King of Devas

Rishi Brihaspati stood frozen, his brows furrowed with bewilderment. He had only stepped away for a short while. Now the heavens felt as if they had turned upside down in his absence.

With rising concern, he made his way to Indra's side.

"What happened?" he asked, the weight of his priestly role heavy in his voice.

Before Indra could respond, the other Devas gathered around. It was Surya who stepped forward first, speaking in a rush.

"Rishi Durvasa said that keeping the statues of Asuras violates dharma. He cursed Indra, stripped him of his kingship, and then Rishi Atri cursed Durvasa in return, saying he would burn to ashes."

Brihaspati's eyes widened. His shock turned quickly to fury.

"Has Rishi Durvasa lost all sense of proportion?" he thundered. "Without Indra, who will defend Svarga? Who will protect Bhuloka if an Asura completes his penance during this chaos?"

His voice echoed across the celestial court, carrying panic beneath the surface of his words.

Then a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Brihaspati turned to find Indra beside him, wearing a calm smile that seemed strangely detached from the moment.

"I believe this is all part of a greater cycle of karma," Indra said lightly. "There's no use worrying about what has already begun."

His grin widened, somewhere between divine wisdom and reckless mischief.

"Rather than wait for the curse to strike like thunder in the dark, why not walk straight into the storm myself?"

He slowly raised his arms. A quiet gasp spread through the gathered Devas as they saw the radiant energies of kingship begin to peel away from Indra's form, like the shedding of celestial armor.

"I renounce the throne of Svarga. Its fate is now in your hands," Indra said, his gaze sweeping over the assembly.

"Eh?" Surya blinked, stunned. The memory of his last failed battle against the Asuras burned in his mind, and his cheeks flushed with shame.

"We need you, big brother," Vāyu said, stepping forward.

"You are our strongest warrior of Svarga," Agni added.

"Svarga is vulnerable without you," said Varuṇa, his voice thick with urgency.

Soma nodded, pale. "Can we truly face the Asuras alone?"

Even Brihaspati's face twisted in disbelief. "Let us bear this curse together. There may still be time to reverse it."

Indra sighed and shook his head. "I will not stay in Svarga just to be punished by fate in some twisted way."

Then he chuckled and turned away, his steps light with the ease of one unburdened.

"Let the curse play out. We will see what comes after."

He walked away, arms extended as if catching a favorable wind.

"I am going," he said over his shoulder, "so do try not to miss me too much."

In an instant, golden light surged from his body. It flared bright, then vanished.

Boom.

The Devas stood frozen. It felt as if lightning had struck from within, not the sky.

Rishi Atri lowered his head, teeth clenched with grief. His thoughts spun between guilt and disbelief.

This is my fault... No. This is my son's doing. What a tragedy... to lose such a worthy soul from the throne of Svarga.

The other Rishis stood silent, hands folded. Emotion shimmered in their eyes. Ancient faces bore solemn awe.

"I still cannot believe it," murmured Rishi Pulastya. "The King of Svarga stepped down by his own choice."

"To face a curse with such calm... that is more than courage. That is wisdom," said Rishi Angiras.

"Truly," said Rishi Vasishtha, "this is why Indra is called the protector of the Veda. Even when burdened by a curse that strips him of sovereignty, he upholds Dharma without faltering."

They moved slowly to where Indra had last stood. The air still shimmered faintly with the trace of his divine presence. They circled it silently, not as teachers or priests, but as witnesses to something greater than themselves.

Each step, each breath, became a quiet chant to the memory of a king who chose to meet fate with dignity.

Then Brihaspati exhaled through his nose and muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "It is a blessing that Shukracharya is still in deep penance. If he were not, he would have already stormed Svarga. With Indra gone, we are exposed."

His words sent a ripple through the gathered sages.

Rishi Bhrigu, brow drawn tight with worry, lifted his gaze.

"And what will we do when that penance ends? When Shukra returns empowered, and the Asuras rise again?"

Silence fell.

This time it was not respectful, but heavy with foreboding. Even the skies above Svarga shimmered faintly, as if holding their breath.

…

Kailasha

The mountain stood silent beneath the canopy of stars. Within its sacred stillness, Mahādeva's eyes narrowed, slowly and deliberately, as if the cosmos itself had stirred some ancient grief. A breath escaped his lips, almost a sigh, yet it carried the weight of a sorrow older than the world.

Vaikuntha

Seated upon the coiled bed of Ananta Shesha, Lord Vishnu watched the events of Svarga unfold through the divine current of his inner vision. His gaze, typically serene and unfathomable, now carried a shadow of concern. The churning of destiny had not gone unnoticed.

Beside him, Lakshmi Devi sat in poised stillness. Her eyes followed the subtle change in her husband's expression. Without a word, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers wrapping around his with the quiet warmth that only she could offer.

"Indra must be found," Vishnu said, his voice calm yet edged with resolve.

Brahma-loka

In the realm of creation, Brahmā's eyes shifted slightly. Behind each of his four faces, thought moved like wind through the cosmos. He had heard Vishnu's words, and he agreed.

"The Svargas cannot afford to lose Indra at this moment," he murmured, the truth of it resonating through the vast ether of his realm.

Even now, he could feel it. Many Asuras burned in penance, their intentions focused, their austerities fierce. If even one succeeded, the balance would tilt. With Indra absent, Svarga would stand unguarded.

This curse still threatened to bear fruit.

As the thought settled, a resonant sound began to rise—sacred chanting full of devotion. The melody was steady and unwavering.

"Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ...""Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ..."

The voices echoed not only in the halls of Brahma-loka but through the very strands of creation itself. They served as a reminder: even as gods wrestled with fate, the devotion of mortals endured.

The chanting swelled. From its resonance bloomed lotus petals of light, drifting gently from the heavens. Brahmā recognized the sign at once.

Someone's penance had reached its peak. A boon must now be granted.

"Nath," Sarasvatī said softly. Her voice shimmered like a river touched by moonlight. She turned toward Brahmā, her gaze sharpened by divine intuition. "Is it… an Asura?"

Brahmā's face remained unreadable. His vision stretched outward, focused on a scene unfolding across the fabric of time.

A towering figure stood in his mind's eye. His hair was black as midnight, his beard wild, his arms thick with power. A crimson cloak streamed behind his armor-bound body. In his hands, he held a mountain, suspended as though weightless. A red gem burned on his forehead, throbbing like a third eye of blood and flame, framed by the lines of long penance etched deep into his skin.

"Yes," Brahmā said. His voice was low, final. "An Asura... this is the fruit of karma."

As he spoke, golden light shimmered across his form. In the next breath, the Creator vanished from Brahma-loka like a dream dispersing at dawn.

...

Within Pātālaloka, amidst winds of fire and shadow, Vajranga sat motionless in focused trance. His long black hair coiled in the charged air, lifted by unseen forces. Ancient runes etched across his body glowed like searing brands. On his brow, the ruby jewel burned with silent purpose.

Both of his hands held the mountain aloft without tremor.

All around him, the chant pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ…""Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ…"

Then, above him, golden light converged.

A lotus of radiance bloomed in the air. From its heart emerged Brahmā, serene, immense, and regal.

"Vajranga," he called, his voice echoing through the planes, "your tapas is complete. Speak your wish."

Vajranga's eyes snapped open. Crimson irises flared with triumph.

At last.

He hurled the mountain skyward with a single motion. It soared like a comet and crashed in the far distance with a resounding roar. Then, folding his hands, Vajranga bowed low in reverence.

"O Lord Brahmā," he said, his voice full of controlled power, "grant me the Indrāsana. Let me sit upon the throne of Svarga, not through conquest, but as the fruit of my penance. I shall rule in strength and uphold my part of cosmic order."

He offered no flattery. No sign of pretense or demand. Hiranyākṣa had taken Svarga by violence and lost it. Vajranga had no patience for such cycles.

Why fight when a single wish would suffice?

It was clear, simple, and direct.

Brahmā's many eyes narrowed. The request was bold, but that was not what troubled him.

The throne of Svarga was not his to grant. It was bound to Indra by divine law and the architecture of Dharma itself. To give it as a boon would violate the sacred order he was entrusted to preserve.

To seize it by force was one matter. To be gifted through divine consent was another.

Brahmā readied his lips to refuse.

But in that instant, the weave of fate trembled. A whisper echoed across his awareness.

Indra's final words, uttered before his abdication, returned with clarity. Not spoken in rage, but in the weary surrender of one who understood the cost of divinity.

"I renounce the throne of Svarga. Let it go to whoever dares to ask for it."

Brahmā's gaze deepened. The moment took on a new gravity.

This was no longer a simple petition.

He spoke softly, the words heavy with realization. "Even words spoken in weariness," he said, "become law when uttered by one who bears divine authority."

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