King of Devas

The Akash Ganga stretched out in a deep blue, a sea of stars shimmering like countless diamonds scattered across the heavens. Each star gleamed with its dazzling brilliance, releasing waves of pure, radiant energy that seemed to cleanse the air and renew all living things.

A cluster of blue light flickered, slowly fading into the vastness.

"How strange..."

"Where did that blue sapphire go?"

Goddess Lakshmi's golden sari fluttered as she blinked her delicate eyes, her gaze darting in every direction, searching for the disappearing starlight. She had never seen a star so stunningly blue and unique. It would make a beautiful addition to a bracelet!

She swept her gaze across the sky, unaware that a faint blue aura—almost invisible and on the verge of vanishing—drifted through the air, like a delicate silk ribbon, and gently entered her elegant back.

"What a pity… I can't find it."

Her voice held a soft note of regret. "Only such a beautiful star would be worthy of my best husband in the world!"

With a disappointed shake of her head, her flawless face reflected her dismay.

---

At the edge of the river, Rishi Shukracharya, draped in his flowing white kaashaya, walked slowly, the snake-shaped staff in his hand tapping the earth with each deliberate step. Beside him walked Samhrāda, a young man of average appearance, following in silence.

"Hiranyakashipu is dead too," Rishi Shukracharya spoke slowly, his voice filled with thought.

In the past few hundred years, he had watched as Hiranyakashipu grew more stubborn, nearly mad with his obsession. Eventually, Shukracharya distanced himself from the Asura king, choosing to teach Andhaka and Samhrāda instead.

As for why he hadn't chosen Prahlada, Hiranyakashipu's son—well, that was a matter understood only by those who knew the ways of the world. Prahlada was a devout follower of Vishnu, and Shukracharya, with his allegiances, could never have shared a bond with him.

He is the teacher of Asuras. He only guides an Asura King as a father would guide their children—such differing in beliefs cannot be reconciled.

The two of them came to a stop and gazed toward the center of the river.

The river raged, its waves crashing in a rhythmic fury. Foam billowed upward endlessly, only to be consumed by the shore beneath their feet.

Amid the chaos, Andhaka stood, his eyes covered with a red cloth, his body balanced in the independent stance of a golden rooster, one foot raised as he performed his penance.

"Om Namo Brahmane Namah!"

"Om Namo Brahmane Namah!" he chanted in devotion, his voice echoing across the rolling waters.

…

The faint voice continued to echo from Andhaka's lips, carrying a tone of piety and unwavering confidence. It seemed to stretch on endlessly, as though it could persist forever.

"Teacher, brother… he has been meditating here for seven hundred years. Do you think his hard work will truly bear fruit?" Samhrāda asked, doubt clouding his expression.

Rishi Shukracharya focused his gaze, his eyes steady, and nodded solemnly.

"Don't question your brother's devotion," he said, his voice firm. "Though Andhaka seems to be blind to most, the power hidden within his eyes is extraordinary—far darker and more potent than the golden eyes of Hiranyakashipu. Once this power awakens, it will surpass even that of his father!"

"If you add the blessing of Trimurti Brahma, your eldest brother will have the strength to rule over the entire Tri-Loka."

Samhrāda's eyes widened with disbelief. He couldn't hide the skepticism on his face.

"Is that so?" he muttered, tilting his head in thought.

In his worldview, his father, Hiranyakashipu, and his uncle, Hiranyaksha, were considered the most formidable Asuras to ever walk the earth. Their power was terrifying, their boons incomprehensible. Samhrāda had grown up hearing of their strength, and in the future, few Asuras could hope to rival them. But now, his teacher Shukracharya himself was claiming that his uncle's adopted son—Andhaka, the child he picked in the forest—held a power even greater than Hiranyaksha's. To say Samhrāda was doubtful was an understatement.

"You don't understand yet, and that's to be expected," Rishi Shukracharya said, his voice filled with patience. "When Andhaka was born, his very existence was tied to the forces of darkness and divine power."

"This is why he is called 'Andhaka,' for he was born blind—he embodies the concept of ignorance and obscurity."

Samhrāda listened, intrigued but still hesitant.

"Andhaka's connection to the divine runs deeper than you realize," Shukracharya continued, his gaze fixed on Andhaka, still standing in penance. "He is not merely a product of darkness—his origins are tied to Lord Shiva himself."

Samhrāda's eyes widened in shock. Andhaka... connected to Shiva?

Through meditation and divine wisdom, Shukracharya had learned the events of that fateful day—the day Andhaka was born.

It was perhaps fate's nexus. Parvati, the beloved wife of Lord Shiva, playfully covered Shiva's eyes, plunging the cosmos into darkness. The balance of the universe was disrupted, and from Shiva's forehead, a single drop of sweat fell to the earth. This divine essence, combined with the primordial energy of the earth, gave birth to a being.

That being was Andhaka. Born blind, his name—Andhaka—symbolized his inherent connection to darkness and ignorance. Though his origins were tied to Tridev and Tridevi, he was later handed over to Hiranyaksha who raised him as his son.

Thus, Andhaka, though born of Shiva's essence, grew up among the Asuras, his blindness becoming both a literal and symbolic mark of his life.

"Origin is important," Shukracharya said slowly, his voice heavy with meaning. "But what matters more is his cunning. It is this, his shrewdness, that will enable him to contend with the King of Svarga."

The master's eyes shone with an understanding that went beyond mere knowledge.

He had already seen the path ahead.

Indra was no longer just powerful—he was also shrewd. He and Hiranyakashipu had once been deceived, leading to the return of the legions to Patalaloka and allowing the Devas to regain their foothold. Only Asuras who were cunning enough, who possessed the wisdom to outthink the Devas, stood a chance against the King of Svarga.

As Rishi Shukracharya spoke these words, his gaze shifted, and he turned to look at Samhrāda.

"I, too, will perform penance," he said. "You, however, must remain vigilant and watch over us so nobody tries to disturb our penance."

Samhrāda furrowed his brow, confusion evident on his face. "Teacher, the patala is leaderless now—this is the time when we need you the most!"

Rishi Shukracharya's expression remained unreadable, his voice cool and distant. "The Devas possess the Amrita—the nectar of immortality. If we continue this to wage war against them, the Asuras will only die faster."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "I will perform penance to Shiva and seek the resurrection spell. Only then can the Asuras truly challenge the Devas."

The advantage of the Amrita was overwhelming. As long as the Devas possessed it, they could not be slain. Even with Andhaka's power, the Asuras could not kill a deva. In time, the Devas would always find a way to turn the war in their favor.

Samhrāda fell silent, the weight of his teacher's words sinking in. The idea of resurrection was far more enticing than continuing to fight an unwinnable war.

"Next, you will assist Prahlada," Shukracharya continued, his voice firm. "Help him guide the Asuras to recuperate and prepare for Andhaka's return, as well as mine."

Rishi Shukracharya paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if something had just occurred to him.

"Ah, yes, Puloman," he muttered to himself. "But Prahlada is a legitimate heir, despite his faith in Vishnu, still holds some strength. With the support of the Asura generals, I have no concerns about Puloman's scheming."

Shukracharya's lips twisted into a faint, knowing smile. "Even if Puloman seizes the throne, it will be of no consequence. He may think himself wise, but his impatience and refusal to practice asceticism render him powerless. He is nothing to fear."

With that, Rishi Shukracharya turned his attention back to his meditation, already deep in thought about the future and the path ahead.

"There's nothing more to say. Let's go."

Rishi Shukracharya took a firm step forward, heading into the depths of the earth, ready to begin his penance.

"Thank you, teacher, for your guidance." Samhrāda clasped his hands together, bowing slightly in respect to Shukracharya's retreating figure.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of Shukracharya's footsteps echoed as he descended deeper into the earth. His journey took him across molten lava, each step deliberate and measured, as though the heat of the world itself was nothing more than a passing breeze to him.

This was no ordinary Asura. This Danava was vast and imposing, with the unmistakable form of Hayagriva, the Danava, known for his horse-headed appearance., and a massive battle ax was lodged in the magma, its blade pointing upward. The horse-headed Asura stood balanced on one foot atop the ax's blade, his hands raised toward the skies, praising the name of the Primordial Goddess Mahadevi Shakti.

"Hayagriva?!" Shukracharya muttered under his breath, recognizing the figure immediately.

The legendary asura, the one who had once terrorized the realms, was still alive—his presence here, a symbol of the past, now rearing its head once again.

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