The old woman came out of the thatched hut. A wooden staff worn by years of dedicated use supported her frail hunched body. She gripped the staff as she tried to raise her head and look towards the night sky. The greys of her eyes reflected the red moon, eyes that could not see the world. A strange stillness was in the air. The subdued red glow of the moon gave out an eerie feeling.
The old woman closed her eyes, contemplating her life. In all of her 87 years, this was the first and only time she would face a red moon. She knew what it would bring. With resignation, she opened her eyes once more.
What is the use of knowing something beforehand when we cannot change it? she wondered.
The glow surrounding the red moon increased and a shock wave burst in the sky followed by a piercing sound. The force rippled through the air, knocking out everything in its path. The old woman held on to the staff and braved through it.
“It begins,” she said.
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The Grand Commemoration of the Great Victory was the event of the century. All the gods were back in Swarga-loka. This would be the first time in several decades when all of them would be ingathering. The Grand Hall of Swarga-loka was decked with even more golden tapestries than usual. The sweet fragrance of the parijatas and soft music by the in-house gandharvas filled the air. The apsaras swayed to the tunes with unmatched grace. The golden goblets were ever filled with soma rasa. Gods who hadn’t seen one another in ages were catching up on divine gossip. Others were in pleasant anticipation. Greater titles, amrit and divine weapons would be bestowed on this day.
A lesser god was debating with himself whether or not he should ask a question to his neighbour. This neighbour took part in the war that led to the Great Victory. He was recounting his tales to younger gods surrounding him.
“And that’s how we won!” he finished and the enraptured younger gods cheered in delight.
Lord Bhoja was busy in the Divine Palace Kitchen. Gods do not need to eat. Lord Bhoja however was a staunch advocate of having good food. His rotund appearance attested that. He was the head chef for the event’s banquet. Patiently and meticulously he and his disciples prepared several delicacies from Bhu-loka. He was left with one last dish – the appetiser.
“Rasam,” he instructed his two disciples, “is easy to prepare. But you must use the right ingredients in the right amounts.” He then gently circled the ladle in the huge cooking vessel filled with boiling rasam atop a magical fire.
“The key,” he continued leaving the ladle to one of his disciples and searched the neatly arranged spice rack for a particular jar, “is freshly grounded pepper.”
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He brought the pepper jar to the counter with a marble mortar and pestle.
“Freshly grounded,” he repeated as he opened the jar.
One of his disciples realised that he had forgotten to restock the pepper, which was usually sourced from Bhu-loka. Lord Bhoja’s pleasant mood was visibly altered. Restocking spices was a serious business.
“Why are there no pepper pods?” he asked the disciple hovering over him, the latter shrank to the floor in fright.
“You had one job!” Lord Bhoja growled. He would have continued the rant had he not faced a time crunch – the banquet must start on time. He decided to quickly get some on his own from Bhu-loka; the disciples would not be able to pick the quality ones on such short notice.
Back in the Grand Hall, the lesser god finally mustered enough courage to ask his question. It only had four words but it contained a name that should not be uttered. Forbidden things had a way of lingering on in the mind. This was probably his only chance of finding some answers.
“What about General Atisha?” he asked in a low almost inaudible voice.
His neighbour was momentarily taken aback as if he misheard the question. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Lord Bhoja’s voice from the Divine Palace Kitchen reverberated across the Swarga-loka and in the ears of all the gods present in the Grand Hall. Lord Bhoja just realised that he could not pass through the barrier separating Swarga-loka and Bhu-loka.
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In a small recess in the mighty Himalayas, the shadow of a certain god sat in deep meditation. He wore saffron robes and had a tonsured head. Being a shadow he was impervious to the harsh elements of nature. A heavy storm raged outside. Cold wind and snow twirled relentlessly. Above the storm, a falcon kept circling trying to find a way in, it shrieked a few times. The shadow of the god opened his eyes and guided the falcon with his mind. The falcon swooped downwards and manoeuvred itself from getting caught in the heavy winds. It finally found the recess and its master.
It perched on its master’s stretched arm and uttered a wail. The master knitted his brows in an undecipherable expression as he looked onto the incessant tempest ahead of him.
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In a dense forest filled with entangled canopies, where sunlight does not reach the ground, the birds sitting on the higher branches chirped continuously. It was their daily routine. Sensing something, they stopped and scattered in the sky. Small animals scurried on the forest floor. The invisible force field far inside the forest started becoming visible. Lightning bolts spread across it as it tried to hold on. The bolts continued to weaken the field and it collapsed after some time, and a cave until then hidden became visible. The foliage surrounding it started to rot and from within it the darkness of the subterranean realms started to seep out slowly.
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Swarga-loka – Heavens
parijatas – a type of flowers similar to jasmines – often referred to as night-blooming jasmines
gandharvas – celestial musicians
soma rasa – a beverage consumed by gods
amrit – a drink of gods which grants them immortality
[in this web-novel – drink only amrit grants immortality – soma rasa does not have such properties]
Bhu-loka – Earth
Rasam – a type spicy Indian soup