章節 8: Stories and Rituals

Rudra sat in a small room within an ancient guest house in the heart of Kashi. The warm light of the evening sun filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows on the floor. Rohan had brought him books, articles, and even videos downloaded onto the smartphone—everything Rudra would need to understand how the world now viewed him.

As he sifted through the material, Rudra's calm expression remained unreadable. He saw his name in the great epics, how the Ramayana was still revered as one of India's most sacred texts, and how his role had been immortalized in story and culture. He read about Lord Rama, Hanuman, and the battles fought long ago, but what interested him the most was the modern interpretation of these events.

A particular video caught his attention, showing the Dasherra festival. The clip displayed enormous effigies of Ravana, his ten heads towering over the crowd, filled with fireworks. Children cheered, and people laughed as the statue was set ablaze, symbolizing the victory of good over evil.

Rudra watched in silence, his face betraying no emotion. Finally, he placed the phone down on the table and looked at Rohan, who sat nearby, observing him carefully.

"They burn my likeness every year," Rudra said softly, the calmness of his voice almost unsettling. "They celebrate my defeat as a triumph of virtue."

Rohan shifted uncomfortably. He had anticipated this moment and had thought long about what he would say. "It's a tradition," he began hesitantly. "They see it as a reminder that good triumphs over evil, that light will always overcome darkness."

Rudra's eyes narrowed slightly, not out of anger, but in thought. "Good and evil," he mused. "Those are the terms they use to simplify the complexity of existence." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as if he were seeing something far beyond the room. "The people of this world are quick to judge, quick to label. I, too, have changed over the millennia. I have become a symbol, not of what I was, but of what they needed me to be—a villain."

Rohan hesitated, then spoke. "But... you did challenge Lord Rama, and you did abduct Sita. The people see that as your greatest crime."

Rudra smiled faintly, his eyes flicking to Rohan. "History is written by the victors, my friend. My motives, my beliefs, they were far more complex than mere conquest or lust. But those details are lost in the tales, reshaped by generations who needed a clear hero and a clear villain." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "And yet, despite their efforts to demonize me, they cannot escape the power of my name. I am still remembered. Every year, they bring me back to life only to destroy me again. They cannot let go of my presence."

Rohan nodded slowly, understanding the depth of Rudra's perception. "You're not just a character in a story," Rohan said. "You're a force, an idea that refuses to be forgotten."

Rudra smiled, pleased with Rohan's insight. "Exactly," he said quietly. "And that is what I intend to use."

Far away from the spiritual calm of Kashi, in the bustling cities of Mumbai and Delhi, another story was unfolding. Unbeknownst to the common people, powerful forces that had long hidden in the shadows were stirring, sensing the return of their lost king.

The Asuras and Daityas, ancient beings who once warred with the Devas, had long since integrated into the fabric of human society. Over the centuries, they had taken on human forms, building empires through industries, businesses, and global networks. They remained powerful, though their true nature was masked beneath layers of wealth and influence.

In a sleek, dimly lit office on the top floor of a towering building, two figures stood, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The man on the left, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to glow with a faint, unnatural light, was Mahish, a descendent of Mahishasura. His companion, a tall, elegant woman with an air of authority, was Surasa, a powerful Daitya in human form. Together, they controlled vast networks that spanned continents, moving money, resources, and information with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

"His power has returned," Mahish said, his voice low and grave. "We felt it the moment it happened. Ravana has awakened."

Surasa nodded, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. "We have been waiting for this moment for centuries. But it is not enough to sense his presence. We must find him, and quickly. Others will be searching too—the Rishis, the sages, even the Devas. We cannot afford to let them interfere."

Mahish turned to her, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "The Devas have grown weak, content to watch from their high seats while the world changes around them. But the sages, the positive forces—they will act soon. They already know."

Surasa's eyes gleamed. "Then we act faster. We have built an empire in this human world, and it is time to use it. We will send our people out. They will track every movement, every whisper of something unusual. The man we seek may not yet be known to us, but we will recognize him soon enough. His power will reveal him."

Mahish glanced at her, his voice more cautious. "And when we find him? What then?"

"We offer him what he needs," Surasa replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "An alliance. Resources. We offer him the power to reshape the world. But we must approach carefully. Ravana is not one to trust easily, especially after his betrayal by Vibhishana."

Mahish grunted in agreement. "And if he refuses?"

Surasa's expression darkened. "Then we force his hand."

Meanwhile, across the globe, other forces had also sensed the return of an ancient power. In the remote regions of the Himalayas, sages who had spent lifetimes in meditation felt the stirrings of Ravana's energy. Among them was a group of Rishis, led by a venerable sage named Vishvamitra, who had known of Ravana's return from the moment his energy had reawakened.

"We have been expecting this," Vishvamitra said, seated cross-legged beneath a large tree. The air around him was thick with the hum of spiritual energy. "Ravana's time has come again, as foretold."

Another sage, younger but no less wise, spoke up. "He was once a force of chaos. His return could mean destruction on an unimaginable scale."

Vishvamitra closed his eyes, his face serene. "Or it could mean something else. Ravana has learned much during his time in the underworld. He may not seek destruction but balance."

The younger sage frowned. "But can we risk waiting to find out? The Asuras and Daityas are already searching for him. They will try to bend him to their will."

Vishvamitra's voice was calm, yet filled with certainty. "Ravana is not one to be easily bent. He will choose his own path, just as he did before. We will watch. We will wait. And if necessary, we will act."

Back in Kashi, as the night fell, Rudra continued his study, absorbing every detail about how the modern world perceived him. He learned of his depiction as a villain, a symbol of evil, but he also learned of those who still revered him. There were temples dedicated to him, places where he was worshipped as a misunderstood king rather than a demon.

As he read, he couldn't help but smile. "They burn my effigy, yet they cannot escape my memory," he whispered to himself.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. It was Rohan, texting to let him know he had arrived with the books and modern essentials Rudra had requested. There was much to do, much to prepare for.

But before he could begin his true work, there was one thing left to do. He would go to Kashi's temples and offer his prayers to Lord Mahadeva, just as he had done long ago. This time, however, he would do it in a world that had long forgotten the true extent of his power.

And soon, the world would remember.