Chapter 125 Indra, Durvasa, and the Devas’ Fate
"It's Rishi Durvasa again!" Indra's heart nearly stopped.
The last time that revered Rishi had arrived in Amarāvati, the grand capital of Svarga, he had reduced the Devas to beggars over a minor slight. Now, his furious roar thundered across Svargaloka, shaking the very foundations of Mount Meru, the celestial axis of the universe. If his wrath had already reached such heights, what kind of curse would he unleash this time?
Indra sucked in a sharp breath, his mind racing through all thirty-six strategies of escape.
"It's better to take advantage of the situation."
The conclusion was obvious. If he couldn't afford to face Durvasa, why not leave before trouble arrived? Clapping his hands, Indra withdrew his divine radiance, dimming the golden glow around him. He needed to disappear quickly.
"Kailāsa?" Indra mused. "No, I've visited far too many times. It's a fine place for respite, certainly, although the resounding echoes of Mahādeva's Ḍamaru often shake the very skies. Besides, it feels a little different from Satyaloka, the realm of Brahmā. Perhaps this time, Bhūloka, the mortal world, would offer a more intriguing retreat."
A knowing smirk curved his lips.
"The human realm. Perfect."
If he stayed among mortals, he could take a well-deserved break and, at the same time, immerse himself in the illusions of Māyā as described in the Vedas. It would be an enlightening experience, no doubt.
Besides, if he recalled correctly, the classic stories always followed the same pattern. Whenever a powerful ascetic descended to the mortal world, beautiful women would be drawn to him, offering shelter and service.
"Maybe a mortal beauty will be captivated by my ascetic charm, sheltering me from the winds and rains."
The thought pleased him immensely. Yes, this was a foolproof plan.
Just as he was about to slip away, a streak of golden light tore across the sky and descended swiftly. Indra squinted against the brilliance. A silhouette emerged from the glow.
Garuda.
Indra recognized him immediately.
"Pranāma, Indra!" Garuda folded his hands in greeting, his tone unusually urgent. "Rishi Durvasa is at the gates of the King of Svarga's temple. Surya, Agni, and Vāyu are already there. King of Svarga, what are your orders?"
Indra stiffened. "They're all stuck there?"
This was bad. If Durvasa had come only for him, he could have slipped away, hidden in some village, and at worst, endured a curse for a few centuries.
But now, an entire assembly of Devas was trapped under Durvasa's wrath.
"What a mess."
There was no escaping this. If he abandoned them now, it would be a disaster.
With a long sigh, Indra ran a hand through his hair.
"Seems like I'll have to go face Rishi Durvasa once again."
His gaze flickered back to Garuda. "But tell me, why are you here?"
For ages, Garuda had kept his distance from Indra, avoiding unnecessary entanglements. And now, at all times, he had come running to him?
Indra raised an eyebrow. "That's a first."
Garuda's expression darkened. "Rishi Durvasa's curses are too powerful. If he unleashes his wrath again, my elder brother Aruṇa might be caught in the storm. I can't let that happen."
There was a trace of fear in his voice.
Aruṇa, the charioteer of Surya, played a crucial role in guiding the celestial chariot. If Durvasa issued another curse like the last one, one that stripped the Devas of their divine radiance, Aruṇa would be in grave danger.
"Indra, we need to act before it's too late."
Indra let out a slow breath and rubbed his forehead. "No helping it, then. Let's go see what this is about."
Garuda gave a slight nod, then unfurled his mighty wings and shot into the sky.
Indra, his form now bathed in a radiant white glow, adjusted his simple yet regal garments and soared upward, divine energy crackling around him.
Boom. Boom.
The two streaked through the heavens like meteors, piercing the clouds in an instant. Within moments, they descended before the Temple of the King of Svarga, their arrival marked by golden light touching the earth.
The Devas turned, their gazes locking onto the descending figures. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, gasps of relief rippled through the gathered crowd.
"The King of Svarga!"
"Indra has arrived!"
Murmurs spread like wildfire. Faces that had been filled with unease now lit up with hope, and several Devas quickly moved toward Indra's side.
Among the gathered sages, many clasped their hands in greeting, their voices ringing in unison.
"Pranāma Indradev!"
"Pranāma Devraja!"
Indra remained silent. His sharp, star-like gaze was fixed on the figure standing at the heart of the commotion, a sage whose robes billowed and whose presence crackled with fury.
Rishi Durvasa.
A name that evoked both reverence and dread. He was a seer whose penance burned hotter than the midday sun, and whose wrath could unmake fortunes and bring kingdoms to ruin. Even the elements feared him. Lightning halted mid-air, the wind held its breath, and the very earth beneath Svarga tightened its grip.
His voice shattered the stillness. "Indra! You, King of Svarga, stand before me, yet these statues of Adharmic beings remain upright within these sacred halls!"
The force of his words rolled through the assembly like a wave, rattling the temple pillars. The Devas shifted uneasily. Some bowed their heads, while others exchanged nervous glances, uncertain of their king's response.
Indra did not move. His golden eyes showed not the slightest hesitation.
"And?" His voice was crisp and unimpressed.
Durvasa's expression twisted. His breath grew heavy, and his ascetic frame trembled, not from weakness, but from the sheer intensity of the fire that burned within him.
"You insolent!"
A golden radiance flared in his hand.
Indra's eyes caught it instantly. A kamaṇḍalu.
The sacred vessel held the waters of the Ganges, both blessed and feared. One curse whispered into those waters could unravel entire realms, strip Devas of their brilliance, and doom dynasties beyond redemption.
"I shall curse you!" Durvasa roared, his fingers beginning to dip toward the shimmering surface.
Boom.
Before he could complete the act, an unyielding grip seized his wrist.
The gathered Devas gasped. The temple itself seemed to freeze.
Indra's fingers held him firm, as unshaken and solid as iron. His eyes, cold and brilliant like the Vajra, met Durvasa's blazing gaze without the slightest flicker.
His voice rang out, steady and absolute, like the rhythm of cosmic law.
"Enough."
With a single motion, Indra cast Durvasa's arm aside. The force was powerful, yet precise and measured. A tense silence followed, and the weight of the moment pressed down on every soul present.
The Devas could hardly believe their eyes. Indra had just defied Rishi Durvasa.
To stand against a sage of such terrible power was unheard of. The onlookers stared in disbelief, their gazes darting between the King of Svarga and the raging ascetic.
Indra remained composed. His voice, calm and edged with authority, echoed through the temple.
"You wish to curse me. Then answer this: what kind of line of dharma have I crossed?"
His question sliced through the tension like a blade. For the first time since his arrival, Rishi Durvasa faltered.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Thunder rumbled through the skies, echoing with divine fury.
"You dare to defile Svarga with these vile Asura statues?"
Rishi Durvasa, his tattered robes rising with divine energy, stood trembling in rage. His breathing was labored. His gaze remained locked on Indra, as though he were staring at a murderer who had taken his kin.
Indra gave a soft chuckle. It was low and deliberate. Though neither loud nor mocking, the sound scraped against Durvasa's pride like a whetstone dragging across tempered steel.
Then, with deliberate ease, he turned.
His golden gaze flickered with something unreadable as he strode toward the three towering statues. With a single, fluid motion, he lifted his hand and gestured toward them.
"Familiar, aren't they?" His voice carried effortlessly through the temple, calm yet edged with authority. "Hiranyaksha. Hiranyakashipu. Hayagriva. You call them sinners, enemies of Dharma."
His fingers trailed lazily over the cold stone as he continued.
"Hiranyaksha, blinded by arrogance, believed brute strength could bend the cosmos to his will."
"Hiranyakashipu, faithless and tyrannical, was a fool who thought devotion could be erased by fear."
"Hayagriva, cunning and insatiable in his thirst for knowledge, was so consumed by ambition that he dared to hoard the Vedas themselves."
He let his hand fall back to his side before turning to face the sage once more. His smirk deepened.
"Do you know why I placed them here?"
Durvasa's lips pressed into a hard line. His silence betrayed his anger.
Indra's eyes gleamed. "These are not trophies, Rishi. They are reminders, warnings, a lesson for the Devas. A glimpse into what becomes of those who let their vices consume them."
Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, he tilted his head and added with a thoughtful tone, "But perhaps you have a point. Three statues might be excessive."
A quiet stillness fell over the hall.
Indra then clapped his hands together, his voice laced with amusement. "Let us remove two of them. Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu, perhaps. And in their place..."
He took a step forward, his gaze sharp and unwavering like the Vajra itself.
"We shall carve a statue of you, Rishi Durvasa. Would that not be far more fitting?"
His words, spoken with the lightness of jest, struck like divine thunder.
Durvasa's rage exploded like a storm. "You!"
His body trembled with fury, breath coming in sharp bursts. The air around him crackled with pressure as his wrath pressed down upon the temple.
"You dare compare me to those wicked Asuras? You would place my name beside theirs?"
His hand shot forward, trembling with barely restrained power, pointing straight at Indra as if to strike him down where he stood.
Indra?
He merely smiled. A knowing, serene expression settled on his face, as if he were calmly observing a storm he had summoned with his own words.
"And if I am?"
Their gazes clashed. An invisible force rippled between them. The temple shook. The heavens, for a moment, held their breath.
Then Indra spoke again. His voice was smooth like river stone and unyielding like the mountains.
"All beings carry light and shadow within them, Rishi."
There was no mockery in his tone now. Only unwavering truth.
"Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu defied Dharma, yes. But even they had virtues, too. Strength, conviction, and the will to carve their path. In some ways," Indra continued, his gaze darkening, "Hiranyaksha did not seek war for pleasure. He fought for his people, for his kind. Hiranyakashipu did not wish to destroy without purpose. He wanted to create a world where his Asura kin would never bow to anyone, not even to the Devas."
Silence fell. The gathered Devas barely dared to breathe.
A storm was coming.
---
Chapter 126 Pride and Dharma
"Hiranyaksha still retains the bonds of his clan. And Hiranyakashipu, too, holds deep affection for his subjects."
Indra's voice cut through the air, sharp and deliberate, carrying the weight of ancient authority.
"Even if their darker tendencies consume them, even if they rebel against Dharma, they cannot completely erase their inherent goodness."
He paused. The silence that followed was thick, almost ceremonial. His gaze hardened.
"But what about you?"
His voice dropped, low and resonant, like the roll of a thunderous drum.
Boom.
His eyes flared, sharp as a scimitar, gleaming with a force that could slice through clouds. That gaze struck Rishi Durvasa directly, unflinching. The energy between them crackled, poised like a storm moments before it breaks.
The surrounding Rishis stared, eyes wide in disbelief. For ages, no one had dared challenge Durvasa's wrath. No one had spoken against him with such conviction. This was more than a confrontation. It was something historic.
But Indra remained undeterred.
"Back when Devi Ganga was still young, dwelling in the Brahmaloka, she saw you bathing. She smiled."
His voice now held the weight of storm clouds ready to burst.
"And you cursed her. You condemned her to fall into the mortal world. To become a river."
He raised an eyebrow, his tone sharp and accusatory.
"Is that how it went?"
Rishi Durvasa's breath hitched. His fists clenched, shaking with fury.
"You speak as if her actions were innocent, Indra!" he spat. "She mocked my sacred ritual. She laughed at my humiliation!"
Indra sneered, his voice cool and cutting.
"She was a child, Durvasa. Pure. Unaware of the world's rites and laws. She did not understand your pride, or the offense you took in it."
He stepped closer. The distance between them, now symbolic, felt charged with divine pressure.
"And yet you cast your curse without a moment's hesitation. You bound her, Devi Ganga, to the mortal world. You condemned her to flow endlessly as a river."
His voice became a blade, centuries of divine rule behind every syllable.
"Even the Asuras would not have acted with such cruelty."
The air grew heavy, saturated with the weight of judgment. Then Indra's gaze flicked downward.
Toward the kamaṇḍalu in Durvasa's hand.
A hush fell over the assembly.
Boom.
Indra's eyes locked on the vessel.
"The water inside..." His tone was quiet now, almost soft, but no less commanding. "It must be from the Ganga. From the very Devi you cursed."
Murmurs rippled among the Devas. All eyes were on Durvasa now.
Indra stepped forward, the tempo of his words slow and deliberate.
"The Ganga has blessed the mortal realm. She has cleansed sins, quenched the flames of sorrow, and carried prayers to the Svarga. I have no doubt you've bathed in her waters yourself, drunk from the very blessings you once condemned."
His words rang out like a bell in a silent temple.
"So tell me, Rishi Durvasa, when you sip from those sacred waters, do you not feel even a flicker of guilt?"
He tilted his head slightly, his voice unwavering.
"Or do you take pride in your curse? Do you truly believe the world is better for what you did?"
A pause. The silence was almost reverent now.
"Or perhaps," Indra continued, his tone now laced with quiet venom, "you see yourself as the cause of Ganga's grace. The one who gave the world her blessings through your punishment."
He let the words linger.
"Everything in this world moves according to karma. Cause and effect, entwined through time."
His gaze sharpened once more.
"Sometimes an unrighteous cause may yield a righteous result. But that does not make the cause righteous."
The gathered Rishis exchanged uneasy glances.
Each of them, at some point in their long lives, had bathed in the sacred waters of Devi Ganga, washed clean of karmic burdens, sanctified by her grace. This matter was no simple clash of right and wrong. It was layered, steeped in sacred history, and few among them dared to take sides.
Even the Devas looked shaken.
"Big brother truly knows how to hold a court," Surya murmured, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he exhaled slowly.
"Like a sacred bull set loose on the battlefield of thought. Once he charges, there's no stopping him," Agni said, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
Handsome, he mused, shaking his head, still reeling from Indra's calm and precision. That's it. I'm studying true Vedic śāstrārtha.
"As expected of our big brother," Vayu muttered, awe threading through his voice. "Sharp of tongue, steady in stance. He debates like a seasoned rishi, not a king."
Even Varuna, ever stern and reserved, allowed a rare smile to touch his lips.
But at the center of it all, Rishi Durvasa stood trembling. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest heaving like a storm barely held back.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto Indra with the wild ferocity of a cornered lion.
"Enough!" he thundered.
His voice cracked across the heavens, raw and divine in its force.
"You speak with the recklessness of one untethered to Shastra. Your words stray from Dharma and reek of pride."
A heavy silence fell upon Svarga. Even the wind seemed to recoil.
Durvasa's face burned crimson. His hair bristled with divine fury. With a guttural grunt, he raised his kamaṇḍalu, poised to unleash judgment.
But then… he paused.
His gaze dropped to the water inside, the sacred, shimmering essence of Devi Ganga, the very river he had cursed.
A low hum rose from his chest. It was not a growl, but the vibration of unspent tapas. He turned to face Indra once more, his gaze ablaze with righteous fire.
"I have heard enough," he declared, each word deliberate, like mantras released from a storm-wrapped altar.
"You, O wielder of Vajra, have let pride cloud your discernment. You stand defiant before Rishis, scorning the very order that preserves the worlds."
His hand rose, not in wrath, but with the solemnity of a sage invoking cosmic law.
"Indra… Indra… Indra…"
Each utterance echoed with the resonance of invocation, drawn from the fabric of Dharma itself, twisting and binding the air.
And then it came.
A burst of ascetic power, tapas accumulated over yugas, surged upward, luminous and uncontainable. It shot into the heavens like a pillar of purifying fire.
Across Svarga, the skies cracked open with a terrible sound, as if the very vault of the cosmos had been split. Clouds churned in revolt, roiling like an agitated sea. Lightning licked across the firmament in long arcs, tongues of flame dancing like Nāgas summoned by the fury of cosmic order itself.
Far above, in the Brahma-loka, the Creator paused mid-thought. Brahma's expression turned solemn as he and Devi Sarasvati turned their gaze toward Svarga.
"Durvasa has cast a curse," Sarasvati whispered.
Her voice was soft, but it echoed like the toll of a cosmic bell.
Across the still waters of the Kṣīra Sāgara, Vaikuṇṭha remained serene. But above it, the sky had begun to darken.
Lord Vishnu stood at the edge of the celestial sea, watching as thunder rolled through Svarga. Lightning danced in spirals, wild and unrestrained. He exhaled slowly.
"Durvasa has spoken rashly again," he murmured, eyes narrowed. "And this time, Indra did not yield."
From behind him, soft footsteps approached. Lakṣmī joined him, her expression calm yet troubled.
"They both carry fire in their hearts," she said gently. "But neither sees the forest for the flame."
Vishnu's gaze remained fixed on the skies. "Indra speaks the truth, but his pride is sharp. Durvasa defends Dharma, yet his fury clouds its light."
Lakshmi lowered her eyes. "When sages and kings forget compassion, the world suffers. This curse will ripple far beyond Svarga."
Silence fell between them for a moment, long and heavy.
Then Lakshmi looked up at him again, her voice soft. "Will you intervene?"
Vishnu turned slightly. "Not yet. Let the storm pass. Let them see the cost of their choices."
"But if the Triloka must suffer again…" she began.
He nodded. "Then I will carry its burden, as I once did before."
Kailasha.
A tremor passed through the stillness of the sacred mountain. The silence of the snows stirred, not from wind, but from the subtle shift in dharma itself.
Upon his seat of stone and skin, Mahadeva opened his eyes. No wrath, no turmoil stirred within. Only a profound stillness remained. Yet beneath that stillness, there was knowing.
From within the sanctum, Devī Pārvatī stepped into the light. She stood beside her consort, her gaze drawn to the heavens, where the balance trembled.
"He was born of your tapas," she said gently, her tone neither accusing nor imploring. "Durvasa. He carries a spark of your being."
Shiva nodded once, slowly.
"He does," he said. "From my wrath, yes. But wrath unshaped is not destruction. It is only force."
Pārvatī turned toward him, her brows softly drawn.
"Then why let that force run wild? He disrupts the order. He speaks in anger, and his anger burns the innocent."
Shiva's gaze did not shift. It remained fixed on the distant heavens, where Svarga groaned under the weight of Rishi Durvasa's curse.
"Because," he replied, "what appears wild to us may still serve order."
His voice was low and grave, measured like the still breath before the Vedas were first spoken.
"Destruction is not a flaw in creation. It is a function of it. Without dissolution, there is no renewal. Without ruin, no revelation."
Paravati was silent for a moment. The wind stirred her veil as she considered his words.
"But still," she said, "he bears your essence. When he curses, the world recoils. Will he not turn the wheel too far?"
Shiva finally turned to her.
"Even the fiercest fire must find its course. Durvasa acts from dharma, even if he cannot yet see where his fire leads."
He paused.
"I do not restrain him. Not because I approve, but because the world must learn. Even from his fury. Even from pain."
Pārvatī's gaze softened. Yet in her eyes remained a trace of sadness.
"All fire returns to you in the end," she said.
Shiva gave a small nod. "As must all things. But before that, it must burn where it is meant to."
Thunder cracked across Svarga like a celestial war drum.
Boom.
Rishi Durvasa's hand rose, calm and unwavering. His finger extended toward Indra not as a threat, but as a seal of decree.
"By the power of tapas and the sovereignty of Rita," he intoned, his voice echoing through the celestial vault, "I pronounce this: You shall be cast from the throne of Svarga, O Indra."
A stunned hush fell upon the gathered assembly.
The Devas and Rishis instinctively drew back. Disbelief flickered in their eyes, mingled with apprehension and a trace of judgment none dared voice aloud.
Too far. Too sudden. Even for Durvasa.
And yet, no one moved. The words had been spoken. What is declared in the presence of Dharma cannot be undone by whim.
Above them, the clouds swirled as if Nature herself recoiled from the severity of the act. A divine force, shaped by ascetic will, cut through the heavens, unseen and irreversible.
Indra felt it the moment it struck. A shiver passed through his being. The mantle of kingship, the weight of Svarga, trembled upon his shoulders.
So this is how it happens. The fall ordained by Durvasa's wrath?
He exhaled slowly. Then smiled.
"…That's all?"
He raised his gaze, meeting the sage's storm-lit eyes without flinching.
"Hah."
His voice came soft, too soft to carry far, yet each word struck like thunder wrapped in silk.
"Very well. I accept your curse."
"But I will not take back a single syllable. Your vanity eclipses that of Hiranyaksha, and your obstinacy rivals even Hiranyakashipu. Were you born an Asura, Durvasa, the Lord Vishṇu you so revere would have ended your rampage long ago."
A humorless chuckle escaped him.
"To lose Svarga? Let it fall. Let someone else juggle its crown and weight."
Durvasa's nostrils flared. His fists clenched, the sacred kamaṇḍalu trembling in his grasp, its water swirling as if stirred by cosmic unrest.
"You… dare…"
Indra's expression sharpened, taunting and poised.
"Careful, Rishi. If you clench your fists any tighter, I may mistake it for a challenge. Perhaps you seek a proper kṣatriya duel?"
The sky dimmed further, as though the cosmos itself awaited Durvasa's reply.
"INDRA!" came the explosive bellow, cracking like the mountain's core.
But then a voice rang out.
"Enough."
It rose with clarity, measured and ageless.
Rishi Atri stepped forward, a figure of radiance and command. His eyes glowed not with anger, but with the fire of sacred discernment.
"Durvasa," he said, his voice firm as dharma itself, "you are a guardian of austerity, not its weapon."
His tone carried no disrespect. Only truth, ancient and immovable.
"Let not your penance burn that which it was meant to protect."
---
Chapter 127 Judgment of Atri
Rishi Atri's gaze burned, not with wrath, but with the sanctified fire of insight forged across generations of ascetic truth-seekers. This was not a father's anger. It was the fury of a sage who had upheld dharma longer than kingdoms had endured, now awakened by its violation in his own son.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Each step rang through Svarga like thunder rolling across the heavens. The very air seemed to shudder as he advanced, every movement steeped in divine authority.
Rishi Durvasa turned, his expression sharp with surprise. His eyes locked with Atri's.
For a moment, they stood face to face, father and son. Anger burned in both gazes. One shimmered with youthful defiance, the other blazed with the grief of betrayed wisdom.
"Father," Durvasa said, his voice tight.
"Enough," Atri replied. His tone was steady, resonant, and final. It sliced through the celestial stillness like a blade through mist.
Silence fell.
In Atri's mind, memories rose unbidden. Durvasa's endless warnings. His suspicion of Indra. His constant refrain: "Indra's nature does not change. Beneath his humility, arrogance lies waiting."
And yet now… it was Durvasa who had become the very storm he once vowed to quell. The force of imbalance he had condemned in others now raged unchecked within himself.
Boom!
"Durvasa!" Atri roared, his voice imbued with the authority of an elder sage. "You've gone too far this time!"
Durvasa stood firm, the fire in his eyes undimmed. "I act in accordance with Dharma," he said, his tone swift and resolute. "I do not fear correction, even from you."
Atri's fists trembled. "So blind in your zeal, you cannot see the ruin you sow."
The clouds above churned like a great cosmic cauldron. Bright bolts of lightning cracked wildly. Temples shuddered under the weight of divine emotion. Rishis and Devas alike stood frozen, caught between reverence and dread.
"Durvasa!" Atri called out once more, no longer as a father, but as a Rishi invoking judgment.
Durvasa. Durvasa. Durvasa. His name reverberated across the skies, each echo laced with the heavy toll of karmic consequence.
From the ether, a radiant golden Kamandala shimmered into Atri's palm, brimming with Ganga-jala.
He dipped his fingers into the Kamandala.
Splash!
The blessed water cascaded down onto Durvasa, soaking his garments, drenching him in sacred reminder. His robes clung tightly to him, heavy and wet, each drop falling like the echo of unspoken repentance.
Durvasa stood motionless, defiant but silent.
Atri's voice thundered once more.
"You have dishonored the spirit of the Vedas. You have used your tapasya not as a light but as a weapon!"
"You curse in anger, not in discernment. You pass judgment without weighing justice. You burn others with your fury… and that same fire shall one day consume you."
He raised his hand, firm and unwavering.
"I do not revoke your name. I do not undo your deeds. But hear this truth. Rishi Durvasa, the day your anger strays from righteousness, that day, by the fire of your own fury, you shall be reduced to ashes."
Boom.
His words struck the heavens like a divine verdict. Thunder resounded across Svarga. Lightning slithered across the sky like celestial serpents, illuminating the strained faces of every witness.
Boom!
The tremor echoed through the very fabric of the cosmos.
Within the divine chamber of Brahmaloka, Brahma opened his eyes wide, unblinking. His gaze pierced through the veil of realms, locking onto the turbulence unfolding in Svarga.
He said nothing at first.
Beside him, Devi Sarasvati's eyes flickered with a curious glint. Her brows drew together in quiet concern.
"This is unprecedented," she murmured. "Atri… cursing his own son?"
Her voice, though calm, betrayed a rare note of disbelief.
Elsewhere…
In the endless, milk-white stretch of the Kshira Sāgara, Lord Viṣṇu sat upon the coils of Ananta Shesha, his form radiant yet still, like the eye of a storm in the vast churn of creation. A faint luminescence rippled through the divine ocean, reflecting the steady glow of the Sudarśana Cakra rotating at his fingertips.
He watched the vision spinning within Svarga, trembling beneath the weight of a father's curse and a son's defiance.
"Complications," he murmured, the word soft but filled with aeons of foresight.
The silence was gently pierced by a melodic voice that echoed like laughter through the void.
"Nārāyaṇa, Nārāyaṇa!"
Nārada Muni descended with his usual flourish, veena tucked under one arm, the other folded in a hasty gesture of reverence. His smile was bright. A little too bright. His steps were a little too quick.
Viṣṇu glanced sideways, the faintest smirk brushing his lips. "Narada," he said smoothly. "You showed Durvāsa the way to those statues, didn't you? A curious decision, even for you."
Nārada's chuckle came out thin. "He asked politely," he said, inching toward defensiveness. "And with a Rishi like Durvāsa… saying 'no' can be hazardous to one's afterlife. I merely… provided directions. Nothing more."
He clutched his veena a little tighter, eyes darting sideways.
"…Next time, I'm sending him to a dead end."
Before Viṣṇu could answer, the soft rustle of anklets chimed across the waves. Lakṣmī emerged, her steps as fluid as the moonlight over the ocean, eyes calm yet sharp with discernment.
"Nārada," she said gently, though her words bore the weight of wisdom. "Half-truths may pass for harmless wit when spoken to kings… but to someone like Durvāsa, they are fuel for storms. You know this."
Nārada bowed slightly, his mirth fading into sheepish humility. "It wasn't my intention to spark a fire. But it seems I've lit a torch in a field of ghee…"
Viṣṇu exhaled a soft breath, his gaze turning once more toward the trembling Svarga reflected in the Sudarśana.
"The flames have already caught," he said quietly. "And now… the winds of consequence have begun to blow."
Lakṣmī placed a hand upon his, steadying the turn of the cakra with her touch. "Then let fate guide it."
Nārada blinked and glanced at his vīṇā as though it might offer a musical answer.
"And if I may ask, Lord… what should I do next?"
Lakṣmī tilted her head ever so slightly, her voice calm.
"Perhaps," she said, "avoid telling impulsive sages where their fury might find kindling."
Viṣṇu chuckled quietly, but unmistakably.
"A sound recommendation," he said.
Nārada gave a low groan and sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'm off to tell Lord Shiva what happened."
Meanwhile, atop Mount Kailāsa, silence reigned.
The air was crisp and cold yet thick with tension. Lord Śiva sat unmoving, his gaze cast far beyond the horizon, far beyond time.
In his eyes danced neither rage nor peace but the deep weight of foresight.
Parvati, watching him closely, furrowed her brow.
"You've grown quiet, husband. What do you see?"
Shiva spoke slowly, his voice like the rumble of distant mountains.
"Durvasa's curse has torn a thread from the fabric of balance," he said. "What follows will not be mild. The Asuras will rise. Svarga will waver. And the Tri-Loka… will tremble."
Parvati's fingers curled around the edge of her seat, her worry deepening.
"And Atri's curse?" she asked. "It was severe… merciless, even. Will it come to pass?"
Shiva's gaze sharpened, yet his tone remained even.
"Every action has its consequence. Even a Rishi's curse must walk the path it carves. Atri spoke not in blind fury, but in burdened clarity."
He paused. "It is cause and effect. Nothing more. Nothing less."
And with that, Shiva closed his eyes once again, lost in the silence of what must be.
...
Indra Sabha– Svarga
Atri's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. His hands were trembling, not from weakness, but from the storm of emotion raging inside him. The aftershock of the curse still echoed in his spirit. His son, his flesh and blood, had forced his hand… and now the heavens had felt it.
From the marble steps, a familiar voice broke the tension.
"You didn't have to go that far, you know."
It was Indra.
He stepped forward, calm as ever, with his usual half-lidded gaze and that unreadable smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He spared a glance toward Durvasa and then turned back to Atri with a shrug.
"I've never cared much for the throne," Indra said casually. "Let someone else sit on it. I've been cursed before. I'll survive."
He smirked.
"In fact, I might even sleep better without it. Let the next Asura King try his luck. We'll see how long he lasts under the weight of Triloka's Karma."
Rishi Atri's eyes widened. For a moment, the anger boiling within him seemed to subside. Slowly, he lowered his hands, exhaling deeply.
"…Such grace," he murmured. "To forgive even when wronged. You honor the dharma, Indra."
He brought his hands together in a respectful namaskara, head bowed ever so slightly.
"I lost control. My curse was born of fury… but you meet it with detachment. May your name shine forever in Svarga."
But the moment passed, and Atri's eyes turned once again to his son. The fire returned. His voice dropped, cold and commanding.
"Durvāsa."
His voice rang like a temple bell, deep, unwavering, and sharp with judgment. His gaze, steady as iron, bore into his son.
"Apologize. Retract your curse. Offer repentance to the King of Svarga. Do this and I shall alter the curse of mine."
Even divine curses, once spoken, could not be undone. But a Rishi of Atri's caliber could bind it with a conditional boon, soften the sentence if a path of atonement was followed.
Durvasa's eyes, however, blazed with defiance, not with childish petulance, but with that deep, consuming conviction that had always defined him.
His jaw was clenched. "Don't even think about it," he snapped.
The words echoed through the temple like the crack of a thunderclap.
Don't even think about it… Don't even think about it…
Without another word, Durvasa turned sharply on his heel, staff in hand, robes flowing like a storm behind him. He didn't so much as glance at his father. Nor at Indra.
Only silence remained in his wake.
Indra raised an eyebrow.
"Stubborn as ever," he muttered. "You'd need ten bulls to drag that pride out of him."
Atri's breathing turned ragged. His face was pale. His body swayed ever so slightly.
Just then, a soft but concerned voice called out.
"Father? What's happening here?"
Soma emerged, eyes wide with worry. He rushed to Atri's side, steadying him before he could fall.
Right behind him came Brihaspati and Tara, their steps hurried, their expressions confused.
"I was only gone a moment!" Brihaspati exclaimed. "I went to fetch Tara from Bhuloka, and when we returned, Svarga felt like it had been hit by a tidal wave of tapas!"
"What in the world's happened?" Tara asked, gripping her husband's arm.
Indra looked at them both and sighed.
"You missed a family drama," he said flatly. "The kind that will be remembered across eons."
---
A.N.: It is a curious trait of human nature: the very chaos we dread in our own households becomes irresistible when it unfolds in someone else's.
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