Chapter 5: A New Name, A New Path
Ravana stood on the edge of the forest, looking out at the vast expanse of land before him. The world had changed since his last days of rule—cities now stretched across the horizon where once there had been forests, and the air was filled with the sounds of machinery rather than the rhythm of nature. Still, there was a strange sense of familiarity. The essence of the land had not shifted, and deep within its soil, the ancient energies still pulsed.
His form was no longer the one that had struck fear into the hearts of kings and gods. The ten heads and the imposing stature that had marked his demonic lineage were gone. In their place, a tall, slender man stood—a figure of elegance and strength, wrapped in modern clothing, his face young and handsome, yet carrying a timeless wisdom in his sharp eyes. This new identity was necessary for the age he now inhabited, where power moved in subtler currents.
He had chosen a name more fitting for these times: Rudra Suryavanshi. A blend of ancient respect for Lord Shiva—Mahadeva, his most revered deity—and a lineage that signified power, royalty, and light. It was a name that would carry weight, though it hid his true nature.
As Rudra, he moved with purpose, his destination clear: Kashi, the ancient city of Varanasi, where the mightiest of all gods, Lord Mahadeva, still reigned over the cosmic cycle of birth and death. Before embarking on this pilgrimage, however, he knew he must first visit the place of his own origin.
His footsteps guided him toward the village of Bishrakh, the birthplace that once knew him as Ravana, long before he became the King of Lanka. The journey was filled with memories that surfaced slowly, like ghosts from the past. Though much had changed, the land itself seemed to recognize him.
The sun hung low in the sky as Rudra approached the village of Bishrakh. The villagers here were simple folk, unaware of the magnitude of the history beneath their feet. They lived ordinary lives, surrounded by myths they neither questioned nor fully understood. As he walked through the narrow streets, a few villagers greeted him with polite curiosity, unaware that the man before them was the very legend they spoke of during festivals and rituals.
At the edge of the village, a small temple stood—a simple structure, but one that had stood the test of time. This was the temple of his ancestors, where the essence of his lineage remained, undisturbed for centuries. Rudra stepped through the threshold, his presence alone causing the air inside the temple to shift, as though the stones themselves recognized the return of one of their own.
Kneeling before the altar, Rudra placed his hands together, his head bowed. In front of him stood the simple idols of his parents, Vishrava and Kaikesi, figures long forgotten by most but never by him.
"Father," he whispered, his voice low and reverent, "Mother."
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, all the centuries between his reign and this moment vanished. He was once again the young Ravana, the son of Vishrava, the ambitious prince whose thirst for knowledge and power had driven him to the brink of godhood. His mother, Kaikesi, had nurtured him with the teachings of the Rakshasa clan, while his father had instilled in him the wisdom of the sages. They had made him who he was—both in his rise and his fall.
"I have returned," Rudra continued softly, "not as the demon king, but as one who seeks to understand this new world, to reclaim what was lost, and to fulfill the purpose I could not in my previous life."
He stayed there for some time, paying homage to the spirits of his ancestors, drawing strength from the land of his birth. Though his path had been one of conflict and destruction, he knew that this time, his approach would be different. He would no longer wage war through brute force alone; he would wield both chaos and order to reshape the world.
As the first stars began to glimmer in the evening sky, Rudra rose to his feet. His heart now felt a quiet resolve, strengthened by his visit to his parents. He left the temple and began his journey once more. The next destination was Kashi, the city where Shiva—Mahadeva—still watched over the cosmos.
He had always revered Shiva above all others. Even in his former life, amidst his ambition to conquer the heavens and claim his place as ruler of all three worlds, Ravana had worshipped Mahadeva with undying devotion. It was Shiva who had granted him his boons and immense power. But it was also Shiva who had shown him his limits.
The journey to Kashi was long, but Rudra welcomed the solitude. It gave him time to reflect on what had become of the world in his absence. Technology had reshaped society, but at its core, human nature remained the same—driven by ambition, fear, greed, and a desire for control. The gods had faded from the public consciousness, worshipped only in ritual and tradition. Few truly understood the power that still existed beyond their grasp.
As Rudra approached Kashi, the spiritual energy of the place hit him like a wave. Varanasi was still a city of light and darkness, where life and death coexisted in perfect harmony. The Ganges flowed quietly, a river of eternity that had witnessed the rise and fall of countless empires, sages, and kings.
He entered the ancient streets, feeling the pulse of the city. Here, in the heart of Kashi, he would offer his prayers to Mahadeva—not out of fear or subservience, but out of deep respect. He had always known that Shiva's path was one of balance between creation and destruction, and now, more than ever, Rudra understood the need for both.
At the sacred ghats of Varanasi, Rudra knelt before the river, offering his respects to the ever-flowing Ganges, the physical embodiment of grace. The cool water ran over his fingers as he performed the ritual ablutions, his thoughts focused on Mahadeva. In this moment, he was no longer the conqueror, no longer the once-feared king. He was simply a devotee.
He walked toward the towering Kashi Vishwanath Temple, his steps deliberate, his heart steady. As he entered the temple, the aura of Shiva filled the air, powerful and overwhelming. The scent of incense wafted through the stone halls as Rudra made his way to the sanctum.
Before the towering lingam, the symbol of Shiva's infinite power, Rudra bowed deeply. He had come here not just to pray, but to seek guidance. His return was not by accident. The world had changed, and yet the ancient forces were stirring once again. Ravana had been resurrected for a reason, and Rudra needed to know why.
As he sat in silent meditation before the deity, a strange calm washed over him. The chaos of his mind began to settle, and clarity emerged. This time, he would not blindly chase power. His path would be one of understanding, manipulation, and careful orchestration. The world would not see Ravana coming, but when it did, it would be too late to stop him.
A faint smile crossed his face. Ravana had returned, not to wreak mindless havoc, but to control the chaos of the world and to impose order where it was needed. The line between good and evil, creation and destruction, was blurred, and in this new age, he would navigate both with precision.
As he rose from his meditation, Rudra turned his gaze back to the idol of Mahadeva. He bowed once more, then walked out into the night.
The path ahead was clear. But first, he had to understand the forces at play in the world. He would gather information, make allies where necessary, and then... he would strike.
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This story is my depiction of What if Ravana returned if anyone have any doubts on the story please let me know in comments
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