Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

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The hundredth day of the war had pushed both armies beyond exhaustion.

The battlefield of Malikavana no longer resembled the fertile plain upon which the war had begun.

Mountains of shattered stone lay where forests had once stood.

Deep ravines scarred the earth. Rivers had changed course, carrying away blood and ash together.

The ground itself seemed weary of bearing witness to another day of slaughter.

The soldiers had long since stopped counting the dead.

Now...

They counted only the days.

And today was the hundredth.

At the heart of the battlefield...

Devaratha swayed where he stood.

His once immaculate royal armour had been reduced to little more than a battered shell.

Countless dents marked its surface.

The cloth beneath it had been stained crimson so many times that its original colour had long vanished.

His breathing came in uneven gasps.

Each inhale burned.

Each exhale carried traces of blood.

His emerald-green eyes struggled to remain focused.

For twenty-nine consecutive days he had endured the fragrance of the Anandamohana Kusuma.

Even after the scent faded each evening, the lingering effects refused to leave him completely.

His mind remained burdened by the constant cycle of intoxication and withdrawal,

While his body had absorbed punishment that would have killed almost any other warrior.

Even Parvati Kavach could not shield him from exhaustion.

It could save his life.

It could not restore his strength.

Pushpasura stood several paces away, watching silently.

There was no trace of the fear that had haunted him during the wrestling matches.

Those days were gone.

Now the Rakshasa King stood at the peak of his restored power.

His aura rolled across the battlefield like a living tempest.

The earth beneath his feet trembled with every breath he took.

He slowly smiled.

For the first time in many weeks...

He could see it.

Devaratha’s body had finally reached its limit.

Devaratha tried to straighten himself once more.

His legs trembled violently beneath him.

He forced one foot forward.

Then another.

His vision blurred. The world tilted.

His body simply refused to obey.

Finally...

His right knee struck the broken earth.

Thud.

The sound was quiet.

Yet across the battlefield... It echoed louder than any war cry.

The allied army froze.

"...."

"...."

"...."

No one could remember the last time they had seen their king kneel before anyone.

Karna’s eyes widened.

Hanuman instinctively took a step forward before Parashurama quietly raised a hand, stopping him.

The immortal sage remained silent.

His eyes never left his disciple.

Pushpasura’s grin slowly widened.

"So..."

he said, his deep voice carrying across the battlefield,

"...even mountains eventually bend."

He walked forward without hurry.

Every step sounded like distant thunder.

Devaratha tried to rise.

His arms pushed against the ground.

His muscles shook violently.

He managed only a few inches before his strength failed once more.

Pushpasura stopped directly before him.

For several moments...

He simply looked down.

The same king who had broken his bones day after day...

The same man who had made him scream before two entire armies...

Now struggled merely to stand.

There was satisfaction in Pushpasura’s eyes.

But strangely...

There was no mockery.

Only the cold pride of a warrior who believed he had finally overcome an equal.

He bent down.

One massive hand closed around Devaratha’s throat.

Not tightly enough to crush it.

Just enough to lift him.

Devaratha’s feet slowly left the ground.

His body hung limply, too exhausted to resist.

His emerald eyes remained half-open.

Their focus drifted in and out.

Pushpasura lifted him higher until every soldier upon the battlefield could see.

"Look well!"

he roared.

"Behold your king!"

His voice rolled across Malikavana like thunder.

"The man who made me suffer for fifty days... can no longer even raise his fists!"

Dark Yogic energy suddenly erupted from Pushpasura’s arm.

Black veins spread from his palm, crawling across Devaratha’s body like living serpents.

They wrapped around his arms.

His chest. His waist. His legs.

Within moments...

The black veins had completely bound him, tightening until they resembled chains forged from living roots.

The earth itself began to answer Pushpasura’s will.

The battlefield trembled.

Deep cracks raced outward in every direction.

The surrounding soldiers instinctively retreated.

Pushpasura slowly raised his other hand.

"You remember..."

he said, looking directly into Devaratha’s weary eyes,

"...how I was buried beneath the earth for centuries?"

His smile became colder.

"I often wondered... how it would feel... to watch someone else experience the same darkness."

With a roar that shook the heavens,

Pushpasura hurled Devaratha downward.

"THEN EXPERIENCE IT YOURSELF!"

The bound king struck the ground like a divine meteor.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

The impact was catastrophic.

The earth exploded outward in every direction.

A shockwave swept across the battlefield, throwing soldiers from both armies off their feet.

Entire cliffs collapsed.

Dust rose into the heavens like a volcanic eruption.

The ground continued sinking.

Deeper... And deeper still.

The force of the throw did not merely create a crater.

It carved a vast chasm into Malikavana itself.

Rock after rock shattered beneath Devaratha’s descending body as Pushpasura’s Yogic power continued driving him further into the depths.

The black veins anchored themselves to the surrounding stone, forcing him relentlessly downward.

The crater widened until it resembled the mouth of an abyss.

Standing at its edge, Pushpasura looked into the darkness below.

His laughter echoed down through the newly formed cavern.

"How does it feel, Devaratha?"

His voice thundered through the depths.

"Tell me... how does it feel to be buried beneath the earth?"

"To have the sky stolen from your eyes?"

"To feel stone become your prison?"

"I endured that silence for ages."

His crimson eyes burned with ancient resentment.

"Now... you may have a taste of it yourself."

The echoes of his laughter continued rolling through the chasm.

Far below...

Surrounded by shattered stone and bound by living black veins...

Devaratha lay motionless amidst the dust.

Above him, only a narrow circle of fading evening light remained visible through the immense crater.

The final rays of the setting sun filtered into the abyss, painting the broken stone in crimson.

Then, as the sacred conches announcing the end of the hundredth day echoed across Malikavana...

Even that light began to fade.

Far beneath the shattered plains of Malikavana...

Silence ruled.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Layers upon layers of broken rock had buried Devaratha beneath the earth,

While the living black veins created by Pushpasura continued to coil around his body like gigantic serpents, pinning him against the stone.

Yet...

Devaratha himself was no longer aware of any of it.

His consciousness had sunk completely into the illusion.

He found himself standing once again within the endless valley of flowers.

Nothing had changed.

The sky remained an impossible shade of golden blue.

Gentle winds danced through fields of blossoms that stretched endlessly towards the horizon.

The intoxicating fragrance still floated through the air, sweet enough to make every breath feel lighter than the last.

The place was beautiful.

Painfully beautiful.

Almost cruel in its perfection.

This time, however...

Devaratha no longer admired it.

His emerald eyes searched frantically in every direction.

"This isn’t real..."

he muttered.

"I have to get back."

He began walking.

Soon his walk became a run.

He crossed endless meadows filled with flowers that brushed against his legs.

He climbed gentle hills.

He followed crystal-clear rivers, hoping they might lead somewhere.

Everywhere looked different.

Yet somehow...

Everything remained exactly the same.

Hours seemed to pass.

Or perhaps only moments.

Time itself had become meaningless inside the illusion.

Finally, Devaratha stopped. His breathing grew heavier.

"No..."

His voice echoed across the silent valley.

"There has to be a way out."

He clenched his fists.

His Yogic energy surged through his body.

The flowers surrounding him bent beneath the invisible pressure.

With a roar, he punched the ground.

The earth beneath his feet cracked apart.

The shockwave travelled for hundreds of metres, uprooting countless flowers.

For a brief moment...

The illusion rippled like disturbed water.

Hope flickered inside his heart.

Then...

The cracks slowly disappeared.

The flowers quietly stood back up.

The broken ground healed itself.

Within seconds...

The valley had returned to its perfect, untouched state.

Not a single sign remained of his attack.

Devaratha stared in disbelief.

He tried again.

This time he summoned Pinakodanda.

The celestial bow appeared in his hands.

He fired arrow after arrow into the horizon.

Golden streaks tore through the endless sky.

Each one should have been capable of splitting mountains.

Instead...

They vanished into the distance as though swallowed by infinity itself.

Nothing changed.

The illusion remained absolute.

He closed his eyes.

Steadying his breathing.

’Think... There must be a weakness.’

’Every illusion has one.’

He remembered everything Parashurama had ever taught him regarding mental techniques.

’Do not fight the illusion. Find the truth hidden beneath it.Every false world is sustained by a single foundation.’

’Break that foundation... And everything collapses.’

Devaratha slowly opened his eyes once more.

He looked around.

Searching. Observing. Thinking.

Yet...

No matter where he looked... The valley remained flawless.

No cracks. No distortions. No flaws.

It was as though the illusion itself had become an entire world.

"...."

His jaw tightened.

For the first time since the war had begun...

He truly felt trapped.

Far above... Far beyond the mortal realm...

Surya Loka...¹

Within the radiant expanse of Surya Loka...

The divine palace of Goddess Yami stood bathed in the warm glow of the eternal sun.

Unlike the blazing brilliance surrounding the halls of Surya Deva, Yami’s chamber possessed a quiet serenity.

Golden pillars supported an elegant ceiling painted with constellations that slowly shifted with the passage of cosmic time.

Sacred rivers flowed gently through the marble floor, their waters carrying the blessings of countless holy streams.

At the centre of the chamber floated a vast celestial mirror.

Its surface shimmered like liquid crystal.

Within it...

The battlefield of Malikavana could be seen as clearly as though one stood upon it.

Yami had not looked away for many days.

She stood silently before the divine screen.

Her usually composed face had become increasingly troubled as the days passed.

Every morning...

She watched Devaratha walk onto the battlefield.

Every evening...

She watched him return covered in new wounds.

Again... And again... And again.

She had witnessed him endure humiliation without complaint.

She had watched him fight through hallucinations while protecting his soldiers.

She had seen him refuse to spend his Hope Points, trusting that patience would eventually reveal the answer he sought.

Now...

She watched as his unconscious body lay buried deep beneath the earth.

The celestial mirror shifted, revealing Pushpasura standing proudly above the massive crater.

The Rakshasa King was laughing.

Celebrating what he believed to be his victory.

Yami’s fingers slowly tightened around the edge of the marble balcony beside her.

Tiny cracks spread across the divine stone beneath her grip.

Her golden eyes never left the image before her.

"...Coward."

The word escaped her lips almost unconsciously.

It was not spoken with anger alone.

It carried disappointment.

Disdain.

For nearly fifty days...

She had watched Devaratha and Pushpasura meet one another as warriors.

Hand against hand.

Strength against strength.

Skill against skill.

Those battles had been brutal.

But they had been honest.

Then everything had changed.

Pushpasura had abandoned the contest of martial prowess.

Instead...

He had hidden behind a technique that clouded the senses.

A technique that robbed Devaratha of his ability to even perceive the battle unfolding around him.

Yami’s gaze darkened.

"He could not overcome you face to face..."

she whispered softly, her voice carrying through the silent chamber.

"So he chose to wage war against your mind instead."

Her eyes slowly softened.

The image within the celestial mirror shifted to Devaratha’s face.

Even unconscious...

His expression remained troubled.

His brows were slightly furrowed.

As though he were desperately struggling against something unseen.

Yami reached out.

Her fingertips gently touched the surface of the celestial mirror.

Ripples spread across it like water.

She wished... Just for a moment...

That she could reach through it.

That she could tell him he was not alone.

That someone was waiting for him to return.

But the laws governing the realms were absolute.

The Devas could watch.

They could guide fate in subtle ways when Dharma permitted.

They could not simply descend and interfere because their hearts wished it.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

"I know you..."

she murmured, almost smiling despite the worry in her eyes.

"You are blaming yourself."

"You think you’ve failed."

"You think you’ve become a burden."

Her fingers remained upon the mirror.

"But I have watched every single day. I have seen every choice you made."

"When you were intoxicated... You still protected your soldiers."

"When you could barely stand... You still raised Pinakodanda to shield your army."

"When you knew you would be beaten again... You still walked onto that battlefield."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"No... You have not failed."

"You simply met an enemy whose weapon was unlike any you had faced before."

When she opened them again...

The worry had not disappeared.

If anything... It had grown stronger.

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