Chapter 223: Chapter 221: Army Arrives... Ashvatthama’s Decision... Looted Village...
(A/N):
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Meanwhile...
Inside the royal command tent of Malikavana...
An unusual silence had settled over the gathering.
King Padmanabha Varma sat motionless upon his seat.
His eyes remained fixed upon the Vanara calmly standing before him.
His lips parted slightly.
Yet...
No words came out.
"...."
He simply stared.
Even after Devaratha had introduced him...
The King still found it difficult to believe what he had heard.
The Vanara standing before him...
Casually smiling while enjoying another mango...
Was none other than Hanuman.
The eternal devotee of Lord Rama.
The mighty son of Vayu.
The hero whose name had become inseparable from the history of the Treta Yuga.
The one who had leapt across the ocean to Lanka.
The one who had carried the Sanjeevani Mountain.
The one whose devotion had become the very definition of devotion.
A being who had witnessed the transition of Yugas with his own eyes.
And now...
That very immortal stood inside his humble command tent.
King Padmanabha finally recovered enough to stand.
Without hesitation, he folded both hands respectfully.
"My respects... Hanuman."
Hanuman immediately waved both hands.
"No, no."
"Please."
"There is no need to be so formal."
"I’ve merely come to help. As per my lord will."
His easygoing smile somehow made the King’s astonishment even greater.
After several awkward moments...
Padmanabha slowly let out a long sigh.
Then he turned toward Devaratha.
"...King Devaratha."
Devaratha looked at him.
The King rubbed his forehead helplessly before speaking.
"I sent you to inspect the evacuation."
"I expected you to return with a report. And you went missing..."
He pointed toward Hanuman.
"Instead..."
"...you returned with one of the greatest beings to have ever walked Bhuloka."
He paused for a second.
"...How does something like this even happen?"
Shakuni, standing nearby, quietly covered his mouth to suppress a laugh.
Even Devaratha scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"...It is..."
"...a rather long story."
Hanuman laughed heartily.
"Hahahaha!"
"It truly is."
The King sighed once again.
"I just hope everything goes well..."
Devaratha smiled.
"You needn’t worry, Your Majesty."
He glanced toward Hanuman.
"Lord Hanuman has come to stand with us."
"He will fight alongside Pushkarnya in the coming war."
For a brief moment...
The entire tent fell silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Several commanders exchanged disbelieving glances.
One immortal alone could alter the outcome of an entire battlefield.
Now...
That immortal had chosen to stand with them.
The despair that had weighed upon everyone’s hearts since Pushpasura’s awakening eased considerably.
King Padmanabha slowly bowed once more toward Hanuman.
"Then..."
"...Pushkarnya is truly blessed."
Hanuman simply smiled.
"I am merely answering Dharma’s call."
Just then...
The entrance curtain of the command tent was pushed aside.
Shakuni entered carrying a sealed scroll.
His expression was noticeably brighter than before.
"Devara"
"Message has arrived from home..."
He handed the scroll to Devaratha.
The royal seal of Trivenivrata was pressed firmly into the wax.
Devaratha immediately recognized it.
Breaking the seal, he carefully unfolded the message.
His emerald eyes quickly moved across the contents.
As he continued reading...
A satisfied smile slowly appeared upon his face.
Shakuni folded his arms.
"I take it... the news is good?"
Devaratha nodded.
"It is."
He looked toward King Padmanabha.
"My army has reached the borders of Pushkarnya."
"The advance divisions have already crossed into your kingdom."
"The remaining forces are marching without pause."
He rolled the scroll closed.
"If nothing delays them... they will arrive at Malikavana before long."
The King’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
For the first time since the nightmare had begun...
A genuine sigh of relief escaped him.
-Sigh!
"Our reinforcements... have finally arrived."
He looked across the command tent.
Pushkarnya’s army.
Trivenivrata’s army.
Hanuman himself.
Hope, which had seemed so distant only hours ago, was slowly returning.
Outside the tent, war drums continued to echo across Malikavana.
The armies of Dharma were gathering.
And somewhere beyond the forests...
Pushpasura’s legion was doing the very same.
The final preparations had begun.
The battle that would decide the fate of Pushkarnya...
And perhaps all of Bhuloka...
Was now only a matter of time.
Meanwhile...
The Trivenivrata Army continued its relentless march toward Pushkarnya.
Thousands of soldiers advanced in perfect formation.
War banners bearing the royal emblem fluttered proudly in the wind.
The rhythmic thunder of marching feet echoed across the plains as cavalry, chariots, infantry, and supply wagons stretched far beyond the horizon.
At the very front of the army rode Ashwatthama.
Standing upon his chariot, his sharp eyes continuously scanned the landscape ahead.
His expression remained calm.
Alert.
Nothing escaped his attention.
Suddenly...
His brows furrowed.
"...Smoke?"
Far ahead, a thick pillar of black smoke rose into the sky.
It was too dense to be a simple forest fire.
Ashwatthama immediately raised one hand.
"Halt."
The command echoed through the ranks.
Within moments, the entire army came to a disciplined stop.
The horses ceased their advance.
The chariot wheels became still.
Ashwatthama narrowed his eyes.
"...."
He urged his horses onto a nearby ridge overlooking the source of the smoke.
The moment he reached its summit...
His expression darkened.
Below him...
A village was burning.
Homes had been reduced to blazing infernos.
Thick smoke covered the streets.
The cries of terrified villagers echoed through the valley.
Men desperately tried to protect their families.
Women carried frightened children while fleeing from collapsing houses.
The elderly lay wounded upon the roads.
Among the chaos...
Dark figures moved through the village.
Rakshasas.
Some were setting buildings ablaze.
Others chased fleeing civilians without mercy.
Blood stained the once peaceful streets.
Ashwatthama silently watched the massacre unfold.
"...."
"...."
"...."
His grip around his bow slowly tightened.
"...So."
"The invasion has already begun."
One of his commanders stepped beside him.
"General."
"Shall we continue toward Malikavana?"
Ashwatthama didn’t even look at him.
His eyes remained fixed upon the burning village.
"The King’s command is to reinforce Malikavana... but protecting innocent lives is also Dharma."
He slowly lifted his bow.
"We intervene."
Without another word, he reached behind his back and drew a single arrow.
Closing his eyes briefly...
He began channeling Yogic energy into it.
Brilliant blue light gathered around the arrowhead.
The surrounding air gradually filled with the sound of flowing water.
"Varunastra."
The divine Astra of Lord Varuna answered its summoner.
The arrow shone with the deep azure radiance of the ocean itself.
Ashwatthama slowly drew the bowstring to its fullest extent.
Instead of aiming toward the village...
He pointed directly at the clear sky above it.
His eyes opened.
"Go."
The bowstring snapped.
TWANG!
The Astra shot upward like a beam of blue light.
Higher. Higher still.
Until it reached the heavens directly above the burning settlement.
Then...
BOOOM!
The Varunastra exploded.
Not in destruction. But in water.
Its divine energy spread across the sky, rapidly weaving together enormous storm clouds.
The bright afternoon sky vanished beneath layers of dark rain clouds.
A cold wind swept across the valley.
Moments later...
Rain began to fall.
At first... A gentle drizzle.
Then...
A torrential downpour.
Sheets of rain crashed upon the burning village.
Flames hissed violently.
Roofs that had been consumed by fire were quickly drenched.
The inferno steadily weakened.
Within moments...
Most of the fires had been extinguished entirely.
Steam rose throughout the village as water poured over every street and rooftop.
The sudden rain stunned everyone below.
The villagers looked toward the heavens in confusion.
The Rakshasas also paused.
One of them growled.
"...Rain?"
Another looked upward.
"Who used an Astra?"
Ashwatthama calmly lowered his bow.
His voice carried across the ridge.
"Forward."
The great army began moving once more.
Not toward Malikavana.
But toward the burning village first.
The thunder of thousands of marching soldiers rolled across the valley.
The Rakshasas slowly turned toward the approaching sound.
Emerging through the curtain of rain...
They saw rows upon rows of disciplined warriors advancing beneath the royal banners of Trivenivrata.
At their head stood a lone warrior upon a chariot.
Bow already in hand.
His calm gaze met theirs without the slightest trace of fear.
Ashwatthama’s voice echoed across the rain-soaked battlefield.
"Your slaughter ends here."
The Rakshasas grinned.
-Grin!
The first clash between the advance forces of Trivenivrata and Pushpasura’s invading legion was about to begin.
The rain continued pouring over the battlefield.
Mud replaced the burning streets.
Smoke slowly disappeared into the dark clouds created by the Varunastra.
Ashwatthama stood calmly upon his chariot.
His charioteer guided the horses with remarkable precision, weaving effortlessly through the narrow streets of the village despite the chaos surrounding them.
Not a single movement was wasted.
Not a single turn was mistimed.
The perfectly coordinated pair moved across the battlefield like they had fought together for years.
The Rakshasas roared and charged.
Ashwatthama calmly reached into his quiver.
His fingers released the first arrow.
Thrum!
The arrow pierced straight through the forehead of the leading Rakshasa.
Before its body had even fallen...
A second arrow had already left the bowstring.
Then a third.
A fourth.
His hands moved with astonishing speed.
The bowstring seemed to sing continuously.
Every arrow found its mark.
One pierced a Rakshasa’s throat.
Another shattered the skull of one attempting to attack a fleeing child.
A third split into multiple shafts through Yogic energy, striking several enemies simultaneously.
Not one arrow was wasted.
Watching from behind...
Even the veteran soldiers of Trivenivrata felt a renewed sense of confidence.
"Advance!"
The commanders raised their swords.
The disciplined ranks surged forward.
Infantry locked shields.
Spearmen advanced in formation.
Mounted cavalry swept around the village, cutting off every escape route.
The Rakshasas, though individually powerful, quickly found themselves overwhelmed by the discipline and coordination of Trivenivrata’s army.
Within a short time...
The last Rakshasa fell.
Silence slowly returned to the village.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Only the sound of rain remained.
Ashwatthama lowered his bow.
His sharp eyes quietly swept across the battlefield.
Victory had been achieved.
Yet...
There was no joy in his expression.
Many homes had already been destroyed.
Bodies lay throughout the streets.
Some families had survived.
Others had not.
No victory could erase that loss.
One by one, the surviving villagers approached him.
An elderly man fell to his knees.
"Thank you..."
"You saved us."
A mother, still holding her frightened child, lowered her head.
"If your army hadn’t arrived... none of us would still be alive."
Another villager wiped away tears.
"You have our eternal gratitude."
Ashwatthama silently accepted their thanks.
"...."
After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"I arrived too late..."
His eyes lingered upon the fallen.
"I could not save everyone."
The villagers looked at the warrior standing before them.
They could see it.
He was not celebrating victory.
He was mourning those who had been beyond his reach.
The elderly village chief slowly stood.
"No."
He gently shook his head.
"You came when Dharma called."
"Those still breathing today..."
"...owe their lives to you."
Ashwatthama inclined his head slightly.
Without another word, he turned back toward his chariot.
"There is still a war to fight."
The soldiers immediately resumed formation.
The wounded villagers were entrusted to the army’s physicians before the march continued.
Leaving the rescued village behind...
The Trivenivrata Army pressed onward.
Hours later...
The dense forests surrounding Malikavana gradually came into view.
Through the trees, Ashwatthama could already make out rows of military tents.
Watchtowers.
Defensive barricades.
The banners of Pushkarnya fluttered alongside those of Trivenivrata.
The combined war camp stood ready.
Ashwatthama raised one hand.
"Halt."
The army immediately stopped outside the forest.
Turning toward one of his trusted soldiers, he gave a calm order.
"Ride ahead."
"Inform King Devaratha that the Trivenivrata Army has arrived."
The soldier saluted his general.
"As you command!"
Without delay, he mounted his horse and galloped toward the camp, disappearing through the forest trail in a cloud of dust.
Watching him leave, Ashwatthama folded his arms.
His gaze remained fixed upon the distant camp.
"...Devara."
A faint smile appeared upon his face.
"It seems... Time for me to prove how sharp of a sword I can be..."
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(Author note:)
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