King of Devas

"Nara. Narayana. Born into the world as men..." Devi Lakshmi folded her hands gracefully, her fingers delicate as lotus stems. She looked upon her husband with eyes full of love, her smile as soft as moonlight. "They will suffer, fight, and protect. But in the end, the world will remember them not as gods, but as saviors."

Vishnu returned her gaze with a faint, knowing smile. His divine eyes shimmered like the surface of the Milky Way. Before him stood two radiant figures, reflections of his essence yet distinct.

"You each have your path," Vishnu said, his voice calm and deep like the hush before the rain. "Go. Cultivate your strength and perform your dharma."

His eyes flickered with a gleam, something unspoken, something seen beyond the veil of time.

Nara and Narayana, standing before him with eyes as warm as spring and hearts as steady as mountains, bowed their heads in unison. Their palms met in a reverent gesture. They vanished into the sacred sanctuary of Vaikuntha.

Even as they faded, Vishnu's voice echoed outward. It traveled beyond Vaikuntha, beyond time itself, carried across the waves of the Milky Ocean.

Brahmaloka

Brahma, seated in the heart of his lotus throne, paused as the celestial sound reached his ears. A smile curled beneath his beard as he gently turned a page of the Vedas resting in his hands.

"Pranam Narayana..." he whispered.

Then, louder: "Hail to the Guardians of the Veda!"

He chuckled softly, proud and a little amused. "Well, it seems I'm trending in the higher realms today."

Kailasha

Snow fell in silence over the sacred mountain. The winds carried a divine rhythm, like a song only gods could hear.

Seated upon a smooth boulder, Lord Shiva rested with legs crossed and expression serene. There was mischief in his eyes, pure and ancient as time itself.

He nodded slowly.

"Pranam Narayana," he said with reverence. Then he added, with a small smirk, "And to the Guardian of the Veda."

The mountain echoed his words like a mantra.

Bhu Loka

In a quiet forest where the grass whispered in the wind, Narada Muni paused mid-step. He tilted his head, listening as a name floated down from the heavens.

"Nara… Narayana…" he murmured, heart opening like a flower in the sun.

But then, he heard another phrase.

"Vedic Guardian?"

His brows shot up. The words caught him off guard.

"…Wait." A beat passed. The realization struck like thunder.

"Indra?!"

Narada Muni blinked, mouth slightly open. He stared into the canopy for a long moment, speechless.

He did not speak. He did not have to. His silence said it all.

Across the earth, in ashrams tucked deep within forests and on mountaintops veiled in mist, sages and seers stirred from meditation.

The voice of Vishnu, resonant and absolute, had awakened them. Not from slumber, but from their absorption in the eternal.

One by one, they turned their gaze to the distant horizon, eyes shining with clarity. They folded their hands and bowed low.

"Pranam Nara Narayana."

"Hail to the Guardians of the Veda."

Their voices rippled outward like hymns woven into the wind.

The Rishis rejoiced. A new name for the Lord had been revealed, a new incarnation, a new aspect, a new path for bhakti.

"Guardian of the Veda?" one of the rishis mused, stroking his beard. "A new title. A new story must lie beneath it."

"Could this be the King of Svarga himself?" another asked with wide eyes. "Surely there is a tale of divine wit behind it. I must hear it for myself."

"The inauguration of Svarga is about to begin," said a third, practically dancing with joy. "I want to meet the Vedic Guardians. I must!"

"I will write it down, every verse of it!"

"I am coming too!"

The forest echoed with excitement. The sages leapt to their feet, robes billowing, hearts light with curiosity and devotion. Each of them, seekers of truth and storytellers of the cosmos, hurried toward the heavenly realms, eager for the wisdom waiting to unfold.

In another corner of the retreating forest, beneath the dense shade of a towering Jambudvīpa tree, Sage Kashyapa sat cross-legged. His posture was still, his breath calm. The dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dancing across his weathered face as he lifted his gaze toward Svarga, the celestial realm.

"Indra..." he murmured with a faint smile, the name rolling off his tongue like an old melody. "To think that child Indra has grown into such a wise king."

There was warmth in his voice, tinged with pride. From the boy who once charged forward without thought, all fire and thunder, to a deva whose discernment now rivaled even the rishis, Indra had changed. Courage he always had, perhaps too much of it. But wisdom had once seemed a distant horizon.

And now, Indra had caught up to it.

A rare thing indeed, for a god to bloom late.

With a soft sigh, Rishi Kashyapa rose slowly, gripping the walking stick resting beside him. The earth hummed faintly beneath his feet as he stepped forward.

"Let me visit Svarga," he said to himself. "It has been far too long since I have seen my son."

Meanwhile, in the mortal world, within a humble thatched hut surrounded by the soft rustle of grass, Rishi Atri stood at the edge of a small wooden fence. His hands were folded in reverence, his eyes lit with something more than mere curiosity as he stared toward the heavens.

"Nārā and Narayaṇa..." he whispered. "The Lord's name carries such profound weight."

He paused, his voice softer now.

"Vedic Guardian?" His brow furrowed in thought. "Did they grant Indra that title because he now safeguards the very essence of the Vedas?"

The question tugged at his spirit. It was more than curiosity now. It was the feeling of being called, as if the cosmos itself had extended an invitation.

Without hesitation, Atri turned, grabbing the wooden cane by the doorway and stepping forward, robes fluttering behind him like wind-swept pages.

Just then, a gentle voice called from inside.

"Husband, where are you going?"

Anusuya stepped out, her pace graceful, concern knitting her brows as she looked at the unusually animated rishi. Her voice, soft as rain on a rooftop, halted him mid-step.

"Anusuya," Atri turned to her, a youthful gleam in his eyes, "I must go to Svarga. There is a light of the Vedas shining through the heavens, and I want to be there for it. I can feel it calling me."

Her smile, small and knowing, curved at the corners of her lips. She stepped close, hands gently tugging at his robe, fixing the folds with quiet care.

"Not so fast," she said, brushing a few strands of his hair back into place. "You will only end up waiting if you rush now. It is still early."

Her fingers lingered for a moment before reaching for his sleeve.

"Why not visit Soma first?" she added. "He has not been home in some time, or so Rohiṇī said. Spend a little while with him before you head to Svarga."

Atri hesitated, then let out a soft chuckle. He looked at his wife, the serenity in her eyes grounding him more firmly than any mantra.

"You are right, as always."

Anusuya smiled, peaceful and patient, and quietly returned to the threshold of their home, leaving Atri to gather his thoughts beneath the vast sky.

Rohiṇī was one of Soma's wives, the most cherished among the daughters of Prajapati Daksha.

When Soma, the radiant Moon God, married all twenty-seven of Daksha's daughters, each named after a nakshatra, he gave his heart almost entirely to Rohiṇī. Though bound by sacred rites to all, he favored her above the rest. He visited only her house, adorned only her with garlands, and spoke sweetly only to her. The others, though no less divine, watched silently as the balance of love tilted, like a ceremonial scale left uneven.

But in the life of a grihastha, a householder, there is no room for such neglect. Dharma demands impartiality. Affection, though it may vary in feeling, must never waver in responsibility.

Soma forgot this.

Prajapati Daksha, father to the slighted brides and guardian of cosmic order, saw the injustice and was furious. With the authority of a progenitor and the fire of a sage, he pronounced a curse upon Soma. The Moon's glow began to fade. His brilliance dimmed. His strength waned. He weakened day by day, as if dissolving into the dark sky he once adorned.

It was Lord Shiva who took pity. In compassion deeper than oceans, he placed the fading Soma upon his jata, his matted locks, and infused him with divine power. Thus, Soma was reborn as Chandradeva. His cycle of waning and waxing forever reflected both his punishment and his pardon.

But these days, Soma was rarely seen at home.

Anusuya could not help but worry. Her heart was heavy with the thought that her son might repeat his past mistakes, that he might once again let desire cloud judgment.

Hearing her concerns, Rishi Atri stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully.

"You are not wrong," he said. "Soma is likely in the Chandra-loka. I will visit him first. Once that is done, I will head to Svarga."

A smile tugged at his lips as if the thought of the divine assembly brought him peace.

"Good," Anusuya said softly, her gaze warm and full of care.

She was relieved, but not just because Atri would see Soma. What truly troubled her was the possibility that Durvasa might also be in Svarga.

Her husband and her son.

Both proud, both quick to anger, more stubborn than two bulls locking horns in the middle of a field. If they clashed again in public...

She shuddered at the thought.

...

Meanwhile, in a humble thatched house nestled beneath a blooming Ashoka tree, a voice rang out.

"Pranam Narayana!"

Rishi Durvasa clasped his hands reverently, offering a soft salute to the Lord whose name echoed across realms.

But then, from the whispers of the wind, came another name, one bearing a title that caught his attention.

"Hmm? The Guardian of the Vedas... Indra?"

Rishi Durvasa's brow twitched as his voice dropped to a mutter. The words lingered on his tongue, bitter and disbelieving.

He fell silent.

Then, slowly, his gaze sharpened. His decision was swift.

"I must see this with my own eyes," he murmured, resolve settling into his bones. "What has Indra done to be granted such honor?"

Just then, the footsteps of a royal attendant echoed against the stone-paved courtyard.

Clad in a white dhoti with the emblem of the Lunar Dynasty embossed on his sash, the young emissary bowed deeply, balancing a basket of freshly gathered sacrificial flowers in his hands.

"Forgive the delay, Maharishi," he said respectfully. "His Majesty King Brihadyumna instructed me to ensure only the finest blooms were brought for your rites."

Durvasa's eyes narrowed at the sight.

"Brihadyumna!" he thundered, his voice cracking like lightning across the mountain air.

"You are a king, not a gardener's apprentice! If these flowers arrive a moment too late, the sanctity of the ritual is lost. Lost!"

The young attendant flinched but maintained his composure. This was not his first time weathering the Maharishi's fury.

Durvasa's scowl remained, but his gaze lingered just a moment longer. Somewhere behind the storm clouds of his wrath, a quiet approval flickered.

He turned away with a sharp flick of his robes.

"Prepare the chariot. We ride for Svarga."

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