Lord Samye entered the empty floating pavilion in the far South of the Swarga-loka. Ever since the disruption of the Grand Commemoration Day he had been feeling uneasy. Hearing the name of General Atisha after some many centuries opened a door in his heart and mind he had long closed.
“General Atisha,” he said to himself.
Sometimes, Lord Samye felt like he was an imposter and a knave. Yet, the tales he had told the younger gods on that day were indeed true. He had severed the heads of several vile rakshasas and he did play a critical role in the war that led to their victory.
But who taught you the ways of the war? his inner voice asked him. Who taught you the techniques? the skills? the discipline?
“General Atisha,” he said again. “This chela did not forget you.”
He fell to his knees. This empty pavilion with a small pond at the center used to be the place General Atisha visited the most. In one of her travels during the Great Drought, she had saved three fish and brought them here. Receiving her grace, the fish became immortal but the general still visited the pond and fed the fish herself.
“Why does the General indulge in such silly tasks?” Lord Samye had once asked her.
She looked up and smiled gently, her innocence shining as a bright halo around her. If Lord Samye had not witnessed her wrath during the Great War, he would have never in his entire life imagined her to be the God of War, feared and revered in all of the three worlds. Glimpses of her illustrious deeds flashed in his mind - how she scaled the mighty mountain Meru in one leap, how her four sacred weapons saved the Swarga-loka and Bhu-loka from the scourge of various demon lords, her true god form which Lord Samye had the good fortune to witness with his own eyes.
“I want them to know they matter,” she said simply.
Yes, for this general, all her soldiers mattered. All who came under her grace mattered, no one was inconsequential. Lord Samye understood this better than anyone else. He was one of those “inconsequential” people – a nobody discarded at birth. She had taken him in, brought him up, and taught him everything he knew.
He lit three incense sticks and placed them in the marble holder and bowed eight times in front of the pond, touching his head to the floor each time. Tears he had long suppressed started flowing down his cheeks unabated.
“My guru, my general, my savior.”
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The girl looked at the old woman, the old woman turned towards the preta and the preta looked at the girl. The hut was bright with the late morning sun.
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“So, you don’t remember who you are?” the old woman asked again.
“Yes,” said the girl, her eyes clouded in confusion.
The old woman sighed deeply, she was exhausted from the last night’s ordeal and yet the result seemed to have gone awry.
“I don’t understand,” said the preta. “Why can’t she remember?”
“My spiritual energy must have caused some reaction,” said the old woman. “It might not have been pure enough, I am only an ordinary mortal after all.”
“What is avva saying?” asked the girl. The preta came hovering near the girl, was trying to get her attention by passing in front of her and around her.
“No-god God!” it kept on saying.
The old woman had had enough of this.
“She can’t hear you or see you,” said the old woman. “She is an ordinary human for now.”
The preta did not seem to accept this.
“Your eminence,” it continued. “Please look at me, I am here, right here.” It waved its make-believe hands to no avail.
The old woman shook her head. She turned to the girl.
“This avva talks to herself at times, little one,” said the old woman. “Ignore this old one.”
The girl was about to reply but her stomach made angry rumbling noises.
“Avva,” she said scratching her head sheepishly, “I’m hungry.”
The preta looked at the girl and finally realized its futile efforts. The girl did not eat or drink in all of the time, the preta had spent with her.
You were a god, your eminence, it thought. Is the sealing of the barrier worth this sacrifice?
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The nagini was seated on her crystal dais and listened to the demon lord Raktabija’s assessment regarding the sealing of the Dandakaranya barrier.
“Lady Visha’ra,” concluded Raktabija after telling her the details. “The barrier’s seal cannot be opened until we get to the other side on Bhu-loka.”
Lady Visha’ra rubbed her head with her hand.
“Let me understand properly,” she said. “The spiritual essence sealing the barrier is so powerful that you, the demon lord of a hundred thousand rakshasas cannot break it?”
“My apologies, Lady Visha’ra,” replied Raktabija bowing his head that had two wide horns.
“So unless we resolve this situation,” continued Lady Visha’ra, “Khaluk cannot be dispersed on Bhu-loka?”
“Yes, my lady,” said Raktabija.
“What’s the nearest portal to Bhu-loka from here?” Lady Visha’ra asked.
“The Great Abyss of Talatala,” replied Raktabija.
Lady Visha’ra frowned and her headache intensified.
“That would take some time,” she said. “Do we have any other means till then?”
“We can leverage the pretas on Bhu-loka,” said Raktabija. “Recently, an entire village was wiped out. But we need corpses for them to act.”
“Hmm,” said Lady Visha’ra and a small smile appeared on her face. “That can be managed.”
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The chief of the Kapala Army was deep inside the mines. He surveyed the map tattooed on his left arm as he held the torch with his right hand. The air was thinner in these parts and his breathing became faster and deeper.
Just a little bit more, he reassured himself and walked deeper inside the narrowing tunnel.
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The spiritual essence holding the cave’s barrier from the inside illuminated Lady Visha’ra’s beautiful face. Her eyes looked at the glowing orb in awe and reverence. She raised her fingers and lightly caressed the air around the orb. For the first time in a long time, she just let her true emotions surface. She knew she could not hold on to them for long.
“Atisha,” she said in a soft voice. “How long will you persevere?”
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chela – disciple
Khaluk – darkness – in this context, the dark energy that was dissipating from the cave.