Hayagriva was overjoyed. He nearly laughed aloud in exhilaration.
The dice in his hands were no ordinary ones. Carved from his own bones by the legendary Mayasura, architect of the Asuras, they were imbued with a power that defied fate itself. As long as they remained in his grasp, he could roll any number he desired.
And now, Indra, the mighty King of Svarga, was willing to stake what devas had left on these very dice.
How courageous.
"Indra..." Hayagriva murmured, his fingers gliding over the dice's smooth surface. His blue mane rippled like a storm, and his eyes gleamed with cold, calculated malice as they locked onto the god before him.
The King of Svarga stood tall, radiating effortless confidence, but Hayagriva had already made up his mind.
I will break him.
Indra would fall. He would be reduced to nothing more than a pawn, a mere slave who takes care of his gardens. Let's see if this so-called king could still hold his head high after being trampled beneath his hooves.
Hayagriva's lips curled into a sneer.
"Then let's play."
"Good," Indra said smoothly. A slow smile curled across his lips as he folded his hands beneath his chin, his golden eyes gleaming with challenge. "But I want to raise the stakes."
"Oh?" Hayagriva smirked, intrigued. "And what exactly do you wish to add?"
Indra's gaze sharpened, his voice low and commanding. "Winning little by little is too slow. Let's decide everything in a single round."
The air crackled with tension.
"I," Indra continued, "will wager all the Devas."
Gasps echoed across the heavens.
"If I lose," Indra declared, his voice resonating like rolling thunder, "then every last Deva shall be yours, bound to serve you for eternity in this great calamity."
He leaned forward, golden light flickering around him like a raging storm.
"But if I win…" His gaze darkened. "What will you wager, Hayagriva?"
The name struck the cosmos like a war drum.
Hayagriva. Hayagriva. Hayagriva!
Indra's voice carried across the starry expanse, shaking the very fabric of existence. The celestial bodies trembled, the heavens split with a terrible groan, and across the vastness of space, volcanoes erupted in cascading fury—an omen, as if the universe itself recoiled at the weight of this gamble.
The Devas stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief.
What do we do?!
If Indra lost, every last one of them would be condemned to servitude—slaves to the Hayagriva.
In Satyaloka,
Upon the sacred lotus, Brahma's expression tightened, his serene composure disrupted by the weight of what he was witnessing. His countless faces turned toward the sky where Svarga and the human world met, his wise eyes flickering with uncertainty. He stroked his long, snow-white beard, his fingers tightening ever so slightly.
"Indra is risking too much," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. There was no divine pronouncement, no cosmic certainty, only the quiet worry of a father watching his son play a game with stakes too high.
Beside him, Saraswati let out a breath, shaking her head. Her white robes shimmered, the golden ornaments at her wrists catching the light as she folded her arms. Her eyes, dark and sharp, did not hold the same doubt.
"He's Indra," she said simply. "His strategies have never failed before. Not against Hiranyaksha, not against Hiranyakashipu. And certainly not against some arrogant Asura with another boon up his sleeve."
Brahma turned toward her, his brows lifting slightly. "You think this is wise?"
Saraswati exhaled, tilting her head as she looked back toward the battlefield. "I think it's necessary. Indra isn't some reckless gambler throwing dice for sport, he's been leading the Devas into war since the beginning of time. He's won every time. Because he doesn't play fair." She gave Brahma a pointed look. "You know this. I know this. And Hayagriva? He's about to find out."
Brahma hummed, his fingers still brushing his beard, his thoughts still tangled. "Even the greatest warrior is one mistake away from ruin."
"And Indra doesn't make mistakes." Her voice was firm, steady. She didn't flinch under his gaze. "He's not just betting on the dice, Nath, he's betting on himself. And when has he ever lost to an Asura King?"
Brahma looked at her for a long moment before turning his eyes back to the battlefield. His silence was not agreement, but neither was it outright denial.
Elsewhere, in Satyaloka, Rishi Brihaspati was far less composed. The Guru of the Devas paced in front of a swirling celestial mirror, his golden robes rustling with each hurried step. His face was tight with worry, his fingers flicking through the air as though trying to weave an unseen prayer.
"This is madness," he muttered under his breath. "Indra fights with lightning and Vajra, not with fate and numbers. This is a different kind of battlefield, and Hayagriva has already deceived Surya before." His jaw clenched. "If this wager truly rests on a single throw… the Devas are doomed."
The game had begun. The pieces were in motion. And while Saraswati believed in Indra's unshakable will, Brahma remained still, watching, wondering if, for the first time, the King of Svarga had finally overplayed his hand.
On Mount Kailash…
Far away, seated upon the peak of Kailash, Vishnu observed the unfolding events with a pensive gaze. His Sudarshana Chakra spun idly on his fingertip, a silent reminder of his ever-watchful presence.
"Has Indra's arrogance returned?" he murmured, concern flickering in his voice.
Devi Lakshmi, ever graceful, reached out and gently clasped her husband's hand. The tension in his body did not ease.
Not far from them, Shiva sat still, his Trishul stood by his side. His expression was unreadable, his deep eyes reflecting the countless figures gathered in the starry expanse.
And yet, even he remained silent.
The game had begun.
Asura's eyes widened as he stared at Indra, searching his expression.
"You think I wouldn't dare?" Indra's voice was sharp, unwavering.
Hayagriva chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk. "Since you want to gamble, let's settle this in one round."
He rolled the dice between his fingers, casting a sidelong glance at Indra. His voice was slow, deliberate. "Then I'll wager Svarga itself."
"Not enough." Indra's smile remained, but his tone was resolute, his words ringing with finality.
Hayagriva's gaze turned cold. His mane billowed like a storm, his blue body emanating an abyssal presence—one that threatened to swallow everything.
"Then I'll raise the stakes, two-thirds of the land under my rule."
The air shifted.
The gathered Asura generals—Viprachitti, Shumbha, Puloman, and countless others—stiffened. Their eyes widened in shock as they turned to face Hayagriva, disbelief etched into their faces.
Two-thirds of the land! This madman was betting on everything!
Indra let out a hearty laugh, straightening his posture. He placed one hand on his knee while the other waved through the air.
"Impressive! As expected of the King of Asuras. Today, I, Indra, acknowledge you!"
The sky hung heavy with storm clouds, the scent of rain thick in the air. The battlefield had fallen silent. Not a single blade clashed, not a single war horn blew. Instead, at the center of the vast field, a board of gold and obsidian stretched between two seated figures.
Indra leaned forward, fingers resting lightly on the polished dice. Across from him, Hayagriva sat with arms folded, his crimson eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"This game will decide the tide of battle," Indra said. "Chausar, a contest of skill, luck, and wit."
Hayagriva scoffed. "Luck, is it?" He glanced at the pieces arranged before them—miniature warriors, sculpted in the likeness of their armies. "And the rules?"
Indra smirked. "You'll learn as we play."
Without another word, he rolled. The dice tumbled across the board and landed on a three. No movement. Indra withdrew his hand.
Hayagriva's lips curled into a smirk. "Already hesitating?"
He scooped up the dice and rolled a six.
The asura warriors roared in approval as one of Hayagriva's pieces stepped onto the board. A six meant another turn. He rolled again—a four. His piece advanced further.
Indra remained still, watching. He took the dice and cast them. A five. Still not enough.
Hayagriva chuckled, rolling once more. A two. His piece crept forward, inching toward the center of the board. The asura ranks cheered.
Indra rolled again—six.
The deva warriors held their breath. Indra calmly placed his piece onto the board. Then, without hesitation, he rolled again. Six.
The tension in the air shifted. Hayagriva's smile faded slightly. Indra rolled a third time—five. His piece advanced, closing the distance toward Hayagriva's lead piece.
The asura's eyes flickered with unease. He quickly took his turn—three. His piece was getting closer to a safe zone, but it wasn't there yet.
Indra rolled again. Five.
A sharp crack echoed across the battlefield as his piece landed directly on Hayagriva's. The board trembled. The deva warriors erupted in cheers.
Indra met Hayagriva's eyes, his voice like rolling thunder.
"Capture."
He lifted Hayagriva's piece and placed it back in the starting position.
Viprachitti slammed a fist into the ground. "This is treachery!"
Shumbha's eyes burned with fury. "He tricked our king!"
Puloman shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger. "How dare you, Indra?!"
Hayagriva's jaw clenched, his fists tightening. His warriors fell silent, watching as his piece was sent back to the start. To re-enter the game, he would need another six—but Indra had already seized the advantage.
Surya smirked, arms crossed, golden armor gleaming. "It seems Hayagriva's gambling skills aren't as sharp as his blade."
Agni chuckled, flames flickering at his fingertips. "It looks like you can't outmatch the King of Svarga."
"Yes, that's right!" Vayu grinned.
Tch!
Hayagriva exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening.
"Fine," he thought. "Let's see how long that smugness lasts."
He rolled again. Would fate favor the Devas or the Asuras?
The game was only beginning.
---
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