King of Devas

"Out of all devas he could worship. It turned out to be... them!"

Hiranyakashipu rose from his golden throne, his presence exuding an overwhelming and terrifying force. A sudden gale erupted around him, sending the Asura maids sprawling as they scrambled to avoid the tempest.

"Indra! Vishnu!"

The names hissed through his clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and raw with fury. His entire body trembled, vibrating with the storm of his rage. The words carried more than anger—they were a curse, spat from the depths of his being.

Betrayal.

This act of treachery struck him like a poisoned blade. Prahlada, his flesh and blood, daring to worship his mortal enemies.

"Prahlada!!!"

His roar shook the Svarga and the patala, the force of it sending violent shockwaves rippling outward. The echo reverberated across Svarga, a testament to his fury.

Without hesitation, Hiranyakashipu launched himself into the air, streaking across the sky like a meteor. His trajectory was unerring, his wrath a guiding force as he plummeted toward the palace below.

Boom!

The impact rattled the structure to its core, the foundations groaning under the force. Dust billowed in choking clouds as debris rained down like an apocalyptic storm.

Through the settling haze of destruction, Hiranyakashipu emerged. His towering form cast a menacing shadow across the ruined palace, his glowing eyes locked onto the figure seated amidst the rubble.

Prahlada.

The young prince, adorned in regal red garments and a golden crown, sat cross-legged before a blazing sacrificial fire. The flickering flames danced in his serene expression, their light casting an almost divine glow on his face.

"Om Indra Devaya Namah!"

Prahlada's voice was calm, reverent. A gentle smile curved his lips as he clasped his hands in prayer. He took a handful of red pollen from a mound beside him and scattered it over the sacred flames, the embers flaring in response.

Hiranyakashipu froze. His eyes widened, his body rigid with disbelief. Slowly, his fists tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"Prahlada..." His voice was barely above a whisper, strained with suppressed rage.

At the sound of his father's voice, Prahlada turned, his face lighting up with unrestrained joy. His clear eyes sparkled with excitement, unclouded by fear.

"Father, you're back!"

Prahlada sprang to his feet, his movements light and eager. He trotted toward Hiranyakashipu with open arms, his expression brimming with happiness.

But Hiranyakashipu's gaze was cold and unyielding. His piercing eyes roved over Prahlada's form, scrutinizing every inch of him as if searching for the source of this betrayal.

"Who are you..." Hiranyakashipu's voice was low and deliberate, every word weighted with accusation. His fists clenched tighter as his body tensed, his rage barely contained.

"Are you..." His voice rose, sharp as a blade.

"…a devote of Indra?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with menace. Hiranyakashipu's fiery gaze bore into Prahlada, demanding an answer, his towering presence a storm ready to unleash its fury.

"Of course not!"

Prahlada's smile was radiant as he shook his head, his joy unshaken by the tension in the air. His clear eyes, full of warmth, met his father's cold gaze.

Hiranyakashipu froze, startled. Not a follower of Indra? The revelation struck him momentarily silent. If not, then why perform yajanas to Indra? The contradiction gnawed at his mind.

Before he could voice his confusion, Prahlada clasped his hands together in reverence. His voice was soft yet unwavering, carrying the sincerity of his heart.

"I am a believer of Lord Vishnu," he began, his tone light but resolute. "I made offerings to the King of Svarga because, Father, you've been away from home for so long."

Hiranyakashipu's brows furrowed further, the flicker of confusion replaced by growing irritation.

"Father, I hoped," Prahlada continued, his expression untainted by fear, "that you might let go of your hatred for Indra, and that the two of you could reconcile. If peace could be made, it wouldn't matter if we left Svarga behind. We would live just as well on Patalaloka."

His voice softened, his eyes bright with hope. "Then you could come home. We could be together again as a family."

Prahlada spread his hands, the simple, unguarded gesture embodying his dream of peace.

"Father!" he said, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation. "If you come back now, my yajana should already have reached the ears of the King of Svarga. Have you reconciled?"

With that, Prahlada stepped forward, his arms outstretched as though to grasp the father he idolized.

Boom!

A powerful hand slammed into Prahlada's chest, sending him staggering backward. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground, his back hitting the cold stone with a dull thud.

Prahlada gasped, propping himself up on his elbows as he stared at his father in shock and confusion.

Hiranyakashipu loomed above him, his face devoid of emotion, an imposing figure bathed in the flickering light of the sacrificial fire. His golden crown cast a shadow over his stern, unyielding expression.

"Stupid," he spat, his voice cutting like a blade. "Weak!"

His cold eyes bore into Prahlada's trembling form.

"You dare pray to my enemies? You plead for mercy as though it were something to be given freely. Are you truly my son? I am ashamed to call you that."

The words struck like blows, each syllable laced with disdain.

"Guards!" Hiranyakashipu barked, his voice echoing through the shattered palace.

"As you command, my king!" came the hurried response as the sound of armored feet rushed toward them.

"Take him," Hiranyakashipu ordered, his tone as unyielding as stone. "Lock him away for five hundred years. Let him sit in solitude and reflect on his foolishness. Perhaps he will come to understand the weight of his actions."

Prahlada's eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parting to plead, but no words came.

Hiranyakashipu turned away without sparing him another glance. His expression remained void of any paternal warmth as he strode out of the palace. The weight of his responsibilities—and his hatred—left no room for what he considered petty, sentimental distractions.

Behind him, the Asura warriors seized Prahlada, their iron grips dragging him away as he called out, "Father!"

But Hiranyakashipu's ears were deaf to the cries. He had more pressing matters: a war with the devas, and vengeance to secure.

Time passed, indifferent to rain or shine. Through the endless days and nights, Hiranyakashipu endured.

Seated on his golden throne, a sword resting at his side, he sprawled lazily, his left elbow propped on the armrest. His chin rested in his palm as he stared into the vast expanse of sky before him.

Another peaceful day...

After all these years, why has the power of the Devas not waned?

Hiranyakashipu's thoughts darkened, the question lingering in his mind. Is Brahma secretly aiding the Devas?

He rolled his eyes in frustration, feeling the weight of his long war against the devas. Slowly, he rose from the throne, the joints in his neck cracking as he twisted his head from side to side.

And then, a sudden flash of light streaked across the sky, heading straight for him.

"!!!"

Hiranyakashipu's pulse quickened, his senses sharpening. He stood up abruptly, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowed in anticipation.

But as the figure drew closer, a flicker of disappointment flashed across his features.

The approaching figure wore a black hood, obscuring their face, but their slender form was unmistakable—a far cry from Indra's imposing presence.

Not Indra, Hiranyakashipu thought, his grip on the sword loosening.

"Big brother, it's me!" The figure landed lightly on the high platform, the voice familiar and unmistakable.

"Holika!" Hiranyakashipu's voice echoed in recognition as he stepped forward.

Holika slowly lifted her black hood, revealing a face both smooth and radiant, her beauty now far beyond what it had been before. Gone were the scars, the marks of past suffering.

Her face shone with an ethereal glow—beautiful, yes, but with an alluring, almost mesmerizing quality that spoke of her transformation.

"You've completed your penance?" Hiranyakashipu asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

He had heard from Shukracharya that Holika had dedicated herself to an intense period of penance, praying to Lord Shiva since the churning of the Kshira Sagara, hoping for divine blessings to restore her appearance.

It was clear now that she had succeeded.

"Of course!" Holika's lips curled into a sly smile as she gently ran her fingers over her flawless skin, her pride unmistakable.

She reveled in her newfound beauty, the result of her devotion. She had once been scarred by the flames of Vasuki, her face burned beyond recognition. But now, through years of penance and divine blessings, Holika had restored her beauty to its full glory.

"Correct!"

Holika's voice broke through the air as she stepped forward, her tone light but tinged with mischief. "Brother, why do I hear the sounds of Vishnu's hymns in your palace? Have you forgotten your elder brother's revenge?"

Hiranyakashipu froze. His eyes narrowed, and the fire of anger ignited within him. He turned to his attendants, his gaze darkening with fury.

"Who is worshipping Vishnu?" His voice was like thunder, and his attendants flinched, exchanging nervous glances before lowering their heads.

"Answer me!" Hiranyakashipu demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The Asura guards, visibly trembling, knelt before him, fear evident in their eyes.

"The prince... is still praying to Vishnu," one of the guards stammered, his voice quivering. "He has organized yajanas daily in the palace—unceasing prayers to Vishnu, without rest."

Hiranyakashipu's eyes widened with rage. He seized one of the Asura guards by the head, lifting him off the ground, his grip like iron.

"Didn't I throw him into prison?!" His voice was a low growl of fury.

The attendant recoiled, his voice quivering with fear. "King... have you forgotten? You've been away for nearly seven hundred years. The prince has long since been released."

A wave of shock washed over Hiranyakashipu, followed by an overwhelming tide of anger. He shoved the guard aside.

"Prahlada!" he roared. "You won't change your mind, will you? Damn it all!"

Holika, observing the scene with amusement, couldn't suppress a soft laugh. She raised her fingers to her lips, hiding her smile behind them as she spoke with playful sweetness, "It seems your son doesn't listen to you brother."

She paused for a moment, her expression turning more serious, though still with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "But don't worry brother. I can help you."

Holika's smile widened, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"How?" Hiranyakashipu suddenly turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto Holika. "Explain!"

His voice was cold, demanding answers.

A flash of cold light flickered in Holika's eyes. She raised her chin high, her fingers curling around the air as she spoke. A flicker of fire ignited at her fingertips, its flames dancing with a fierce intensity.

"This is the Naga agni of Vasuki," she said, her voice low and steady. "I gathered it after I was disfigured during Samundra Manthan. Even this can't harm me now. I am granted the ability to not be harmed by fire."

Her eyes glinted with pride. "Through years of hard penance, I received a blessing—this veil shields me from the flames. I entered the fire with him, to see if his Vishnu could offer any help in the face of life and death."

Holika's words hung in the air, carrying the weight of her determination and the power she had mastered.

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