BSCVadhan
Well-Known Member
Chapter 45
The Azure Fortress
The ramparts of the cerulean Azure Fortress were freezing cold, but that did not deter Aswathaman’s focus. The Mage was meditating, unmindful of the chilly winds lashing at his bare chest. The fortress was on the very tip of a snow capped peak of a colossal mountain. The walls of the fortress receded steeply into a prodigious evergreen forest on one side. On all other sides, the fortress was surrounded by a vast army of puffy white clouds. Carved out of the mountain, the fortress ran deep into its bossom. Each sparklingly clean room of the fortress retained reminiscences of a bye gone era, sculptures, paintings or weaponry.
Aswathaman was in Yoga nidhra, deep meditation, for several weeks. He had receded into himself and by so doing, opened the doors between Maya and Satya. Through the open doorways he had reached his refuge. Neither hunger nor thirst was admitted to break his quest. The quest itself was fruitless thus far; his mind though, was open to the primordial chimes that were being smothered by the wind. The chimes did not tell him anything that he needed to know. A soft creamy luminescence, just beyond the puffy cloud enshrouded horizon, grew stronger and with its growing influence, the clouds began to glow.
Suddenly…‘Om’
It was a surge of sound, calm and unsettling at once, a whisper…a beckoning…at last.
The Warrior Mage increased his concentration, breathing deeper, calming himself into a state of complete inertia. The centrifugal point of his concentration, the tiny flame of a little oil lamp, carefully created in his mind’s eye, grew along with the incandescence on the horizon. The evergreen forest was swaying lazily, playfully. Aswathaman was straight backed, hands outstretched, palms resting on his knees, in the classic lotus position. The forefinger touched the thumb creating an ‘O’ between them. The other three fingers were straight and the palm itself was facing the calm blue skies.
His mind was still, like crystal clear water of a Kailashian lake. He was reaching out into the flickering flame of the little oil lamp and simultaneously towards the luminescence in the horizon, searching for the answer to his riddle. The luminescence in the celestial horizon grew in intensity, as did the flame within.
“Om”
The intonation was soothing. He breathed deep again, taking in lungfuls of chill air, slowly exhaling, clearing his mind of the residue of conscious thought. Aswathaman sensed colours and fragrance he did not know existed. They flowed into him, removing the toxins in his mind and heart, leaving him reverberating with primal energy.
“Om”
The Warrior Mage trembled ever so slightly as cognition flooded into him as a wave, drenching his entire being, casting him to drift into an ocean of awareness, imbrued by serenity. Only the stillness of his mind could balance the roar of pure joy in his heart.
“Om”
Aswathaman was floating through the calm waves of bliss and there he found what he was looking for. It was wafting as the softest of whispers, a forbidden truth, to be revealed only to a master. It was an opening in the fabric of creation, caused, maybe, by a stitch undone in space and time. Aswathaman wanted nothing more than the answer he was seeking, but then, the flood gates were open and secrets were being revealed and thus, another secret resonated threw the Warrior Mage, an arcanum so potent it could impact all fourteen worlds of power.
Aswathaman’s eyes snapped open, the Warrior Mage was shivering like a mere leaf in a strong wind; such was the potency of the knowledge within the confines of his astute mind, fluttering wildly like a caged pheonix.
“Rakshdwamp”
The Warrior Mage found himself in his little Kutir in Mount Kailash, the cottage he had built for himself. He came out of his trance like a man emerging from under water. Aswathaman gulped in the pure Kailashian air, his Kutir reverberating with the intensity of his breathing.
In the meanwhile, High Lord Mrihir was in his bivouac in the fortified Deva camp, lost in his thoughts. He was re-enacting the fight with the Vixens on the terrace of Kashyap’s apartment in his mind, visualizing Kashyap shooting out his hand for help. Mrihir could not let that image go, no matter how much he tried, it was lingering like bitter aftertaste, a torment, a barb that was sinking into him, reminding the Deva that he had failed…yet again.
The Deva High Lord had wished many a times since that fateful day that the
roles were reversed and he had been taken rather than the Asura. The Deva did not like the idea that he was feeling guilty for letting an Asura come to harm. Mrihir’s thoughts were interrupted by the tell-tale tingling at the nape of his neck, warning him that he was being watched. He turned around lightly to find Aswathaman standing at the gateway of the bivouac, observing him. All that Aswathaman said was:
“We’ve found a way to bring him back!”
Mrihir’s eyes flashed.
The Azure Fortress
The ramparts of the cerulean Azure Fortress were freezing cold, but that did not deter Aswathaman’s focus. The Mage was meditating, unmindful of the chilly winds lashing at his bare chest. The fortress was on the very tip of a snow capped peak of a colossal mountain. The walls of the fortress receded steeply into a prodigious evergreen forest on one side. On all other sides, the fortress was surrounded by a vast army of puffy white clouds. Carved out of the mountain, the fortress ran deep into its bossom. Each sparklingly clean room of the fortress retained reminiscences of a bye gone era, sculptures, paintings or weaponry.
Aswathaman was in Yoga nidhra, deep meditation, for several weeks. He had receded into himself and by so doing, opened the doors between Maya and Satya. Through the open doorways he had reached his refuge. Neither hunger nor thirst was admitted to break his quest. The quest itself was fruitless thus far; his mind though, was open to the primordial chimes that were being smothered by the wind. The chimes did not tell him anything that he needed to know. A soft creamy luminescence, just beyond the puffy cloud enshrouded horizon, grew stronger and with its growing influence, the clouds began to glow.
Suddenly…‘Om’
It was a surge of sound, calm and unsettling at once, a whisper…a beckoning…at last.
The Warrior Mage increased his concentration, breathing deeper, calming himself into a state of complete inertia. The centrifugal point of his concentration, the tiny flame of a little oil lamp, carefully created in his mind’s eye, grew along with the incandescence on the horizon. The evergreen forest was swaying lazily, playfully. Aswathaman was straight backed, hands outstretched, palms resting on his knees, in the classic lotus position. The forefinger touched the thumb creating an ‘O’ between them. The other three fingers were straight and the palm itself was facing the calm blue skies.
His mind was still, like crystal clear water of a Kailashian lake. He was reaching out into the flickering flame of the little oil lamp and simultaneously towards the luminescence in the horizon, searching for the answer to his riddle. The luminescence in the celestial horizon grew in intensity, as did the flame within.
“Om”
The intonation was soothing. He breathed deep again, taking in lungfuls of chill air, slowly exhaling, clearing his mind of the residue of conscious thought. Aswathaman sensed colours and fragrance he did not know existed. They flowed into him, removing the toxins in his mind and heart, leaving him reverberating with primal energy.
“Om”
The Warrior Mage trembled ever so slightly as cognition flooded into him as a wave, drenching his entire being, casting him to drift into an ocean of awareness, imbrued by serenity. Only the stillness of his mind could balance the roar of pure joy in his heart.
“Om”
Aswathaman was floating through the calm waves of bliss and there he found what he was looking for. It was wafting as the softest of whispers, a forbidden truth, to be revealed only to a master. It was an opening in the fabric of creation, caused, maybe, by a stitch undone in space and time. Aswathaman wanted nothing more than the answer he was seeking, but then, the flood gates were open and secrets were being revealed and thus, another secret resonated threw the Warrior Mage, an arcanum so potent it could impact all fourteen worlds of power.
Aswathaman’s eyes snapped open, the Warrior Mage was shivering like a mere leaf in a strong wind; such was the potency of the knowledge within the confines of his astute mind, fluttering wildly like a caged pheonix.
“Rakshdwamp”
The Warrior Mage found himself in his little Kutir in Mount Kailash, the cottage he had built for himself. He came out of his trance like a man emerging from under water. Aswathaman gulped in the pure Kailashian air, his Kutir reverberating with the intensity of his breathing.
In the meanwhile, High Lord Mrihir was in his bivouac in the fortified Deva camp, lost in his thoughts. He was re-enacting the fight with the Vixens on the terrace of Kashyap’s apartment in his mind, visualizing Kashyap shooting out his hand for help. Mrihir could not let that image go, no matter how much he tried, it was lingering like bitter aftertaste, a torment, a barb that was sinking into him, reminding the Deva that he had failed…yet again.
The Deva High Lord had wished many a times since that fateful day that the
roles were reversed and he had been taken rather than the Asura. The Deva did not like the idea that he was feeling guilty for letting an Asura come to harm. Mrihir’s thoughts were interrupted by the tell-tale tingling at the nape of his neck, warning him that he was being watched. He turned around lightly to find Aswathaman standing at the gateway of the bivouac, observing him. All that Aswathaman said was:
“We’ve found a way to bring him back!”
Mrihir’s eyes flashed.
