Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(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...

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The atmosphere inside Pushpasura’s command pavilion stood in complete contrast to the disciplined calm of the allied camp.

No discussions were taking place.

No maps were being studied.

No strategies were being debated.

Only rage echoed through the enormous tent.

BANG!

Pushpasura’s fist slammed into Nishithanetra’s abdomen with enough force to make the wooden pillar behind him groan.

The Rakshasa General, whose wounds from the day’s battle had only partially recovered, remained bound tightly to the massive pole by thick living vines.

His battered body lurched from the impact, but not a single cry escaped his lips.

Another blow followed.

Then another.

Pushpasura vented his fury without restraint, every strike carrying enough force to shake the floor beneath them.

The remaining nine Battle Generals stood silently along both sides of the pavilion.

"...."

"...."

"...."

None dared interfere.

None even attempted to speak.

Every one of them understood that their king was no longer acting out of strategy.

He was venting humiliation.

The silence inside the pavilion became heavier with every passing moment.

Finally, Pushpasura grabbed Nishithanetra by the throat, lifting him several feet above the ground before hurling him back against the pillar.

The vines immediately tightened again, preventing him from collapsing.

Pushpasura’s crimson eyes burned with fury.

"Pathetic."

His voice was low. Dangerously calm.

"One day."

He took another step forward.

"Just one day."

He spread his arms as though presenting the battlefield itself.

"And in a single day..."

His expression twisted with barely contained rage.

"...I lost two of my Battle Generals."

The words echoed through the pavilion.

No one responded.

No one wished to become the next target of his anger.

Pushpasura slowly turned his head, glaring at Nishithanetra.

"And you..."

His voice became colder.

"...were moments away from joining them."

Had Pushpasura arrived even a heartbeat later,

Devaratha’s final Astra would have erased Nishithanetra from existence.

That thought alone was enough to make the Rakshasa King grind his teeth.

His fist clenched so tightly that the veins across his forearm bulged.

"If I hadn’t intervened..."

He stepped closer until he stood directly before Nishithanetra.

"...there would have been another corpse lying on that battlefield."

Nishithanetra lowered his head.

"I failed."

Those two words were all he offered.

No excuses. No attempt to justify himself.

Pushpasura merely sneered.

"Failed?"

He laughed bitterly.

"You’ve chosen an interesting word."

He turned away for a moment, pacing through the pavilion.

"If it were possible..."

He stopped walking.

"...I would drag those two dead fools back from the underworld..."

His voice dripped with contempt.

"...just so I could punish them myself."

Several of the remaining generals instinctively stiffened.

Pushpasura looked toward the empty spaces where two of the Twelve Battle Generals should have been standing.

Now...

Those places would remain forever vacant.

"They made me look weak."

The words were spoken quietly.

Yet everyone present heard them clearly.

"They allowed the enemy to believe that my generals could be defeated."

His murderous aura surged once more.

"Two dead..."

His gaze returned to Nishithanetra.

"...and one who survived only because I chose to save him."

The Rakshasa King let out a slow breath, forcing himself to regain control.

His eyes then swept across the nine remaining Battle Generals.

Every one of them straightened instinctively.

"You have all witnessed today’s disgrace."

His voice carried throughout the pavilion.

"I will not tolerate another."

"If any one of you walks onto tomorrow’s battlefield..."

He paused deliberately.

"...do not expect me to rescue you."

The threat hung in the air like a drawn blade.

"If you are defeated..."

His crimson eyes narrowed.

"...die taking your opponent with you."

"But do not shame me."

The pavilion remained utterly silent.

Not one of the nine generals questioned him.

Not one dared meet his gaze for more than a moment.

They understood the truth better than anyone.

Tomorrow’s battle would not only pit them against the allied armies.

It would also determine whether they remained valued commanders...

...or became the next victims of their own king’s wrath.

The heavy entrance flap of the command pavilion fell shut behind Pushpasura.

For several moments...

Silence lingered.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Only the ragged breathing of Nishithanetra and the occasional crackle of the braziers illuminated the vast tent.

The Rakshasa General remained bound to the thick wooden pillar by living vines, dried blood staining both his armor and the floor beneath him.

His head hung low, not because of shame,

But because his exhausted body simply had little strength left after enduring both Devaratha’s assault and his own king’s punishment.

The remaining nine Battle Generals slowly turned their attention toward him.

None of them pitied him.

If anything...

Several wore faint smiles.

One of the generals let out a mocking chuckle.

"So this is the mighty Nishithanetra."

"The archer who claimed no one could rival his mastery."

Another folded his arms, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment.

"You were defeated by a human king."

"A human."

He deliberately emphasized the last word as though it were the greatest humiliation imaginable.

A third general laughed openly.

"And not only were you defeated ...our lord had to save your life."

"Had he arrived even a moment later, we’d be discussing who would replace you among the Twelve."

Laughter spread throughout the pavilion.

Another Rakshasa General clicked his tongue.

-Tch!

"You’ve embarrassed all of us. Two generals dead. One nearly killed."

"What an excellent beginning to this war."

Another smirked coldly.

-Smirk!

"At least there’s one benefit."

He glanced around at the others.

"The weak have already been weeded out."

"Those empty positions will eventually belong to warriors worthy of serving Lord Pushpasura."

Several nodded in agreement.

To them...

Strength alone determined worth.

Failure deserved ridicule.

Compassion was nothing more than another form of weakness.

Nishithanetra never answered.

"...."

He neither defended himself nor argued.

He simply remained silent, accepting every insult without so much as raising his head.

Perhaps because...

Deep within himself...

He knew they weren’t mocking him because he had fled.

He hadn’t.

He had fought until his bow had been destroyed.

Until his body could no longer stand.

Until death itself had nearly claimed him.

But none of that mattered.

Among the Rakshasas...

Only the result mattered.

One by one, the generals finished voicing their contempt before leaving the pavilion.

Their footsteps gradually faded into the night until only a single figure remained standing near the entrance.

Ugrashira.

Towering even among the Rakshasas, four curved horns rose proudly from his head like a twisted crown, giving him the appearance of a warlord born solely for battle.

Resting beside him was his colossal trident, its three black prongs constantly wreathed in streams of dark Yogic energy that hissed like living serpents.

Unlike the others...

He hadn’t laughed.

He hadn’t spoken a single insult.

He simply watched.

After the last of the generals disappeared outside, Ugrashira let out a quiet sigh.

"So..."

he said at last.

"...they’ve finally gone."

Nishithanetra slowly lifted his head.

His swollen eye met Ugrashira’s.

"...."

For a long moment...

Neither spoke.

Their friendship stretched back centuries, forged through countless campaigns fought shoulder to shoulder.

Long before either had become one of Pushpasura’s Twelve Battle Generals, they had survived battles that should have claimed their lives many times over.

Ugrashira walked forward until he stood only a few feet away from the bound archer.

There was no mockery in his expression.

Only concern.

"I’ve never seen you lose."

His voice was calm.

"Not once."

Nishithanetra gave a tired, bitter smile.

"Neither had I."

Ugrashira remained silent for a moment before asking the question that none of the others cared enough to ask.

"...."

"...Was he truly that strong?"

Nishithanetra closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again...

The confidence that had always defined the greatest archer among Pushpasura’s generals was gone.

In its place was something far rarer.

Respect.

"He wasn’t merely strong."

Nishithanetra spoke quietly.

"He was better."

Those three words caused Ugrashira’s expression to harden.

"I tried everything."

"My fastest Astras. My deceptive Astras. My strongest Astras."

He slowly lowered his gaze.

"He answered every single one."

"It felt..."

Nishithanetra searched for the right words.

"...as though I wasn’t fighting a man."

"I was fighting someone who could already see the next move before I made it."

Ugrashira tightened his grip around the shaft of his trident.

"And in close combat?"

A faint smile appeared on Nishithanetra’s face despite his battered condition.

"I never reached close combat."

"The moment he decided the duel was over..."

"He ended it."

Silence settled between the two old friends.

"...."

"...."

Outside, the sounds of the Rakshasa camp continued as soldiers prepared for the next day’s battle.

Inside the pavilion...

Ugrashira looked thoughtfully toward the entrance where Pushpasura had departed only minutes earlier.

Then his eyes returned to Nishithanetra.

"Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."

"If I’m to face king Devaratha..."

His grip tightened around the dark trident.

"...I intend to walk onto that battlefield knowing exactly what kind of monster we’re dealing with."

Ugrashira didn’t offer empty words of encouragement.

Nor did he dismiss what his friend had just said.

He simply walked toward the wooden pillar to which Nishithanetra remained bound.

The thick living vines, created by Pushpasura himself, still coiled tightly around the wounded general’s body. Ugrashira planted the butt of his massive trident upon the ground before gripping one of the vines with both hands.

With a sharp pull, the first vine snapped.

Then another.

One after another, the restraints were torn away until the last of them loosened their grip.

The moment the final vine fell to the ground, Nishithanetra’s body immediately gave out.

His legs, already weakened from Devaratha’s relentless assault and the punishment that followed, could no longer support his weight.

He began to collapse.

Before he could strike the ground, Ugrashira caught him by the shoulder.

"Easy."

His deep voice carried none of the harshness he showed on the battlefield.

He carefully lifted Nishithanetra’s arm over his own broad shoulder, allowing the exhausted archer to lean against him.

"You’ve lost enough blood for one day."

Nishithanetra managed a faint smile.

"I’ve endured worse."

Ugrashira glanced sideways at him.

"Not while pretending you’re still standing."

That earned a quiet chuckle from Nishithanetra.

It was the first genuine laugh that had escaped him since the battle ended.

Slowly, the two old friends walked out of the command pavilion.

The Rakshasa camp had not yet gone to sleep.

Massive bonfires burned throughout the encampment, illuminating countless warriors sharpening weapons, repairing damaged armor and preparing for the second day of battle.

The air carried the smell of burning wood, medicinal herbs and fresh blood, while healers moved constantly between rows of wounded soldiers.

Many Rakshasas glanced toward Nishithanetra.

Some whispered among themselves.

Others merely watched in silence.

None dared mock him again while Ugrashira walked beside him.

Among the Twelve Battle Generals, Ugrashira’s reputation was second only to Pushpasura himself in matters of close combat.

Very few wished to provoke him.

The two eventually arrived before one of the largest tents in the encampment.

Unlike the command pavilion, this one was filled with the scent of crushed herbs and medicinal oils.

Rakshasa healers hurried from patient to patient, stitching wounds, setting broken bones and using dark healing techniques to accelerate recovery.

The moment they noticed Ugrashira supporting Nishithanetra, several healers immediately rushed forward.

"My Lord!"

Without waiting for instructions, they carefully helped Nishithanetra onto a thick stone bed before beginning their work.

Some cleaned the dried blood covering his wounds.

Others prepared medicinal pastes.

Several began channeling dark Yogic energy into the deepest cuts left by the thousand rose petals.

Satisfied that his friend was finally receiving treatment,

Ugrashira dragged a heavy wooden stool beside the bed before sitting down, resting his enormous trident against the nearby wall.

For a while...

Neither spoke.

Only the quiet instructions of the healers filled the tent.

Finally, Ugrashira broke the silence.

"Start from the beginning."

Nishithanetra turned his head slightly.

"The beginning?"

"Everything."

"I don’t want the shortened version."

"I want the battle exactly as it happened."

Nishithanetra remained quiet for a few moments before slowly nodding.

"It began the moment I finally found him."

His gaze drifted toward the ceiling of the tent as though the memories themselves were unfolding before his eyes.

"I tracked him through the remnants of his Yogic energy."

"The moment I confirmed his location, I released my Trishulānveṣa Astra, believing I had caught him unaware."

A bitter smile appeared on his lips.

"I was wrong."

"He sensed it before the Astra even reached him."

"He used the Vajravyaghra Rath to reposition himself and appeared behind my chariot almost instantly."

Ugrashira listened without interrupting.

"He countered my Astra before it could complete its pursuit."

"The explosion pushed my chariot back..."

Nishithanetra paused briefly.

"...and from that moment onward..."

"I never regained control of the battle."

He described each exchange in careful detail.

How every Astra he launched was intercepted before reaching its target.

How Devaratha seemed to read every movement of his bow.

How no matter how quickly he changed tactics or altered the sequence of his attacks, another divine arrow always appeared to meet his own.

"It was like..."

Nishithanetra searched for the proper words.

"...playing a game where my opponent already knew every move I intended to make."

Ugrashira folded his arms thoughtfully.

"He predicted you?"

"No."

Nishithanetra shook his head.

"He understood archery."

"There is a difference."

The healers continued wrapping fresh bandages around his torso as he spoke.

"I tried overwhelming him."

"I tried deceiving him."

"I even attempted forcing him into making mistakes."

He closed his eyes.

"He made none."

Then he spoke of the final Astra.

The beautiful storm of a thousand rose petals.

How they flowed around his own Astra instead of colliding with it.

How his shield had endured only for a short time before shattering.

How the petals deliberately destroyed his bow before cutting through his body.

Ugrashira frowned.

"He destroyed your weapon first..."

Nishithanetra nodded his head.

-Nod!

"He wanted to ensure I could never fight back."

A quiet sigh escaped him.

"And after that... He still honored me."

Ugrashira looked surprised.

Nishithanetra slowly smiled despite the pain.

"He called me a worthy warrior."

"He said I had earned his respect."

"He intended to give me a warrior’s death."

His gaze lowered toward his bandaged hands.

"The only reason I’m still breathing... is because Lord Pushpasura intervened."

Silence settled over the healer’s tent once more.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Ugrashira leaned back slightly, absorbing every word his friend had spoken.

The more he listened...

The clearer one truth became.

Tomorrow...

If fate placed him before King Devaratha...

He would not be facing merely another human king.

He would be crossing weapons with a warrior whose mastery had already humbled the greatest archer among Pushpasura’s Twelve Battle Generals.

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(Author note:)

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