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The phenomenon of a SOLAR ECLIPSE has been around since...well, the SUN and the MOON have been around, so obviously in every culture around the world they've been incorporated into the myths and the superstitions, alongside the sciences.
In SOUL WARRIOR: THE AGE OF KALI the myths and legends of India come to life. Lord Karna is the son of the Sun God. As such, whatever happens to the Sun naturally impacts him.
Enjoy an eclipsed excerpt from the beginning of SOUL WARRIOR
(Available for purchase on Amazon worldwide except South Asia, where it is soon to be released.)
AMZ BUY LINK: getBook.at/SoulWarrior
CHAPTER ZERO
DWANDA-YUDDHA: THE DUEL
The Himalayan Mountains. Five thousand years ago.
Absolute darkness shrouded the Human Realm, and had for three days
and three nights. Some believed the occurrence was prophetic, like the
prolonged amavasya or new moon night that had heralded the Great Kuru
War two thousand years ago. The war had given birth to the dark Age of Kali,
the age of asura. In contrast, hope was ripe that this event would
trigger the Age of Light. But the Bard wasn’t here to succumb to superstition.
The first day without the sun’s light had spread confusion and chaos
across the realm. The second day had brought desperation in the breasts of
humans and fear in the belly of Celestials. The third day—today—was a feast for
the asuras. Death lay everywhere.
The human world burned without its sun. How soon before the
Heavens went up in ames?
The Bard’s troubled eyes reread the last line. Then he
deliberately scratched it off, lifting his long, pointed talon from the
parchment made of dry palm leaf. With a sigh, he rested his aching hand on his
trembling thigh. He would spare a moment to ease his body, and his mind from the
strain of observation and due recordkeeping. If he didn’t, he’d forget his duty
as Witness of the Cosmos, and begin to question fate.
Despite the fire that crackled close to his right knee, and the
feathered form of his upper body, he was cold. An icy wind had settled around
the Pinnacle of Pinnacles, where he sat cross-legged on a seat made of rock and
snow. He’d chosen this perch because it gave him an impartial view of the
events happening in the world. He was the Bard, entrusted with keeping the
Canons of the Age of Kali, just as the Soul Warrior was entrusted with keeping
the Human Realm safe from asuras. Would they both fail in their duty
today?
The Bard shook off the heavy despair the darkness had brought into
the world. He mustn’t judge. He shouldn’t question. He would sharpen the talon
on his fore nger, dip it into the vessel of ink kept warm by the re, and write
this tale. That was all he could do. Be the witness to history.
So he raised his feathered hand and began to write again while his
eyes, sparked with power, knowledge and magic, saw clearly events unfolding
from great distances. A thousand kilometers to his right, Indra, the God of War
and Thunder, fought the Dragon. Indra did not fare well. But that didn’t
concern the Bard as much as the clash between the Soul Warrior and the Stone
Demon. Over and over, his eagle eyes were drawn to the duel taking place in the
heart of the world, not only because it was a magni cent battle to behold, for
it was, but because its outcome would decide mankind’s destiny.
The Soul Warrior was more than a great warrior. Karna was a great
soul. Fair, honorable, brave and resilient, he was the perfect protector of the
Human Realm. Of course, there were other reasons he’d been chosen to ll the of
ce of Soul Warrior—there always were when Gods and demons were involved. But
Karna’s existence was a testament to righteous action and if anyone could bring
back the day, it would be him.
But how did one vanquish stone, the Bard wondered?
Avarice and cruelty, two nefarious desires, had made Vrtra and
Vala attack the Human Realm. Three days ago the Dragon had swallowed the Seven
Rivers in the north, and the Stone Demon had imprisoned the Sun God, his
daughter, and all the cattle of the region in his cave.
The Bard paused his writing as a thin vein of lightning winked
across the skies, but without the accompanying roar. Indra’s strength waned.
His thunderbolt hadn’t left Vrtra screaming in pain this time. The Bard spared
a moment’s attention on the duel, just enough to note that the Maruts, the
Celestial Storm-gods, waited in the clouds to rescue their god-king in case of
a calamity. Indra would survive even in defeat. Of that, the Bard was sure.
But Karna had no one at his back. His might and god-powers had
depleted without the sun’s healing warmth and light. His divine astras,
weapons, had not slowed the Stone Demon down, at all. Only the convic- tion
that he could not fail his godsire, his sister, and the innocents under his
protection drove him now. His birth family had once abandoned him to his fate,
but he would not abandon them to theirs—such was the greatness of Karna.
The Bard crossed out the last observation. No questions. No
judgment. No praise, either. The canons would be free of all emotion. He wasn’t
here to embellish history or glorify the history-makers, as some bards were
wont to do.
It wasn’t embellishment to write that the foothills of Cedi were
drenched in the Soul Warrior’s blood. Or observe the gushing wounds on his
body, despite his armor, that would make the hardiest of warriors bellow in
agony, but not him. It wasn’t embellishment to write that the Heavens were
empty for the Celestials had come to Earth to watch the battle, relight cupped
in their palms to light the warrior’s way.
The Naga, the Serpent People, also looked on, hissing from the
mouth of the portal that led to their underground realm beneath the hills. The
Serpent King will not choose a side. Vrtra and Vala were half Naga, after all.
All across the Human Realm, demons roamed free, taking advantage of the
darkness and preying on human esh and human souls. It was a terrible moment in
history. The asuras had the upper hand in the eponymous age of Demon
Kali.
Vala did not have arms and half a leg, but still he came at Karna.
He had an ace up his sleeve. There were plenty of creatures about, an entire
mountain close at hand. He began to chant the spell of soul transference. It
was the darkest of all magic, the possession of another’s soul. Soon, he would
be whole again and stronger than before.
Battered and bleeding, the Soul Warrior veered away from the Stone
Demon. He leapt over boulders and charred vegetation. The onlookers called him
a coward. Had he forfeit the duel? Has he forsaken mankind?
Karna dove for Manav-astra, the spear of mankind, he’d
thrown aside yesterday after his bow, Vijaya, had shattered under
repeated use. In one smooth motion, he rolled, picked up the astra,
coming up in the spear-thrower’s stretch. His tattered lower garment billowed
about him as a gust of wind shot through the air. His muscled torso glis- tened
with blood and sweat, tightened as he pulled the arm holding the spear back.
He meant to throw Manav-astra at Vala. A futile attempt, to
be sure? As long as Vala was made of stone, broken or not, his body was
impregnable. Karna should have waited for Vala to transfer his soul to an
onlooker. Then Karna should have vanquished the possessed creature.
Taunting laughter reverberated through the foothills of Cedi. Vala
had reached the same conclusion. The Celestials looked at each other in angry
silence, unable to interfere. A dwanda-yuddha duel was fought between
two opponents of equal size and strength alone. The humans hadn’t stopped
screaming in three days, the din simply background noise now.
The Bard scribbled the observations onto the parchment in no
particular order. He wished he was a painter, for surely this was a picture
worth a thousand words.
The demon hobbled toward the warrior, who stood still as stone
with his arm drawn taught behind him. Then nally, with a roaring chant the Soul
Warrior shifted his weight from his back leg to his front and let y Manav-astra
at the Stone Demon with all his remaining might.
Karna didn’t wait to see the rami cations of his action. And there
were plenty to come. He ran into the mountain cave to free Vala’s hostages.
Within moments the rock face rent in half, and bright streams of light speared
through the terrible darkness. A new day had dawned on the Human Realm after
three days of perpetual night.
The sun’s power was too bright, too full of hope. Yet, the Bard
looked on pensively, wondering if the Soul Warrior knew this wasn’t a victory.
It was merely a reprieve.
© Falguni Kothari
INDIA COVER.
