Free Web NovelChapter 163: Chapter 161: God’s Decision... There Were Worshipping Pushpasura?...
(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...
Guys We are about to enter the battle arc after a small redemption arc for the sage.
Where MC will gain his second template... But still hasn’t made a decision yet.
-->Karuppu.
-->Ayanar.
-->Guliga Daiva.
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If there was anyone capable of understanding the complete picture behind Pushpasura’s return, it would be the three supreme deities.
Indra continued.
"We have discussed theories."
"We have discussed possibilities."
"We have discussed preparations."
The king looked around the hall.
"But before we act..."
"We need answers."
Deva Guru Brihaspati slowly nodded.
A wise decision.
The guru had already reached the limits of what the stars could reveal.
The remaining answers likely rested beyond fate and prophecy.
They rested with the beings who shaped the very fabric of existence.
Indra looked toward Goddess Ganga and Goddess Bhudevi.
The two goddesses remained silent.
"...."
"...."
Neither objected.
Though both seemed thoughtful.
Especially after hearing Devaratha’s name connected to Pushpasura’s downfall.
The king then looked toward Lord Surya.
Varuna.
Agni.
Vayu.
Shani.
Yamuna.
And the countless other divine beings gathered within the hall.
"This matter concerns all realms."
His voice echoed through the celestial assembly.
"Therefore, I shall not go alone."
That statement immediately caught everyone’s attention.
The king continued.
"The representatives of the heavens shall accompany me."
Several gods straightened.
The atmosphere grew serious.
This was no longer merely a discussion.
It was becoming action.
A journey.
A consultation with the highest powers of creation.
For a moment the hall became completely silent.
Then Brihaspati spoke.
"Which of the Trimurti shall we visit first?"
A fair question.
The assembly immediately became thoughtful.
Lord Brahma in Satyaloka.
Lord Vishnu in Vaikuntha.
Lord Shiva upon Kailasa.
Three paths.
Three destinations.
Three vastly different conversations.
Indra considered the matter.
Then sighed.
Because no matter how much he thought about it, one answer seemed obvious.
"If the matter concerns destiny..."
His gaze shifted upward.
"And the future of the worlds..."
The king folded his hands respectfully.
"We begin with Lord Vishnu."
Several gods nodded immediately.
The choice made sense.
Pushpasura’s original defeat had only occurred because of Vishnu’s intervention.
"...."
"...."
"...."
More importantly...
If anyone understood the hidden movements of destiny, it was the Preserver himself.
Brihaspati approved.
Ganga and Bhudevi exchanged glances.
Even Shani slowly nodded.
The decision had been made.
Soon the celestial assembly would journey toward Vaikuntha itself.
Unaware of what answer awaited them.
Far below the heavens...
In Mallikavana...
The flower festival preparations continued.
Villagers decorated streets.
Children practiced dances.
Farmers carefully tended their flowers.
Shakuni was currently arguing with a stubborn bull that refused to move a cart.
And Devaratha sat beneath the same banyan tree where he had humiliated Sage Veenadhara.
Looking toward the distant flower fields.
The vision of fire still lingered in his mind.
The system task remained active.
And somewhere beneath the earth...
Deep beneath countless roots and blossoms...
Something ancient continued sleeping.
For now. Only for now.
Meanwhile, far away from the busy preparations taking place in Mallikavana...
Sage Veenadhara Kashyap was suffering.
Not physically. Not spiritually.
Not even financially.
His suffering was far more personal.
His pride had been wounded.
And unfortunately for him, pride was something he possessed in abundance.
The sage walked through a beautiful flower forest that stretched along the outskirts of Mallikavana.
The air was rich with fragrance.
White jasmine hung from branches like tiny stars.
Wild lilies bloomed beside narrow streams.
Bright butterflies drifted lazily through the forest.
Birds sang from hidden nests.
It was the kind of place that poets would spend months trying to describe.
Unfortunately, Sage Veenadhara was far too distracted to appreciate any of it.
His brows remained tightly furrowed.
His hands rested behind his back.
Every few moments he muttered to himself.
"No..."
"That won’t work."
A few more steps.
"No, no..."
"He’ll answer that one too."
More walking.
"What about a triple-layered riddle hidden inside a song?"
The sage paused.
Thought deeply.
Then shook his head.
"He’ll probably answer that as well."
The thought immediately irritated him.
For the first time in many years, Veenadhara had met someone he couldn’t overwhelm with knowledge.
The memory still felt unreal.
He had spent decades perfecting his art.
Travelling across kingdoms.
Defeating scholars.
Humiliating ministers.
Outsmarting priests.
Confusing poets.
Yet that merchant...
That irritating, smiling merchant...
Had answered every challenge.
Not only answered.
Explained.
Improved.
And worst of all... Made it look effortless.
The sage groaned.
Then finally sat upon a large stone near a small stream.
The water flowed gently beside him.
Normally he would have taken out his veena.
Perhaps composed a masterpiece.
Perhaps reflected upon nature.
Today, however, his thoughts remained occupied by a certain moustached merchant.
Sage Veenadhara rubbed his forehead.
"The man doesn’t even behave like a proper challenger."
A normal opponent would have celebrated.
Boasted.
Mocked him.
Demanded recognition.
Instead, the merchant simply sold pottery the next morning as though nothing had happened.
That somehow made everything worse.
The sage sighed deeply.
"What kind of person defeats Sage Veenadhara and then goes back to selling clay pots?"
No answer came.
Only the sound of flowing water.
The sage leaned back against the rock.
Then closed his eyes.
Trying to think.
Trying to create a challenge so brilliant that even the merchant would finally fail.
A challenge that would restore his dignity.
A challenge that would remind the world why Sage Veenadhara Kashyap remained unmatched.
Minutes passed.
Perhaps longer.
Then suddenly...
His concentration broke.
A faint sound reached his ears.
Rustling.
Footsteps.
Low voices.
The sage slowly opened one eye.
His hearing had always been exceptional.
The sound was coming from deeper within the flower forest.
Sage Veenadhara turned his head slightly.
"...."
Several men were moving between the trees.
At first glance they appeared ordinary.
Travellers perhaps.
Merchants.
Labourers.
Yet something felt strange.
The men were carrying heavy sacks.
Not one or two. Many.
Their movements were hurried.
Purposeful.
And unlike ordinary travellers, they weren’t using the main path.
Instead they were moving deeper into the forest.
Toward the less travelled regions.
The sage frowned.
His sharp eyes followed them.
One of the men glanced behind repeatedly.
Another seemed nervous. freewēbnoveℓ.com
A third whispered something urgently.
The entire group behaved as though they didn’t wish to be seen.
Sage Veenadhara watched for several moments.
His curiosity stirred briefly.
The scholar within him immediately noticed the oddity.
The forest beyond that point contained very little.
No villages. No shrines.
No trade routes.
Certainly nothing worth carrying so many sacks toward.
Yet the men continued deeper inside.
Without hesitation. Without stopping.
The sage narrowed his eyes.
For a moment he considered following them.
Then immediately shook his head.
"No."
He waved the thought away.
Whatever they were doing was none of his concern.
Besides...
He had far more important matters to deal with.
His gaze slowly drifted back toward Mallikavana.
Or more specifically...
Toward one particular merchant.
The true source of all his current suffering.
Sage Veenadhara folded his arms.
"They can carry whatever they want."
His voice carried the determination of a man pursuing a noble cause.
"My battle is elsewhere."
The sage stood up dramatically.
The forest breeze blew through his hair.
His robes fluttered.
His eyes burned with renewed determination.
"The merchant must be defeated."
A nearby bird immediately flew away.
Possibly out of concern.
Veenadhara ignored it.
His mind was already racing.
New riddles.
New poems.
New challenges.
Somewhere among them existed the perfect question.
The question that would finally defeat that infuriating merchant.
The sage pointed toward the distant village.
"Prepare yourself!"
He declared to absolutely nobody.
"Sage Veenadhara Kashyap shall return!"
Then he paused.
Thought for a moment.
And added more quietly.
"After I think of a better question."
With that, he resumed walking through the flower forest.
Completely unaware that the mysterious men carrying sacks might be connected to a far greater problem than his wounded pride.
And completely unaware that destiny was already moving through the forest around him.
Hidden beneath flowers.
Hidden beneath roots.
Waiting patiently for the right moment to awaken.
The men moving through the flower forest were not merchants.
Nor were they ordinary travelers.
Had Sage Veenadhara followed them, he would have discovered something far stranger.
These men belonged to an isolated tribe that lived deep within the wilderness beyond the known settlements.
A tribe whose existence was barely known outside a handful of villages.
A tribe that worshipped Pushpasura.
Not as an asura.
Not as a conqueror.
Not as a monster.
But as a god.
Generations ago, according to their traditions, their ancestors had been abandoned.
Their prayers went unanswered.
Their crops failed.
Their children starved.
Their villages suffered disease and famine.
They had prayed to countless deities.
Built shrines.
Offered sacrifices.
Performed rituals.
Yet nothing changed.
Then one day, a wandering ascetic had taught them the forgotten name of Pushpasura.
Out of desperation, the tribe began worshipping him.
And according to their legends...
Their wishes were granted.
A drought ended.
A sickness vanished.
A rival tribe retreated.
Coincidence or not, the tribe believed.
And belief had only grown stronger over the generations.
As payment for every fulfilled wish, they followed an ancient custom.
A disturbing custom.
Whenever Pushpasura granted a prayer, the recipient was required to release insects into cultivated lands.
Not a few.
Hundreds.
Sometimes thousands.
The insects would swarm farms and fields.
Devouring crops.
Ruining harvests.
Spreading suffering.
The tribe believed the destruction served as an offering to their sleeping god.
A reminder that life and prosperity always carried a price.
Most of the time, the damage remained limited.
A few fields ruined.
A few farmers affected.
Nothing large enough to attract major attention.
But this time was different.
Very different.
Their clan leader walked at the front of the group.
An old man with sharp eyes and a deeply lined face.
For months he had feared losing his position.
His son had become popular among the younger members.
Respected.
Capable.
Charismatic.
Many believed the son should become the next leader.
The old man’s authority had begun crumbling.
Desperate and afraid, he had prayed before the hidden shrine of Pushpasura.
Not openly.
Not directly.
But the desire had existed in his heart.
A dark desire.
A selfish one.
Soon afterward...
His son had fallen ill.
Without warning.
Without explanation.
The young man began coughing blood.
Then vomiting blood.
Within days he was dead.
The tribe mourned.
The father pretended to mourn.
Yet inside...
He had celebrated.
His position was secure once more.
And in his twisted mind, there was only one conclusion.
Pushpasura had answered.
His prayer had been heard.
His wish had been granted.
Now came the payment.
The old man looked back at the men carrying the sacks.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"Move carefully."
The men nodded.
Inside the sacks came an unsettling rustling sound.
Thousands of tiny legs moving.
Thousands of hungry mouths.
The sacks contained insects bred for generations by the tribe.
Crop-devouring pests.
Voracious creatures capable of stripping entire fields bare.
Normally, the tribe released only a few colonies.
Enough to satisfy tradition.
Enough to fulfill their obligation.
But the old man felt unusually grateful.
His greatest obstacle had vanished.
His position remained secure.
His influence remained untouched.
So he had decided to make a grand offering.
The largest of his life.
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(Author note:)
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