The Kuru War: A Mahabharata Fiction

3| The Heart of Hastinapur

By some people, the palace and its surrounding lands were known as the heart of Hastinapur. It spread across a dozen acres in the center of the capital, occupying almost a fifth of the city's area. The palace gardens brimmed with lustrous fountains that shot tens of feet in the air. Their waters populated with white lotuses and large colorful carps. Life-size statues of the past kings and queens of the Kuru kingdom lined along a walkway made of silver bricks with their names engraved in gold ink throughout the extravagant path. There were numerous mazes of flowers filled with roses, lilies, and daffodils. Lovers sat in those peaceful meadows, holding hands and watching the sun disappear in the twilight. It was truly like a slice of paradise, stolen from the gods and dropped on earth.

Grand carnivals were organized on those grounds that would attract royalty from far and wide. The grandest of feasts were prepared by the best chefs and the most expensive madira was served by hundreds of servants. There was a variety of entertainment afforded at these lavish events, ranging from circus dancers and poets to daredevils and swordsmen. This alone made it an irresistible attraction, a one of a kind event in the entire continent.

But not even two percent of Hastinapur's entire population could claim to have seen such a place with their own eyes. They had only heard stories of its existence by the select few who served at the palace. Most were not even permitted to step foot inside a decent establishment a mile away. It was forbidden for them to mingle with the more fortunate, a law based on the ancient philosophy of Varna.

The miasma of death and destruction that Bhishma witnessed as he stepped into the gardens was incomparable to anything he could have ever imagined. Dead palace guards were tossed into a large heap in the middle. Almost every joint in their body was broken and twisted in torturous ways. The fountains squirted bloodied red water over the dead grass. And the beautiful flower mazes were flattened into the ground.

Bhishma was visibly taken aback by what he saw. His grip around Yug Pralaya tightened. He slowly stepped through the garden, through the puddles of human flesh and blood. His eyes restlessly scanned every dead face in his path for his father, King Shantanu.

What is this evil? Is it hate? Retribution? Or just the very nature of the creature who conspired this. I should have been here earlier, I wish I was here earlier. Bhagvaan Parashurama was right all along, I should have listened to him sooner and maybe all of this could have been avoided.

Bhishma walked on the silver brick walkway lined with statues that had real human heads piked in place of ones made of cement and clay. The killer considered himself some kind of an artist that he took the time to plant the heads of his victims in such a nefarious fashion. And what all did he even do with the statue heads? Bhishma wondered if a single being could be responsible for such horror. He noticed that most of the fallen soldiers had their weapons drawn and quivers emptied. This only meant that they got ample time to react to whatever they were up against. After all, it was Vajra's best men who were slaughtered in the garden and there is no way that they were taken down easily.

Bhishma had never met an adversary that could really challenge his abilities in combat. It was only during training that he felt the need to push himself in order to survive. There were many instances when he almost lost his life, not because of his opponent's skill, but a result of his own mistakes. Only his teacher was a match for him by the time he was ready to graduate. And yet, Bhishma somehow felt that his Gurudev had never used the entirety of his power in their friendly contests.

Such lack of defeat did not make Bhishma arrogant though. On the contrary, it made him cautious. Everyone who witnessed even a fraction of his abilities considered him unbeatable, and any fool who thought otherwise was met with instant disappointment. Still, Bhishma knew that his path as a warrior would someday bring him against an adversary with a power that would rival his own. Or perhaps even surpass it. That's what made him stay on his guard as he walked through the garden of corpses.

At the end of the long walkway, Bhishma found all the missing statue heads, situated in front of the palace hall doorway. There was a constant humming sound coming from inside. And it slowly grew louder. The hall led into the king's courtroom and was the next logical place for Bhishma to investigate. The palace doors were exquisite metal slabs carved with an incredible amount of detail. They were painted with a reflective coating of gold and shined brightly in Yug Pralaya's intense aura.

When Bhishma stepped past the statue heads to reach for the door handle, he noticed tears of blood running down their cracked stone cheeks. All the kings and queens of Hastinapur cried crimson, it was known to be a terrible omen. Perhaps a sign that whatever creature was inside the halls was far beyond the ordinary. Someone who possessed the power to torment souls that resided in the Dev-Loka itself.

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

The humming sound was loud enough to be audible now. Bhishma readied himself for an ambush and pushed the doors to the palace hall open. There was no surprise attack, instead, a bright yellow light burst through, radiating from over a hundred lit torches inside. The hall was enormous, a luxurious space decorated with golden ornaments running on both ends of the wall. All of it was under a dome-shaped ceiling which was painted with the glorious history of the kingdom, tracing every major development in the last five hundred years. The floor was constructed with a reflective marble that mirrored the rich colors above and further scattered them across the room.

A bloodied king Shantanu lay motionless on the floor in the center of the hall. The pommeled hilt of his broken family sword still wrapped around his fingers. Blood seeped onto the floor in all directions from the wounds on his chest. His brown eyes were wide open, just staring at the ceiling above.

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

"OM NAMAH SHIVAYA!"

A muscular humanoid being sat on its own, a few steps behind where Shantanu lay. With its legs crossed and eyes shut, it loudly recited a prayer that translated to - Oh auspicious lord Shiva.

He was a burly creature, much like Bhishma but quite a lot bigger. His skin was unlike any human, almost like he didn't have a skin at all. A slimy red layer, as if doused in some liquid, covered the creature's body instead. Due to this, he had a nakedly visible network of veins that originated from his chest and circulated across his entire body. Such extreme vascularity coupled with his size gave him a terrifying appearance. There was no doubt about it, he was definitely the rakshasa that king Shantanu and his men set out to kill.