Looking upon the great wide mouth of the valley, Drumila, the sage and the entire host of western daityas stood waiting by the gushing river. In front of them, a huge procession swelled like a multicolored wave, only it moved on the soft black sands of the bank instead on the waters. Muya’s party of architects and builders had arrived. In the front was a phalanx of warriors, all maharathis no doubt, for the protection of their ancient King and in the middle walked a great, golden lion, whose mane touched the black ground beneath him. Upon that lion rode Muya-asura, who was dark as night and possessed ten arms. In each of his arms he carried equipments of construction like a giant hammer made of iron, which looked like it could destroy a mountain in one blow, a carver, a golden rope used for measuring, a huge block of red gemstone which shone like the rising sun in his hand, and many other smaller instruments Drumila couldn’t discern in the crowd. Behind Muya-sura, walking in an orderly fashion, were his famous architects. Contrary to Drumila’s notion of them, they were built like strong daitya-soldiers, with stout arms and strong shoulders. Drumila soon found out the reason for this. Every daitya walking behind the ancient King was carrying a block of white stone which seemed very much like a hill of marble from the distance. These architects were used to a lot of heavy lifting. So, even though they didn’t stretch bows or wield heavy clubs, they were as strong as daitya warriors. The party climbed up the mild slope to where Drumila and the others were standing, and the maha-rathis separated into two columns to make way for the King, one fencing the thick forest on the left and the other standing by the river. Muya rode upon the giant lion, whose paws lifted the sand softly, and came to a halt a small ways from Drumila and Shukracharya. His great, round limbs were adorned with gold and it contrasted beautifully with his dark skin. He alighted from his mount upon the moist soil and greeted the sage with a wide smile that showed pearly white teeth and two long fangs. “Maharaj!” he exclaimed, and bowed in front of the sage. His deep voice, coupled with his action, settled all those of his party who were milling about behind him. Shukracharya placed his right hand on the top of Muya’s head. “May your opulences last for as long as you live.” “Thank you, Maharaj,” thundered Muya with a grin. “Indeed, your words can never be untrue.” During this time, the reclusive old yogini, Darshini, pushed through the crowd of daityas and stood beside Drumila, as though possessed by some spirit, her big eyes widened in a sort of mad veneration. It was from Muya that she’d gained all of her occult knowledge, since he was the master of mayavi-vidya, or sorcery, and it was Muya that she worshiped in her secret residence. Besides, his son, Bala, had created 96 types of new occult sciences through his own mystic prowess and exhibited them in his capital of Dhana-Puri for the entire world to see. But other than giving her a wry smile, the ancient daitya ignored her completely. Instead he turned to Drumila, his foremost arms spread wide, and his face stretched in an uncertain smile. Drumila stepped up to him at once and embraced him with his own two foremost arms (for he’d manifested his four-armed form for the meeting). He could feel every single eye of the daitya gathering trained upon them. *And why not?* he thought. Entwined as the two Kings were, they must appear like a mountain of burning, hot coal, with Muya’s black limbs as the un-burnt charcoal whereas Drumila’s reddish complexion its glowing embers.
Posted on: Wed, 31 Jul 2013 09:36:16 +0000