Mahabharat: Shiva's Last Variable

(A/N):

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The battle between Devaratha and Pushpasura did not end with the second day.

Nor did it produce a victor.

Since Devara knew all he need to do was stall time till the 100 days.

When the conches announced sunset, both kings lowered their bows without another word, honoring the ancient law of war.

With the coming of dawn, however, they returned to the battlefield exactly as they had left it, standing at the head of their respective armies before immediately seeking one another out.

The pattern repeated itself.

Day after day.

The War of Malikavana raged around them,

Countless soldiers clashing amidst the ever-present veil of fog created by Devaratha’s Mask Senses,

While at its center the two kings continued a duel unlike anything the Three Worlds had witnessed.

For three consecutive days...

Neither drew a sword.

Neither wielded an axe.

Neither attempted close combat.

Their battle remained one of pure archery.

Astra after Astra crossed the battlefield with terrifying precision.

Every divine arrow was answered by another, every technique met with a flawless counter.

Explosions became so frequent within the isolated arena that the earth itself remained permanently scarred, its surface layered with countless overlapping craters created by the relentless collisions.

Their chariots never ceased moving.

Pushpasura’s monstrous chariot streaked across the battlefield with impossible speed, leaving behind dozens of afterimages that made determining his true location nearly impossible.

Every time he fired, he was already racing toward another position before the arrow had even reached its target.

Meanwhile, the Vajravyaghra Rath simply vanished whenever danger approached, reappearing somewhere else in the arena as though distance itself held no authority over it.

The four celestial saber-toothed tigers never showed the slightest hesitation, responding to Devaratha’s intent as naturally as though they shared the same mind.

Neither king allowed the other a clean shot.

Neither granted even the smallest opening.

The duel had become an endless contest of prediction.

A battle to determine who could finally anticipate the other’s next move.

As the third sunrise arrived...

Something began to change.

Pushpasura.

His boon had already started revealing its terrifying nature.

With every passing day, his physical and spiritual strength continued to double.

The pressure radiating from his body became noticeably heavier than it had been when the war began.

Every Astra he released now carried far greater destructive force, and even the surrounding space trembled beneath the overwhelming Yogic energy flowing through his bow.

The Rakshasa King himself could feel it.

His power...

Was growing.

Yet despite that overwhelming increase...

His expression gradually became more serious.

The confidence and arrogance with which he had begun the duel slowly disappeared, replaced by concentration.

For three straight days...

He had challenged Devaratha in the discipline he believed defined the King of Trivenivrata.

Archery.

And for three straight days...

He had failed.

It wasn’t because Devaratha overwhelmed him with legendary Astras.

Quite the opposite.

That was what disturbed Pushpasura the most.

Throughout the entire duel,

Devaratha had refrained from employing the devastating divine Astras whose names were known across Aryavarta.

He hadn’t invoked the heavens themselves.

He hadn’t attempted to end the battle through overwhelming divine might.

Instead...

He relied almost entirely upon ordinary Astras, perfect timing, flawless accuracy and an understanding of archery that bordered on the incomprehensible.

Every arrow Pushpasura fired was answered.

Every angle was covered.

Every opportunity vanished before it could be exploited.

No matter how much stronger Pushpasura became...

No matter how much faster or more destructive his attacks grew...

He simply could not gain the upper hand.

From the very beginning of the duel until the end of the third day...

Devaratha had never once looked pressured.

It was as though he remained comfortably in control of the battlefield despite facing an opponent whose strength continued multiplying.

Pushpasura finally understood something that unsettled him.

"This isn’t happening because I’m weak..."

His crimson eyes narrowed as another pair of Astras annihilated one another between them.

"...he’s suppressing me."

The realization refused to leave his mind.

Devaratha wasn’t trying to overpower him.

He wasn’t attempting to prove himself the superior archer.

He wasn’t even searching for a decisive victory.

He was simply...

Containing him.

Like a veteran hunter calmly preventing a dangerous beast from escaping its cage.

Every exchange felt deliberate.

Measured.

Calculated.

Almost as though Devaratha had no interest whatsoever in defeating him today.

Pushpasura’s gaze sharpened.

"...What are you waiting for?"

The question echoed silently within his thoughts.

Across the battlefield, Devaratha calmly lowered the Pinakodanda after another successful interception.

His breathing remained steady.

His expression never changed.

To anyone watching, it appeared as though he was merely fighting to preserve the stalemate.

But beneath that composed exterior...

His mind was calculating.

Every passing sunrise. Every completed day.

Every increase in Pushpasura’s strength.

Every heartbeat.

Nothing escaped his notice.

He had already accepted that destroying Pushpasura through brute force was meaningless while the boon remained in effect.

There was no value in exhausting his greatest Astras against an enemy who would simply regenerate.

So he waited.

Patiently.

Like a master strategist allowing every piece to move into its proper place before delivering the final checkmate.

He wasn’t fighting to win the battle of archery.

He was buying time.

Waiting...

For the unseen countdown to finally reach its end.

And when that moment arrived...

Pushpasura would discover that the true battle had never been about whose arrows were stronger.

It had always been about when Devaratha intended to execute him.

By the end of the third day, Pushpasura’s patience had finally reached its limit.

Three days.

Three entire days.

His strength had doubled with each passing sunrise, just as the boon had promised.

Every Astra he released carried greater destructive power than the one before it.

His movements had become faster, his reactions sharper, and the monstrous chariot beneath him continued to streak across the battlefield with impossible speed.

Yet...

Nothing had changed.

No matter how much stronger he became...

No matter how aggressively he attacked...

He still could not gain even the slightest advantage over Devaratha.

Every opening he believed he had discovered vanished in the next instant.

Every carefully planned assault ended exactly the same way.

Blocked. Countered. Or avoided.

It wasn’t merely frustrating.

It was humiliating.

Pushpasura suddenly remembered the first night of the war.

"...."

The image of Nishithanetra tied to a pillar flashed across his mind.

He remembered beating his own general mercilessly for losing to Devaratha.

He remembered calling him weak.

Pathetic. Unworthy.

But now...

Three days later...

He himself had failed to accomplish what he had demanded of Nishithanetra.

Not only had he failed to defeat Devaratha...

He hadn’t even managed to force him onto the defensive.

The realization burned hotter than any wound.

It felt as though he had willingly walked before Devaratha...

Only to offer his own face to be slapped again and again.

His fingers tightened around the black bow until the wood creaked.

His jaw clenched.

The veins across his forehead bulged violently.

"No..."

he muttered.

"This ends today."

The morning of the fourth day arrived.

As always, the conches announced the beginning of battle, and as always, the armies disappeared into the dense fog conjured by Devaratha’s Mask Senses.

Once again...

The vast circular arena remained untouched.

Pushpasura slowly lowered his bow.

For the first time since their duel had begun, he dismissed the weapon.

Dark Yogic energy swallowed the bow before it dissolved into nothingness.

Across from him, Devaratha watched silently.

Pushpasura raised his voice.

"Enough."

His words echoed across the isolated battlefield.

"I’ve had enough of chasing shadows."

He stepped forward to the edge of his chariot.

"If archery refuses to produce a victor..."

A cruel smile slowly appeared.

"...then let another weapon decide."

He extended his empty hand.

Dark Yogic energy condensed around it before taking shape.

Within moments, an enormous spear materialized.

Its jet-black shaft was wrapped with crimson veins that pulsed like living arteries, while its wicked spearhead radiated an aura capable of piercing mountains.

Pushpasura planted the butt of the weapon against the floor of his chariot.

The impact echoed across the battlefield.

He pointed the spear toward Devaratha.

"King of Trivenivrata."

"I challenge you... to a duel of spears."

Silence followed.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Not because Devaratha hesitated.

But because he simply looked at the Rakshasa King for a long moment.

Then...

A faint smile appeared.

"As you wish."

There wasn’t the slightest trace of uncertainty in his voice.

Without another word, he loosened his grip upon the Pinakodanda.

The divine bow shimmered brilliantly before dissolving into countless golden motes that drifted into the morning air.

Devaratha slowly raised his right hand.

A familiar divine resonance spread across the battlefield.

Unlike Rudhirabhra or the Pinakodanda, this aura possessed a sharp, disciplined intensity.

Golden light gathered before him.

From within that brilliance emerged a magnificent spear whose polished blade gleamed like captured sunlight.

Ancient runes stretched along its shaft, each one awakening as Devaratha wrapped his fingers around the weapon.

The spear felt perfectly balanced.

Perfectly familiar.

Because its every movement had been drilled into him countless times.

As the divine weapon settled into his grasp, a memory briefly crossed his mind.

High upon Mount Kailash...

A younger Devaratha stood with aching arms after countless failed attempts.

Before him stood Lord Kartikeya.

His elder brother.

The Supreme Commander of the Deva¹ armies.

Patient. Unyielding.

Demanding perfection with every thrust, every stance and every movement.

Whenever Lord Shiva finished the day’s archery lessons, Kartikeya would steal whatever free time remained.

"Come."

He would smile while twirling his divine spear effortlessly.

"If Father teaches you how to kill from afar... I’ll teach you how to end a battle before your enemy can even reach you."

Those countless sessions had continued for years.

Until the spear became as natural to Devaratha as breathing itself.

The memory disappeared as quickly as it had come.

His attention returned to the present.

"I accept."

The words were simple.

Matter-of-fact.

Pushpasura expected confidence.

He hadn’t expected acceptance without even a moment’s consideration.

Both kings stepped down from their respective chariots.

Their boots struck the scarred battlefield almost simultaneously.

Pushpasura’s skeletal beasts immediately growled, lowering their heads as if preparing to charge the moment combat began.

They had scarcely taken a single step...

When something extraordinary happened.

The Vajravyaghra Rath suddenly dissolved into golden light.

Pushpasura frowned seeing it.

The magnificent divine chariot vanished completely from the battlefield.

Only the four celestial saber-toothed tigers remained.

Freed from the chariot they had been pulling, the divine predators slowly walked forward until they stood between the skeletal beasts and their master.

Their golden eyes narrowed.

Low, thunderous growls rumbled from deep within their chests.

Grrrrrrr...

The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath the warning.

One tiger bared fangs as long as daggers.

Another slowly extended its claws, each one sinking effortlessly into solid stone.

The message required no words.

Take one more step...

...and you will answer to us.

The skeletal monsters immediately hesitated.

Even those corrupted beasts instinctively recognized the overwhelming divinity standing before them.

For several tense moments...

Neither side moved.

The beasts would settle their own rivalry.

Their masters...

Were about to settle theirs.

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(Author note:)

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