Chapter 90 Dice of Destiny

"Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu both fell in the schemes of Indra and avatars of Vishnu!"

The words escaped Hayagriva's lips, barely audible, but full of reverence. His gaze, solemn and calculating, bore into the depths of his thoughts.

"Worthy to be the Lord of Svarga. Worthy to be the king of the Devas. King among kings..."

With a murmur, Hayagriva straightened, his posture unwavering as he rose from the throne. The air thickened with each deliberate step he took. His aura flared like an unstoppable storm, every movement punctuated by invisible thunder that cracked the stillness of the chamber. It reverberated with power, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

His mane swayed as if caught in the winds of destiny, amplifying his presence.

"This Indra... stronger, wiser than I remember..." he muttered to himself, his thoughts turning to the unfolding plans.

His gaze shifted toward the horizon beyond the temple. The vast, dim land stretched out before him, a silent witness to the ongoing battle of forces.

"To claim the Vedas, we must first expel the Devas from the Brahmaloka and Svarga..." Hayagriva's eyes narrowed, a dark glint flashing across them. A sudden, chilling thought took root, its arrival like a lightning strike in the depths of his mind.

Boom!

The idea exploded in his consciousness, sharp and clear.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand, his fingers tracing an invisible arc through the air. Divine light cascaded around him, its radiance pulsing in the silence.

Uh-huh!

The light gathered, shaping into a stone platform that materialized before him. It was simple, but its presence was undeniable—a chessboard-like creation, etched with meticulous, orderly markings. The design was a perfect cross, four lanes and three columns, eight squares in each row, the pattern unyielding.

Hayagriva lowered his gaze to the stone, his right hand extended as divine energy coiled around it. Slowly, deliberately, he opened his palm, and from the light, a rectangular die appeared, etched with intricate dots on all six sides.

Bar la la!

He threw the die onto the board, watching as it clattered across the surface, finally settling on a three.

A dark smile curved across his lips.

"Hum hum..." he chuckled softly. "Call Mayasura!"

Turning back toward his throne, Hayagriva's confidence grew. He already knew the path ahead—his plan was set into motion.

Not long after, a figure appeared.

A gaunt, wiry Asura entered the chamber. His face was drawn, eyes heavy with exhaustion, like those of a creature barely awake. Dark rings circled his eyes, and a harsh, black-and-white crown rested atop his head, resembling a spider's grotesque web of teeth and claws. His slender form barely seemed to fill the doorway as he entered, and he carried a long, black double-horned staff in his hand.

Mayāsura. Master architect of the Asuras—peer and rival to Viśvakarmā, the divine artisan of the Devas. Where Viśvakarmā built in harmony with Ṛta, the natural order, Mayāsura wrought wonders through mystic craft and sheer will. His creations did not echo Dharma—they asserted dominion.

This Danava was born from Rishi Kashyapa and his wife Danu., a being imbued with immense talent in Maya. It was this extraordinary gift that earned him the name Mayasura, for his mastery over Maya—the art of illusion—was unparalleled. But his talents did not stop there. Mayasura was also a renowned blacksmith, his craft so skilled that every enchanted weapon wielded by the Asura clan had been forged by his hand.

With slow, deliberate steps, Mayasura approached the throne where Hayagriva sat, his presence almost as imposing as the mighty deity himself. His strides were long, each one purposeful, filled with the quiet confidence of a master craftsman.

Hayagriva, seated upon his throne, seemed to smile—but it was a smile that barely touched his eyes. The coldness in his gaze was unmistakable, a stark contrast to the warm, almost regal demeanor he projected. He stared at Mayasura with an intensity that could freeze the very air around them.

"I know you are a divine craftsman, Mayasura," Hayagriva said, his voice smooth yet commanding. "Now, I have a task for you. I need you to create a dice—a dice that will ensure my victory, no matter the game. It must be flawless, a tool of absolute trickery. And it must remain undetected by the Devas."

Mayasura stood silent for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking to the cross-shaped game board before him. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers closing around the rectangular dice, studying its form as if weighing its very essence.

"If you want this dice to always roll in your favor, without fail, and without the Devas ever noticing, then you will need to craft it from the bones of the thrower," Mayasura replied, his voice calm yet tinged with a hint of pride. His eyes gleamed with a knowledge only he possessed, a knowledge that only someone of his craft could understand.

"The bones of the thrower contain the essence of his destiny—his will, his power, his very dream. The dice will be bound to him in ways the devas cannot see or interfere with."

Hayagriva's eyes glinted as his lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. His fiery mane swayed gently as if responding to his thoughts. But it wasn't a mere smile of amusement—it was the smile of a king who had already anticipated the challenge and had decided upon the solution.

"Very well, Mayasura," Hayagriva said, his tone resonating with a divine power that made the air itself quiver. "The bones of the thrower... very well."

Mayasura raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Hayagriva's words. He watched, perplexed, as Hayagriva's gaze grew distant, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as if the weight of his decision was beginning to settle in.

"Give me your bones," Mayasura continued, his voice slightly hushed. "I shall make the dice from your very being, Hayagriva."

Hayagriva's eyes met Mayasura's. A flicker of surprise passed over the divine craftsman's face, quickly masked by his stoic demeanor. Hayagriva's request was not just bold—it was unprecedented. The very idea of sacrificing one's bones for the creation of a powerful tool was not only unheard of, but it also bore tremendous risk.

"Then be it," Hayagriva replied, his voice a thunderous affirmation. "If my bones are to be used, then it shall be so. Let the dice be forged from my essence, for the victory it shall bring is worth the cost."

Mayasura looked at him carefully, sensing the gravitas of the moment. He could see the resolve in Hayagriva's eyes, the power that surged from him like a tide ready to crash upon the shore. There was no hesitation in his words, no second thoughts. Hayagriva had made his choice.

"Very well," Mayasura said, his voice deepening with respect. "I will craft it, then. A tool of absolute trickery that even devas won't be able to detect it."

Without another word, Hayagriva closed his eyes and began to channel his divine energy, focusing his will on the task at hand. He stood tall as if preparing to offer himself for a sacrifice that would forever alter the course of his life.

"I shall give what is needed," Hayagriva said, his voice steady yet imbued with an ancient power that resonated through the very air.

His eyes met Mayasura's with an unspoken understanding, and the ground beneath them seemed to tremble as if the earth itself acknowledged the magnitude of the sacrifice about to unfold.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Hayagriva's fingers curled around his rib, and with a soft, almost imperceptible snap, the bone came free from his side. The crack echoed through the stillness, sending shivers through the space between them. 

Mayasura stepped forward, his eyes focused intently on Hayagriva's offering. He reached out with both hands, reverently touching the bone.

The words echoed in the air like a sacred chant, resonating with the ancient power that both men understood. Mayasura's gaze shifted, the pride in his eyes burning brighter as he acknowledged the challenge before him. The task was set. And with it, a new tool would be forged—one that would defy the devas themselves.

…

In Svarga, outside the grand temple, the atmosphere was filled with anticipation and pride. The Gandharva warriors stood in perfect formation on both sides of the path, their sacred spears tapping rhythmically against the ground, creating a deep, resonant beat. The air was alive with energy as they performed the ceremonial welcome.

Bang! Bang! Thump, thump, thump!

The sound of victory conches echoed through the sky like the crashing waves of the ocean, while the beat of war drums thundered relentlessly, adding to the dramatic reverberations.

The Devas, radiant and confident, strutted through the procession with beaming smiles. Cloaks fluttering behind them and magic weapons in hand, they walked with a sense of purpose and pride, their every step accentuated by the cheers of the Gandharva warriors lining the path.

Suddenly, a gust of air followed the graceful movement of the beautiful Devi, who danced elegantly past the Devas. As she moved, delicate red pollen fell like marigold petals in the sunlight, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that heightened the sense of triumph.

The Devas, basking in the jubilant atmosphere, entered the temple, their faces lit up with satisfaction. The Gandharvas continued their lively song, their voices intertwining with the joyful dances of the Devis, who showered the Devas with golden victory rings. Laughter and music echoed throughout Svarga, a city alive with joy and celebration.

"We've triumphed over the Asuras in Brahma Loka!" Surya said, his lips curling into a proud smile as he basked in the light of his victory. "This is the Devas' victory!"

The air was thick with pride, but there was an undertone of disappointment.

"The glory of the Devas shines across the Triloka," Vayu added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But it's a pity the Indra couldn't join us."

Agni, the Dev of fire, let out a deep sigh. "This glory, this victory, should be enjoyed by our king. But instead, he remains preoccupied with worries that Asura will attack Svarga again." His voice held a hint of frustration, tinged with concern.

"It's the Asuras' fault!" another voice echoed bitterly from among the crowd, the anger still fresh from the battle.

As the Devas continued down the vibrant path, the festive mood suddenly dimmed, as though the very air had thickened with unease. The sounds of celebration slowed, faltering for a moment. The joyous energy that had once filled the air now seemed more distant, as the Devas could not ignore the absence of the King of Svarga.

"Where is he?" Soma whispered.

For a brief moment, the triumphant noise was replaced by a heavy silence, a quiet reflection on the void left by the King's absence.

…

At that very moment, deep within the Palace of the King of Svarga, a quiet murmur escaped Indra's lips.

"Hayagriva is quite powerful... Madhu and Kaitambha are even more formidable."

"But I've figured out a way." His voice was calm, yet there was a flicker of determination in his eyes.

Indra sat cross-legged before a fire pit, surrounded by golden plates laden with offerings. Towers of sweet yellow laddos, mangoes, and piles of delicate turmeric powder were carefully arranged in front of him.

His mind was focused, plotting his next move.

"The wisest move against the unkillable foes," he muttered, half-laughing to himself, "is to not die trying."

The three Asuras were indeed a challenge, but fleeing to Kailash to do penance in solitude might be the best course of action. Even Asuras won't be foolish enough to barge into Kailash. Even Ravana had paid very dearly for interrupting the peace of those mountains.

Ravana, known for his intelligence, strength, and arrogance, was determined to gain Lord Shiva's blessing. He believed that with Shiva's blessing, he could become invincible, defeat Indra, and become the king of Triloka. But Ravana, in his pride, did not want to simply worship Shiva traditionally. Instead, he thought to prove his strength by lifting Mount Kailash.

The mountain itself was considered a divine and immovable object, representing the stability and power of the gods. But Ravana, with his ten heads and twenty arms, set his sights on it. He believed that if he could lift Kailash, Lord Shiva would be forced to recognize his superiority and grant him the divine boon he sought.

With great effort, Ravana gathered all his strength, and with a roar, he attempted to lift the massive mountain. His muscles strained as he tried with all his might, but Kailash, being the residence of the Shiva, did not budge. It was as though the mountain itself was anchored to the earth by the very essence of the universe, impervious to any force Ravana could muster.

As Ravana strained, sweating and grunting, the earth shook with the force of his effort. The Devas watched in astonishment as the mighty Asura king attempted to lift the sacred mountain. But Shiva, ever calm and unperturbed, remained meditative, seated atop Kailash, indifferent to Ravana's futile attempt.

Finally, with an amused and almost playful look, Lord Shiva decided to teach Ravana a lesson in humility. With just a slight movement, Shiva lifted his toe, gently pressing it down on the mountain.

The moment Shiva's toe touched Kailash, the mountain sank deeper into the earth, trapping Ravana beneath it with its sheer weight. Ravana, despite his vast strength, finds himself helpless, pinned by the mountain, unable to move. His immense pride had led him to challenge the sacred abode of Shiva, and now he was paying the price for his arrogance.

Ravana struggled to free himself, wriggling and thrashing beneath the weight of Kailash, but it was no use. His cries echoed through the skies as he realized the immense power of Lord Shiva. With each cry, the weight of the mountain seemed to press harder on him, and Ravana's pleas grew louder.

Lord Shiva, amused by Ravana's plight and unable to resist his dramatic display, smiled and addressed him. "Such a mighty king you are, Dasagriva," Shiva said with a calm voice, "but your pride has led you astray. The strong are always kind, not arrogant."

Ravana, his body pinned beneath the mountain, began to weep and plead for mercy. His cries were so loud, so intense, that they reverberated through the heavens, reaching the ears of the gods and sages. Shiva, who had been silent, finally spoke, naming Ravana in the moment of his suffering.

"Since you cry so much," Shiva said with a chuckle, "I shall call you 'Ravana,' the one who cries."

The name stuck, and Ravana, humbled by his defeat, was finally released from under the weight of Kailash.

...

As for who could replace Indra as king of Svarga in the meantime... he already had that figured out.

A sly smile curled on Indra's lips as he clasped his hands together, his plan solidifying in his mind.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the turmeric powder from the golden plate and cast it into the yajna fire.

Swaha!

In an instant, the flames leaped to life, burning brightly and soaring into the sky like the crown of a great tree. The fire illuminated the room with a radiant, golden light, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.

"Om Vayuve Namah! Om Varunaya Vidmahe!" Indra chanted, his voice rich with reverence.

As he spoke, a steady stream of sweet steamed dumplings began to fall, one by one, into the yajna agni. The laddos moved with a graceful slowness, creating a pale yellow arc in the air before disappearing into the blaze.

Bang!

The laddos fell, and the fire roared back to life, its intensity growing stronger with each offering.

In the flickering flames, the ethereal forms of the wind gods Vayu and Varuna, began to take shape, their figures appearing like shadowy reflections within the blazing light.

At that very moment, amid the banquet, the two devas—Vayu and Varuna—felt a strange sensation. The sound of thunder seemed to vibrate through the air, echoing in their ears.

Boom!

Boom!

Both gods froze for a moment, then raised their gazes, their eyes narrowing with focus as if they had sensed the surge of power from the blazing yajna fire.

Indra, watching from his throne, couldn't help but smile slightly, knowing that his plan was already set in motion.

---

Rāvaṇa was originally known as Daśagrīva—'the one with ten necks'—a name he earned due to his ten heads, which symbolized immense knowledge, power, and mastery over the four Vedas and six Śāstras.

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