Dharmayoddha kalki avatar of vishnu pdf download

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Anderson by Kevin J. Decker by Kevin S. Panchatantra by Vishnu Sharma. Kalki now hoped that they would reach him sooner. The creature had managed to appear in front of him in no time at all. His presence had an unsettling aura. He turned around. Kalki realized he was wearing a lion skin over his head with whiskers coming out of his thin mouth.

He had a strange furry neck that lined his chest. His chest was hairy as well. With his back strained, he had a convoluted frame, his arms and legs of the same length. He walked on all fours like an animal. His wrists were crooked but when he stood straight, he towered over Kalki. His nails were so sharp that they pinched him. Kalki was surely in the wrong lands.

He had never liked Tribals. They had destroyed his village, killed the love of his life, and left his friends to die. The Manavs irked him enough, but not so much as Tribals. And yet, here he was, standing in front of one, and trying to make friendly contact with him. By the gods, he had forgotten the last time he had eaten something. Darooda slumped in disappointment. You are an Avatar! Besides, your voice seems to have overpowered him. It was at the gurukul with Guru Vashishtha, when he had read about the ancient tribes.

Padma had reached down as well, gazing at the creature, and freezing right in her tracks. She was a short woman, ugly and horrible. In reality, she was tall, slim, had a straight face with kohl-covered eyes and short, cropped silver hair with a noticeable jaded look. She was not one without peculiar habits. Kalki ignored her with a visible grimace.

Padma noticed it, but chose not to retort. He had every right to hate her. Because of her, Arjan had been kidnapped and might have been killed or worse, eaten. The very thought of it jolted a flash of anger and grief inside him. They were proud beings and even had heroes amongst their ranks.

Narsimha, as the legends say, defeated an Asura, when no one could. The Simhas, who are considered devotees of lions, wear their skin as protection and grow facial hair like a lion. Most of them went mad after the genocide. The survivors went missing. But this, again, is during the Mahayudh. That was way before their time, when the Ancients fought against each other. Back then, a plague had ravaged the land known as the Breaking, an aftermath to Mahayudh, as Kripa had stated earlier.

Ancients had lived before Lord Govind and others like him. All of it was explained to Kalki, but that strengthened his suspicions even further. He wondered how old Kripa was. He had said that he was hundred years old, but the Mahayudh predated a century. Deep down, he knew it was not true. History was convoluted and he better not dwell on that now. They have gone mad with time. Perhaps she was still carrying them.

The aftermath of the radiation was terrible, causing many to go crazy. Lands had become inhospitable. The kings had come after that, but none had survived. The survivors of the war had left for the mountains and died of starvation. But after seeing enough bloodshed, he was used to it. He figured that this creature must have seen enough evil for a lifetime. We go north, as we were supposed to. She wanted to clear up the tense atmosphere. Kalki could hear the blazing, somersaulting clouds approaching.

They had begun to make retching sounds. Kalki had touched a nerve. Kripa balked. Before he left, he told me about you. The rain was now armed and was throwing bullets of drops at them. None of them deterred Kalki as he confronted Kripa with glaring, pale eyes. Kripa sized himself up, an old man, with nerves pushing out of his fragile skin.

With a stinking mouth and greasy hair, his body exuded the smell of blood and suras. But he had retained his nerves of steel. Kalki shook his head. We stay right here. Padma pushed both the men and holding their horses by the girdles, dragged them towards the cave.

But I want to know if you still uphold your morality. I will not have innocent blood over me. I am important to you, which is why you keep me safe. But in time, I will find out why. Kripa was an Immortal, blessed by the last Avatar. Endowing someone with immortality can be a gift or a curse and in this case, Kripa surely was cursed.

He had gone mad like Darooda, but at least the Simha was kind and generous. He had sent his bird to sprawl its wings and locate any danger lurking in the vicinity. The foolish bird had ended up speaking gibberish and possibly alerting any threat trailing them. Kalki entered the cave to find Padma standing at the entrance, frozen at her place.

He looked at her pale, dilated pupils, lost into the distance. He knew something was amiss. He looked up. The cave, like any other mountain cave at this altitude, was filled with dirt, mud, and garbage strewn all over. And yet, unlike other caves, this one held people.

Three people, seemingly alive, had their mouths gagged by dirty rags. Their knees were bruised and all of them were women—one bald, the second one had matted hair, and the third one had a strange inked pattern over her left eye in the shape of an arrow.

Perhaps a Manav. And here he was, being shown as entertainment for the nobles and the aristocrats who were dining with the best of meat and wine, laughing with their women seated on their laps, and watching two hulking figures amidst Manavs and other races fighting each other.

Arjan realized he was next. With his hands chained, he watched the wrestlers, bound with the rest of the prisoners, as the contenders grabbed each other, their feet rooted to the ground, while trying to topple each other.

One finally threw the other on the ground and broke his neck in an instant. This was a game where no one cared who lived and who died. Arjan breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to wait, and learn from his would-be opponents. The entire chamber was thronged with spectators. In the front, with his guards sat Kali. He had a satisfied expression on his face as an Apsara sat over his lap, with wine spilling from his glass, as he laughed and cheered.

The nobles put bets, coins of unimaginable value were tossed and flipped towards the arena. All the nobles looked greasy and dishevelled. Arjan felt like retching. All this drinking and whoring was happening in front of a huge Vishnu statue symbolizing purity.

This sacred place was the outskirts of the city of Indra. Gambling over life and death was the new routine now. Arjan was standing in the middle of a huddle of sad, petrified faces.

He carefully scanned all the topless, shackled men, wearing nothing but scorched loins. They were barefoot, had bloody bruises, and their backs were being flogged by a leash made of tiger skin. His body was not ripped, unlike the other wrestlers, and his height was relatively short as well. Though he was incharge of the prisoners, they never took him seriously.

Arjan turned to see a boy, perhaps a little older, with wide eyes. Bangs covered his forehead, and he was a little plump unlike the others. I was flogged and sent down here for a few more years. How did you operate that, fella? Need to know. No one wants to see a boring, one-sided match, you know. He could feel it. Ever since Kali had assumed the throne, the Nagas had mysteriously vanished overnight, and the Manavs had been appointed jailers and officers in the prison.

If it had been up to Vedanta, Arjan would have been executed for trespassing into the royal grounds with the silver-haired girl in tow. But he had been brought in front of Kali, and the new king had different plans for him. The fight had ended and Kali came forward, declaring the winner. The announcement met with applause and hoots from the side who had bet on him. The fair-skinned champion had a stern, straight face with broad, dark features and a set of angry, stubborn eyes black as charcoal.

The last thing he wanted was to fancy a fighter he would end up battling to death. Arjan was one of them. Arjan kept praying. Lord Jarasandha was the megalomaniac emperor of Udaiyas. Being an Ancient, he had ruled before the Breaking, even before the Mahayudh.

Jarasandha was an Asura, a race that was now extinct. Kripa had talked about these stories of Mahayudh as if he had lived through it. Jarasandha was finally killed when his body was sliced into two parts and thrown on opposite sides.

When he had listened to this story for the first time, Arjan had gasped for breath, letting out a nervous laugh. None of these things happened. But then he had seen Kalki. He had seen his brother in action. He glared at him, his eyes narrowing and widening in recognition. Arjan could feel his breath, but he showed no fear or anger for that was exactly what Kali wanted—Arjan to react.

He controlled his impulses. Arjan was forcibly taken away and put in the midst of raving gamblers. With their tongues lolling, they were scampering and shouting at him, spilling their drinks while amorously engaging with their women. Arjan was helpless, his hands were still bound. He was just another prisoner.

Rudra stood still, watching Arjan with a look of disdain. Train him first! Throw him out! Kali grabbed Arjan by the shoulder, locking him in his grasp. Someone who has yet to rise through the ranks. Master Reddy, the stout, snarky man with betel leaves in his mouth came forward, trudging carefully. We need a change in the competition. This is about survival, not fairness! Others who are fit and fine.

Arjan had nothing against the man. He desperately sought his help; he needed the jailer to defend him. People clapped loudly, laughing. In fact, Rudra sniggered at the question, glaring at Arjan who chose to remain silent and impassive. Sometimes, he would force the body to plummet down on the ground, let the mud sweep in, and then break the bones one by one.

The plump man had previously told Arjan that only the best fighters enter the arena. Ah damn well. Arjan knew Kali would take his revenge for stealing his Soma and burning the entire stock. If one thought about it, Kali was being generous in not just feeding Arjan to the lions.

But then, the first look of Rudra was no less than a hungry lion approaching its prey. Arjan was shivering with nervousness as he knew he was going to bid farewell to his life. Arjan felt the mud slapping his face, as he looked at the chamber, the recess he was in, under the open, bloody sky. The entire place was small. The logs had been kept over the pedestals for the audience to sit and cheer the fighters as they marched to their gruesome deaths.

The arena was situated away from the actual fort, Rajgirh. This was in the outskirts of the city. Ideally, a king would never make the effort of being a part of such an establishment.

But Kali had travelled all the way from Indragarh to see this spectacle. His smooth demeanour outlined with his fascination for torture, it was hardly surprising that he had desired to witness it. Arjan stood up, cracking his knuckles and taking his battle pose. Rudra was in front of him, grunting, with a playful smile dancing over his lips.

Arjan glanced at Kali who was seated behind his favourite guards, Koko and Vikoko. Kali rubbed the top of his nose and then with a sweep of his arm signalled the fight to start.

Everything went blank for Arjan and when his visual senses came into focus, he was pushed violently and rammed to the ground by a basilisk of a man. His back brushed harshly against the ground. The enormous surge of pain made his eyes tear up. Horror seized Arjan as Rudra tried to grab his neck. Arjan dodged him, deflecting his bulky arms with his hands. Whenever Rudra would come forward, Arjan would sweep his hand and knock it aside.

Gathering his strength, he used his body weight and pushed himself from the ground. Rudra staggered. To survive, I have to kill you! He lurched at the impact, but gained his composure soon. As of now, this was not wrestling. Rudra released a flurry of blows at Arjan, as he felt each bone in his body shattering. His joints splintered to the point where his listless torso was dropped on the ground.

Rudra sat on his chest, his heavy, thick thighs upon his badly beaten trunk. There is no escape for you. When Arjan tried to fidget, Rudra punched him in the face, leaving him with a bloody, broken nose. Arjan thought he had seen the worst in Shambala when he had eaten some poisonous berries, but his battered bones and bloody face had proved him wrong.

He choked on his own blood. The pain kept escalating in his ears, the beating of his heart increased to the point that it became difficult for him to see properly. Rudra, with his two hands, began to choke him. He began to see dark spots, the air in him withering away as darkness welcomed him at last. The entirety of Udaiyas was on the far left now. Manasa was sailing through the simmering river, towards the east of Illavarti.

She was on a small boat that was being rowed by a Naga. He had blue eyes, of which the left one was glassy. He broke into a banter about how he got into the whole rowing business and how most of the well-to-do princes and princesses would take the route from the central entrance that led to Naagmandal, which was the capital of Naagpuri. You are royalty personified! Manasa rebuffed his praise. She expected to be escorted from this boat to a real, lavish one.

A transport fit for royalty. But then, that was all valid and agreeable before Lord Vasuki, the King of Nagas, also known as Naagraaj, took an entire army of Nagas and stationed it at Indragarh, the land of Manavs. While Vasuki was away, the ministers had expressed their anger about the whole situation.

But Manasa had managed to deal with them single- handedly. They were still under her thumb. Kadru, her cousin, had eventually replaced Manasa during her time in Udaiyas, helping Vasuki accomplish his duty in the foreign lands. Her return was sudden. And everything would have to be done in secret.

She would ensure no usurper got his hand on the throne of the Naagraaj. The successor was yet to be decided. And then, she would be able to leave for Indragarh. It was a shameful thing to admit, but Kadru, with a much lesser time in the court, had a better rapport with the ministers than Manasa had ever had.

But then, Manasa was temperamental and adamant. As she entered from the back entrance, she took a long look at the lush greenery around the soapstone, granite complexes. They looked more beautiful than before. The smell of fruits and vegetables engulfed her, the sound of birds and the blacksmiths shaping their weapons made her recognize her home once again.

She saw the silhouettes of the farmers weeding out their fields, standing upon thick foams of mud. Her gaze moved towards the clear lake as she gaped at the entire Naagmandal being drenched in water. No one could travel on foot to come here. To travel to the inward city, one would have to travel via the waterways for far distances. There were no long roads and winded paths. There were no rocky platforms. All of it was lush green grass and fields, trimmed, looking exactly like mini-islands huddled around each other.

The main complex was made of pure granite and stood with inscriptions written in Nubian—their native language carved on their rock structures, some towering and the others tiny, like a conical hat on top. As she entered the royal courtside, many people noticed her. Some even gasped. She hid her face under a shawl as she reached the north side entrance, finally looking at the pur.

Manasa stepped off. She tried to pay the boatsman but he retreated his hand. It was a pleasure to be your travel companion. I will cherish this for my whole life. Manasa nodded. The apparent loss of a royal guardian had humbled her. It was a new experience for her. Things had already started to go wrong. But then the central entrance would have been worse for a silent approach.

The ministers lolled around right in the open. Then, everyone in the country would have known of her return. The guards, dumbfounded, looked at each other.

The guards lowered their heads in unison. What lay in front of her was a half broken complex, shattered ruins from the top, and the door crumbling under a huge basilisk of a burden, too narrow to move through. The workers were trying to make sense of the wreckage, while the guards had sealed the area shut. She was gradually falling into hopelessness. As if a boulder had smashed her heart and it had escaped into nothingness, deep in a void.

Suparns never visited Naagmandal. She knew the only person who had the answer to this predicament. It was a sacred place where most meetings, decisions which would impact the nation, were taken.

Manasa barged inside. As she came near the golden-fleeced pur, she was stopped by the front guards. She removed the shawl covering her face and the rushing guards faltered. With wide, kohl-smeared, raging eyes, Manasa made her way inside. If you liked this post, then please share it with your friends and family members. So they can also enjoy this post.

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