of awe and surprise.
"Pranam Rishis!" Indra replied with a gentle smile, returning the gesture of respect. His tone was warm, devoid of arrogance.
"I seek Rishi Dadhichi," he continued. "Is he present?"
The Rishis exchanged brief glances, still somewhat taken aback by the humility of the celestial king. This was not the domineering figure they had heard about in the legends. Instead, he exuded wisdom and grace—an Indra more akin to the noble hero sung of in the Vedas.
"Yes, Rishi Dadhichi is here," one of them finally said, gesturing further into the ashram.
Indra inclined his head in gratitude. "Thank you."
This was an ashram, a revered sanctuary where Shiva's devoted Rishis dedicated themselves to ascetic practices. And Rishi Dadhichi, the esteemed leader of this group, was exactly the person Indra sought.
With a respectful salute, Indra continued on his way, his steps unhurried but purposeful.
His goal was clear: to request Sage Dadhichi's guidance in finding an ideal spot for his penance. A large, flat rock in an open area would suffice—preferably one bathed in sunlight. Indra's lips curled into a faint smile as he imagined it.
A perfect place to hone my spirit under the watchful gaze of Kailashpatinath.
---
Chapter 93 Same Same but Different
Following Rishi's guidance, Indra walked with grace and poise through the sacred mountains, each step a deliberate echo of his divine presence. The path twisted and turned, leading him through verdant groves, where the whisper of leaves and the distant chants of ascetics resonated like an eternal hymn.
After some time, he reached the edge of the path, where the vibrant greenery gave way to the icy grandeur of the mountain peak. A crisp, refreshing breeze swept across his face, carrying with it a faint, otherworldly scent of sacredness.
Before him stretched a flat expanse of land, blanketed in pristine frost that glistened like uncut diamonds under the sun. But what immediately seized his attention was the towering Mahadeva Shivalingam at the summit. The Shivling was colossal, rising high into the heavens, its black stone surface smooth yet alive with a radiant, ethereal energy. At its core, the Shivling seemed to pulse with an inner light, snow-white and pure, illuminating the entire mountaintop with a divine aura.
It was not merely a stone. It was Shiva Himself—unmanifest yet omnipresent.
The Shivling's presence dominated the summit, its vast and rounded base rooted firmly in the earth, symbolizing the cosmic foundation. Above, the heavens stretched endlessly, and in the distance, the mountains rolled in waves like a celestial ocean frozen in time. Clouds drifted in lazy swirls, their edges tinged with golden light, as though bowing to the sacred pillar.
The voices of Rishis filled the air, their reverent chants resonating with the rhythm of the cosmos. Their praises to the Divine echoed, their words imbued with devotion:
"Namah Shivaya! Hara Hara Mahadeva!"
Indra stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the Shivling. Though he had visited this sacred peak many times, the sight of Shiva's earthly form never failed to humble him. His heart swelled with awe and reverence, a sense of insignificance washing over him in the presence of the infinite.
"Truly magnificent," he thought, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his emotions. "As expected of Mahadeva."
With a deep breath, Indra folded his hands in anjali mudra and bowed his head in silent prayer. His voice, low and filled with veneration, murmured softly:
"Om Namah Shivaya."
But as his prayer ended, a thought stirred in his mind. His expression shifted slightly, his eyes gleaming with purpose. His lips curled into a faint smile as he recalled something.
"I still have plenty of marigolds left from the fire sacrifice," he mused to himself.
Straightening, Indra extended his hand, summoning his divine power. A soft hum reverberated through the air as a dense, dark cloud materialized above him, swirling ominously. Though small—no larger than a modest dwelling—it carried with it the weight of divine intent, heavy with latent energy.
Without hesitation, the cloud unleashed a torrential downpour, its waters cascading over the Shivling in a purifying flood. The sudden deluge startled the gathered Rishis, who turned their wide eyes toward the heavens.
The rain washed over the sacred Shivalingam, carrying away any impurities from the surface and renewing its sanctity. The droplets sparkled like liquid jewels as they struck the Shivling, flowing down its massive form and pooling at its base.
As their gazes swept over the scene, they spotted Indra standing in reverent devotion, his hands clasped together in praise.
"Indra?" one Rishi murmured, his voice thick with surprise.
"Indra…" another repeated, still taken aback.
"Indra, son of Aditi…" came the murmured chorus, each voice laced with reverence and awe.
Their eyes widened, their mouths slightly agape, as they took in the sight of Indra, offering his tribute to the mighty Shivling. The scene before them was nothing short of breathtaking, as the torrential rain poured relentlessly, drenching the sacred pillar.
The next moment, Indra raised his hands, and as if by command, the clouds parted, the storm dissipated, and the sky cleared in an instant. Brilliant rays of light descended from above, like beams from the heavens themselves, shining down upon the Shivling. The soft glow illuminated the pillar in divine radiance.
As the light cascaded down, beautiful marigolds began to fall, drifting gently through the air like blossoms scattered by Devi herself. The flowers were not just limited to the Shivalinga; they fell on the Rishis as well, blanketing them in a delicate, fragrant rain.
The Rishis reached out eagerly, their hands catching the marigolds as they fell. Smiles spread across their faces, and their hearts swelled with emotion. It was a sight to behold—a beautiful sacrifice indeed.
"He is indeed the wise and noble Indra, as the Vedas proclaim!" whispered Rishi Atri, his voice tinged with admiration.
"Pranam, Rishis!" Indra greeted warmly, a gracious smile spreading across his lips.
Once the praise had echoed through the air, Indra began walking toward the Rishis, who rose in unison to greet him. Among them, Rishi Dadhichi stepped forward, his hands clasped together in a respectful salute.
A look of deep reverence filled the faces of all present as they stood in honor.
"Pranam, O King of Svarga!" Dadhichi said, his voice resonating with warmth and reverence.
"Pranama Rishi Dadhichi!" Indra responded, his smile widening as he nodded to the other Rishis around him.
As the murmurs of respect settled, Rishi Dadhichi, still with his hands pressed together, tilted his head slightly and, with a curious glint in his eyes, asked, "The King of Svarga comes to Kailasha this time... is it to seek an audience with Mahadeva?"
Indra's smile deepened, and his lips parted slightly to speak. "I am here to continue my penance," he said, his voice calm yet firm. "Recently, three Asuras have gained boons and even dare to sneak inside Brahma Loka. I have come to meditate, to strengthen myself so that I may protect the Devas."
He rolled his eyes slightly, almost as if dismissing the thought, before adding a more personal, unspoken truth within himself. Some things are better left unsaid...
Rishi Dadhichi leaned forward, his serene eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and insight. "If you were not the King of Svarga, Indra, you would surely walk among the ranks of the greatest Rishis."
Indra chuckled, his lips curling into a faint smile as he shook his head. "You flatter me, Dadhichi. I am no Rishi. My connection with the Vedas pales before that of the Rishis, who have realized the ultimate truth and have taken part in the creation of the Vedas. I tread a different path—not of renunciation or solitary contemplation, but of action. My dharma binds me to Svarga, to safeguard the mortal world."
Dadhichi's expression softened, admiration evident in his gaze. "And yet, Indra, your deeds are not so far removed from the path of a Rishi. You protect dharma with a fervor that even sages might envy. Consider this: the path of a Rishi is not a single trail but a confluence of many. You can be a rishi while being the king of Svarga."
"There are Raja Rishis, kings who embodied both worldly leadership and spiritual wisdom. Think of King Satyavrata, also known as Manu, who was not only a ruler but also someone who saved mankind by building a boat during the great flood. Then, there are Devarishis like Narada, who traverse both divine and mortal realms, spreading the wisdom of the Vedas and stirring the wheels of destiny when needed."
He paused, gesturing with one hand as if to illustrate a vast expanse. "The Maharishis gain their greatness through immense Tapasya and unshakable resolve. Rishi Bhrigu, for example, peered into the essence of stars themselves and created Bhrigu Samhita, an astrological (Jyotish) classic, while Kashyapa fathered entire realms of beings. And, at the pinnacle, we have the Brahmarishis, like Vashistha and Vishwamitra, who have touched Brahman, the ultimate reality, through their boundless wisdom and penance."
Indra's expression turned reflective, his posture relaxing as he absorbed Dadhichi's words. "It is true, Dadhichi, that the titles of Rishis are great. But I believe it is not the title that grants greatness, but the dharma and karma one upholds and the service one renders to the world. The Rishi seeks wisdom and understanding; the king serves the people and maintains the laws of dharma; the warrior upholds justice and protects the weak; the merchant spreads prosperity; the teacher imparts knowledge; and the farmer nurtures life itself."
Dadhichi nodded slowly, his voice reverent. "That is wisdom, Indra. It is not surprising to hear such depth from the protector of Bhuloka and Svarga."
For a moment, Indra's gaze turned distant, a shadow of longing crossing his face. "And yet, I wonder, Rishi Dadhichi, what it might be like to tread the path of a Rishi. To set aside the weight of the throne of Svarga, the endless battles, and the politics of triloka, and find peace in the stillness of ascetic life. Perhaps that life is not so distant from me after all."
Dadhichi's faint smile returned, filled with knowing. "Ah, Indra, the desire for stillness is not foreign to even the most restless of hearts. But remember this—whether you walk the path of a Rishi or remain King of Svarga, the essence of greatness lies in the balance of your actions and your intent. If you choose to serve dharma, no path is lesser than the other."
Indra looked at Dadhichi for a long moment, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right, Dadhichi. And yet, it's comforting to know that even kings and warriors can learn something from the wisdom of the Rishis."
Indra smiled, offering no reply, though in his mind, he couldn't help but entertain a thought. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to resign from being King of Svarga and become a Rishi. That might be a more peaceful life.
The weight of his responsibilities as King of Svarga—constantly battling, forging iron, and dealing with the relentless King Asura—left him yearning for a change. Being a Rishi sounds so much more comfortable, he mused. At least I wouldn't have to endure the constant beatings from King Asura.
"Please, prepare a place for me to continue penance," Indra said, breaking his reverie.
Rishi Dadhichi nodded immediately, leading the way. "If the King of Svarga seeks to meditate, it would be best to do so near the Shivalinga—right down here. What do you think?"
Indra's gaze lingered on the towering black Shivalinga. All yajanas and prayers to the Shivalinga require watering, he thought. Not to mention the daily dousing of water... It's not exactly the peaceful environment I had in mind.
"I came here to sleep," he muttered inwardly, but instead, he blinked, feigning ignorance. "My method of penance ... a bit unusual. It's not really suited for places with too many people. Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter?"
Rishi Dadhichi, surprised by Indra's request, blinked in confusion. Does the King of Svarga want to engage in some harsh ascetic practices to hasten his strength for the Devas?
"Of course!" Dadhichi responded quickly, eager to accommodate the King.
As they walked together, the peaceful meditation forest surrounding them, Indra's dissatisfaction grew. "This place isn't right," he muttered. "No, no, it's not what I need. I need a place with larger, flatter rocks. Much bigger rocks!" he insisted, his voice firm as his gaze scanned the surroundings.
…
At the top of Kailash, the air was cool and serene, with the shade of tall trees casting gentle shadows over the land. Shiva sat upon a large rock, his black hair cascading down his back like a dark waterfall. He wore a leopard-skin garment, and in one hand, he casually held a trident. His posture was relaxed, with one leg bent at the knee, while the other leg dangled carelessly over the side of the rock.
Parvati stood beside him, her gaze soft and tranquil, watching her lover with deep, contented affection, as if savoring the peaceful moment.
A smile, as pure as the cool spring waters flowing down the mountain streams, spread across Shiva's face. It was the kind of smile that could soften even the hardest hearts. The heavens seemed to echo his joy as if the very sky was laughing with him.
And then, Nandi, the sacred cow, tilted her head in curiosity, flapping her ears and staring up at the sky with wide eyes.
"Nandi, get a stone," Shiva said with a warm smile.
Nandi, eager to please, quickly stood and bounded off, her hooves clicking against the stone ground as she sprinted into the lush forest in search of a stone. Not long after, she returned with the ghoul clan—a group of Shiva's devoted servants—following closely behind. They carried an assortment of stones, some large, others small, some smooth, others jagged, each one chosen with laughter and joy.
Nandi, carrying several stones in her hands, rushed forward to present them to Shiva, a smile plastered across her face.
Shiva's smile never faded as he extended his hand to receive a small stone from Nandi. With a flick of his fingers, the stone vanished into thin air.
Meanwhile, Rishi Dadhichi was sweating profusely. His search for a suitable place for Indra's ascetic practice had led them to several locations within the silent retreat forest, but none seemed to meet the King of Svarga's exacting standards.
"I didn't expect the King of Svarga to have such high requirements for his place of meditation," Dadhichi muttered to himself, a little out of breath. "We've searched everywhere, but there's no place that feels quite right."
"Let's continue," Indra replied, his tone resolute.
"Very well!" Dadhichi agreed, shaking his head with a resigned smile.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, a faint white mist drifted through the air, curling around the edges of the trees. The mist seemed to beckon them forward, parting like a curtain to reveal a stunning sight: a massive, flat boulder, its surface smooth and perfect for meditation, sitting quietly amidst the green.
"The perfect place," Indra murmured, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
---
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