Chapter 5: The Bitter Fruit of Swarglok

At Vata Vriksha Mandir, I noticed something off with Arjun.

The temple itself was a strange place—full of little girls, all with innocent faces, but many pregnant. Their hair braided with jasmine, eyes too old for their faces. I asked Pandit Gautam how. He said, “Ram Ram, ask Arjun.”

I looked at Arjun Bhaiya.

Arjun said, “Don’t worry. Wait a couple of days—you’ll see.”

Two, three days later, some old Swarglok friends arrived: Star Lord of Destiny, Giant Spirit Dev—chatting with Mahant Zhen, each taking a few girls to the backyard.

My eyebrow twitched. “Aren’t devas forbidden from loving mortals? What are they doing?”

Arjun said, “Not love, just fooling around. That’s fine. If, like my mother, they settle among mortals—capital crime.”

I said, “Hai Ram, you can stomach this?”

Hanuman was silent, but his grip on the gada turned his knuckles white.

I said, “What are we waiting for? Kill them. All of them.”

That day, I flung the Universe Ring, smashed the wall, dust everywhere, Vasuki Ribbon spinning with rose-coloured light, freezing those devas inside.

Before I could strike, a familiar, detestable voice shouted from outside.

“Demon, stop!”

It rang out like “Jai Mahakaal” at a political rally—Colonel Sharma, with his chakra, swaggering in as if nothing could touch him.

So I killed no one that day, but the devas didn’t get away with anything either. Only Mahant Zhen came out, fake smile pasted on, apologised for the inconvenience, and offered fresh amla fruit as compensation.

He cut open a girl’s belly in front of me, took out an unborn foetus—child of deva and mortal. From that, a special aura was drawn, the amla tree’s power turning it into a treasure of longevity and magic.

So that was the amla fruit. A bitter taste rose in my throat.

Star Lord of Destiny and Giant Spirit Dev took the fruit, smiling their polite, patronising smiles. I was pinned to the ground, filthy and furious. Their smiles were full of disdain, their eyes saying, “A demon is a demon, crazy for a few low lives. Five hundred years in jail, still no divinity. Colonel Sharma, what did you even father?”

Pinned by the chakra, my eyes near bursting, I looked at Hanuman. “Hanuman, get up there. If you don’t kill these bastards, how can you be Mahabali?”

Hanuman’s grip on his gada was painful to watch, the golden hoop digging into his scalp.

I turned to Arjun. “Aren’t you God of Justice? Do something!”

Arjun’s voice was far away, like the call to prayer drifting from an old mosque at dusk. “I can’t. Amla fruit doesn’t break heavenly law.”

Colonel Sharma landed beside Arjun, smiling that same oily smile. “Demon, you think everyone is as stubborn as you? It was Arjun who reported your rebellious thoughts, so I could come. This Yatra is to split the ashram’s punya, to temper you and Hanuman. Arjun is only here to watch you. In the end, you demons will bow, but the True Lord will rise above all.”

I turned to Arjun, shocked, searching his eyes for any trace of the friend I knew.

He nodded. “Swarglok’s rules are right. If not, my mother died for nothing.”

Rage exploded in my veins. I wanted to slap that handsome face of his.

But—wind brushed my arm. I could move.

My arm lifted. I looked up. Colonel Sharma’s hand was empty. The chakra was in Pandit Gautam’s hand.

Colonel Sharma: “...”

After all these years, no one had managed to touch the Shining Chakra—yet here was the pandit, holding it as if it were a lemon from his bag.

Colonel Sharma broke out in a sweat. “Pandit ji, please—give me the chakra.”

Pandit Gautam examined it, jumping back when Sharma reached. “Not giving.”

Then his smile vanished, and his eyes locked on Colonel Sharma, but I knew the words were for me.

Pandit Gautam said calmly, “Didn’t you want to kill them all? What are you waiting for?”

The spear burned in my palm, and for the first time, the gods looked afraid.