King of Devas

Speaking of weapons, the craftsmanship of Vishvakarma, the god of artisans, was unparalleled. His divine creations were nothing short of extraordinary. These weapons possessed the ability to be summoned with ease. All the Devas had to do was open their hands, and in a flash of golden light, the weapon would materialize, ready for battle. When not in use, the weapons could be carried on their bodies, always at the ready.

The weapons left in the armory near the Nandana Garden were rarely used, and preserved as symbols of divine power and craftsmanship. Indra walked briskly toward the garden, eager to revisit the sacred grounds.

The Nandana Garden dazzled with its splendor, its golden palace gleaming in the light. Inside, the black altars were more majestic than ever, their magnificence surpassing even the previous design. The garden's layout maintained the unified, ethereal style of Amravati, the city of the Devas.

"Huh?!" Indra paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why does it look different?"

His eyes scanned the surroundings before landing on the Gandharva warriors who stood guard in the garden.

"King of Svarga," one of the Gandharvas, named Sudarshan, spoke carefully, sensing the question in Indra's eyes. "You used to come here often, to fight and spar with the Devas after drinking. So, the god of craftsmanship, Vishvakarma, personally reinforced and renovated this place. He made it stronger and more beautiful than ever before."

Sudarshan, standing with pride, continued, "And not only that, my lord, but the Kalpavriksha has also been planted here by you. Its divine powers protect this sacred garden, granting prosperity and ensuring its strength. The tree's presence enhances the temple's power and draws in the blessings of the Brahmand. It's said that the gardens will thrive as long as the Kalpavriksha stands."

Indra clicked his tongue, disbelief mixed with admiration. "The god of craftsmanship, indeed..." he muttered. "Renovating my house without telling me, and making it so impressive..."

He shook his head, amused by the god's attention to detail. With his mind still racing, he turned his gaze toward the temple ahead. His eyes narrowed as he approached, stepping into the familiar space filled with memories, and came to a shrine.

There, a divine chakra, radiant with golden light, spun effortlessly. The flames that danced around it flickered like blades, slicing through the void with divine precision. It was the Surya Chakra—a weapon of immense power, forged by the hands of Vishvakarma, with Surya aiding in its creation.

Indra recalled the tale of how this weapon came to be. Surya had long radiated his brilliance across the heavens. His light, unmatched by any other, was a source of life and strength. Recognizing the need for a weapon that could match the sun's radiant power, Indra called upon Vishvakarma, the divine architect. Yet it was not only Vishvakarma who shaped the Surya Chakra—Surya himself, with his divine energy, contributed to its creation. The very essence of his light was infused into the weapon, allowing it to shine with the same intensity as the sun itself.

"Such a marvel..." Indra murmured, gazing in awe at the weapon's brilliance.

Unfortunately, he sighed, casting a regretful glance at the wheel. "But I still it will help us in our current situation... what a waste."

He shook his head and continued forward, his eyes landing on the shrine, where two nail hammers rested, waiting for their next use.

Two maces lay side by side, their surfaces crackling with divine energy. On the left, moist blue lightning flickered, while on the right, dry red lightning radiated with an intense, almost oppressive force. The two bolts of lightning surged between them, dancing in a chaotic harmony.

These maces, known as Vṛṣṭi and Duṣkarṣa, were weapons of great power. Vṛṣṭi summoned lightning and rain, while Duṣkarṣa conjured the dried the land where it was struck and brought famine. Despite their power of destruction, their functions overlapped with that of the Vajra and his authority of rain, rendering them less useful in battle. As a result, Indra rarely wielded them, leaving them to gather dust in the corners of the Nandana Garden.

Indra moved past them, his focus unwavering, but as he did, a divine spear materialized before him. The Amogha Spear gleamed with a sharp, cold light, its form sleek and deadly, reminiscent of a javelin designed for destruction.

The Amogha Spear was renowned for its unmatched sharpness. Once thrown, it could multiply into billions of lethal projectiles, each one capable of piercing an enemy's heart without fail.

Indra raised his hand and grasped the spear's shaft. The familiar weight and balance felt comforting, like an old companion. A thought crossed his mind, pragmatic and decisive. "Just in case, I'll bring it with me."

His gaze swept across the altars surrounding him, his eyes narrowing as they landed on a golden conch. The Panchajanya Conch. It was a symbol of divine power—when blown, it produced a sound like thunder that instilled awe and fear in enemies who heard it.

Without hesitation, Indra's mind reached out, and the conch transformed into a beam of golden light, soaring into his body. "Take this too," he muttered to himself.

His footsteps echoed softly as he turned to leave, but his gaze lingered on Vṛṣṭi and Duṣkarṣa. He hesitated, then sighed. "It seems a waste to leave them behind."

With a flick of his hand, both maces flashed with golden light and vanished, now safely tucked within his divine arsenal. "Better to have them on hand, just in case," he mused.

As he moved through the garden, his eyes fell on a familiar divine Chakra. "Such a shame to let it gather dust," he said, shaking his head. With another wave of his hand, the wheel transformed into golden light and joined the rest of his divine weapons.

He continued his walk, his thoughts racing as he gathered any item he might need for the trials ahead. "This hook, this net... who knows when they might prove useful?" he muttered, collecting them too.

With everything now in his possession, Indra walked confidently through the Nandana Gardens, prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

For a moment, golden light flickered ceaselessly as the divine weapons in the temple were drawn into Indra's body. In an instant, the altar stood empty, the once-proud artifacts now concealed within him.

Indra smiled, satisfied, and slowly made his way out of the temple.

"Do a good job!" he called out, casting a casual glance at the Gandharva warriors standing guard.

"Yes, Lord Indra!" they responded in unison, their voices full of resolve. "We will protect the Astras with our lives!"

Indra nodded approvingly, his expression softening for a brief moment. Then, he turned, his steps purposeful. This, he thought, was not the place for ascetic practice.

His eyes shifted toward the skies, the vastness of the Brahmaloka calling to him. "Why not seek a quiet deserted place in Brahmaloka instead?" he mused aloud. The thought felt right—there, he would find the peace needed for the spiritual work ahead.

Suddenly, a loud trumpet-like sound echoed through the air. Prrraaaaa!! The noise was unmistakable.

"Airavata?" Indra smiled, recognizing the call of his mighty elephant. He followed the sound, stepping into a serene mixed forest garden. Around him, vibrant grass grew in thick clusters, wildflowers dotted the landscape, and a crystal-clear lake stretched out, reflecting the majestic form of a snow-white giant elephant, its three heads and six tusks gleaming in the soft sunlight.

"This place is perfect," Indra mused, nodding with satisfaction. The tranquility of the surroundings made it an ideal spot for his ascetic practice. It would be far better than any place within Amravati City.

He stood for a moment, breathing in the peaceful atmosphere before a shift of his mind brought his Sahsrakavacha—the protective armor—vanishing in a flash. Now, standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree, Indra was dressed simply in a plain white robe embroidered with gold. His black hair cascaded around his shoulders, and a rosary hung from his neck, two more strings of beads wrapped tightly around his muscular arms.

The transformation was seamless.

Indra felt the familiar hum of power surge through him, the divine energy within him becoming more alive, more intense—like a storm gathering force. The spiritual heat built up in his body, invigorating him with each passing moment.

Slowly, he walked under the shelter of a Bodhi tree, the branches thick with leaves casting soft, mottled shadows on the ground. He sank into the lush grass, folding his arms behind his head, eyes closing in quiet satisfaction.

"The Svarga is good, but Brahmaloka... it's truly perfect," Indra whispered, feeling the peaceful energy of the place seep into his very being. "This will do. I'll practice hard here."

It had taken an effort to find this peaceful refuge, but now, with his body relaxed and his spirit beginning to align, Indra let go of the day's troubles. His mind slowed, his body sinking deeper into the earth. The calming sound of the nearby lake, the soft rustle of the trees—soon, Indra drifted into a deep, meditative sleep.

The skyline of Svarga gleamed in the distance, where majestic temples stood, their architecture simple yet solemn. These structures were dark in hue, their quiet elegance punctuated by the presence of water chestnuts growing in the surrounding waters.

At the heart of Svarga, in the grandest and most regal of these temples, King Hiranyakashipu, ruler of the Asuras, sat upon his golden throne. The temple exuded an aura of power, but tension also hung thick in the air. Shukracharya, the revered teacher of the Asuras, stood before him, his expression serious as he regarded his former pupil.

"Hiranyakashipu," Shukracharya began his voice grave, "you have forbidden the yajnas and prayers to the Devas. This is a direct violation of the laws. If you continue down this path, your rule over Svarga will be short-lived."

Hiranyakashipu's face tightened, his gaze turning steely as his hands gripped the armrests of his throne. He was silent for a moment, the weight of his teacher's words settling heavily on him.

"Teacher," he finally spoke, his voice laced with anger, "I understand what you are saying. But the King of Svarga, Indra, and Vishnu—they killed my elder brother. The Devas are no better, complicit in the murder. I cannot forgive them, and I will make them pay."

His fists clenched as he spoke, a surge of rage filling his chest. The thought of torturing Indra for revenge was intoxicating, yet he knew that Indra was shielded by the Amrita, the nectar of immortality, and thus could not be slain—at least not yet.

Shukracharya shook his head, disappointment etched into his features. "But in seeking vengeance, you are rebelling against the divine law. The Trimurti will take action if you continue this defiance."

Hiranyakashipu fell into a brooding silence. The tension in the room was palpable as the moments passed, and after a long pause, he spoke again, his tone resolute.

"Teacher," he said quietly, "I ask for your help."

It was clear that Hiranyakashipu had not abandoned his pursuit of vengeance, no matter the consequences.

Shukracharya sighed deeply. His former pupil was stubborn, unlike Hiranyaksha, who had been reckless. Hiranyakashipu was more calculated, more determined—once he set his mind to something, he would not easily be swayed.

"I cannot help you in the way you wish," Shukracharya replied, his voice measured. "But if Indra was captured, would you reconsider your course of action?"

A glimmer of interest sparked in Hiranyakashipu's eyes, and he raised a finger in sudden realization. "Teacher," he said, his voice now tinged with a renewed fervor, "you have a way. If Indra is captured, then I will decree that only Vishnu be denied prayers—just Vishnu, no one else."

Shukracharya's mind raced as he considered the implications. Banning sacrifices to Vishnu alone would be a far lesser transgression than prohibiting all Devas. It would draw less divine ire, yet still send a strong message.

"Very well," Shukracharya thought, contemplating the path ahead. "This may be the key to your victory—or your downfall."

"The Devas are essential for maintaining nature and the world," Shukracharya explained, his tone measured yet firm. "Surya rides in his chariot which Surya itself across the sky to ensure the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. This cosmic cycle cannot be disrupted."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "When Indra commands the thunder and clouds, it brings the rains. Vishnu, the protector of the world, keeps them all in check, ensuring they perform their duties."

Shukracharya's eyes glinted with quiet certainty. "In two days, the Devas will attempt to emerge from Brahmaloka. The first to do so will likely be Vayu, the wind god. Do not intimidate him."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "When he comes out, tell him that while you will no longer stop devas from fulfilling their duties, you will continue to prevent humans from worshipping them. Make them believe that your opposition is stopping them from doing their Dharma, but due to their Karma in killing your brother."

Shukracharya's gaze darkened as he spoke of his strategy. "No matter how cautious the Devas are, they will grow careless over time. In a year their vigilance will falter."

He straightened, his eyes burning with resolve. "When the next monsoon comes—when the Devas' power, weakened by the lack of prayers and yajnas, and the strength of the remaining bond of Svarga and Indra itself will start to wane—you will make your move. Capture Indra, and the power of not just Svarga and Patala but even the human world will be within your grasp. You can finally have your revenge on Indra and be King of Triloka."

---

Enjoyed the chapter?

You can read 40 chapters ahead and get exclusive access to more content on P*treon.c*m/Marioni