The moment the yogi's eyes opened, Amar felt as if he were being stripped bare. The sheer intensity of that gaze pierced through his soul, exposing every layer of his being. It wasn't just a stare—it was a power that could read the depths of one's heart and intentions without uttering a word.
For a brief moment, the yogi's eyes glowed a deep crimson before settling back into pitch black. That was when realization dawned upon Amar like a bolt of lightning. This man—no, this entity—wasn't just a yogi. He was a rakshasa. And not just any rakshasa… he was at the Demigod stage of power Amar had only read about in ancient texts.
Neither of them spoke at first. An eerie silence stretched between them, the kind that weighed down on the atmosphere like a thunderstorm waiting to erupt. Then, the yogi broke the silence. His voice was ancient, commanding, and spoken in a tongue that had long been forgotten by the world.
"Who are you? And where is Lankapati?" he asked in ancient Sanskrit.
The name hit Amar like a hammer. Lankapati. He knew that name. It was a title once revered in the Treta Yuga. The world knew him by another name—Raavan. The mighty king of Lanka. A scholar. A warrior. A devotee. A tyrant.
In that instant, Amar understood. The mural he had seen months ago in the ancient corridor wasn't just a depiction of a myth—it was history. The figure in the painting had been Raavan himself. And the man standing before him now… was somehow connected to him.
Panic bubbled beneath Amar's calm facade. There was no escaping a third-stage rakshasa—not with brute force, not with speed, not even with divine artifacts unless perfectly aligned. But even under pressure, his mind didn't stop racing. Amar was a scholar of ancient languages and mythologies. If he could buy time, maybe… just maybe…
Before he could think further, the being in front of him grew impatient. He repeated his question, but this time infused it with power. The vibrations of his voice alone nearly shattered Amar's spirit. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears rang with a piercing frequency, and his soul felt like it was being squeezed.
Still, he did not falter.
He straightened up, wiped the blood from his face, and met the yogi's eyes.
"My name is Amar," he said firmly. "And the one you seek—Lankapati—is no longer among the living."
Shock rippled across the yogi's face. His body tensed. His eyes narrowed with confusion and disbelief. "What... are you wearing?" he asked, gesturing toward Amar's modern attire. "How could Lankapati die? He was immortal! And how long... how long have I been imprisoned?"
Amar took a breath. "This outfit is… the current trend," he replied, not knowing how else to explain jeans and a t-shirt to someone who'd been sealed for eons. "And as for the time—this is the Kali Yuga."
The yogi staggered back, as if struck by an invisible force.
"Kali Yuga…?" he whispered. His eyes looked past Amar, into the void, as if trying to measure time itself. "That means... I've been sealed for over 1.6 million years…"
For a moment, silence reclaimed the room. Then the yogi, still stunned, asked again, "Tell me how Lankapati died."
Amar hesitated. The tale was ancient. Incomplete records from the Puranas only offered fragments, but he knew enough to speak of Raavan's fall.
So he began.
"Long ago, after attaining immense power and immortality through penance and devotion, Raavan began to overstep. He defied the divine order and disturbed the balance of dharma. In response, Hari descended to Earth in the form of Sri Ram."
The yogi's eyes focused. The name Sri Ram stirred something within him.
"While in exile with his wife Sita and brother Lakshman," Amar continued, "a rakshasi named Surpanakha encountered Ram and fell for him. When he rejected her, she turned violent. Lakshman, furious at her audacity, cut off her nose to protect his brother and sister-in-law."
At the mention of Surpanakha's name, the yogi's eye twitched. Rage flickered across his face—subtle, but unmistakable. Amar had seen it. Whoever this being was, he had known her. Perhaps loved her. The disgrace she endured clearly stirred sorrow and fury within him.
Amar paused for a moment, allowing the silence to speak.
Then the yogi growled, "Continue."
Amar nodded solemnly.
"In retaliation, Raavan kidnapped Sita. This act sparked a war that shook the realms. Sri Ram, with the help of allies like Hanuman and Sugreev, waged war against Lanka. In the end, it was Raavan's own brother, Vibhishan, who defected to Ram's side. He shared secrets—his knowledge of the army, the strategies, even his brother's weaknesses. With that, Ram defeated Raavan and rescued Sita."
The yogi clenched his fists. The betrayal clearly burned him.
"Vibhishan…" he muttered bitterly. The name was acid on his tongue.
Yet even in his fury, he kept himself from lashing out. Amar noticed something important—he hadn't spoken with power this time. He'd chosen restraint, perhaps realizing that this young man in front of him was not his enemy.
Still, the yogi's warning was sharp.
"You speak with arrogance, child. Mastering the second chakra stage so early in life has made you overconfident. Be careful—such pride is often the beginning of one's downfall."
A shiver ran down Amar's spine, but he stood his ground. The yogi could destroy him in an instant, and yet... he didn't. That hesitation gave Amar courage.
He bowed his head slightly and said, "Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend. May I ask your name, so I may address you properly?"
Annoyance danced across the yogi's face at being called a yogi again. "I am no yogi," he snapped. "A yogi is one who renounces everything—family, desires, even pride—for the greater good. They ask for food, live in meditation, and surrender all worldly attachments. I did not renounce the world. I do not ask. I am no saint."
Amar blinked in surprise. The clarity and conviction in those words weren't just rejection—they were a declaration of identity.
Softly, Amar asked again, "Then who are you?"
The man looked directly into his eyes and said with pride, **"I am Namkasura—Commander of the Rakshasa Army, sworn to Lankapati Raavan."