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Lord Karna is saddled with the task of honing six delinquent godlings
into demon hunters like himself—divine warriors duty-bound to rid the Human
Realm of all evil asuras or demons. He is further
flabbergasted to learn that one of the six is his own hitherto unknown
offspring. Torn between his heavenly
duties and earthy desires, can Lord Karna vanquish the Stone Demon this time
around? Or will his flesh and blood—his own child—pay the ultimate price?
EXCERPT:
CHAPTER ZERO
DWANDA-YUDDHA: THE DUEL
The Himalayan Mountains.
Five thousand years ago.
Absolute darkness shrouded
the Human Realm, and had for three days and three nights. Some believed the
occurrence was prophetic, like the prolonged amavasya or new
moon night that had heralded the Great Kuru War two thousand years ago. The war
had given birth to the dark Age of Kali, the age of asura. In
contrast, hope was ripe that this event would trigger the Age of Light. But the
Bard wasn’t here to succumb to superstition.
The first day without
the sun’s light had spread confusion and chaos across the realm. The second day
had brought desperation in the breasts of humans and fear in the belly of
Celestials. The third day—today—was a feast for the asuras. Death
lay everywhere.
The human world burned
without its sun. How soon before the Heavens went up in flames?
The Bard’s troubled eyes
reread the last line. Then he deliberately scratched it off, lifting his long,
pointed talon from the parchment made of dry palm leaf. With a sigh, he rested
his aching hand on his trembling thigh. He would spare a moment to ease his body,
and his mind from the strain of observation and due recordkeeping. If he
didn’t, he’d forget his duty as Witness of the Cosmos, and begin to question
fate.
Despite the fire that
crackled close to his right knee, and the feathered form of his upper body, he
was cold. An icy wind had settled around the Pinnacle of Pinnacles, where he
sat cross-legged on a seat made of rock and snow. He’d chosen this perch
because it gave him an impartial view of the events happening in the world. He
was the Bard, entrusted with keeping the Canons of the Age of Kali, just as the
Soul Warrior was entrusted with keeping the Human Realm safe from asuras.
Would they both fail in their duty today?
The Bard shook off the
heavy despair the darkness had brought into the world. He mustn’t judge. He
shouldn’t question. He would sharpen the talon on his forefinger, dip it into
the vessel of ink kept warm by the fire, and write this tale. That was all he
could do. Be the witness to history.
So he raised his
feathered hand and began to write again while his eyes, sparked with power,
knowledge and magic, saw clearly events unfolding from great distances. A
thousand kilometers to his right, Indra, the God of War and Thunder, fought the
Dragon. Indra did not fare well. But that didn’t concern the Bard as much as
the clash between the Soul Warrior and the Stone Demon. Over and over, his
eagle eyes were drawn to the duel taking place in the heart of the world, not
only because it was a magnificent battle to behold, for it was, but because its
outcome would decide mankind’s destiny.
The Soul Warrior was
more than a great warrior. Karna was a great soul. Fair, honorable, brave and
resilient, he was the perfect protector of the Human Realm. Of course, there
were other reasons he’d been chosen to fill the office of Soul Warrior—there
always were when Gods and demons were involved. But Karna’s existence was a
testament to righteous action and if anyone could bring back the day, it would
be him.
But how did one vanquish
stone, the Bard wondered?
Avarice and cruelty, two
nefarious desires, had made Vrtra and Vala attack the Human Realm. Three days
ago the Dragon had swallowed the Seven Rivers in the north, and the Stone Demon
had imprisoned the Sun God, his daughter, and all the cattle of the region in
his cave.
The Bard paused his
writing as a thin vein of lightning winked across the skies, but without the
accompanying roar. Indra’s strength waned. His thunderbolt hadn’t
left Vrtra screaming in pain this time. The Bard spared a moment’s attention on
the duel, just enough to note that the Maruts, the Celestial Storm-gods, waited
in the clouds to rescue their god-king in case of a calamity. Indra would
survive even in defeat. Of that, the Bard was sure.
But Karna had no one at
his back. His might and god-powers had depleted without the sun’s healing
warmth and light. His divine astras, weapons, had not slowed the
Stone Demon down, at all. Only the conviction that he could not fail his
godsire, his sister, and the innocents under his protection drove him now. His
birth family had once abandoned him to his fate, but he would not abandon them
to theirs—such was the greatness of Karna.
The Bard crossed out the
last observation. No questions. No judgment. No praise, either. The canons
would be free of all emotion. He wasn’t here to embellish history or glorify
the history-makers, as some bards were wont to do.
It wasn’t embellishment
to write that the foothills of Cedi were drenched in the Soul Warrior’s blood.
Or observe the gushing wounds on his body, despite his armor, that would make
the hardiest of warriors bellow in agony, but not him. It wasn’t embellishment
to write that the Heavens were empty for the Celestials had come to Earth to
watch the battle, firelight cupped in their palms to light the warrior’s way.
The Naga, the Serpent
People, also looked on, hissing from the mouth of the portal that led to their
underground realm beneath the hills. The Serpent King will not choose a side.
Vrtra and Vala were half Naga, after all. All across the Human Realm, demons
roamed free, taking advantage of the darkness and preying on human flesh and
human souls. It was a terrible moment in history. The asuras had
the upper hand in the eponymous age of Demon Kali.
Vala did not have arms
and half a leg, but still he came at Karna. He had an ace up his sleeve. There
were plenty of creatures about, an entire mountain close at hand. He began to
chant the spell of soul transference. It was the darkest of all magic, the
possession of another’s soul. Soon, he would be whole again and stronger than
before.
Battered and bleeding,
the Soul Warrior veered away from the Stone Demon. He leapt over boulders and
charred vegetation. The onlookers called him a coward. Had he forfeit the duel?
Has he forsaken mankind?
Karna dove for Manav-astra,
the spear of mankind, he’d thrown aside yesterday after his bow, Vijaya,
had shattered under repeated use. In one smooth motion, he rolled, picked up
the astra, coming up in the spear-thrower’s stretch. His tattered
lower garment billowed about him as a gust of wind shot through the air. His
muscled torso glistened with blood and sweat, tightened as he pulled the arm
holding the spear back.
He meant to throw Manav-astra at
Vala. A futile attempt, to be sure? As long as Vala was made of stone, broken
or not, his body was impregnable. Karna should have waited for Vala to transfer
his soul to an onlooker. Then Karna should have vanquished the possessed
creature.
Taunting laughter
reverberated through the foothills of Cedi. Vala had reached the same
conclusion. The Celestials looked at each other in angry silence, unable to
interfere. A dwanda-yuddha duel was fought between two
opponents of equal size and strength alone. The humans hadn’t stopped screaming
in three days, the din simply background noise now.
The Bard scribbled the
observations onto the parchment in no particular order. He wished he was a
painter, for surely this was a picture worth a thousand words.
The demon hobbled toward
the warrior, who stood still as stone with his arm drawn taught behind him.
Then finally, with a roaring chant the Soul Warrior shifted his weight from his
back leg to his front and let fly Manav-astra at the Stone
Demon with all his remaining might.
Karna didn’t wait to see
the ramifications of his action. And there were plenty to come. He ran into the
mountain cave to free Vala’s hostages. Within moments the rock face rent in
half, and bright streams of light speared through the terrible darkness. A new
day had dawned on the Human Realm after three days of perpetual night.
The sun’s power was too
bright, too full of hope. Yet, the Bard looked on pensively, wondering if the
Soul Warrior knew this wasn’t a victory. It was merely a reprieve.♥