The Himalayas, ancient and unforgiving, pierced the heavens. Their snow-covered peaks stood as silent sentinels over the lands below. From these icy titans, the earth cascaded southwards. Great rivers, born from glacial melt, carved deep veins through the plains, giving life to forests teeming with strange and powerful beasts. The land shifted, rising into the rugged plateaus of the south, a sun-scorched expanse of stone and scrub, before finally plunging into the churning chaos of the Great Sea at the continent's sharpened tip.
But the world did not end there.
Beyond the coast, across an expanse of turquoise water, lay an island of impossible splendour: Lanka. It was a jewel set in the ocean - a kingdom built on wealth and power. Gleaming spires of gold and ivory reached for the sun. Lush, emerald fields, fed by tamed rivers, promised endless bounty. Its ports bustled with ships from every corner of the world, their hulls heavy with silks, spices, and precious metals. The air itself hummed with a confident energy, the scent of prosperity carried on the sea breeze. This was Lanka, the unconquered citadel.
This kingdom was ruled by a mighty king. He had a son from a wife now long deceased, but his current queen had given him four more children.
The youngest, a daughter, spent her days lost in fantasy. She would stand on the high balconies, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, and dream of a man not found in Lanka's court. She yearned for a husband who was handsome, yes, but also kind. A man whose hands were for holding her gently, not just for wielding a sword, and whose words were loving.
Her brother, the second youngest, sought no such worldly connections. He found his comfort in stillness and silence. In the great library, surrounded by scrolls of ancient knowledge, he practised control. He sharpened his mind as a warrior sharpens a blade. His ambition was not for the throne his siblings coveted, but for the elevation of his own spirit. He sought power through knowledge, not conquest.
Then there was the third, a son of simple mind but awesome strength. He moved through the world with a permanent gentleness and a constant effort to contain the immense power that coursed through his giant frame. "I… I d-d-d-did not m-m-m-mean to," was a commonly stuttered apology, often following an accidental breakage as his large hands applied too strong a pressure. His stature made him a figure of fear, yet he tried only to be familiar. Ultimately, he was just a gentle soul trapped within a fortress of muscle.
Finally, there was the eldest of the four. He was fire and ambition. He saw Lanka's glory not as a peak, but as a stepping stone. He yearned to forge a new era, to carve his name into the annals of history so deeply it could never be erased. Yet, a shadow always loomed over him. The king's firstborn, his elder half-brother, was the Crown Prince. He was skilled, powerful, and well-liked by the court and the people. He was everything the eldest son was not, and he stood directly in his path.
The eldest prince knew, with a certainty that chilled his blood, that he could not defeat his brother. Not as he was now. He lacked the power, the skill, the reputation, and the favour. This realisation did not birth despair, but resolve. He needed to grow. He needed to find power that no one, not even the Crown Prince, could match. And this power could not be found within the kingdom that was already committed to his opponent.
He found his two younger brothers. To the scholar, he promised lost lore and forgotten magic. To the giant, he offered a path where his strength would be celebrated, not feared. With his brothers at his side, the ambitious prince left the golden shores of Lanka. He embarked on a journey not of conquest, but of becoming. He would return a changed man, or not at all.
The three brothers crossed the Great Sea and set foot on the vast mainland. The world here was different from Lanka. It was raw, untamed, and sprawling with a history that felt older than the mountains themselves. They journeyed from one kingdom to the next, like nomads, in search of power. With each new land, their paths, while parallel, diverged.
The youngest of the trio, the scholar, found his purpose in the serene shade of ancient banyan trees. He was drawn to the aashrams and houses of learning where sages and ascetics debated the nature of existence. He would sit for days, listening, absorbing, and questioning. His thirst was for the endless river of knowledge, and he drank deeply from its currents, seeking enlightenment and control over the self.
The middle brother, the giant, found his passions in more tangible pursuits. His body craved the rigour of combat, and he sought out every wrestling pit and martial school he could find. In the dusty akharas, he learned to channel his brute strength into disciplined technique. But after the day's combat, a different hunger emerged. He delighted in the world of flavours. His laughter often boomed in the crowded marketplaces as he tasted the varied cuisines of the continent. His growth was in both body and spirit, finding balance in strength and simple joy.
The eldest, however, followed no single preference. He was a void. He was an insatiable emptiness that devoured every scrap of knowledge and skill it encountered. He did not simply seek enlightenment like one brother or pleasure like the other; he sought mastery. He debated philosophy with the sages in the morning, then mastered their dialects by evening. He learned the warrior's art from the giant's teachers, not just to fight, but to understand the science of breaking a body. He shadowed artisans to learn their craft and court viziers to learn the cruel calculus of statecraft. Nothing was beneath his notice, and no field was beyond his grasp.
But there was one part of his life that he did not seek to master, for it already mastered him. In the quiet hours of dawn or late beneath a silent moon, the ambitious prince would vanish. In his place was a simple devotee, drawing forth a small, hand-carved lingam he kept shielded against his skin. To this sacred stone, he confessed his ambitions, his dreams, and his fears. From it, he sought blessings each morning. For him, Lord Shiva was not merely a god to be worshipped, but the very pinnacle of existence - an impossible, perfect standard against which he measured his own becoming.
The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. The seasons turned many times. The brothers matured, and the lines of their faces hardened with experience and age. All three grew powerful in their own right, but none advanced so far or so fast as the eldest. His growth was terrifying in its scope.
Soon, his fame preceded him. It started as a whisper in a marketplace, then a story told around a campfire, and finally, a legend proclaimed in the courts of kings. When he arrived in a new land, a swarm of petitioners would await him. Kings sought his counsel on warcraft. Merchants begged for his insights into trade. His skill became a beacon. He could compose a verse that would make a goddess weep, paint a scene that felt more real than life, and calculate the movement of the stars. He mastered the physical sciences, the art of medicine, the intricate dance of mathematics, and the devastating use of every known weapon. He even grasped the hidden arts, the knowledge that lies beyond the veil of sight.
One man could not possibly possess such a vast breadth of skill. The people, in their awe and disbelief, reasoned that he must have ten minds to contain such wisdom, ten faces to perceive the world from every angle. The moniker was born in the streets and solidified in the palaces. They no longer called him by his birth name. They called him Dashanana - the one with ten faces.
Years of acquisition had passed. Dashanana had mastered the ten arts, earned his legendary name, and could command the respect of kings with a single word. He had reached the pinnacle of what a man could achieve through his own power. And yet, when he looked inward, he found a profound emptiness. The mastery of the mortal world was not enough. The standard he measured himself against was not mortal.
On a day when the air was heavy with the coming monsoon, he gathered his two brothers. A new fire burned in his eyes, with an intensity that made them both uneasy.
"Our journey is not finished," Dashanana proclaimed, his voice resonating with unshakeable certainty. "We have learned the ways of men, but that is a shallow victory. To truly complete what we began, we must achieve the impossible. We will make a pilgrimage to the sacred source, the home of Lord Shiva himself. We will go to Kailasha."
The scholar's face paled. "Brother, that is madness," he reasoned. "The scriptures are clear. The sacred realm of the gods cannot be entered by mere mortals. Kailasha is forbidden."
A sharp, dangerous smile touched Dashanana's lips. "The scriptures speak of mere mortals, brother. Are we still so? Or have we not toiled these years to become something more? You are correct. Our mortality is a barrier. Therefore, we must prove we are beyond it." He stepped closer, his shadow falling over them both. "We will start from the delta and travel to the source. We will complete this pilgrimage by swimming up the throat of the goddess Ganga, non-stop."
The giant's reaction was simple and immediate. He looked at the fire in his elder brother's eyes and felt his own spirit stir. "I am with you, brother," he said with a low rumble of support.
The scholar was sceptical. He saw only hubris and a path to certain death. Yet, he also saw the indomitable will that had carried them this far. Torn between his reason and his loyalty, he finally gave a slow, troubled nod. "I will go."
And so began their impossible pilgrimage. They entered the churning, muddy waters of the Ganga at its mouth, where it met the Great Sea. The force of the current was a physical blow that forced them back to the ocean. The scholar, whose strength was in the mind, not the body, fought valiantly but was quickly overwhelmed. Choking on water with his lungs screaming for air, he was forced to abandon the swim. He emerged, shivering, onto the riverbank and opted to complete his pilgrimage on foot, though his eyes were affixed on his brothers in the water.
The giant fared much better. His immense strength was a match for the river's power, and for days, he swam alongside his elder brother. But his discipline was not as unyielding. The scent of roasting meat from a village, the sound of music, the simple desire for a dry place to rest - all of these earthly comforts called to him. Midway through the journey, he too left the water, choosing to enjoy the pilgrimage in his own way. Though he, too, expressed his loyalty by keeping pace with his brother from the shore.
Dashanana did not give up. He swam alone.
He endured. The days bled into sleepless nights. The relentless sun beat down on him, and the cold of the moon offered no comfort. The river fought him every inch of the way. The currents tried to pull him under. Hidden rapids threatened to smash him against the rocks at the river's bed. He swam through storms that turned the river into a violent, brown torrent, thick with debris and the bodies of drowned animals. Hunger became a dull, constant ache in his belly. Exhaustion became a waking delirium, where the faces of his family in Lanka would appear on the water's surface, begging him to stop.
His skin grew raw, his muscles screamed, but his mind became a fortress. With every stroke of his arms, a prayer. Om Namah Shivaya. With every kick of his legs. Om Namah Shivaya. He was no longer just a man swimming; he was an act of devotion personified. A singular, burning purpose against an entire world of opposition pushed him onwards.
Finally, after a timeless period of torment, the landscape began to change. The air grew thin and cold. The water that was once muddy and warm became crystal clear and bit with glacial cold. The banks of the river became steep cliffs. Towering, snow-capped peaks appeared on the horizon. His brothers, walking on the shore, looked on in awe. The man in the river was no longer the brother who had left Lanka. He was gaunt, scarred, and transformed.
With one final, agonising push, Dashanana pulled his broken body from the water onto a rocky bank. He had arrived at the base of Mount Kailasha, the supposed origin of the River Ganga.
But this was where the river ended for him. Before him, the Ganga ceased to be a river and became a force of nature. It turned into a colossal waterfall that ran straight up the sheer cliff face of the mountain, disappearing into the swirling clouds above. It was a liquid stairway to the heavens, and it was impassable. Even against the relentless torrent hitting his face, Dashanana had to swallow a dry gulp as he stared up at the impossible ascent.
He had made a vow. He would swim the goddess's full length.
He knew arcane magics learned in forgotten corners of the world, otherworldly skills that could have allowed him to cheat gravity, to walk on water, or even fly. But that would be a lie. The purpose of this trial was to prove he was beyond mortal limits through his own strength, his own will. Using such tricks would be an admission of the very weakness he sought to deny. He had to stick to his vow.
Against all reason, against the current that tore at him, Dashanana tried to swim up the waterfall.
He launched himself at the vertical wall of water. The force was like hitting a wall. It threw him back, down into the churning pool below. His giant brother, standing on the bank, roared encouragements. The scholar screamed his name, pleading with him to give up, to see reason. But Dashanana did not listen. He tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt was a desperate, useless struggle against the absolute power of nature. He was a gnat throwing itself at a god.
Inevitably, the truth crushed him. He could not do it.
Defeated, he crawled from the water onto the rocky bank. The last of his strength gave way not to exhaustion, but to despair. He collapsed onto the stones and burst into delirious, shuddering tears.
"Oh, Lord… I have failed you," he wailed, his voice cracking. "I have failed you!"
His entire journey, every year of toil, every skill mastered, every moment of pain - it was all an effort to display his devotion, to show he was worthy. And it had fallen short at the final step. The realisation did not just wound him; it destroyed him from the inside out.
In his delirium, he looked up at the cloudy peak, and his eyes turned wild. He screamed a final, mad prayer to his beloved god. "I built myself in your image! I tried to become a reflection of your perfection!" Seeing only his own failure in the reflection of the torrid waters of Ganga, he declared himself unworthy of the name he had earned, unworthy of the very face he wore. He pulled the sharp gutting knife from the sheath at his waist. "If I cannot be a reflection, then I will be nothing!"
The two siblings saw his intent and rushed to stop him, but even in his broken state, he was stronger than both of them combined. He threw them aside. With a guttural yell that was more animal than human, he began to cut. Undeterred by their screams, he carved away his own face, exposing the wet, red muscles and white bone beneath.
Once the horrific act was done, once his face was removed, the last of his energy drained away. He collapsed onto the blood-spattered rocks.
Horrified, not knowing what to do, the scholar grabbed his giant brother's arm. "Carry him! We must get him to a village, find a healer, now!"
But as the giant bent down to lift Dashanana's limp form, a shadow fell over them. It was as if the sun itself had been blotted from the sky. They looked up. Something vast and dark was descending from the heavens above the waterfall, drifting down as gently and silently as a single feather floating on the wind.
___
Murugan was not unaccustomed to seeing awkward scenes at the base of his family's mountain.
Since it was a commonly known fact that Mount Kailasha was where they resided, he had observed his fair share of pilgrims. They made the arduous journey, performed some act of devotion that was usually more mad than pious, and then, if they survived, they returned home. Self-mutilation, extreme fasting, vows of silence that drove men insane - he had seen it all.
Needless to say, he wasn't shocked upon witnessing the scene before him: a faceless man - a grotesque sculpture of exposed muscle, skull, and teeth - being held by another man nearly twice his size. A third, lanky individual was pacing around them, wringing his hands frantically. It was, by Kailasha's standards, a Tuesday.
Murugan had only been out for his daily practice to hone a newly learned skill that augmented his spatial awareness. He had planned to possibly drop in on Valli on the way back to see how she was doing. He did not plan on running into these three specimens.
As the peacock landed softly on the ground, the lanky one - a scholarly-looking gentleman - rushed forward and collapsed to his knees. "Please, my lord! Help us!" he begged in a voice thin with panic. "Our brother… he needs a physician! We must take him to a healer!" Beside him, the giant nodded vehemently, his eyes wide with fear and desperation as he cradled the bleeding and unconscious, faceless man.
Murugan paused. Half of his mind was already prepared to leave them. It was not his problem. People performed these crazy acts in his father's name by their own free will. The consequences, bloody or otherwise, were theirs alone to bear.
But the other half of him, the part that saw not just another mad pilgrim but two brothers fighting to save the third, stayed his ascent. He saw their genuine struggle, their terror, and the fierce and desperate loyalty that bound them together. It was a bond he understood.
After a moment of seriously intense, silent debate, Murugan relented with a sigh. He gestured with his head toward the back of his peacock.
The scholar and the giant exchanged a look of apprehensive disbelief. With fumbling haste, they carefully manoeuvred their brother's body onto the mount, settling in behind Murugan. They then carefully mounted the bird, ensuring to place their feet carefully such that the bird's feathers weren't marred. With another silent command, the great peacock spread its magnificent wings and, with a single powerful thrust, launched them into the clouds, leaving the bloodstained rocks far below.
"W-Where are you taking us?" the scholarly-looking one probed as the brothers gazed incredulously at the rapidly approaching clouds. The answer was obvious; Murugan didn't need to verbally entertain them with one.
The peacock dove into the clouds without hesitation. For a split-second, they were enveloped in a cold, damp whiteness. Then they burst through, into the sky above the endless blanket of clouds. Their journey did not end. They kept ascending until the biting chill of the upper atmosphere dissipated, replaced by a pleasant, temperate warmth that seemed to emanate from nowhere. The scholar stared as his rational mind struggled to comprehend the impossible reality. This was Kailasha.
Murugan scanned the plains below, and his sharp gaze immediately locked onto a target. He nudged his mount, and the peacock responded instantly, surging in that direction.
___
Under the shade of a large banyan tree, two figures sat before an ashtapada board. A third lay nearby, seemingly asleep.
"I feel like you have gotten lazier nowadays, Kratos," Ganesh expressed while simultaneously evaluating the ashtapada board in front of him. His opponent, the presently yawning head of Lord Brahma, had trapped him in an intricately precarious trap, escaping which would inevitably result in certain defeat within three moves. But Ganesh was not ready to admit defeat just yet. "You're sending Murugan out alone just so that you can catch up on your sleep."
Kratos let out a hum that bordered on a growl as he rolled away from them. They were seated amidst the shadows of a large banyan tree in the plains bordering their home.
"You should focus on the game, boy," Lord Brahma advised. "You're about to lose. Again. Aren't you growing tired? This is the fiftieth defeat today. The three hundred and twenty-second, overall."
"Losing is fun," Ganesh responded as he moved his remaining Gaja to take out the opposing Mantri, which was about to lock in his Raja.
Lord Brahma clicked his tongue in annoyance, "You already know my moves."
Ganesh nodded and responded with a sequence of moves, playing for both his white and Lord Brahma's black side. "And that's... my defeat," he declared with a smile.
"Losing may be fun for you, but winning isn't so amusing for me," Lord Brahma responded. "Why can't anyone give me a real challenge!"
At that instance, Ganesh's ear twitched and his head turned in the direction of the rapidly approaching, colourful projectile. It was his brother atop his mount.
"He's back early," Ganesh commented. "He isn't alone," Lord Brahma commented in turn.
A grunt escaped from their napping comrade, who slowly woke up and stood at the ready.
"Brother," Murugan greeted as he leapt off the peacock. It was at that moment that Ganesh got a good view of his brother's passengers.
"Who're they?" Ganesh probed, noticing two individuals. There was a thin one and a big one.
"L-Lord Ganesh!" The thin one sputtered in shock. The big one leapt off the peacock and hefted the additional cargo, which turned out to be an unconscious... faceless one?
"I found them below," Murugan answered. "The unconscious one needs help."
The thin one nudged the big one and whispered, "Prostrate yourself, brother! You are standing in front of Lord Ganesh!"
The big one collapsed like a cut marionette, nearly dropping the man over his shoulder, who was caught just in time by the thinner brother, who struggled to carry the man's weight.
"P-P-Please, L-L-L-Lord Ganesh," the big one stuttered. "S-S-S-Save our b-b-b-"
"Please, save our brother!" the thin one interjected.
Ganesh approached the faceless man and placed a palm over his chest. "What's wrong with him? He seems fine to me."
That question seemed to stump the two brothers. They exchanged a gaze before the thin one said, "He collapsed after cutting off his face."
"The two events are unrelated," Ganesh corrected. "Cutting off his face did not result in the collapse; it was his tiredness. Take a look at the state of his muscles and bones. They are practically falling apart from overuse and fatigue. If not for his incredible vitality, he should have been torn to shreds by now. What did he do, exactly?"
The brothers exchanged another look, and the thin one volunteered, "He swam. From the mouth of the Ganga to its source at the base of the mountain. Without stopping."
It was now Ganesh and the rest's time to be stumped in disbelief.
"Why would he do something like that?" Murugan broke the silence first.
The scholar took a deep breath. "To prove his devotion. It was a pilgrimage, an offering to Lord Shiva."
A loud snort came from the pale-skinned warrior. "Foolish," Kratos grunted. "Swimming in a river does not prove reverence. It proves he can swim."
The giant took a step forward. He stood nearly a head taller than Kratos. Then, without stuttering, he spoke in a clear and dangerously low voice. "Do not speak ill of my brother."
Kratos turned slowly. The two large entities, one dark-skinned and another pale as ash, squared off. Less than an inch separated them.
At that moment, a pained cough escaped the unconscious figure. The faceless man groaned, and his body stirred. The confrontation was broken. The two brothers rushed to his side.
He shifted, and his voice, though weak, was audible. "Where… where am I?"
"Brother!" the youngest cried out, his voice choked with relief and joy. "You made it! We made it! We are in Kailasha!"
The faceless man's head turned from side to side, as if searching. There was no belief in his posture. But then his gaze fell upon Ganesh. He froze. Tears, unhindered by eyelids, began to stream down the exposed muscle and bone of his ravaged face.
With a strength that defied his condition, he pushed himself from his brother's grasp and prostrated himself fully on the ground before Ganesh. A torrent of praises, sung in perfect Sanskrit, poured from him. His brothers, seeing his devotion, quickly followed suit.
Kratos' nose twitched in annoyance. He turned his back on the scene, walked over to the banyan tree, and picked up the head of Lord Brahma.
"I wanted to see more!" Brahma complained as Kratos latched him against the hook on his waist, and stalked toward his accommodation. Kratos did not listen.
Ganesh looked towards the sun. "It is time for lunch," he commented to the three brothers still on the ground. "You will join us."
Murugan shook his head. "My training for the day is not complete." He mounted his peacock and, with a nod to Ganesh, flew away.
Ganesh gestured for the trio to follow. He led them homewards, towards the courtyard dwelling. He passed through the simple gates, but the three brothers stopped at the threshold.
The faceless one spoke, his voice filled with awe. "We are unworthy. We cannot step inside. We cannot sit in the presence of the Great Lord and the Goddess Parvathy."
Ganesh scratched the side of his head, trying to figure out how to persuade them. Just then, a voice called out from within the dwelling. It was calm, deep, yet mellow.
"Call our guests inside. It is time for lunch."
The eldest brother's pupils dilated. He tried his hardest to control the overwhelming emotions that threatened to shatter his composure. He took a single, shuddering step through the gate. His lips silently repeated the only prayer that mattered. Om Namah Shivaya.