Chapter 131 Rajya Abhishek: Rise of Agni
"What?!" Agni blinked at the dice before him, surprise flickering in his flame-bright eyes.
Five.
A tie.
Rishi Brihaspati glanced from Agni to Soma, his gaze sharp yet measured. Soma, adorned in radiant silver armor that caught the light like moonbeams on sacred water, stood with quiet grace and composure. Agni, robed in deep crimson, emanated raw power and unwavering authority. He was the embodiment of fire contained within form.
Between the two, Brihaspati felt a subtle leaning toward Agni. Yet as Devaguru, mentor of the gods, he was bound to impartiality as if it were a sacred oath etched into his very being.
"You will both roll again," he said, his voice calm and steady.
Soma stepped forward, the silver hem of his dhoti whispering softly across the marble. He cupped the dice in both hands, held them to his chest in silent reverence, and offered a prayer too soft for mortal ears. Then, with a swift flick of his wrists, the dice scattered across the temple floor, clattering in their arc of fate.
Five.
Again.
Soma blinked, startled. Then a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. "Still five! I must be blessed tonight."
Surya leaned in with a flicker of surprise, glancing at Soma. "That's rare luck," he murmured.
Rāhu, floating nearby with his serpentine tail coiled midair, narrowed his eyes at the result. "The dice have four faces, numbered zero to three. A total of six would be needed to beat that... Looks like I'll have to spit the moon out faster next time I swallow it."
"I've got good fortune today," Soma said, pleased.
Then Agni stepped forward. Without ceremony, he grabbed the dice and tossed them with a casual flick, clearly resigned to fate.
"It's Soma's win," he muttered, almost disinterested.
Clack!
The dice rolled, bounced, spun, and then landed.
Three.
And another three.
Six points.
Silence.
Soma's eyes widened, disbelieving. The silver light that cloaked his form dimmed ever so slightly, like the waning moon after a full form.
Rāhu blinked, then tilted his head. "Well, now."
All around, the devas froze, including Surya, the Devas of Wind and Water, and even the gathered Rishis. Eyes locked on the dice.
"Incredible," Surya whispered, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked toward Agni with admiration. "He mastered even the dice."
"Well done, Agni," Vāyu said with a grin, raising his hand in salute.
"Hmph." Varuṇa gave a short nod, though a slight smirk betrayed his approval.
Soma stood still, fists clenched slightly at his sides. So close... he thought, frustrated. Just one point... just one.
But it was done.
"It's decided," Brihaspati said, voice resolute. "Agni shall receive this celestial charge. The throne of Svarga will not remain empty."
He approached Agni, who remained standing, half-stunned. Rishi placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come. Ascend."
Guided by the Devaguru, Agni stepped forward slowly. The devas parted like waves before him. His red cloak swayed behind him with each step up the golden stairs. The throne of Svarga gleamed ahead, bathed in celestial light.
"Agni," Brihaspati said solemnly, "Feel the weight of this power. Until Indra returns, Svarga rests in your hands."
"I understand," Agni replied, voice low but steady.
He turned with purpose. His cloak flared behind him as he spun, left hand on his hip, right hand lowering to brace his descent. He sat firmly, regally, on the golden throne, his presence radiating heat and command.
At that very moment, a spark stirred in Agni's mind. It was an impulse, instinctive and raw. He reached out with his will and touched the throne of Svarga.
BOOM.
The skies of Svarga shifted.
A red light burst forth from the temple of the Svargaloka King, sweeping across the sky like a wave of fire. The clouds parted, stained crimson, as if the heavens were draped in glowing scales of flame.
From the throne, the divine power of Svarga surged. It rushed into Agni's body, violent and majestic, filling him with sacred force.
The Rajya Abhishek had begun.
Agni's breath caught. His body trembled as the energy flooded through him. Scarlet light erupted from his skin, blazing outward like wildfire. Deep inside him, faint wisps of black and grey smoke twisted and lifted, the residue of exhaustion and doubt, burned away by the holy fire now awakening in his core.
The entire temple blazed with living flame.
"He's done it!"
"Agni has received the blessing of the throne of Svarga!"
The assembled Rishis cried out with awe. Arms spread wide, they lifted their voices in ancient verses of Pranāma:
"Born of two mothers, O Agni, thou art pure, With wisdom divine, thy glory doth endure. Strengthened by ghee, thy flames ascend high, Thy smoke is thy banner that touches the sky."
Rishi Brihaspati completed the verse, lowering his arms and clasping his hands together in reverence.
"Pranām Devraja Agni."
All the devas joined in, hands together, heads bowed.
"Pranām Svarga raja Agni."
Even Soma, though his heart churned with quiet resentment, had no choice. Surrounded by gods, Rishis, and tradition, he dipped his head stiffly, forcing the words from his lips.
"Pranām…Devraja Agni."
And in that moment, Agni's eyes opened.
Twin flames burned in his irises, fierce and resolute. He pressed one hand against the golden throne beneath him. The divine force was still coursing through his veins, lighting every fiber of his being ablaze.
His flames, once wild, now danced with divine control.
It felt… good.
Agni smiled, not with arrogance, but with quiet satisfaction. It was the kind of smile that came when destiny nodded in your favor.
Then came the sound of footsteps, echoing across the marble expanse of the Rajya Sabha. Each step rippled through the silence, commanding attention without force.
From the sanctum's shadowed archway, a figure appeared. The movement was neither rushed nor reluctant. It was calm, certain, and unshakable, like the turning of an age.
In his hand, he bore a staff of dark candana wood, worn smooth by time and tapas. His beard flowed like the Sarasvatī in monsoon, white as ash yet alive with silent vigor. His eyes, deep as the night between kalpas, held a gravity untouched by age. He wore robes the color of dusk, grey as the sky before Agni's first flame.
A hush fell like a veil across the devas. Even the flames adorning the pillars seemed to quiet themselves in reverence.
Rishi Kashyapa.
The Progenitor. He was husband to Aditi and Diti, to Vinatā, Krodhā, Tāmrā, and the other daughters of Dakṣa Prajāpati. Through these ancient matriarchs, the vast tapestry of existence came into being. From his unions were born the many races of creation: Devas and Asuras, Nāgas and Gandharvas, Garuḍas, Daityas, Dānavas, Yakṣas, and Piśācas. They filled the heavens, the earth, the underworld, and the oceans that stretched between.
He was not just a Rishi. He was Kaśyapa, revered as Maharṣi, Prajāpati, and one of the seven great seers. A father to both gods and demons, he sat on no throne, yet his descendants shaped the destinies of all realms. His bloodline carried the might of kings, the insight of sages, and the fury of the storm.
He was not the king of Svarga, Pātāla, or Bhūloka.
He was the reason kings existed at all.
"F-Father?!" Surya faltered, his radiant eyes wide. The solar god, whose light did not blink before demons or darkness, stood now like a startled child. "What are you doing here…?"
Other voices followed, soft, disbelieving:
"Rishi Kashyapa…"
"…Father…"
But the ancient Rishi said nothing.
His silence was heavier than speech and the will of Niyati itself, who had sent him here.
A storm older than the stars was about to rise. And Kaśyapa, the Father of Beings, had come to witness it.
…
The devas straightened instinctively as their eyes turned toward the approaching sage.
Even Soma, still smarting from his loss, took two steps back and bowed his head, palms joined in respect."Pranām to Mahārṣi Kaśyapa."
"Pranām to Rishi Kaśyapa," echoed Rishi Bṛhaspati with calm reverence.
Kaśyapa gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. He returned the gesture with quiet dignity." Pranām, Devaguru," he murmured to Bṛhaspati, before turning toward the dais.
His gaze, distant yet sharp, settled upon Agni.
Agni hesitated. The weight of that look was heavier than fire. Slowly, he rose from the throne. He pressed his palms together and lowered his head."Father."
A soft sigh escaped Kaśyapa's lips.
His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he closed his eyes. He had not intended to descend into Svarga so soon. But midway through his journey, Brahmā had summoned him to Satyaloka. What Brahmā told him was clear, uncomfortably so.
He was to watch over his son.
As a direct creation of Brahmā, Kaśyapa could not disobey. He bowed, not in submission, but in bitter resignation.
Now, with a voice low and unshakable, Kaśyapa addressed the court.
"Children of Devaloka… Brahmadev has warned me. The Asuras are going to rise once more."
A murmur rippled through the hall. "A new Asura King has emerged."
His gaze sharpened.
"You know him, as you knew Hiraṇyākṣa, as you knew Hiranyakashipu and Puloman. He, too, is born of my blood."
A beat.
"Vajranga."
BOOM.
The sound didn't come from the sky, but it might as well have. It rang in the devas' ears like a silent thunderclap. The name alone sent a jolt through their cores.
Gasps passed from one god to another. Surya and Vāyu exchanged wary looks. Varuṇa narrowed his eyes.
So soon?A new Asura King already? Has it even been thirty years? Did… did he roll the dice too?!
But Kaśyapa hadn't finished.
"I hope you all..."
"I know what you're about to say, Father!" Agni cut in suddenly, voice loud, expression fierce with fire. "Vajranga is a traitor to the balance. You want me to bury him just like Jīmbha and Bedha!"
"Ah?!" Kaśyapa blinked, momentarily thrown. "That's not what I meant! I meant… You may not be able to defeat him!"
A hush.
Agni chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I see now." His tone had shifted. It was still bold, but clearer and more grounded. "Brahmadev sent you here not to fight for us, but because He feared we might lose."
His eyes burned with clarity, not just divine fire, but fierce resolve.
"But this time, I am ready. I've studied every failure, every mistake. I have turned each loss into wisdom. I have drafted a plan that will not falter."
He stepped down from the dais, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a river of flame.
Step.Step.Step.
Each one rang with certainty.
He raised his hand, summoning the attention of all assembled.
"Come forth," Agni called. "Hear the plan that will lead us to victory."
---
Chapter 132 Flames of War
Agni descended the marble steps of the Svarga throne. Each footfall rang with quiet purpose. His gaze was fixed, his presence sharp and disciplined. In his eyes danced the embers of war.
Once, he had led the Deva legions to the gates of Pātāla. There, at the threshold of the underworld, he had faced the tyrant Hiraṇyakaśipu. With a single, blazing strike, he had brought the Asura king to his knees.
Or so he had believed.
The blow had struck true, yet the victory had been hollow. Agni had failed to notice the shield of invincibility coiled around the tyrant, a gift granted by Brahmadev. His flames had not even scorched the enemy.
He had no time to retreat. And worse still, he had been taken hostage.
From that day forward, the Deva of Fire abandoned the arrogance of raw power. He no longer fought for glory. Instead, he became a student of war. Not as a clash of might, but as a careful balance of loss and advantage. Every humiliation became a lesson. Every defeat turned into a doctrine.
In the years that followed, he had watched Indra rise alone, reclaiming Svarga piece by piece. Yet every time the Devas tried to push deeper, to strike into the heart of Pātāla, they met only ruin. Their armies disappeared. Their victories turned to dust. The underworld swallowed their ambitions whole.
Even when the Devas held the upper hand, Indra had never once ordered a full invasion. Not when their forces outnumbered the Asuras. Not even when victory seemed within reach.
Agni had understood what others could not.
The Asuras were not just residents of Pātāla. They were born of it. That realm was not their battlefield. It was their stronghold, their sanctuary, their origin. Though they shared the bloodline of Kashyapa, their spirit diverged. The Devas had ascended to Svarga, choosing harmony and law. The Asuras had descended, embracing chaos, pride, and oath-bound fury.
No force from Bhūloka, Svarga, or even Maharloka could hope to defeat them there.
Pātāla was not a battlefield. It was a womb.
And war should never be waged in the arms of one's enemy's mother.
Yet if they could be drawn out, if they could be lured into Antariksha, far from their strength...
Agni exhaled slowly. A thin, knowing smile curved his lips.
"My plan is simple," he said. His voice was even, but the weight behind it turned every head.
"Vāyu, send the declaration of war. Tell Vajranga to meet us in Antariksha."
Some of the Devas exchanged uncertain glances, but Agni raised a hand and continued.
"We will feign defeat. We will make it convincing. Then we retreat to Svarga. If they pursue us, we strike. Three hundred thousand Devas against one hundred thousand Asuras."
He closed his fingers into a fist, as if he already held the enemy commander in his grasp.
"Overwhelming force. Coordinated strike. Total victory."
Silence followed. Then, slowly, heads began to nod.
Surya crossed his arms. His brows were drawn, his voice measured. "This is the same commander who led the Gandharvas in the First War. I expected no less."
"Well said," Vāyu added. There was respect in his tone. "A plan with weight."
Even Rishi Brihaspati offered a faint, approving glance. The doubt in his eyes gave way to contemplation.
"Perhaps Agni truly does possess more than heat and fury."
But just as momentum began to shift, a sharp crack echoed through the court. Kaśyapa's wooden staff struck the floor like thunder. The sound rippled outward, silencing the room.
"A clever plan, son," said Kashyapa, his voice calm, yet cold as stone. "But it is meaningless."
The warmth vanished. All turned to face the ancient sage.
His eyes moved slowly across the gathered court, then settled on Agni.
"Vajranga holds a boon from Brahmadev. As long as he sets foot within the lands of Svarga, no Deva and no army shall defeat him."
Gasps rose from the gathered Devas. Even Brihaspati, who had stood proud moments earlier, now faltered, lips parting in disbelief. The foundation of Agni's strategy, so meticulously laid, had been undermined in a single sentence.
"You must abandon this plan of war," Kashyapa said, quieter now. "I came to warn you, not to mock you. The time seems apt, but this plan… will only lead to your ruin."
A heavy silence blanketed the court.
Then came the thunder.
"No!"
Agni's voice struck like a war drum, loud and resolute, shattering the paralysis that gripped the room. His right hand shot into the air, flames crackling faintly around his fingers. His stance was firm, unshaken. The light in his eyes blazed brighter than ever.
Every Deva turned toward him. The atmosphere pulsed with tension, the air thick with divine energy. Whether it was pride, defiance, or raw faith, Agni's conviction held the court like a blaze held its hearth.
The hearts of the Devas pounded like war drums, each beat accelerating with the intensity of the moment. A storm of anticipation swelled in their chests.
"So this is the blessing of Vajranga," Surya murmured, awe and unease in his voice.
"Very well," Agni declared, his voice like steel striking flint. "Then we'll face him in the Antariksha. I'll ensure he never sets foot in Svarga."
With a calm breath, Agni raised his hand. In an instant, a flame roared to life in his palm, the sacred fire, flickering and alive, its light dancing across his fierce, unwavering gaze.
There was no uncertainty in him.
"There are many Rishis in Svarga," Agni continued, his tone firm yet unyielding, a flicker of fire in his eyes. "Keep them here, honor them with banquets, continue Yajnas for the victory of Devas… and when the time comes, they might be willing to help us."
A few Devas exchanged uneasy glances, their brows furrowed.
Agni's gaze hardened, his resolve unwavering. "If Vajranga dares attempt to breach Svarga, even then, I will call upon the Rishis to block his way. Should they refuse..." His words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken threat. "If I am not killed in battle, then as the King of Svarga will be imprisoned, and all the yajna agnis extinguished. No rituals. No Yajnas. Let them choose."
His fingers curled, as if already clutching the threads of fate itself. "And when the tide of war shifts in our favor, I will face Vajranga in single combat. I possess the strength now. I will bring him down."
His voice softened for a moment, a quiet reverence entering his words. "It is time we turned the tide."
But then, a calm yet powerful voice interrupted, drawing the attention of all present.
"Why all this conflict?" Rishi Kaśyapa stepped forward, his eyes bearing the weight of eons, his voice imbued with centuries of wisdom. "Let me speak to Vajranga. There may still be a way to find peace."
Agni raised his chin, his eyes glowing not with arrogance, but with the quiet intensity of one who had long endured in silence.
"Because this time..." His voice cracked through the stillness like a thunderclap. "I want to win, without the help of my elder brother."
The words rang out in the temple, reverberating like a sacred chant, each echo carrying a message that was both defiant and resolute: Win once… win once… win once…
The chamber stirred. Devas clenched their fists. Others straightened their backs, shoulders squared, jaws set. A new fire kindled in the room, not one of destruction, but of shared resolve.
Yes. They wanted that too.
To win, not survive, not retreat, not bargain. To stand victorious.
"Vāyu!" Agni's voice rang out like a war horn. "By the command of Svarga, declare war on Pātāla. Declare war on the Asuras. Declare war on Vajranga, King of the Patalaloka!"
"Understood!" Vāyu replied, his voice booming with newfound determination. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the temple, wind gathering at his heels.
Agni turned then to the sages who stood silently, caught in the wake of his declaration. He clasped his hands together, his voice formal.
"Teacher. Father." His eyes moved from Brihaspati to Kaśyapa. "The Rishis must remain in Svarga. A war is about to begin. Please… aid the Devas by not letting them return to Maharloka."
He didn't need to say the rest.
Those Rishis would be vital when the final blow was struck.
...
Patala Loka.
Asura King's Palace, Mahāpatala Garden.
Within the garden, vibrant blossoms bloomed in every shade imaginable, their fragrances blending into an intoxicating perfume that lingered in the cool night air. Above them, stars shimmered softly like scattered candles in the vast sky, their glow casting a gentle radiance over the petals below.
Ordinarily, no stars shone in the depths of Pātāla.But thanks to Maya, master of illusion among the Asuras, this garden defied natural law. Here, beneath the illusion-woven dome, the stars could be seen.
Nestled in Vajranga's lap, Valani leaned against him with a smile that sparkled brighter than the stars above. Her fingers, delicate and pale, traced slow circles over her bare abdomen.
There was a light in her eyes, one not born from magic or starlight, but from something deeper. Something real.
Her voice was soft, a tender joy in every syllable. "Husband," she whispered, "I bring you good news."
A playful smile tugged at her lips. "There's life stirring within me. I'm certain, I'm with child."
Vajranga froze, disbelief flashing in his eyes. His breath caught.
"I'm going to be a father?" His voice was barely a whisper, then louder, full of wonder. "I'm going to be a father!"
With a roar of laughter, he lifted her into the air, spinning her once before pulling her back into his embrace, his arms wrapped tight with all the warmth of his heart.
His joy radiated like firelight, and for a moment, the war, the politics, the cosmic tensions, none of it mattered.
Valani giggled in his arms, her fingers teasingly trailing along his chest. "A son born of you… born of the one who will soon ascend as Lord of the Tri Lokas."
She leaned in, her voice sultry. "Name him. Let his name echo throughout the cosmos."
Vajranga blinked, caught off guard by the question. He glanced around the garden as though the flowers might answer. His gaze slowly lifted to the sky.
Above them, the stars swam in the endless black, a sea of glittering light in a realm not meant for it. Their brilliance was spellbinding… distant yet intimate.
And then a single word came to him, like a whisper from the cosmos.
"Tāraka."
He said it aloud, once… twice… again.
Tāraka… Tāraka…
The name echoed through the garden like a mantra. As though nature itself had heard, a wind began to stir, petals rising in a spiral dance, flower branches swaying in rhythm.
Boom!
A thunderclap split the silence of the garden. A streak of brilliant white light tore across the sky, crashing down toward the temple with the force of a comet.
Vajranga's eyes snapped upward. The warmth in them vanished, replaced by steel. He rose to his feet in a single motion, his instincts roaring louder than the thunder.
That light… it wasn't just a celestial phenomenon. He could feel it. The chakras of his brothers and mortal enemies.
The Devas were coming.
---
Chapter 133 Flaw of Fire
Asura King's Palace
The heavy stillness of the patala was shattered as King Vajranga suddenly turned on his heel, his crimson cloak flaring behind him like wings of wrath. Seated sideways on his obsidian throne, one leg draped over the armrest, he cast a sharp, sidelong glance down at the figure approaching from the shadowed archways.
"Vāyu," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a drawn blade. "What brings a deva like you to the depths of Pātāla? Have you come to declare war?"
His tone was light, but the weight behind it was anything but.
Vāyu stood calmly before him, wind-tousled hair unmoving in the stifling air of the patala raja's court. He did not flinch, nor did his gaze waver. He had faced Asura Kings before in battle and walked away unscathed. This was routine now.
"I come bearing the will of Devraj Agni," he declared, his voice firm and resonant. "By his command, I issue a formal declaration of war."
"Agni?" Vajranga's brow creased, his head tilting as he let the name roll off his tongue. "I thought Indra still wore the crown of Svarga?"
His voice turned thoughtful, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity and something darker beneath.
He remembered well the stories that had trickled down even into Pātāla during his years of penance of Indra's wrath, of Hiranyakashipu and Hayagrīva falling to his thunderous might, of the divine armor said to have absorbed Hālāhala poison itself. A deva who was the reason for the death of three different Asura kings. An opponent worthy of fear.
And now… Agni?
Vajranga frowned, the name stirring uncertainty.
Vāyu crossed his arms with a small smirk. "You don't need to know the politics of Svarga, only this: Agni rules now. And he does not take threats lightly. Five hundred years from now, our armies will meet in Antariksha. The battlefield will be the starfield, and the skies will echo with our valor."
"Five hundred years?" Vajranga echoed, eyes narrowing.
Vāyu nodded once, crisp and sure. "Agni has chosen well. By then, the new generation of our warriors will be ready to fight Asuras. Our numbers will swell, five hundred thousand strong. And your kind…" He paused, letting the implication land. "Well, even Asuras need time to recover from defeat."
He turned slightly, wind already coiling around his feet. "Prepare yourself. This time, Devas will not wait for Asuras' attack on Svarga, but conquer patala once and for all."
Vajraṅga stood slowly, his expression unreadable. His gaze swept across the stone chamber, lingering on the battle-scarred faces of his generals, Viprachitti, Shumbha, and Puloman, each one forged in fire, each one more than a match for any Deva not named Indra.
"If Indra no longer stands among them…" Vajranga murmured, eyes gleaming with a dangerous certainty, "Then the Svarga and Bhuloka are ripe for the taking."
Wind tore through the chamber as Vāyu vanished, leaving silence in his wake.
The king turned to his right. "Vipracitti," he said, his voice cold as iron. "Go. Find out what's happening in Svarga."
He sat back down, lounging once more, but the fire behind his eyes had been lit.
The countdown to war had begun.
...
In Svarga.
The golden halls of Amarāvatī shimmered beneath the celestial twilight, bathed in the soft glow of ever-burning lamps. Agni, newly adorned in his coronation robes, woven with threads of flame and light, stood among garlands of fragrant flowers and trails of incense. His smile was radiant, his gestures warm, as he welcomed the visiting Rishis with due reverence.
But as the sages gathered their staffs and malas, their robes rustling with intent to depart, Agni raised a brow.
"Ah? Leaving so soon?" he asked with theatrical surprise. "That will not do. Not today."
With a clap that echoed like a spark catching wood, he called out, "Bring forth the purest offerings!"
His voice surged with flame-born energy. "Present the freshest honey, the thickest milk, juice from sugarcane sweet as soma, ghee churned by hand, and soft cheese made beneath full-moon rites!"
He turned, now fully enraptured by his own vision. "Construct a vast golden pavilion, eight hundred yojanas across! Let its columns reflect the order of the cosmos. Adorn it with murals of Narasimha's triumph, dharma victorious over arrogance."
"Perfume the air with sandal and lotus, spread silks spun with moon-thread and golden fiber. Prepare the vedi, square and precise, in accordance with the Śrauta sutras and dig a lake beside it, its waters untouched, lotus-laden, fit for post-yajña purification."
Agni laughed, arms open wide in joy. "You've only just arrived, and already you leave? Come now, honored Rishis—this is not merely my coronation. This is a sacred metamorphosis of Svarga. Your presence sanctifies Svarga!"
With a dramatic turn, his flame-tipped cloak fanned behind him.
"Gandharavas! Apsaras!" he called. "Let the air be filled with rhythm and movement!"
Instantly, the hall came alive with the celestial melody of vinās, flutes, and drums in divine cadence. Apsaras entered in step, their forms radiant and graceful, anklets chiming, silk garments flowing like river currents. Their dances, born of nāṭya and bhāva, told silent stories of cosmic balance.
Fragrances of jasmine and camphor filled the space, carried by a breeze that smelled faintly of sacred smoke.
The Ṛṣis stood still, their gaze unreadable.
Agni watched them with a glimmer of pride. But among them, not all were at ease.
Bṛhaspati's brow furrowed, and Kashyapa crossed his arms, his expression measured. This... this teetered on the edge of indulgence.
To host the Rishis was indeed a sacred obligation, but even in Svarga, one must honor the principle of tapas; indulgence such as this risked tarnishing what should have been austere.
Satyaloka, the Realm of Creation.
Above all worlds, where time flows like sacred mantras through the ether, Brahmā sat upon his lotus throne, his four faces gazing into every direction of existence. The cosmos bloomed around him like a great wheel—, spokes lit with dharma, karma, and consequence.
One face turned toward Svarga, where celestial music echoed and silks shimmered in celebration. The laughter of Devatas, the offerings, the dancers—it was beautiful.
And yet…
Brahmā's expression tightened, his thoughts casting shadows across the lotus petals.
"Agni..." he murmured, voice deep as the primordial Vedas. "He means well, but indulgence is a subtle enemy. The Rishis are meant to uphold the sacred way of life rooted in tapas, brahmacarya, and dharma. If they remain in Svarga for too long… their tapasya will be diluted. Even the svarga cannot absolve their karma."
A quiet string plucked in the space beside him. Sarasvatī sat poised, her vīṇā resting across her lap like moonlight captured in form.
She spoke without looking at him.
"And who decides what is wasted?"
Her tone was calm, but behind it rang the sharpness of thought unclouded by sentiment.
Brahmā turned slightly, his face now aligned with hers. "It is not judgment. It is order. The four āśramas are there for a reason. Brahmacarya, gṛhastha, vānaprastha, sannyāsa. These are the stages through which wisdom is earned, not bought by comfort."
Sarasvatī met his gaze, serene and unflinching.
"Then let this be their lesson. If a Rishi loses his path because of honey and ghee, was his austerity ever real? True jñāna must stand unmoved, whether in silence or song."
Brahmā's many eyes reflected thought and hesitation. "You speak as though trial is inevitable."
"Everything is," she replied. "Even creation itself is a test of maya. To see what can last through illusion."
Her hand moved across the vīṇā once more, and the air responded with a note so pure it seemed to cleanse the space between them.
"Let them stay," she said softly. "Let them dance, eat, and wander. The wise will remember who they are. And those who forget, well, perhaps they were only pretending to remember in the first place."
Brahmā closed his eyes briefly. A slow nod followed.
Far below, in the golden halls of Amravati, a Rishi paused mid-step, staff in hand, suddenly unsure of why he had been in such a hurry to leave.
Kailāśa.
Snow fell gently upon the sacred mountain, each flake a whisper from the heavens, vanishing before it could rest. Serene and eternal Silence reigned.
Seated on a weathered boulder at the peak of the world, Shiva remained still, one leg folded beneath him, the other dangling like a lotus root in a quiet stream. His body bore the ash of penance, and the crescent moon nestled in his hair glowed faintly against the twilight.
Then, slowly and wordlessly, he opened his eyes.
Dark, fathomless, and steady, they reflected not the sky above but the realm of Svarga far below. Within their depths shimmered the image of King Agni, crowned in fire, and the Ṛṣis surrounded by celebration.
Shiva's gaze hardened, lips pressed in quiet scrutiny. A divine stillness stirred in the air around him.
"Shiv," came her voice, soft as the waters of Gaṅgā flowing over stone. "The bhojana is ready. Let us eat together."
He turned his head.
Parvati approached, her smile as warm and radiant as sunrise upon snow. In her delicate hands, pale as moonlight, she carried a golden platter bearing bowls of divine delicacies. Each dish shimmered faintly, exuding aromas that seemed to sing through the air rather than merely scent it.
Her graceful steps left no trace in the snow, though her presence brought a gentle warmth to the mountaintop.
Behind her, the sacred bull Nandi plodded along, eyes wide and fixed on the food. His mouth twitched with restrained longing, and his hooves crunched the ice as he followed with dutiful hunger.
"Bhojana…" Nandi muttered under his breath, barely managing not to drool.
Shiva's expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched, not quite a smile and not quite a frown, but something weightless in between.
Yet even as Parvati drew near, his gaze flickered again toward Svarga, clouded by the memory of what he had seen.
At Kshira Sāgara - Vaikuntha.
The sea shimmered like a mirror of silver silk. Above it, resting upon the coiled form of Ananta Shesha, lay Lord Vishnu in a repose so serene it seemed carved from time itself.
His eyes, though half-lidded, gleamed with awareness.
A solemn expression touched his divine features, but slowly, it faded, replaced by a gentle smile, warm and steady as sunlight through clouds.
"Fortunately," Viṣṇu murmured, "this is only the beginning. The Svarga has not yet stirred its wrath."
He exhaled, a breath that calmed storms. But his gaze lingered on the unfolding spectacle in Svarga, where Agni ruled in flame and feast.
"So reckless…" he said, more to himself than anyone else. "So eager to burn bright."
He leaned his head back against the coils of Ananta, the celestial serpent, and stared upwards toward the vault of the sky.
"Even eternity has moments that feel long," he whispered, a smile tinged with weariness.
His eyes drifted.
"Indra," Vishnu murmured, the name trailing from his lips like a lost prayer, "where are you?"
He gazed toward Bhūloka, the realm of men, where dust and fate walked hand in hand, waiting for their king.
---
Brahmacarya (Student stage) – Celibacy, discipline, study of the Vedas.
Gṛhastha (Householder stage) – Marriage, family, social responsibility.
Vānaprastha (Forest-dweller stage) – Gradual withdrawal from worldly life, spiritual contemplation.
Sannyāsa (Renunciate stage) – Complete renunciation, pursuit of moksha.
Jñāna (ज्ञान) is a Sanskrit term that broadly translates to knowledge.
---
Enjoyed the chapter? You can read 40+ more chapters now on P*treon/Marioni.
