It took a moment for Murugan to digest the reality of what had just transpired. In that brief window of shock, the Chieftain was already upon him. The mace swung in a crude arc, but with great momentum. It appeared fearsome to the uninitiated. In fact, based on the way the man was handling his weapon and bulk, it immediately became clear that he had only ever reigned through brute strength and this divine gift; underneath it all, he was a tactless monkey. Murugan did not need to think. His instincts took over, and he dodged the clumsy attack with ease.
Once he had shaken off his surprise, Murugan parried the next swing and returned with a measured punch to the Butcher's gut. The punch landed squarely, but Murugan felt the entire momentum dissipate into the man's flesh as if he had struck a pile of wet sand. The Butcher revealed a sly grin before swinging his mace again. Murugan tested the attack again, this time with a sideways strike of his spear. The weapon hit skin but did not bounce; it was simply absorbed. A direct stab yielded the same result. The skin seemed to exhibit some sort of cushioning effect.
Murugan continued to test the waters, trying a myriad of attack types. He tried heavy to light hits, stabs, strikes, and slashes. Each time, the attack would dissipate as soon as it touched the Butcher's skin. Ultimately, he realised that the man's power could dissipate any attack that made skin contact. This was irksome, but it did not dismay him. The frustration was a familiar feeling, one that often brought his Guru's blunt lessons to the forefront of his mind. He could almost hear the man's gravelly voice now, cutting through the chaos of the battle. The fundamental of any confrontation is realising that nothing that is living is truly unkillable.
"Everything that breathes can be killed," his Guru had declared. "If it appears impossible, it is only because you have not found the right opportunity."
And so, Murugan believed that given time, the opportunity would present itself. And it did not take long to do so. Unlike Murugan, the Butcher's endurance was finite. As time progressed, the man started to breathe heavily. His swings started to grow wider and more desperate as he tried to keep up with Murugan's evasive movements. Murugan saw his opening. He went for a high jab, but the Butcher dodged it just in time. The tip of the spear, however, swiped past the Butcher's jutting tongue as he gasped for air through his open mouth. The man growled and spat out a dollop of blood. Murugan observed this, and things started to click into place.
A slow chuckle escaped Murugan's lips. He pulled his spear close and, from its centre, slid his cupped palms over the shaft. In doing so, the solid metal rod started to sway as if it were made of a particularly elastic kind of wood. He jiggled the spear, gauging its new behaviour, and snorted in satisfaction.
He attacked again. The elastic spear shaft made his strikes unpredictable. The attacks did not follow the expected trajectory, whipping around the Butcher's clumsy guard. These disarming attacks were impossible for the man to properly compute, and he started to grow agitated. After three consecutive strikes passed dangerously close to his eyes, the leader jumped back to create distance, raised his mace, and bellowed angrily.
In that instant, Murugan used his foot to kick up a fist-sized rock. With the blunt end of his shaft, he whacked the rock, sending it straight towards the leader's agape mouth. The rock lodged itself deep in his throat, the momentum causing his jaw to lock up.
The leader's eyes widened in panic. As he released his mace to pull out the rock, Murugan had already sent his spear hurtling his way. The velocity was low, and the Butcher caught it easily. But that was the cue. Murugan triggered the spear's explosion. The detonation, right next to his mouth, caused the rock to shatter, sending sharp fragments tearing through the soft tissue of his throat.
The leader bellowed in pain. It was another mistake. Murugan twisted his elastic spear and sent it whipping into the man's open, bleeding mouth. Before the Butcher realised what had happened, the spear detonated again.
A hard snap followed by a squelching explosion resounded as brain matter and skull fragments erupted from the back of the Butcher's head. The body stood for a moment like a grotesque statue, before collapsing as the rest of its systems realised the brain had been turned to mush.
The explosion, though localised, echoed across the battlefield, causing a sudden, profound silence to descend. The barbarians, in the middle of their fight, turned to see their leader's gruesomely decapitated body. This was enough to shatter their morale. A fearful frenzy took hold, and their chaotic charge devolved into a panicked, disorganised retreat. This uncoordination was all the opening Kratos, the brothers, and the villagers needed. They fell upon the routing army and annihilated it.
And with that, the tide of barbarians had been completely squashed. The villagers, or at least those who remained, were saved.
___
Murugan had walked this path before. Many times. He had grown used to the eerie, spectral calls that echoed from the deep woods. But today, the walk felt heavier. Each step was a conscious effort, as his feet dragged through the soil that felt like thick mud. His mind was not in Kailasha. It was stuck back on the blood-soaked battlefield, replaying the moment the Butcher had drunk the sacrificial blood and been granted invulnerability. His father had answered that man's prayer. Murugan had to know why.
But as he approached the forest at the centre of Kailasha, Murugan found himself hesitating. His feet, which had carried him with such purpose, started to slow at the edge of the treeline. Why was he hesitating? Was it fear? Did Murugan fear his father?
It was a tough pill to swallow. But as it turned out, he was.
To Murugan, his father was a lot different from what most people across the realms knew him to be. He was different from the god his own brother, Ganesh, knew him to be. His father never raised his voice, nor did he ever raise his hand, yet he was firm. His father seldom frowned and would joke often, but he wasn't nonchalant or callous. His father cared for him and often expressed his affection towards him. In many ways, Murugan felt loved and fulfilled.
Yet, this was not the image the rest of existence envisioned when his father's name was brought up.
The world knew his father as a god of extremes. Mortals saw him as quick to please and equally quick to enrage - as a being of intense, unpredictable passions. His favour could be won with a simple act of devotion, leading to legendary boons. But his displeasure, once provoked, was absolute. They whispered tales of his third eye that carried a searing gaze that could turn gods to ash. And they spoke of the Tandava - a cosmic dance that would unravel creation itself. To them, his rage was a force of nature of divine proportions.
Perhaps it was the dissociation between the myth and the man that induced a kind of fear in Murugan. He knew that hidden within that amicable persona was a volcano - a destructive power that could very easily unmake existence itself. It was a horrifying thought. And Murugan did not want to be the cause of that eruption.
Or maybe it was just respect. In his heart, Murugan knew that what his father did was wrong. His father shouldn't have entertained the heinous Butcher and granted him the boon. But he didn't want to question his father's decision as he was his elder, and had aeons of experience on top of his own.
However, right now, be it fear or respect, Murugan's resolve superseded them both. This confrontation was not about questioning his father's judgment or dressing him down. It was about understanding. It was about getting the answer to just one simple, agonising question: why?
He arrived just as his father had finished his performance meant to alleviate the souls out of the mortal realm. At this moment, his father was cleansing himself in the pool that was the very source of the Ganga.
"Was your quest successful?" His father asked without turning as he remained submerged up to his waist in the sacred water.
"It was," Murugan replied in a voice that was nearing a murmur. Yet in the silence that was weakly accentuated by the faint babbling of Ganga's stream, it was loud enough to hear.
His father laughed, causing a gentle ripple to dance across the still water. He ascended from the pool, with water cascading from his dark skin. He picked up his trident and walked over to his son. He rubbed Murugan's head affectionately and commended, "Good lad."
"Come, it is time for lunch," he added as he began to walk away.
But Murugan remained rooted to the spot. As his father was about to leave, Murugan spoke. His voice was lower, and at this point it was almost inaudible. But, once again, amidst the serenity of the plateau, it seemed to echo from all around him.
"F-Father," Murugan started. He wanted to continue, but the words caught in his throat. At this moment, his fear - or respect - had overtaken his resolve.
"Empty your gut, son," his father said with a chuckle, turning back to face him. "You need to make space for food, or else your mother will be very, very disappointed."
That was the straw. The casual, fatherly affection, so at odds with the divine injustice he had just witnessed, broke the dam of his restraint.
"Why did you grant that horrible, horrible man the boon, father?" Murugan's words tumbled out in a torrent as his confusion and rage finally broke free. His eyes were now bloodshot. His expression alternated rapidly between anger and a deep fear. Because at this instant, as his father's smile faltered, Murugan thought he saw the glimpse of the god the world knew his father to be.
There was a tense silence as his father crossed his arms and looked deep into Murugan's eyes. As it progressed, a sense of awkwardness started to creep in.
"H-He was a bad man, father," Murugan said hesitantly. "He hurt a lot of people. He was cruel! And yet, when he prayed to you and asked you for power, you granted it to him. Why would you do that?"
"I did that," his father said while approaching him, "because he was sincere. In his heart, I could feel his devotion. He was worshipping me in the truest sense of the word."
"But he was using the powers you granted him for evil!" Murugan argued. "You can't tell me that you didn't know what kind of man he was!"
His father shook his head slowly. But this wasn't a gesture of dismissal. It was a disagreement of principle. "It doesn't matter to me what kind of person he is. The who or what matters little. What matters, Murugan, is that when someone asks for my help, they do so with an open heart and complete honesty. If there is even a shred of falsehood or ulterior motive, then it is not a plea. It is a transaction. And I will not be reduced to a means to an end."
The cold logic of the statement stunned Murugan. "Even if the person is evil at heart? That can't be right! The cruellest of monsters could ask for your help with utmost sincerity, then simply turn around and exploit your gift to hurt others."
"And then," his father continued, his gaze unwavering, "among the people affected by that man, another will rise. Someone who will ask for my help with a sincerity that rivals his, and they, in turn, will receive the strength they seek. Son, you must understand. People look for help when they feel they can't overcome a challenge on their own. How you respond to that plea is a choice. You can be selective and help only those you think are worthy. Or you can be consistent and help anyone who asks with a true heart."
His father took a step closer and wore a serious expression. "Ultimately, judgment is a matter of perspective. It is never truly fair, because the way you judge another is bound by your own experiences. From where you stand, it is easy to label people as 'good' or 'evil' and think no more of it. But you forget that this judgment only holds true from your vantage point."
He placed a hand on Murugan's shoulder, "When you have power, Murugan, it is not your place to foist your judgment upon others. You cannot know the life they have lived or the experiences that have shaped them. To help one person and ignore another based on your own limited view of who is 'right'... that is the greater injustice."
"I..." Murugan stumbled as he found all of his arguments exhausted. Even his conviction faltered under the weight of his father's logic. "I don't know... It just doesn't sit right with me."
A gentle smile touched his father's lips. He then wrapped his arm over Murugan's shoulder and urged him to walk onwards. "Let me tell you a little secret," he said with a conspiratorial tone. "Well, calling it a secret isn't quite right, since it's sort of an unspoken rule. Any power gained through external means is always temporary. It is destined to leave you at some point. Of all the people who have worshipped me with true devotion and gained a boon, none who wished for greater power have lived long enough to reap the fruits of their labour."
"Be that as it may, the process leading up to their downfall is strewn with the lives of many innocents," Murugan muttered, unable to completely let go of his grievance.
"That is the nature of Karma, son," his father expressed with a note of finality. "For there to be a consequence, one needs to act. It is an unfortunate, unavoidable truth."
Murugan looked at his father, and a new question formed in his mind. "Doesn't it affect you? Granting these powers has to accumulate a lot of negativity."
His father revealed a sly smile. "Because I do not judge, and because I am fair, the consequences of my devotees' actions do not carry over to me. And besides," he said, gesturing to the vast, ash-covered plateau behind them, "my duties are punishment enough for whatever negativity I might accumulate."
In that moment, Murugan understood. His father wasn't truly unbound by Karma. To liberate souls from the mortal realms, he had to live through their entire lives - every joy, every triumph, and every sorrow. Every single day, his father drowned in the regrets of those who had passed away.
It all made sense now. The myths, the stories of a rage-filled god, a destructive force of nature - it was all understandable. Considering the sheer weight of the negativity his father had to shoulder, such a psychological response was not just possible, but expected. The fact that his father was so tranquil and light-hearted now was nothing short of admirable. In that instant, Murugan's perception of his father grew tenfold in his heart.
"Come now, let's put all this unpleasant talk to bed," his father said with his voice shifting to a lighter, more cheerful tone. "We don't want to face the cold wrath of your mother by being late."
"Mother never gets angry," Murugan muttered with a faint smile.
"Yes... well," his father muttered back, leaning in slightly, "you aren't the one sleeping in the same bed as her at night."
___
The time had come for Faceless and his brothers to depart. With their few belongings packed and their goodbyes said, they stood ready to leave the eternal peaks of Kailasha and return to the mortal world. Ganesh himself saw to their departure. At his call, his faithful mount swelled in size, its form growing until it was as large as a buffalo, easily able to bear the weight of the three brothers for the journey down.
As they descended from the clouds, the air grew warmer, and the scent of pine and earth replaced the crisp mountain air. At the base of the mountain, the great rat shrank back to its normal size, and the brothers dismounted.
Ganesh turned to Faceless. With a warm smile, he said, "Thank you. You stood by my brother when he needed aid. It was not required of you, and yet you took the initiative to do so. Had I not reminded you of the possibility of losing your boon, you would have sacrificed the opportunity. This shows sincerity."
He then looked at the rugged expanse of exposed muscle where a face should have been. He reached out and placed his palm gently against the man's cheek, resting his thumb in the very centre of his forehead. A soft, pearlescent light bloomed at the point of contact. Faceless's eyes widened as a torrent of pure information was deposited into his mind - it was the knowledge of form, the art of illusion, and the mechanics of appearance.
When Ganesh removed his hand, the light faded. Overwhelmed, Faceless collapsed to his knees and bowed his head. "My lord," he gasped in a voice thick with emotion. "I... I do not know how to thank you for this gift."
As he spoke, a shimmering, translucent sheen flickered over his face. As it solidified, the strong jawline and sharp features of his original face returned and covered the exposed skin..
"It was your choice to slice off your face," Ganesh stated in a kind but firm tone. "For that, you must face the consequences. I cannot give you back what you chose to discard. However, for your assistance, I grant you the ability to alter how you appear to others. You may not have one true face, but you can now outwardly wear many."
Seeing this, Vibhishana chuckled. "Now that you can wear many faces, brother, I believe that your previous name, Dashanana, feels more apt now than ever."
Faceless shook his head with a serene expression. "I have already, voluntarily, cast that name away. I cannot take it back." He looked towards the horizon, his voice filled with a new, steely resolve. "But it matters not what name I give myself. Those with ambition and accomplishments are granted a name by the populace - the name you are known by. That is what I yearn to achieve once again."
Having said that, the three brothers prostrated themselves before Ganesh one last time. Then, without another word, they turned and began their long journey back home.
___
Ganesh held back a chuckle as he observed the anxiousness visibly emanating from Murugan. His younger brother was seated cross-legged in front of him in complete silence. Or at least, it was a version of silence, given how his leg was bobbing up and down with a nervous, rhythmic energy. Ganesh, for his part, was pretending to read a roll of parchment, his eyes scanning the same line of text for the tenth time. Truthfully, he had finished it a while ago. He was just enjoying the spectacle of his brother's unease.
Finally, as Murugan looked about ready to vibrate out of his own skin, Ganesh decided to stop teasing.
"It's hard to focus with you shaking your leg like a woodpecker assaulting a tree trunk," Ganesh said, rolling up the parchment with a snap. "What brings you to my study, brother?"
Murugan let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "Have you considered marriage?" he blurted out.
Ganesh sputtered, choking on his own saliva. Amidst a coughing fit, he managed to ask, "Where in the world is this question coming from?!"
"Well, it's been quite some time. And you are old enough for it," Murugan reasoned, looking earnest. "Don't you feel lonely?"
Ganesh composed himself and shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. "Not really. I have my books, my duties...," then, with a chuckle, he added, "my purpose is to remove obstacles, not create them with domestic squabbles. Besides, companionship of the mind is often more fulfilling than any other."
"Why are you really asking me this?" Ganesh asked, his brow furrowed in suspicion.
"See, it's like this..." Murugan muttered as his gaze dropped to the floor. "It is considered inauspicious for the younger member of the family to get married if the elders are unmarried."
"Ah, Parivedana," Ganesh summarised as a knowing light entering his eyes. "I am aware of this tradition, yes."
A beat of silence passed, and then the realisation struck Ganesh like a falling anvil. His eyes widened. "You intend to marry that girl, don't you?!"
Seeing Murugan's shy, almost guilty expression was all the confirmation he needed. Ganesh burst into a hearty, rumbling laugh that filled the entire study.
"Oh, little brother!" he boomed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "If that's all that is troubling you, then do not worry for a second longer." He stood up, his demeanour all business now. "I will sort things out."
___
The aroma of spiced lentils and ghee filled the dining hall. It was a comforting backdrop to the usual afternoon meal. Murugan and Shiva were quietly eating, and Parvathy was serving. It was a scene of typical domestic peace. At least it was typical enough for their household. Which is what made Ganesh's sudden declaration all the more jarring.
"I have decided to get married," he announced into the relative quiet.
The silence that followed was absolute. Shiva's mouth remained agape with his palm loaded with a ball of rice hovering right in front of it, and his eyes widened in shock. The most dramatic reaction, however, came from Parvathy. The heavy metal bucket of sambar she was holding slipped from her grasp and crashed to the stone floor with a deafening clang. The hot, fragrant stew exploded outwards and pooled around her feet.
"Ganesh," Shiva began with a voice laced with a rare hesitation. "Who... who is the lucky woman?"
Before Ganesh could answer, Parvathy interjected. Her voice gushed out like a torrent of maternal concern. "Who is she? What is she like? Have we met her before? Who are her parents? Are they a good family?"
"Mother," Ganesh said as he raised a hand to gently halt the interrogation. "It is not one, but two." He paused, letting the statement hang in the air before adding, "I will introduce them to you all tomorrow."
Parvathy's mouth opened as a fresh volley of questions accumulated and prepared for launch, but she stopped as she caught a subtle, meaningful glance from Shiva. She closed her mouth and pressed her lips into a thin line of strained patience.
Her mind wouldn't settle. She had always worried about her eldest son. He was immortal, yes - but that didn't protect him from loneliness. In fact, it made it worse. Ganesh was kind, wise, and full of laughter, but she could see it: the part of him he kept hidden. He stayed busy - reading, helping, working - filling his time so he wouldn't have to be still. It broke her heart a little each day.
She had hoped, for so long, that he would find someone. Not just anyone - a person who could understand him, who could sit with him in silence, who could share the weight of forever. Someone who loved not just the god, but the man.
Now, this news, though sudden and surprising, felt like a gift. Maybe, after all this time, he had found that person. And not just one. Two!
For the first time in a long while, Parvathy let herself hope.
The next day, Ganesh led his family across the plains of Kailasha. The mood was thick with unspoken anticipation. He brought them to a quiet, sun-dappled area near the edge of the central forest. There, standing side-by-side, were two lush, vibrant plants with leaves a brilliant shade of green, reaching to about his height.
He gestured to the one on the left. "This is Buddhi," he said simply. Then he pointed to the other. "And this is Siddhi."
The reaction was instantaneous. Shiva brought a hand to his face and covered his eyes with his palm in a gesture of weary resignation. Parvathy's lips began to twitch uncontrollably. Murugan, who had been trying to appear nonchalant, choked on his own saliva.
"Do you think this is a joke?!" Parvathy finally snapped as she admonished Ganesh in anger.
Ganesh shook his head as a sad smile touched his lips. "I could not find anyone who appeals to me, mother-"
"You could have asked!" she cut in, her tone softening with hurt. "We would have found a nice girl from a nice family-"
"While I have complete faith in your abilities, mother," Ganesh said gently, but also firmly, "who would want to live with a man who looks like this?" He chuckled softly with a self-deprecating smile as he gestured to his elephantine head.
The casual remark landed like a stone. Shiva looked down and curled his hands into tight fists. A wave of guilt washed over his face. Parvathy's expression crumpled with distress. "There are many who find you attractive, dear-" she started, but her voice petered out as Ganesh met her gaze with a look that gently questioned the truth of her claim.
"Nonetheless," Ganesh continued with a brighter tone as he gestured to the two plants, "I didn't wish to be alone. So I decided that these two fine specimens would do just fine as my lifelong companions. I have consulted the astrological charts and determined that tomorrow is a most auspicious time for such a wondrous occasion as matrimony. It will be a quaint ceremony - only the immediate family is invited. I hope you all can make it."
A collective, noncommittal hum was the only response.
Ganesh clapped his hands together as if settling the matter. He turned to leave but stopped suddenly. "Oh," he said, turning back. "And Murugan here has a girl he likes and wishes to marry. We can visit her family after my wedding."
Parvathy's head jerked towards her younger son, and her eyes widened with a fresh wave of shock. Beside her, a slow, knowing smile spread across Shiva's face.