The thunder cracked like a celestial war drum, echoing across the heavens, louder than Panchajanya's Ghosha and deeper than the pulse of Shiva's damaru. It wasn't just sound. It was a declaration. Judgment of the skies had arrived.
From the churning canopy of clouds above Svarga, a radiant figure burst forth like a comet made of lightning and wrath. Draped in a cloak the color of blood-soaked sunset, he descended with divine gravity. The vajra in his hand glowed with the fury of storms, pulling down streaks of thunder that rained from the heavens like a flame waterfall.
When it struck the ground, the sound split the world. Ripples of electricity tore through the battlefield, a rolling tide of divine destruction.
Dozens of Asuras were thrown through the air, their screams drowned by the roar of thunder. Some turned to ash mid-flight. Others were hurled into the stones like broken dolls, their armor fused to their blackened skin.
Among them, one green-scaled warrior, crushed by the storm, was flung like a meteor and landed hard in front of Shumbha. His body smoked, skin cracked and scorched, groaning as he coughed out smoke and blood.
Shumbha narrowed his eyes and retreated in quick flashes of movement. When the broken warrior finally stopped rolling, Shumbha glanced at him without recognition. There was no time for pity.
His eyes were already lifting toward the sky.
Up above, the thunder churned into a sea of blue flame. And within that storm, a red cloak rippled like a divine banner. At first, Shumbha's eyes squinted in confusion.
"Rajan...?" he murmured. But then the figure rose beneath the red.
His breath caught.
"No," Shumbha whispered, panic blooming in his chest. "It's him…"
His voice cracked as the memories returned, Nishumbha charging ahead under Hiranyakashipu's orders, screaming defiance, only to be laid flat in three blows. Shumbha had escaped by pretending to be dead beneath the bodies of the fallen. And now, the one nightmare he never wanted to see again had returned in full fury.
"Indra!" he said aloud, stumbling back, his composure breaking.
Behind him, the Asura ranks stirred in confusion, then dread. Viprachitti's grin faded as he stared upward, his forked tongue darting between his fangs in unease. Puloman growled low in his throat, gripping his weapon tightly, though his stance shifted uneasily, ready to retreat at a moment's notice. Ketuman hissed between his teeth.
"It's the devaraja Indra... It's really him," he muttered.
Balasura's voice cut through the murmuring. "What's he doing back now?! Wasn't he banished?"
"I knew this would happen!" Durmatha snapped, eyes wide. "I told you fools we should have razed the temple when we had the chance!"
The army began to unravel.
Cries of fear rippled through the ranks, and some began to flee. Others shouted in blind rage, trying to rally. But none stepped forward.
Indra stood in silence, framed by lightning. He hadn't moved since his descent; he didn't need to. His presence alone shattered their momentum.
Farther back, the Gandharvas, still bound with rope, gasped at the sight, lightning crackling across the sky, and Indra's silhouette framed in the heart of the storm.
Tumburu, bloodied but unbowed, stared up with wide eyes. His voice was low, almost prayerful."Indra... the King has returned."
Beside him, Hāhā, breathing hard through cracked lips, nodded slowly."We were not abandoned... Svarga remembers its own."
The chained soldiers wept openly now, some bowing even while seated, their heads lowered in reverence.
Across the broken courtyard, the captive Rishis raised their eyes. Their robes were torn, their faces lined with exhaustion. But each responded differently.
One Rishi's eyes welled with tears. Another exhaled slowly, a faint smile on his lips. A third stared in silence, arms folded, lips tight.
"He returns," one said quietly. "Even after being cursed by Rishi Duvasa a second time… he still came to save Svarga."
Yet no one spoke louder than Indra himself.
He stood still, a silent titan, as thunder cracked behind him and the Asuras trembled before the storm.
Streams of radiant energy burst through the storm-dark sky, descending like pillars of divine fire. One after another, glowing forms appeared, illuminating the shattered battlefield.
A towering, armored figure stood at the center of them, calm, composed, and crackling with suppressed power.
Vajranga had returned.
"King!" Shumbha exclaimed, his voice sharp with disbelief.
The Asura ranks stirred. Where moments ago panic had taken root, now eyes filled with relief and awe. The tide had not yet turned, but their king had returned, and with him came hope.
From among the debris, a scorched figure staggered to his feet, his charred scales barely clinging to his smoking frame. It was Viparchitti, his green lizard-like hide now blackened and cracked, embers dancing from his skin as he knelt, trembling.
"King… you must avenge me," Viparchitti rasped. "They ambushed me… struck me down with treachery!"
He bowed low, his voice pitiful, but Vajranga's face remained unreadable. The King of Asuras walked forward without expression, each step deliberate as he descended from the battlefield platform, silence trailing in his wake.
Kritya raised his eyes with hope, but the answer came not in words.
Boom!
Vajranga's fist swung upward like a rising cannon and crashed into Viparchitti's chin with monstrous force. The sound cracked across the field as Kritya was launched through the air like a broken meteor.
He crashed beside Shumbha with a heavy thud, groaning once before falling still.
Shumbha blinked, crimson eyes flashing. He took a half-step back in shock. "He… struck down Kritya?"
Around them, the battlefield froze.
Gandharvas, gods, Asuras, even the bound Rishis, all turned to witness the moment. Whispers spread through the air like smoke.
"Why? Why strike down one of his own?" Ketuman clenched his fists, nostrils flaring. "It's a show. A performance for the devas," he spat. "But at whose cost? Ours?"
Rishi Kashyapa's gaze sharpened.
Agni's flames flickered in silence, while the other Devas exchanged glances, some intrigued, others suspicious, all unsettled.
Indra raised a brow and muttered under his breath. "That one's built like a sandbag... still twitching after a thunderbolt punch. Quite stubborn."
But Vajranga's voice rang out before anyone else could speak.
"How dare you disobey my command!"
His words rolled like thunder, full of restrained fury. His power surged again, raw and palpable, whipping through the air like a gathering storm. Svarga itself seemed to bend under the weight of his presence.
Viprachitti whimpered, curling into himself, now too afraid to even speak.
The gathered forces of Asura, Deva, Gandharva, and Rishi felt it clearly.
This was no ordinary Asura. This was a true ruler who commanded the Asuras.
And yet, he turned.
Vajranga stepped forward, his movements slow and measured. Every step echoed. He came to stand before Indra, spine straight, shoulders proud. And then, before the shocked gaze of the world, he bowed.
Palms pressed together, hands raised above his head, he saluted the king of Svarga. Vajranga, the King of Asuras, bowed to Indra.
The air thickened with disbelief.
Shumbha's lips parted. Puloman gritted his teeth. Viprachitti narrowed his eyes. Even the most hardened Asuras stared in silence, unable to speak.
Indra, blinking twice, stepped forward, half in disbelief, half in calculation.
"Wait, you're really leaving?" he asked, incredulous. "You're going to give this up? All of this?"
He gestured toward the thunder-lit halls of Svarga.
"You don't want to be a ruler of Triloka? Stay, rule beside the throne of Svarga. You'd have power, respect... This place is magnificent, Vajranga. Why return to Patala?"
Around them, the gods held their breath.
The Rishis exchanged guarded looks. And the Asuras… they seethed.
Durmatha's jaw locked. "He's surrendering."
Balasura's voice was low, venomous. "He bows to the Devas now? A traitor."
Even Ketuman muttered bitterly, "I should have known he'd be swayed by his father's words."
But Vajranga only smiled faintly, the stormlight catching in his eyes. He turned slightly, meeting Rishi Kashyapa's gaze. Then, raising a single finger, he spoke:
"My father once said..."
...
Author's note: If Hanuman was blessed with the greatest number of boons in Itihasa, then Karna was burdened with the greatest number of curses.
Karna posed as a Brahmin to learn astras. When an insect bored into his thigh, he bore the pain silently. Parashurama (6th Avatar of Vishnu) awoke, saw the truth, and cursed him: the knowledge of astras would fail him at his most crucial hour of need.
While practicing archery, Karna killed a Brahmin's cow by mistake. The Brahmin, stricken with grief, cursed him twice. The earth would one day swallow his chariot wheel, and like the helpless cow, he too would die weaponless and defenseless.
Kunti, born as Pritha and adopted by King Kuntibhoja, who was her uncle and Yadava chief, approached Karna before the great war and revealed herself as his mother. She pleaded with him to spare the Pandavas. Karna promised that she would remain the mother of five sons even after the war. Bound by this vow, he spared Yudhishthira, Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva whenever he gained the upper hand against them in battle, though killing them could have ended the war in the Kauravas' favor. The only exception he allowed was Arjuna, against whom he reserved his full strength. This oath is considered a chain or curse by me on Karna.
Every gift he received carried its undoing. The armor and earrings that made him invincible were lost to Indra's trickery. His immense generosity often stripped him of protection. Even destiny seemed to conspire against him.
During the war, when Karna's chariot wheel sank into the earth and he stood defenseless, Arjuna hesitated to strike. Krishna (Vishnu's 8th Avatar) reminded him of Karna's past misdeeds and the injustices he had supported. Stirred by Krishna's words, Arjuna loosed the Anjalika Astra and killed Karna.
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