Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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The first rays of the morning sun slowly rose above the horizon.

Its golden light spread across the scarred battlefield of Malikavana, revealing the countless reminders of the hundred days of relentless war.

Broken chariots lay scattered across the plains.

Weapons remained half buried in the earth.

The smell of smoke and dried blood still lingered in the air.

Yet despite everything...

Both armies had once again assembled.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers stood in perfect formation.

The banners of the allied kingdoms fluttered proudly in the morning breeze.

Across from them...

The endless sea of Rakshasas stretched far beyond what the eye could see.

The atmosphere had become unusually quiet.

Both sides instinctively noticed the same thing.

The place where King Devaratha’s magnificent Vajravyaghra Rath usually stood...

Was empty.

The divine chariot had not appeared.

There was no towering figure carrying Pinakodanda.

No emerald-eyed king standing before the allied forces.

The absence did not go unnoticed.

Instead...

Standing at the very front of the allied army...

Holding an enormous bow that had witnessed countless battlefields over centuries...

Was Bhishma Pitamaha.

His spotless white garments fluttered gently in the wind.

His silver hair flowed behind him.

Despite his age...

His back remained perfectly straight.

His mere presence caused the morale of the allied soldiers to remain firm despite the uncertainty surrounding Devaratha.

Behind Bhishma stood Lord Hanuman.

To his right was Lord Parashurama.

Ashwatthama silently rested one hand upon his bow.

Karna stood beside him, his golden armour reflecting the morning sunlight.

King Padmanabha, Crown Prince Kumaravarma, Mahamantri Shakuni, and every commander had already taken their assigned positions.

No one spoke.

Their eyes remained fixed upon the enemy.

Across the battlefield...

Pushpasura slowly stepped forward.

The moment his crimson eyes landed upon Bhishma instead of Devaratha...

A wide grin spread across his monstrous face.

He burst into loud laughter.

"So..."

His booming voice echoed across the battlefield.

"The little king finally broke."

"I knew it! I told you all! He couldn’t survive my gift."

The remaining Rakshasa generals standing behind him also began laughing.

Kravyadanta slammed his gigantic cleaver against the ground.

"I said it from the beginning."

"Mortals always break."

Ugrashira spun his massive trident once before planting it beside him.

"So the famous King Devaratha has finally accepted reality."

Another general folded his arms with a sneer.

"Perhaps he’s still sleeping beneath the earth."

"Should we dig him out?"

The Rakshasas behind them erupted into loud laughter.

One of them shouted,

"Maybe he has decided to become food for worms!"

Another yelled,

"Tell your king not to hide underground!"

"Rakshasas don’t hunt buried prey!"

The mockery spread through the enemy ranks.

Even Pushpasura folded his arms and looked towards Bhishma with a smile filled with ridicule.

"What happened, old man?"

"Has your precious king finally abandoned all of you?"

"Or..."

He deliberately looked towards the enormous prison of black vines that still covered the crater in the middle of the battlefield.

"...is he too frightened to come out?"

Loud laughter once again echoed through the Rakshasa army.

They all knew Pushpasura had trapped Devara underground. Now he was mocking him like he don’t know where Devara was.

Many of the younger allied soldiers instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons.

Several wanted nothing more than to charge forward immediately.

But none moved.

Bhishma himself remained completely motionless.

He neither reacted to the insults...

Nor acknowledged the laughter.

His calm eyes simply rested upon Pushpasura.

The silence itself slowly became unsettling.

Even some Rakshasas gradually stopped laughing.

Bhishma’s expression never changed.

His face remained as tranquil as the surface of a still lake.

Only those standing closest to him...

Hanuman...

Parashurama...

Ashwatthama...

Karna...

Could sense the terrifying pressure quietly gathering around the Grand Sire.

It was the calm before an overwhelming storm.

Meanwhile...

Far away from the frontlines...

Three shadows silently moved through the deserted streets of Malikavana Village.

Unlike the battlefield outside...

The village remained eerily quiet.

Most of its houses stood abandoned.

Doors hung loosely from broken hinges.

The only sounds came from the occasional creaking of wooden beams swaying in the wind.

The three cloaked figures carefully hid themselves behind collapsed walls and empty homes, making sure not to attract attention.

They had not come to witness the war.

They had another objective entirely.

Soon...

One of them suddenly raised his hand.

The other two immediately stopped moving.

Ahead...

Several allied guards carrying spears approached the temple.

The three intruders quietly observed from the shadows.

The guards looked around cautiously before one of them pressed against a section of the ancient stone wall beside the temple.

A low rumbling sound followed.

Rumble...

Part of the wall slowly slid aside.

A concealed entrance revealed itself.

Without hesitation...

The guards entered one after another.

Moments later...

The stone passage quietly sealed itself again, leaving behind no obvious sign that an entrance had ever existed.

The three cloaked figures exchanged silent glances.

Their objective had finally revealed itself.

One of them smiled beneath the hood.

"So..."

he whispered softly.

"This is where they’ve been hiding them."

The tallest among the three slowly nodded.

"It seems the information wasn’t false."

"The royal family... The women... The children..."

"They’re all beneath the temple."

The third figure looked towards the distant battlefield, where the sounds of war preparations continued echoing faintly across the valley.

"They’ve timed it perfectly."

"Everyone important is focused on the battlefield."

"Very few remain here."

The tallest figure quietly drew a thin dagger from beneath his cloak.

Its blade reflected a cold glimmer beneath the morning light.

He slowly looked towards the hidden entrance concealed within the temple wall.

"Come."

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

"We’ve found what we came for."

Without making the slightest sound...

The three shadows slipped from cover and silently made their way towards the hidden entrance, following the exact path the guards had taken only moments earlier. Unknown to those protecting the battlefield...

A far more dangerous threat had just entered the heart of Malikavana.

Meanwhile...

Deep beneath the ancient temple of Malikavana...

Far away from the sounds of clashing armies...

The enormous underground chamber remained quiet.

Hundreds of civilians had already begun their morning prayers.

Some mothers prepared simple meals for the children using the remaining supplies.

The elderly quietly recited sacred hymns, hoping for the safety of those fighting above.

The royal women sat together, silently chanting the names of the gods.

Although everyone tried to appear calm...

An invisible tension lingered throughout the chamber.

Every passing hour, they wondered whether the next messenger would bring good news...

Or the news they feared the most.

Not far away...

Inside a small meditation chamber carved into the stone walls...

Sage Veenadhara rested.

The elderly sage had remained awake for several nights, constantly maintaining protective spiritual formations around the underground refuge.

His mind had become exhausted.

Only after ensuring every defensive formation remained stable had he finally allowed himself a brief period of sleep.

Yet...

Peace did not greet him.

Instead...

A nightmare descended upon him.

Inside the dream...

Darkness.

An overwhelming silence surrounded him.

Then...

A single drop of blood landed before his feet.

Drip...

The crimson drop slowly spread across the stone floor.

Before he could understand what he was witnessing...

Another drop followed.

Then another.

Soon...

Blood began pouring from every direction.

Like rivers bursting through broken dams, scarlet streams rushed across the underground chamber.

Within moments...

The entire refuge had been painted crimson.

The air became heavy with the metallic smell of fresh blood.

Veenadhara’s breathing grew uneven.

"No..."

He slowly looked ahead.

His old eyes widened in horror.

"...."

Bodies. Everywhere.

Women. Children. Elderly villagers.

Royal servants. Guards.

Not one had been spared.

Some lay where they had attempted to shield others.

Some still held weapons in their lifeless hands.

Others had died embracing their loved ones.

The entire sanctuary...

Had become a slaughterhouse.

His body instinctively moved forward.

"No... This cannot be..."

His trembling hands reached towards one of the villagers.

The body was still warm.

Fresh blood continued flowing across the stone floor.

It felt horrifyingly real.

Then...

A familiar voice cried out.

"Wait!"

Veenadhara immediately turned.

He saw Kumaravarma standing before three enormous figures shrouded in darkness.

Their appearances could not be seen clearly.

Only their glowing crimson eyes pierced through the darkness.

Each carried a different weapon.

None of them looked hurried.

Instead...

They stood there as though enjoying a performance.

Kumaravarma slowly raised both hands.

His face remained pale.

Yet he still stepped forward.

"If..."

"If you’ve come for fight..."

He swallowed heavily.

"Then take me."

"But please... Spare everyone else."

"They’re innocent."

One of the three figures tilted its head.

Another slowly began laughing.

A deep... Mocking... Almost amused laugh.

The tallest among them stepped closer.

"So... The prince wishes to negotiate."

His voice carried a strange amusement.

"How admirable."

The other two chuckled.

"Mortals always think they can bargain."

"Especially when they’ve already lost."

Kumaravarma refused to step back.

"I am willing to surrender."

"I’ll even come with you."

"But leave the civilians alone."

The tallest figure slowly nodded.

"As you wish."

Hope briefly appeared in Kumaravarma’s eyes.

Then...

Without warning...

The figure casually swung the enormous blade resting upon its shoulder.

A single flash.

Veenadhara couldn’t even see the movement.

The next moment...

Kumaravarma’s head slowly separated from his body.

It fell onto the blood-soaked floor with a dull sound.

His body remained standing for only a heartbeat before collapsing beside it.

Blood erupted like a fountain.

The three figures merely watched.

One of them laughed loudly.

"So much for negotiations."

Another kicked the severed head aside as though it were nothing more than a stone lying in the road.

Veenadhara’s eyes widened in absolute horror.

"Kumaravarma!!"

His voice echoed desperately throughout the chamber.

But no one answered.

The nightmare only became worse.

The three dark figures calmly continued walking deeper into the refuge.

Everywhere they passed...

Death followed.

Guards charged them.

Their bodies were torn apart.

The royal attendants attempted to shield the queens.

They fell one after another.

The screams of terrified children filled the underground halls.

Mothers desperately tried to hide their sons and daughters behind them.

It changed nothing.

Blood splashed across the walls.

The sacred pillars. The temple floor.

The once peaceful sanctuary transformed into a sea of crimson.

Veenadhara desperately tried to move.

He tried chanting mantras.

He tried summoning his Yogic Energy.

Nothing happened.

It was as though he had become nothing more than a helpless spectator.

Forced to witness every death.

Unable to save even a single life.

His breathing became increasingly frantic.

"No... No... This cannot happen... It must not happen..."

Then...

His eyes found the royal family.

Queen...

Princess Indhumati...

The remaining royal women...

Surrounded.

The three figures slowly advanced towards them.

Their weapons dripped with fresh blood.

The dream became so vivid... So painfully real...

That Veenadhara’s heart almost believed he was truly witnessing the future itself.

Just as one of the figures slowly raised its weapon...

Veenadhara suddenly jerked awake.

"Gah!"

He sat upright immediately.

Cold sweat covered his entire body.

His breathing had become ragged.

His old heart pounded violently against his chest.

For several moments...

He could do nothing except breathe.

Deep. Slow.

Trying desperately to calm himself.

His trembling eyes quickly looked around the chamber.

Stone walls. Oil lamps. Sleeping civilians. Soft conversations.

No blood. No screams. No corpses.

Everything remained exactly as it should be.

The nightmare... Had ended.

Veenadhara slowly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

His breathing gradually steadied.

"It was... only a dream."

He whispered the words to reassure himself.

Yet...

For some reason...

His heart refused to calm completely.

He had experienced countless dreams throughout his long life.

Ordinary dreams faded within moments after waking.

This one...

Didn’t.

Every detail remained crystal clear.

The smell of blood.

The sound of Kumaravarma’s head striking the stone floor.

The laughter of the three shadowy figures.

It all remained vividly etched into his mind.

It hadn’t felt like an ordinary nightmare.

It had felt...

Like he had been standing there himself.

Watching events unfold with his own eyes.

Veenadhara slowly frowned.

His fingers unconsciously tightened around his prayer beads.

"...No."

He murmured to himself.

"There was something different about this dream."

The uneasiness within his heart only continued to grow.

An old sage who had spent decades mastering his mind knew one thing.

Sometimes...

Dreams were merely the wandering thoughts of a tired mind.

But sometimes... They were warnings.

And Veenadhara silently prayed... That what he had just witnessed...

Was not the second kind.

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