Chapter 62 - 60: Devastated Shiva... Assassination Attempt On Devara...
(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
Guys I hope You guys liked the Chapters... And it might seems like I am dragging on the Chapters. But no Actually it was due to first war is about to begin.
And I felt Shiva and Sati story needed to be told. Here... I just got that feeling. So I did it.
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The curtain fell.
Not gently this time—But like something too heavy to be held any longer.
When it rose again—The stage had changed.
Devara stood—No longer the calm Shiva of Kailash.
Now—Kaal Bhairav
His presence alone bent the stage into something darker.
Something heavier.
Beside him—Mahakali.
Not as companion. But as force.
Before them—Gods lay fallen.
Not defeated in spectacle—But implied in silence.
Even Vishnu stood bound.
Not as weakness—But as a symbol.
Because this was not a battle.
This was aftermath.
Rajmata Satyavati’s voice echoed again—Now carrying weight that pressed against the heart.
"When grief becomes fury ...creation trembles. When love is torn ...even gods cannot stand untouched."
The scene did not linger. Because it didn’t need to.
The curtain fell—And rose again.
Now—A throne room.
Daksha stood as if he couldn’t believe what was happening before his eyes.
Still. Frozen. Eyes wide.
"...."
Because before him—Stood judgement. His death standing before him.
The lights dimmed.
Only shadows remained through the screen.
A blade lifted by Kaal Bhairav who didn’t hesitate even for a single second.
A pause—Then—A single motion.
The shadow fell.
And with it—Daksha. No blood. No spectacle.
Only silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Because the message was clear—Pride had met consequence.
The stage shifted again as the screen fell then reopened revealing.
Of the chaos which was unfolding. Voices rose. Gods pleaded.
Daksha’s wife wept.
"Without him ...order will collapse.
"Restore him! Lord Bhairav"
But Bhairav did not turn.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Mahakali did not speak. They left as they arrived no body could stop them.
Because destruction—Does not linger to comfort.
The curtain fell once more.
And when it rose—Everything slowed as everyone in the audience were waiting for this.
Devara stood again—As Lord Shiva entered the throne room.
But not the calm ascetic. Not the silent observer.
A husband. Broken by the death of his wife.
He sat down besides his burned body of his wife.
"...."
Took her in his arms looking at her burned face silently.
In his arms—Sati.
Still not moving.
Silent. Since now she has died.
His voice did not roar. It cracked.
"SAATTIIIIIII!!!"
A sound not meant for gods—But for loss.
The hall stilled completely.
Even the audience forgot they were watching a play.
Because grief like this—Does not feel like acting.
It feels real.
The gods stepped forward once more.
Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu
"Restore him,"
They pleaded even through they could understand how devasted Lord Shiva was.
"Without Daksha ...balance falters."
Shiva did not respond immediately.
"...."
Because grief of loosing his other half—Does not negotiate.
But eventually—He did aid their plea.
Daksha was given life again.
Not as he was.
But marked.
A goat’s head as replaced his original head.
A reminder—That pride leaves scars no rebirth can erase.
And then—Without another word—Lord Shiva lifted Sati.
And walked broken.
Not as a god. But as someone who had lost everything.
The stage dimmed.
The final image—A lone figure carrying love that no longer answered back.
And the silence that followed—Was louder than any applause.
Because the story had ended—But its weight... Remained.
A tragic Love story which audience wished it could be given a good ending.
For a few heartbeats after the final scene—Nothing moved.
No whisper. No rustle.
The image of Shiva walking away with Sati still lingered in every mind like a shadow that refused to fade.
"...."
"...."
"...."
And then—One clap. Another. And suddenly—The silence shattered.
The arena erupted.
Voices rose like thunder.
Hands clapped in unison.
Even the sages—
Even the ever-unpredictable Durvasa—
Nodded in satisfaction.
The chant rolled across the arena again and again—
Not just praise for the performance...
But reverence for what it represented.
On stage everyone who had participated in the stage play stood—For a brief moment—No one moved.
Because they weren’t just actors stepping out of roles.
They were still... feeling it.
Then—Reality returned.
Devara blinked once, the weight of Shiva slowly lifting from his shoulders.
Beside him—Gandhari lowered her gaze slightly, still carrying the echo of Sati within her.
Shakuni stretched lightly, breaking the heaviness with a quiet grin.
"Well ...we didn’t burn the stage down."
Ashwatthama exhaled slowly finally it has finished.
"...Close enough."
A faint chuckle passed among them.
-Chuckle!
"...."
At the side—Bhishma stood with arms crossed, his stern face softened just enough to show approval.
"Four days..."
He murmured feeling lighter since no one got cursed by Sage Durvasa.
"...well spent."
The performers gathered slowly.
Relief. Pride. Exhaustion could be seen on their face.
All woven together.
Because what they had carried—Was not just a story.
It was weight. Emotion. Meaning.
Behind the story which shows the world how a true love and a soul mate no matter how much time it takes they would be together no matter how many time they separated.
And now—It had been received.
Devara glanced once at the crowd.
"...."
Still cheering. Still chanting.
A faint smile appeared wide and boastful on his face.
But... also satisfied with the result.
Because for those four days—They hadn’t just performed.
They had made people feel.
And that—Was rarer than victory.
The chants continued to echo—
The applause had faded. As everyone left the arena.
And Gandhara... did not slow down.
Because tomorrow—Was the wedding.
The palace pulsed with preparation again—flowers being strung, corridors polished, rituals arranged with almost obsessive care.
Joy moved everywhere.
Except—In one quiet balcony overlooking the outer walls.
Devara stood at the edge. Looking outward.
Not at the celebration behind him—But beyond the walls.
Beside him—Ashwatthama leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes sharp even in stillness.
And Prince Shakuni—For once—Wasn’t smiling for show.
"The borders are restless,"
Ashwatthama said quietly as he had heard the gaurd reporting to Shakuni.
Devara didn’t turn he had already prepared for it.
"I know."
Shakuni exhaled softly.
-Sigh!
"...It’s not just movement."
A pause.
"It’s intent."
That word lingered.
Devara finally glanced at him.
As Prince Shakuni continued,
"Mathura isn’t subtle when it wants something."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"And right now ...it wants them."
No names needed.
Devaki and Vasudeva were the one they were after.
Devara’s expression didn’t change.
But his focus did.
Shakuni folded his arms.
"Kamsa is not the kind of man who lets something like this go easily. According to the information I had gathered."
A faint smirk returned—but colder.
-Smirk!
"If he knows they’re here ...he won’t wait."
Ashwatthama added as last night his father Drona told him the stories about Kamsa,
"He won’t announce it either."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Because that meant only one thing.
"He’ll send shadows first,"
Devara said he had already familiar with Kamsa’s approach from his memory of his previous life.
Both of them looked at him.
"And if that fails..."
His gaze lifted toward the horizon.
"...he’ll come himself."
The wind shifted slightly.
From the distance—Torches flickered along the outer walls.
Guards moved at the borders. More alert than before.
Shakuni tilted his head.
"...And tomorrow is your wedding. My sister’s wedding."
A strange irony. War at the door.
Marriage at the center.
Devara let out a quiet breath.
-Sigh!
"Then he chose the wrong day. If he decides to strike that day."
No arrogance. Just... certainty.
Ashwatthama’s lips curved slightly.
"...Good."
Shakuni chuckled under his breath.
-Chuckle!
"Well then... Let’s hope he arrives after the ceremony."
The night had been holding its breath.
A whisper cut through the leaves from the near by tree.
Swish!!!—
An arrow tore through the dark.
Straight for Devara’s back. But it never reached.
Ashwatthama moved as soon as he sensed the attack.
Not fast—inevitable.
His hand snapped up.
The arrow stopped. Caught mid-flight by him.
"...."
For a heartbeat—It trembled between his fingers.
Then stilled. Silence cracked.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Ashwatthama’s eyes shifted toward the trees.
Cold. Focused. From where the attacked had arrived.
"...There."
The thick canopy nearby rustled. Just once.
Prince Shakuni didn’t wait.
"Guards!"
His voice cut clean through the night.
Boots thundered across stone.
Torches flared. Steel flashed.
"Surround that tree!"
The guards moved instantly—trained, precise, forming a tightening ring around the dense cluster of leaves.
The branches shifted again. Too late.
"Come down,"
One guard barked at the tree.
No response.
Ashwatthama stepped forward slightly.
Still holding the arrow.
He glanced at its tip.
Where Poison was applied on it.
"...Not a warning,"
He said flatly turning to look at Devara.
"A kill."
Devara finally turned casually.
Not startled. Not shaken by the sneak attack.
Just... aware.
His gaze lifted to the tree.
"Alive," he said calmly.
"Bring them down alive."
The command settled instantly.
A flicker of movement—Three shadows dropped from the branches.
Fast. Silent. Since they have already resolved even if they die they will get their job done.
Daggers drawn as they launched their attacks.
They tried to break through the guard line—They failed.
Steel clashed. Feet stumbled not able to cope up with more numbers then them.
One was slammed to the ground.
Another disarmed as soon as he launched his attack.
The third barely moved before Ashwatthama stepped in—A single strike to his stomach.
Knocking the air out of his body.
Which made his jerk backward by the force.
The man dropped to the ground.
Within moments—All three were restrained.
Prince Shakuni crouched slightly before one of them.
Eyes sharp. Smile gone.
"...Mathura?"
The assassin stayed silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Prince Shakuni chuckled softly.
-Chuckle!
"Of course."
He stood.
"That answers enough."
Ashwatthama tossed the arrow aside.
"They came close."
Devara shook his head slightly.
"No."
His gaze lingered on the captured men.
"They failed the moment they stepped inside."
The guards dragged the assassins away.
The torches dimmed slightly as the tension settled.
But not fully.
Because this—Was not an attempt.
It was a message.
And messages like this—Always came in pairs.
Shakuni exhaled slowly seems like all their thinking was for nothing.
-Sigh!
"Well ...he didn’t even wait for the wedding."
Ashwatthama cracked his knuckles once.
-Crack!
"...Good."
The news did not travel. It rushed.
Like fire finding dry wood.
"An assassination attempt—!"
The words leapt across corridors, slipped through curtains, climbed staircases, and landed in every ear that mattered.
Concern followed immediately.
Subala arrived first among the elders of Gandhara, his expression tight with concern.
Behind him, his sons followed, no trace of their usual ease.
And then—Gandhari
She did not walk. She came fast.
Her eyes searched the moment she entered—Looking for only one thing.
Devara.
On the other side—Hastinapura had gathered.
Bhishma, Dhritarashtra, Vidura and Drona
And behind them—Satyavati, Ambika, Ambalika
The palace, moments ago filled with wedding preparations—Now felt like a war council waiting to happen.
Devara stood at the center of it.
Unharmed. Unshaken.
"I’m fine," he said calmly.
But that did not ease them immediately.
Gandhari stepped closer—Stopping just short of him.
Her gaze scanned him once.
"...."
Quick. Careful.
Only when she found no wound—Did her shoulders ease.
Just slightly.
King Subala spoke next, voice firm.
"This is no small matter."
Bhishma nodded with a serious expression on his face.
"It confirms it."
All eyes turned to him.
"Kamsa has moved. And he was going for the kill."
The name settled heavily.
King Kamsa
Drona’s expression hardened.
"Assassins before war. Don’t he have any dharma in him."
Vidura added quietly,
"Which means he is testing defenses."
A pause.
"Or sending a message."
Dhritarashtra turned his head slightly toward Devara.
"...And that message was meant for you."
Silence followed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Because that much was undeniable.
Bhishma exhaled slowly.
-Sigh!
"The captured assassins—They will speak."
Drona nodded with a serious expression.
"They will be made to."
King Subala gestured toward the inner halls.
"Then we waste no time."
The men moved. Together. Toward the interrogation chambers.
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(Author note:)
I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea’s.
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