Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

Chapter 164: Chapter 162: Old Scam’s Shakuni?... Wing Friend’s Intel...

(A/N):

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Several men looked nervous at their clan leader.

One finally spoke.

"Clan Leader..."

The old man glanced back.

The younger tribesman hesitated.

"Are you certain about this chief?"

The leader frowned hearing him question him.

-Frown!

"What do you mean?"

The man lowered his voice.

"There are too many."

Another member nodded uneasily.

"Even for us."

The leader’s expression hardened.

"Pushpasura granted my prayer."

His voice carried absolute conviction.

"I shall honor my obligation."

The younger men exchanged uneasy looks.

The sacks they carried contained far more insects than usual.

Far more.

Enough to devastate enormous stretches of farmland.

Enough to ruin entire harvests.

Enough to affect multiple villages.

Yet none dared challenge the leader further.

They continued deeper into the flower fields surrounding Mallikavana.

The scent of blossoms filled the air.

Sweet.

Refreshing.

Beautiful.

The old man looked around with satisfaction.

To him, this place was perfect.

Thousands of flowers.

Thousands of plants.

A feast waiting to be consumed.

Soon they reached several carefully selected locations.

Hidden spots among the vast fields.

Far enough apart to spread quickly.

Difficult to notice immediately.

The leader raised his hand.

The group stopped.

Then he smiled.

"Open them."

The men hesitated.

Only briefly.

Then one by one, they untied the sacks.

The rustling instantly grew louder.

Much louder.

A sound that made several men uncomfortable.

The leader’s smile widened.

The first sack opened.

A black wave poured onto the ground.

Countless insects surged outward.

The second sack followed.

Then a third. Then a fourth.

The swarm spread rapidly.

Crawling over flowers.

Disappearing into fields.

Vanishing beneath leaves and stems.

Within moments thousands had become tens of thousands.

The old man watched proudly.

To him, this was worship.

This was devotion.

This was gratitude.

What he didn’t realize...

What none of them realized...

Was that this year’s flower harvest wasn’t merely important to the villagers.

It wasn’t merely tied to a festival.

It wasn’t merely connected to a royal visit.

The flowers surrounding Mallikavana were part of something much older.

Something far more dangerous.

And as the insects began consuming the blossoms...

Deep beneath the earth...

Far below roots and stone...

Something ancient stirred.

Only slightly.

Barely noticeable.

A tiny movement.

Like a sleeper shifting in bed.

Yet even that small movement was enough.

For the first time in centuries...

The slumber of Pushpasura had become just a little less peaceful.

Life in Mallikavana continued peacefully.

At least, that was how it appeared on the surface.

The village streets remained lively.

Flower growers moved between fields carrying baskets filled with blossoms.

Children ran through narrow paths chasing each other.

Women sat outside their homes weaving garlands for the upcoming Pushpotsava Mahamaham.

The entire village seemed wrapped in excitement.

Nobody knew that thousands of insects had already begun spreading through distant flower fields.

Nobody knew that danger had quietly entered the land.

And certainly nobody knew that something ancient beneath the earth had stirred ever so slightly.

Meanwhile...

Devara sat beneath a large neem tree near the village square.

A clay cup rested in his hand.

Across from him sat an elderly farmer who had somehow turned a simple greeting into a discussion about crops.

Not that Devara minded.

The old man was entertaining.

"...and that’s why I keep telling my grandson that talking to flowers helps them grow."

The old farmer nodded confidently.

Devara raised an eyebrow.

"Does it work?"

The old man stroked his beard.

"No."

Devara blinked caught off guard.

The farmer nodded again.

"Not even a little."

The king laughed.

"Then why continue?"

The old man pointed dramatically.

"Because one day it might."

Devara found himself laughing even harder.

Nearby, Shakuni was experiencing a completely different conversation.

Or more accurately... A battlefield.

An elderly woman stood before him.

A very determined elderly woman.

In her hands was a bundle of old cloth.

The cloth looked ancient.

Worn.

Faded.

And remarkably unimpressive.

The old woman held it up proudly.

"This is a priceless family heirloom."

Shakuni stared.

Then stared harder.

The cloth had more holes than actual fabric.

He was fairly certain a strong breeze could defeat it.

The old woman continued.

"It has been passed down through generations."

Shakuni nodded politely.

"I see."

The woman immediately smiled.

"Then you’ll understand why it costs fifty gold coins."

The minister nearly inhaled his own tongue.

"Fifty?"

The old woman nodded seriously.

"Actually, that’s the discounted price."

Shakuni looked genuinely offended.

"...."

Even the royal treasury didn’t suffer from inflation this severe.

The old woman continued without mercy.

"My great-grandmother wore this."

Shakuni looked at the cloth.

That part he believed.

Possibly because the cloth looked old enough to have witnessed several historical events.

The woman folded her arms.

"Many important people have seen it."

"Who?"

"My family."

Shakuni closed his eyes.

For a moment he considered revealing his true identity just to end the conversation.

Then remembered that would create far more problems.

Instead he attempted diplomacy.

"Grandmother..."

"Yes?"

"I don’t need old clothes."

The woman frowned.

"Everyone needs old clothes."

Shakuni pointed at the enormous hole near the center.

"It isn’t even usable."

The old woman immediately replied.

"That’s because it’s antique."

The minister felt a headache forming.

Meanwhile, Devara was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

The old farmer sitting beside him laughed openly.

"She’s done this for thirty years."

Shakuni looked betrayed.

"Thirty years?"

The farmer nodded his head.

"No one has succeeded in escaping yet."

The minister suddenly understood why villagers were walking around the area as though observing entertainment.

They were watching him.

The old woman pointed at the cloth again.

"Forty-five gold."

Shakuni looked horrified.

"Why did the price increase?"

"It became more valuable while we were talking."

Devara immediately turned away.

His shoulders shaking suspiciously.

"...."

The king was trying very hard not to laugh.

Very unsuccessfully.

The old woman noticed.

"Your friend understands quality."

Shakuni stared at Devara.

The king suddenly became fascinated by a passing chicken and its babies.

Then—

A sharp sound cut through the village.

A loud screech echoed from above.

The sound was powerful enough to draw everyone’s attention.

Conversations stopped.

Children looked upward.

Several villagers pointed toward the sky.

Devara’s expression immediately changed.

"...."

The laughter vanished.

His eyes moved upward.

A large eagle descended from the heavens.

Its wings stretched wide as it circled once above the village.

The bird was magnificent.

Golden-brown feathers glimmered beneath the sunlight.

Its eyes were sharp and intelligent.

Far more intelligent than an ordinary bird.

Several villagers stepped back in surprise.

The eagle descended rapidly.

Straight toward Devara.

The old farmer nearly fell from his seat.

The old woman forgot about her priceless cloth.

Even Shakuni became alert.

Yet Devara remained completely calm.

As though he had expected this.

The eagle approached.

Then, with practiced precision, landed upon Devara’s outstretched arm.

Its talons settled comfortably.

Its wings folded.

The bird let out another cry.

A proud one.

Several villagers stared in amazement.

One child whispered looking at it,

"That bird is huge."

Another immediately whispered back,

"The merchant knows eagles."

Neither knew why that felt impressive.

The eagle lowered its head slightly.

Devara’s eyes softened.

Recognition flashed across his face.

This wasn’t a random bird.

The king gently stroked its feathers.

The eagle responded with a content sound.

The moment the eagle landed on his arm, Devara immediately recognized it.

This was not an ordinary eagle.

Nor was it a messenger bird from some kingdom.

A few days earlier, after receiving the system task and hearing the legend surrounding Mallikavana, Devara had quietly asked several birds and animals living around the village to keep watch.

Most people would have considered such a request impossible.

Fortunately, Devara was not most people.

And the creatures of the forest had long since learned that the strange merchant with the large moustache could somehow understand them.

The eagle ruffled its feathers.

Its sharp eyes remained focused on Devara.

The villagers watched with fascination.

To them, it looked as though the merchant was simply admiring a bird. freewebnoveℓ.com

Nothing unusual.

Only Shakuni noticed the subtle change in Devara’s expression.

The king’s eyes had sharpened.

That usually meant trouble.

Devara gently stroked the eagle’s neck.

Then spoke in a low voice.

"What did you find, friend?"

The eagle immediately answered.

Of course, only Devara could understand.

The bird lowered its head slightly.

Its voice carried urgency.

"Bad two-leggers."

Devara blinked.

That was never a good beginning.

"Many bad two-leggers."

The eagle spread its wings slightly.

"They carried sacks."

Devara’s expression became serious.

"Where?"

The eagle tilted its head.

"Flower lands."

The king’s eyes narrowed.

The eagle continued.

"Many sacks."

"Many bugs."

"Thousands."

The eagle seemed disgusted.

Birds generally preferred eating insects.

But even it had found the sight excessive.

"They opened the sacks."

"The bugs spread everywhere."

"Eating flowers."

The eagle paused.

Then added.

"A lot of flowers."

For several moments, Devara remained silent.

The pieces immediately began connecting.

The legend.

The system task. The vision. The flowers.

And now this.

Someone was deliberately destroying the flower fields.

Not accidentally. Not naturally.

Deliberately.

The king slowly looked toward the vast flower fields visible beyond the village.

The villagers still moved about happily.

Preparing for the festival.

Completely unaware.

Meanwhile, countless insects were already spreading through those same fields.

His thoughts immediately moved to the old legend.

If the story contained even a fraction of truth...

Then destroying enough flowers could weaken whatever kept Pushpasura asleep.

The possibility was enough to concern him.

Nearby, the old farmer noticed Devara’s silence.

"Merchant?"

Devara blinked. Then smiled.

"A small matter."

The old man accepted the answer.

Shakuni did not.

The minister had known Devara for far too long.

A "small matter" from Devara usually meant the exact opposite.

The eagle continued.

"There is more."

Devara focused again.

"The bad two-leggers talked."

That immediately caught his attention.

Birds were surprisingly useful spies.

People rarely paid attention to them.

"What did they say?"

The eagle puffed its chest proudly.

Clearly pleased with its work.

"Sleeping god."

Devara froze hearing it words.

The eagle continued.

"Wake him."

"Flowers must die."

"Leader was happy."

"Very happy."

The eagle spread its wings dramatically.

Trying to imitate the man’s expression.

"Scary happy."

The king slowly exhaled.

That confirmed it.

This was not random sabotage.

Someone was actively attempting to damage the flower fields.

And based on the eagle’s description...

They likely worshipped Pushpasura.

Or at least wanted him awakened.

The eagle lowered its voice.

"They released many bugs."

"Very many."

"More than normal."

That part interested Devara.

More than normal.

Which suggested this wasn’t their usual activity.

Something had changed.

Someone had become desperate.

Or overconfident.

The king gently scratched beneath the eagle’s beak.

The bird immediately looked pleased.

"You did well."

The eagle puffed up proudly.

Nearby, Shakuni folded his arms.

The entire conversation looked bizarre from his perspective.

The eagle would make a noise.

Devara would nod.

The eagle would make another noise.

Devara’s face would become increasingly serious.

The minister couldn’t understand birds.

But he could understand Devara.

And right now... Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

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(Author note:)

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