अन्तः अस्ति प्रारंभः।
The end is the beginning.
A caterpillar dies, to birth a butterfly. Water evaporates to rain down. Dead carcasses fill the stomachs of vultures.Life gives way to death and death to life. In a vicious circle of different karmas...
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As she entered towards the areas around the temple area, which had become the main battlefield, Mihira worried for a moment about the civilians.
She had reunited with Shashwat sometime in the battle and Rajvi, Shashwat and her had made an amicable team. With Shashwat's sheer brute strength and his and Rajvi's brilliant aim, Mihira rarely needed to watch her back as she closed in on rakshasas and the uncouth attackers.
Mihira was mindful to keep the bone structure of a human in mind as she slashed and stabbed, her blade getting stuck against a bone was a very real and inconvenient possibility. With one shield on her left hand and her machete in other, Mihira covered Rajvi and Shashwat.
At some moment in the battle, a loud roar echoed all over the city, the water in the river shivering at the intensity of it. Mihira looked in the direction of the roar and found herself unable to look away.
Standing there, in all their majestic glory were the Sapt Cheeranjivis. The seven immortal and unconquerable men that had to come to the last battle of Kaliyug to help tip the scales in the favour of Dharma.
Mahabali Shri Hanuman stood at the center, his eyes narrowed at the filthy attackers trying to hurt him with arrows that looked nothing but playthings in front of him. He towered well over everyone, casting a shadow around himself as he stood to his full height. His mace was loosely tucked in his hands and looked like it weighted more than Shashwat, Rajvi and her combined. He wore a bronze armband that read 'Ram' in clear words and a rudraksh mala around his neck. He looked quite at home, standing casually with his tail gently twitched, like one's fingers twitched with wish to touch.
Completely opposite to Mahabali, Shri Vibhishan stood tensed, his arms crossed over his chest and his rich purple clothes showing off the wealth that had once been possessed by Lanka as the silver hilt of his sword stood out in the dark colors. His curly hair looked windswept and the beard on his face looked scraggly. There was no crown on his head, despite being the last known King of Lanka. A janeu and a rudraksh mala were the only accessories that could be seen on him.
Maharishi Krupacharya stood in his bhagwa clothes in completely calm stance as if he was completely eased in the middle of the biggest battle of the Mahayug. His bow, which was taller than Mihira, had one end rested on his own foot as if he did not trust the land to be pious enough to touch his weapon.
Beside him, in another pair of bhagwa clothes stood Bhagwan Parshuram. His height was almost as tall as Mahabali Hanuman, face set in a permanent scowl as he glared at everyone around him, lifting his axe to rest it on his shoulder. His saffron clothes looked ragged, more like jute than cotton. As it lifted, the axe tore through the air with a sharp whistle sound and Mihira noticed several Mlechas backing away.
Ashwatthama stood with another glare on his face, not quite ferocious as Bhagwan Parshuram's but made up for the intimidating aura in his mass. His sword was already unsheathed, with a quiver and bow slung over his scarred shoulder. Mihira's eyes went to his forehead for a split second before she looked away. The skin looked as if it had been burnt by unadulterated acid.
