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.
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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.
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