"Vedas!" Brahma's voice rang out, his gaze lifting slightly to the left as he fixed his eyes on the sacred texts in his hand. The Vedas pulsed with a radiant glow, a faint aura of wisdom emanating from them. It was as if the very essence of the universe was being gathered and dispensed, its light cascading outward and enveloping the Devas in its divine embrace.
Was Hayagriva truly here to steal the Vedas?
A deep frown settled on Brahma's face, and his expression darkened. Quickly, his thoughts sharpened, and he scanned the entirety of Brahma Loka, assessing the situation. He needed to fortify his loka immediately—no one could be allowed to breach it. If the Vedas were lost, it would spell disaster.
At that moment, Brahma knew that Vishnu, the Protector of the World, would step in to safeguard the sacred texts. And if Vishnu failed, Shiva would certainly intervene. The consequences of losing the Vedas were unthinkable.
Brahma's mind raced, but his gaze remained steady on Indra. The Deva Lord's beard lifted slightly as he offered a serene smile, his voice resonating with a mysterious energy.
"Indra!" Brahma's voice echoed through the entire Brahma Loka. The sound seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the realm, carrying across the vast space and reaching the ears of every Deva, Gandharva, and celestial being present. The vibrations sent a shiver through their beings, infusing them with a burst of energy, their spirits alight with divine power.
Indra's eyes widened, his pulse quickening as he felt the power of Brahma's words wash over him. Was it happening?
Could Brahma be preparing to bestow a blessing upon him?
"You led the Svarga's army to Brahma Loka, and with your war songs, you held firm against the Asuras. Your courage is extraordinary," Brahma continued, his gaze steady and filled with approval. "I bless you."
Indra stood straighter, his body brimming with anticipation. The Devas surrounding him leaned forward, their expressions filled with excitement, hope, and awe. Even the Gandharva army held their breath, their eyes fixed on Brahma—the Creator of all.
What could Brahma's blessing be?
Devi Saraswati turned her head to observe with curiosity, wondering what her husband's divine will would bring.
With a smile that shone as brightly as the sun, Brahma raised his hand, a golden light radiating from his palm.
"I bless you!" Brahma declared, his voice strong and filled with divine power. "Whenever you confront an enemy and your army sings your hymns, you and your entire army will be granted boundless courage. Your enemies will falter, their spirits crushed, their will to fight fading into nothingness."
As Brahma spoke, the golden light from his hand intensified, illuminating the sky like the first rays of dawn. The words "Thata astu! Thata astu! Thata astu!" rang out in unison with the divine power of Brahma's blessing.
Golden streams of light fell from the heavens, bathing each Deva and celestial being present, imbuing them with divine energy. A sense of calm strength flowed through them, their spirits lifted, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
Indra's smile faltered ever so slightly.
What war cry?
This blessing... weak?
It wasn't exactly weak—after all, it had the potential to bolster his forces while weakening his enemies. But was it strong? Not in the way Indra had hoped. Against some of the invincible Asuras, this blessing would have little effect. It was more suited for trivial skirmishes, perhaps to crush weaker foes, but not the powerful adversaries he might face.
"But... it can be used alongside Panchajanya," Indra murmured to himself, his thoughts quickly shifting.
His conch, Panchajanya, possessed the ability to boost morale and sap the will to fight his enemies. If combined with the blessing he had just received, it could turn the tide of battle. The Asura armies, particularly the common ones, would find themselves faltering before his might, even if most of the Devas stayed back. The Gandharva army alone could make quick work of them.
How stingy.
Indra's expression remained unchanged, but inwardly, he grumbled, a little discontented with the modest nature of Brahma's gift.
With a quiet sigh, he cleared his throat twice and clasped his hands in reverence.
"Thank you, Brahma-pita, for your blessing!" Indra exclaimed, his voice full of respect though tinged with the faintest trace of sarcasm. "We shall now offer our song, Mridangam Reverie, in your honor."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Indra's lips. Such a stingy Lord deserves to hear this.
The next moment, a flash of divine light flickered in his hands, and a celestial mridangam materialized in his grip, its polished body gleaming with a golden hue. The Devas, in perfect unison, prepared their instruments, their movements smooth and coordinated.
Dhina... dhina... dhum dhum dhina...
The rhythmic beats of the mridangam filled the air, a deep, resonant tone that seemed to echo through the very fabric of Brahma Loka. A harmonious melody erupted from the Devas' ensemble, each note intertwining in divine symphony.
The vibrations of the mridangam gave life to shimmering patterns of light that danced across the temple. With each strike, lotus flowers bloomed atop the heads of the Devas, their pure white petals drifting gently down, releasing a sweet fragrance that enveloped the realm in serenity.
"Buzz~" The harmonious hum of the song reverberated through the air.
"You are the Creator, the Dev of all things~" the Devas sang, their voices carrying the weight of reverence and devotion. The melody of Mridangam Reverie resonated with an ethereal beauty, its tones filling the heavens themselves.
As the gentle rhythm continued, Brahma gazed at the descending lotus flowers, his expression softening with a sense of deep joy. Slowly, he closed his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The intoxicating sound of the mridangam seemed to wash over him, lifting his spirit higher with every beat.
The Devas are so devoted... Brahma thought, feeling a surge of satisfaction course through him.
This is what true faith looks like!
Unlike the Asuras, who only sought his favor in times of desperation, or the Devas, who often praised him out of mere obligation, this—this felt different. The rhythmic cadence of Mridangam Reverie was a perfect tribute, harmonizing with his divine essence.
This is the kind of devotion that truly pleases me, he mused, basking in the music's transcendence.
Meanwhile, Indra's thoughts were less focused on the music.
The Brahma Loka is no longer secure, he mused, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Where should I train next?
Elsewhere, in the shadows, Hayagriva's sharp eyes glinted with caution as he surveyed Madhu and Kaitambha, standing before him.
"In Brahma Loka, we faced a minor setback. It's all part of my plan; nothing to worry about," Hayagriva declared, his voice steady and calculated.
His eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to his allies. "Next, we move on to Patala Loka. Only once we become the Kings of Patala will we be able to fully carry out our plans."
He paused, considering his words carefully. "Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu are both formidable. They are powerful, not unlike your pair of brothers, and each of them is a Lord of the Realm in their own right. Their blessings, too, are imbued with the strength of immortality and are undefeatable in battles. Hiranyakashipu has also been generous, though I'm not sure if his repairs are complete."
Hayagriva's gaze grew intense. "They have many followers who will fight for them, so we must proceed with caution. We will strike from the shadows and attack their palace in one go."
His voice dropped to a whisper as he laid out the strategy. "We will move silently. If there's only Hiranyaksha in our way, we'll capture him. But if they're all present..."
Hayagriva's lips curled into a sly grin. "Be careful, my friends. We'll fight in secret, and I'll strike when the time is right."
Madhu and Kaitambha exchanged serious glances. They nodded in agreement, their sledgehammers tight in their hands. With quiet precision, they slipped into the Asura temple, ready to carry out their mission.
Inside the Asura Temple, Prahlaada sat cross-legged on his throne, an image of calm and kindness. His face was serene, his attire immaculate, and his hands clasped in prayer. A gentle smile played on his lips as he praised Lord Vishnu with all his heart.
"Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya!" he intoned with reverence.
Prahlaada's voice echoed with sincerity and devotion, his heart swelling with the pure joy of worship. As the song of praise flowed from him, a radiant smile graced his face—his soul at peace, knowing he was fulfilling his sacred duty.
Under the throne, the Asura generals were far from the intimidating warriors they were known to be. Instead of battle robes, they wore loose, ceremonial garments, akin to those worn by priests. One by one, they swayed weakly, their movements sluggish, their faces blank as they muttered their praises.
"Om namo… to the Lord…," one grumbled, barely audible.
"Om namo… whoever he is…" another mumbled, rolling his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Thumbs up… great… job… Vishnu…" yet another sneered, lazily raising his hand in a half-hearted gesture before letting it drop.
Their eyelids drooped as though weighed down by invisible chains, and their words came out with a lethargic, half-hearted rhythm.
Prahlaada, deep in his meditation, sensed the disturbance. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he slowly came out of his reverie. The moment he stirred, the Asura generals straightened, snapping to attention.
Uh-huh!
Prahlaada opened his eyes, and the sight before him caused a faint, approving smile to spread across his face.
"Good!" he said with a nod of satisfaction. "Today's prayers are over. You may return tomorrow."
"Yes, yes, yes!" one of the generals muttered, his eyes darting nervously around the room as he stepped back.
"Clear!" another echoed, his tone far too quick, as if he was ready to flee at the first sign of dismissal.
"Good!" the third responded, barely concealing his annoyance but nodding eagerly as he shuffled away.
The generals practically scrambled out of the temple, eager to leave behind the endless routine. Day after day, this forced praise felt more like torture than devotion.
Once outside, the mood shifted. The once stoic faces of the Asura generals darkened with frustration. One of them, General Rambha, tore at his sacrificial robes in anger, flinging the torn fabric to the ground.
"Hateful!" he spat. "That idiot has forced us to pray to Vishnu again, and now we're stuck wearing these ridiculous clothes! This is too much. Are we really Asuras if we're treated like this?"
Another general, clearly exhausted by the daily grind, sighed. "Stop complaining. Prahlaada is the son of Hiranyakashipu, and he's powerful enough to defeat Puloman. He's the Lord of Patala Loka now. Can you even challenge him?"
Rambha's face twisted with fury as he clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with wrath. "I am done! I can't take this humiliation any longer!" he seethed, his voice full of venom. "No more!"
His resolve hardened like steel. "I will do it," he muttered to himself. "I will perform a penance so fierce, it will shake the heavens themselves! I will ask for a son, a son whose power surpasses everything! Stronger than even Shiva's Nandi, more fearsome than the gods themselves! I will carve a path to victory through his strength!"
At his side, Karambha, his loyal brother, spoke, his voice resolute. "I will join you, brother. Together, we will create a force the world has never seen."
Rambha's eyes gleamed with manic determination, and he pounded his chest in a gesture of self-affirmation. "He shall be Mashisha! His power shall eclipse that of the devas, and he will rule over the realms! With the strength of an ox, the ferocity of a lion, and mastery over Maya's illusions, he will be unmatched—none will dare challenge him!"
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