**"विना कर्मणा जीवनं शून्यं भवति, यावत् तद् देहिनः धर्मं परमात्मानं प्रति न परिवर्तयति। अहं तं जाने यः स्वप्राणैः सह 'दानं' स्वधर्मं कृतवान्, हस्ते शरं धारयन् अपि आत्मरक्षणाय मन्त्रं विस्मृतवान्। तस्य माता पञ्चपुत्राणां प्राणभिक्षां अयाचत, सः तु षष्ठः पुत्रः आसीत् यः केवलं वीरगतिं प्राप्तुं जीवितः आसीत्॥"**
(("Life is nothing without Karma surrounding a being until it turns his Dharma toward the Almighty. I know someone who changed his Dharma to *Dana* for the Almighty with his own life; while holding the arrow, he forgot the spell to defend himself and lost his life. His mother asked that the lives of her five sons be spared, while he was the sixth who lived only to achieve a warrior's death."))
Arush walked through the graveyard of dried leaves, each crunch beneath his boots sounding like a breaking bone. A voice muttered in his head, a relentless echo: "Four stories asking me questions... how can I get him to the end?" He began to count random numbers—an obsessive ritual to hold back the madness—as his eyes began to bleed a predatory, glowing crimson. His words didn't just fall; they flickered with a physical heat that scorched the very air, fueled by a self-inflicted guilt that refused to die.
Back at the Wada, the air was stagnant. Avkasham rocked back and forth, the ancient wood of a small cradle creaking with a rhythmic, sickening groan. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and camphor—sacred smells that now felt like burning lungs in a forest of thorns. The heat reached Arush's brain, turning his nerves into colonies of slavery, shackled by the story being told. Avkasham's wounds seemed to pulse with a dark brilliance as he whispered, "Death... is the love of agony, hehehe." His red mascot face cracked, the flesh lingering loosely around his jaw like wet parchment. As his grip loosened on the cradle's handle, he turned his gaze toward the sun, inviting the flames to consume his own rotting flesh.
He laughed as a shadow-cloaked figure whispered from the corner, clapping his hands in a slow, mocking rhythm—"clap-clap." Avkasham asked in a voice as soft as silk, yet sharp as a razor, "Ready for another story, my... Sun?" His eyes were a horrific sight, the nerves bulging and bleeding as if ready to burst from the sockets, yet they never wavered from Arush. Snapping his fingers with a sound like a dry branch breaking, he sneered: "Ready for another ride... bastard?"
They moved across a rotten floor, a slurry of blood and centuries-old wood. Arush hoisted Avkasham onto his back like a small, cursed child—a heavy, demonic weight. He was a modern Vikram carrying a Betal beyond all myths, leading him toward the pyre. Above them, a red star hung in the indigo sky—crimson and silent, watching the two victims of divinity.
`[[ What the hell... is this thing? How is he still standing? ]]` — from the Narrator.
Avkasham didn't answer; instead, he buried his fingernails into Arush's chest. He shredded the skin, whispering into Arush's ear with a freezing breath, "This is what will bring you to the ground of pity." The nails scraped through layers of human history to expose the raw muscle beneath, but Arush's stride did not falter. He had poured time itself into his movements, granting him the stamina to move through the impossible. His feet never stopped, despite the ragged, heavy breaths that clouded in the air.
The first step after his chest was shredded felt like a blaze of liquid fire. His entire torso felt as if it had transformed into a crown of thorns, piercing its own heart. "Crip-crip"—the leaves screamed under his weight as he moved toward the death of sin. Every step was a planetary burden on his soul. Avkasham pulled at an exposed vein, letting the hot blood drip over his fingers, a twisted smile on his mascot face. Arush's stomach lurched; he pinched his own legs with enough force to clot the blood, using the fresh pain to stay conscious. His eyes were nearly forced from their sockets by the pressure in his skull, constructing a coffin of nerves for his own life. He whispered a single, broken plea: "Let me die in peace."
---
**"यदा सम्पूर्णं रङ्गाङ्गणं 'सूतपुत्र' इति विक्रोशन् तस्य उपहासम् अकरोत्, तस्य चरित्रे पङ्कं च अक्षिपत्, तदा सः एकः एव तूष्णीं स्थितवान्। तस्य जननी अपि कुण्डलानि धारयन्ती तस्य तेजः पश्यन्ती अपि मौनम् अतिष्ठत्। 'सूतपुत्र' इति कलङ्कितशब्दैः न कोऽपि तस्य पक्षे स्थितवान्। किन्तु ते न अजानन् यत् सः एव सूतपुत्रः स्वमित्रस्य अहङ्कारिणः दुर्योधनस्य साहाय्येन 'अङ्गराजः' भविष्यति॥"**
(("When the entire arena was screaming 'Sut Putra' and mocking him, throwing mud upon his character, he alone stood silent. Even his mother, wearing divine earrings and seeing his brilliance, remained speechless. Because of that one stained word, 'Sut Putra,' no one stood by his side. But they did not know that this very 'Sut Putra,' with the help of his arrogant friend Duryodhana, would become the King of Anga."))
Arush stepped into the arena as the world around him dissolved into a blank, white void. He looked forward but found he could not meet the eyes of the *Tejas*—the blinding, divine brilliance of Karna, the Surya Putra. He whispered to the weight on his back, "Why wasn't he divine, even while holding such a legacy?" Avkasham tapped Arush's shoulder, his voice a razor-wire hiss: "Don't speak in the middle of the ritual." Arush smiled, his own veins opening as if in tribute, the blood pumping frantically toward his heart. He felt the privilege of death filling the gaps in his soul, his will embracing the guilt of his own existence as he stood before the Sun.
In an instant, the arena shifted into a plutocracy of mirage. A voice echoed, ancient and cold: "Let me take you where people trade diamonds for gold." The sunlight vanished. A freezing wind, carrying the scent of a cold summer night, whipped against his face. He stood on a plush, blood-red carpet before the Swayamvar. There stood Panchali, the epitome of beauty, a *bali* shimmering in her nose. Arush looked at the mascot and smiled a hollow smile. "If beauty was the start, why wasn't the end inevitable?" The princess leaned toward the prince, her laughter tinkling like silver bells, oblivious to the tragedy about to unfold. Then, as Karna reached for the bow, Avkasham whispered:
**"सः धनुर्धरः धनुः धारयन् तस्मिन् अल्पे तटाके अपश्यत्, यत्र उपरि लम्बमाना मत्स्यप्रतिमा जले चलति स्म। तस्य अङ्गुल्यग्राणां सूत्रत्यागात् पूर्वं लौहयन्त्रस्य तरङ्गाः अन्यान् राजपुत्रान् भीतान् अकुर्वन्। तदा एकः स्वरः प्रतिध्वनितः— 'अहं सूतपुत्रं न वरयामि' इति। सः तां पश्यन् धनुः दृढं जग्राह। तस्याः सौन्दर्यस्य तेजसा सूर्यकिरणाः अपि पराजिताः अभवन्, त्रिलोकस्वामिनः तेजः अपि तत्र आसीत्, किन्तु सः मौनम् अतिष्ठत् यतोहि अन्यः राजकुमारः तस्याः प्राप्तये तत्र उपस्थितः आसीत्॥"**
(("That archer, holding the bow, looked into that small pond where the reflection of the fish-target moved. Before his fingertips could release the thread, the vibrations of the metal machine made the other princes tremble with fear. Then a voice echoed—'I will not marry a Sut Putra.' Looking at her, he gripped the bow tightly. By the brilliance of her beauty, even the rays of the sun were defeated. The splendor of the Lord of the Three Worlds was there, yet he stood silent because another prince was there to claim her."))
Arush watched as steam began to rise from his own chest, the heat of the story miraculously healing his shredded flesh. He didn't wait for the scene to end; he stepped into the reflection of the pond. A sonic boom crashed through the mirage, and suddenly Avkasham's hands were around Arush's throat, squeezing until the knuckles turned white.
"Listen to me... you bastard! I am here for you!"
Arush didn't struggle. He placed his hand over Avkasham's and let a roar of flames erupt from his skull. This wasn't the warmth of the sun; it was the heat of the Void, a ray of darkness meant to bring all destiny to nothingness. "I know Karna was a *Danaveer*. He gave his life to Krishna because he knew he was the only one who could end the war in two days." He inhaled the smoke of his own burning skin. "He wasn't defeated; he was asked for defeat by the Lord."
Avkasham's obsidian eyes widened. For the first time, the smile vanished. He kicked away from Arush, falling into the mud.
"Ez... no... you..."
Arush took a step forward, his shadow stretching across the arena. "Don't you think death is inevitable? But eternity is also inevitable. What is your pain compared to that?" He walked toward the shivering mascot.
"No... kill me in the fire of the graveyard," Avkasham begged. His face cracked one last time. "How did I act? You have grown beyond my imagination, Arush. Bring me the dust of love while holding the heat of hate, for you are the brilliance of the sun."
With a final charge, Arush reached for him. In a flash of purple light, Avkasham's body dissolved into fine dust. Arush stood alone, holding the remains in his fingertips. "You said four stories. Why stop at two? A mascot cannot stand on the back of the Sun... bastard."
---
The scene shifted to the 7th Century. A couple lay in a lavish bed, a glass of wine tipped over on the side table. A hawk sat perched on a gnarled branch, gripping the bark with iron talons as a snake slithered up behind it. The hawk turned, its eyes flashing with ancient glory, and whispered:
**"त्वया उक्ताः चतस्रः कथाः, किन्तु सूर्यस्य तेजः न केवलं सूर्येण सह देदीप्यमानम् आसीत्, अपितु तेन सह अलौकिकम् अन्धकारम् अपि आगतम्। किन्तु जीवनस्य विषये किम्? किं तस्य ज्वालाः शुष्ककाष्ठे ज्वलिष्यन्ति अथवा नीललोहितज्वालानां (धूम्रज्वालानां) सौन्दर्येण सह लतायाम्? हे अवकाशम्, सदा स्वपृष्ठतः पश्य, अन्धकारेण तव उत्तराधिकारं धारयतः मृत्युः तुभ्यं प्रदत्तः॥"**
(("You spoke of four stories, but the brilliance of the sun was not only shining with the sun; with it, a supernatural darkness also moved. But what about life? Will his flames burn on dry wood or on a vine with the beauty of purple flames? O Avkasham, always look behind you; the darkness has granted you death while holding your legacy."))
A hand reached out from the shadows, gripping the back of Avkasham's neck until the bones began to grind. He dissolved into the dust of eternity. An arrow tip—black and jagged—fell from the remains. The hawk looked at the couple on the bed and whispered, "You knew the secret, Kurozaru... huh?"
Dark, amethyst flames began to lick the walls as a calm, frantic voice filled the room:
**"अहं जाने यत् श्येनेन क्रीडा क्रीडिता... किं त्वं न अजानाः? किन्तु शृणु, यदि अहं अवकाशं हन्तुम् ऐच्छिष्यं तर्हि आरम्भे एव अकरिष्यम्, किन्तु सूर्यस्य तेजसि परिवर्तनस्य तस्य क्रीडा मम कृते तव कृते च रोचका आसीत्, अत एव अहं तं क्रीडितुं दत्तवान् यावत् सः विफलः न जातः। किन्तु मम क्रीडा तु यथा भवेत् तथा एव चलति, राजा रक्षितुं योद्धा तत्र अस्ति, यदा तु राज्ञी तस्य समीपम् आगमिष्यति यथा सः इच्छति... यतः अहम् 'शून्यम्' अस्मि॥"**
(("I knew the Hawk was playing a game... didn't you? But listen, if I had wanted to kill Avkasham, I would have done it at the start. His game of turning the sun into brilliance was interesting to me and to you; that is why I let him play until he failed. But my game moves exactly as it should. The Knight is there to protect the King, while the Queen will walk to him just as he desires... because I am the Void."))
Kurozaru watched from the shadows as the Queen walked toward the King, while in the corner, the cradle held an *asur*—the seed of the next destruction.
- ARUSH SALUNKE