[center][h3]The Feast of the Sun[/h3]

[i][sub]With Termite and Cyclone[/sub][/i][/center]

For that weary Rakshasaraja who lay upon a lilypad atop the golden lake, there was to be neither rest nor peace. When next he was disturbed, it was to the sound of one tremendously Big Bang. Never in the short span of creation before that point had there been any sound more offensive and insipid than that horrific tumult, just as it was impossible to imagine that anything in the future ever could be.

The last echoing notes of the Celestial Music were drowned out and shattered and silenced by the hideous racket; its clamor was more anathema to the great black ape-demon-king than that scraping of metal upon stone were to all cultured and noble beings.

It would have been enough to drive anyone mad, but remember, this was a most enlightened soul who fancied himself the Universe’s appointed Ear. That made the offense of the deafening sound all the worse. [b]“SHHHHHHHH!”[/b] the Rakshasaraja hissed through his curled lips, and also through his gritted teeth, even as they ground upon one another with a force that could crush down tall mountains.

It was futile, that one first Rakshasa battling the Khodex and the whole of creation, but there was nothing to do but fight. Nothing to do but hush with all the vigor of his chest and lungs, loud enough to make the wretched universe hear and then quieten and redden in shame. So he hushed, furiously and incessantly, [b]“SHHHHHHHHH–!”[/b] He made the sound that a waterfall makes, hushing the universe with a vigor that no cataract–no matter how mighty–could ever rival! But that sound was not enough to silence the raging Big Bang, just as the big fat fingers plugging his ears were not enough to spare the noble Rakshasaraja from the Big Bang’s sound and fury. As his mind throbbed and the entirety of his being reverberated, he was wracked with pain. The sound and the pain built up and up, like a great lake swelling from endless deluge until no dam could ever contain it. Finally, his shushing was split by a piercing cry, [b]”--EEEP!”[/b]

The universe itself seemingly wanted to silence [i]him[/i] just as he’d sought to silence [i]it[/i], for he suddenly found his mouth filled with a whole flock of [b][i]SHEEP.[/i][/b] It was now impossible for him to make any sound but a garbled gagging! “Galbargalbargalbar,” one might imagine he sounded like, but fortunately he wasn’t so loud or passionate as to create another three Galbar-stones at that time. In any case, the sheeps’ wooly coats smothered his tongue and parched his lips, and their wretched bleating filled the inside of his mouth and head just as the thunderous bang roared on all around. The Rakshasaraja was stricken unconscious once again, thrown to-and-fro upon his lilypad and rolled this way and that by the furor of the Big Bang, until he found some semblance of peace. 

Slowly, one ewe managed to wriggle through the Rakshasaraja’s lips in between his snores. A lamb followed, and then a great ram, and then the whole of the flock. They spilled forth and began grazing upon the warm lake of gold.

At that time, the vast gleaming surface stirred slightly, and the five lesser Rakshasas, those wrathfully cast words, rose up from it after having been toppled and submerged in the turmoil of creation. Corpse floated placidly about, no worse off for having drowned. Song spat streaks of light out from her mouths. Perfection and Preserver, the malcontent siblings, churned and wallowed a while before they could right themselves in a way that left them satisfied. Rage struck his way up with a persistent pounding like the drip of water on a sheet of ice.

They looked around, and saw the sheep.

Corpse said “Hum!,” then thought no more of it and went on floating. Song began to hum, but one of the sheep bleated, and she broke off confused. Perfection squinted, took up one of the sheep and stretched it out, then pushed in its legs, and stretched them again; it bleated terribly, and Song’s mouths just hung open.

Preserver threw up his hands as he watched, then sat and began to think.

“These sheep are plentiful,” he said.

“They are,” answered Song, speaking with one mouth while the others hummed, because her song had no words. Rage’s eyes bulged and he shook his fists and stamped in place.

“We can’t do away with all of them,” Preserver spoke, “but we have to. What if they eat the whole lake, and there truly is no more place left for us to stand?”

“We could find a better place than it,” said Perfection, but then she could think of none that she would gladly have gone to. Corpse blinked.

“We could eat the sheep ourselves,” proposed Song.

“I am full,” said Corpse.

“They won’t do,” frowned Perfection.

Rage twirled in his dance like a whirlwind and glared balefully every which way. If he heard something, he could not say it; the others did not seem to.

They looked to the Rakshasaraja, but as he was asleep they did not want to wake him.

“We should fetch someone,” concluded Preserver, “that is hungry enough to eat with us.”

“Good day,” said the sun. 

Now the sun was all around them, and very bright. They had not noticed him among them, for his body was all of gold, like the lake was gold. “I have heard here that there are many sheep bleating. Now I am wondering, to whom do all these sheep belong which are grazing on the lake of warm gold? I would like to sit with that person, and be their guest and eat their sheep. For I have not eaten yet, and I am very hungry.”

One of the sheep looked up from its cud, which was brassy-tinted but still golden. “Mre-e-e-e-eh! Do not let the sun sit down with you and eat. His tongue is like fire, and his belly is very big and round. He will eat everything, even the lily pad. Mre-e-eh! He will eat you also, if you let him sit down with you and make him into your guest. He will drink the lake of warm gold and lick it all up.”

Preserver was pensive then, and said, “The sun lives alone inside the lake, and people do not approach him, for he is bright and burns all things. There are many sheep here, but certainly his hunger is very great. Truly he might eat us all if he does sit with us.”

But Song answered, “Still these sheep need to be eaten, and none of us can do it. Corpse has eaten already and is grown fat; my mouths will be full if I eat, and then I could not sing. Perfection will not eat, and Rage would burst if he did so try. Thus you would have to eat the sheep all alone if the sun does not sit with us, and I do not think you could do that.”

Then Preserver was quiet, but he took up and moved further away. Song spoke to the sun: “O sun, these sheep are Grandfather’s, but he is sleeping now; you see he is there. Come sit and help us eat them, for they are very many, and this troubles us.”

So the sun walked up to their gathering where they sat, licking up the sheep as he went. He stretched out his long straight arms from his body, going in every direction about him, and his arms were golden and very hot. When he sat down with the children of the Rakshasaraja they began to sweat with the heat, for his tongue was like fire as he ate. Only Preserver did not sweat, because he had gone further away. 

Then the sun smiled, showing all his white teeth. He picked up the bleating sheep in his hands and ate them all up, filling his belly. The little lambs he ate, and the ewes and rams also, eating up their wool, their hooves, and their horns. He ate and ate and ate, and soon the air was all quiet from the bleating, for he had eaten the whole flock which belonged to their grandfather the Rakshasaraja.

Now the sun was round and heavy from all the sheep that he had eaten, and he walked very slowly, so that it would take a whole day and night to walk around the same way he had come. When the sun had stood up and walked a little closer, he ate Corpse, who had also become very slow and fat. But there were bones inside of Corpse, and the sun choked and coughed and grew very thirsty. The sun kneeled down and began to drink the lake of warm gold, gulping it down and becoming hotter and hotter. For though he had eaten and become round, his belly was not full.

Preserver looked on, and he stood up and went behind the Rakshasaraja’s lilypad. He called Perfection to him and said, “O sister, you see that the sun’s hunger is truly very great. He has eaten all the sheep, and Corpse also, and now he will drink the lake of gold. Then all of us will have no place to be but in his belly. Go and measure out the best piece of the lake, which we will hide somewhere until the sun is full.”

Then Perfection stooped over the lake, which was ebbing with the sun’s gulps, and began to trace a circle across it to measure out the best piece. But none seemed quite the best; as soon as she had traced one, she saw that it would be better if one end was cut away, and the other made a little wider, and so she began again. She traced out another piece, which seemed quite good, but as she was admiring it the sun took a great gulp, and the circle was unsettled as the lake of gold ebbed. So she began again, but try as she might she could not find the best piece again, and scowled furiously.

So Preserver wrapped himself in his hands and went to Song. Rage was dancing angrily before her, even though it was very hot because the sun was with them. Corpse was quiet, because he was in the sun’s belly. Preserver said, “O Song, you have called the sun to sit with us, and he has eaten all the sheep, and Corpse also. Now he will drink all the lake of gold, and we will have no place to be. What are we to do?”

Song answered, “I cannot give the sun anything else to eat, for he has devoured all of Grandfather’s sheep. But I will sing to him, because even though a song is not as good as a full belly, it can make you forget that you are hungry.”

So Song began to hum with all her mouths, and the sheep could not bleat as she did, so that it was smooth and warm and heavy like the golden lake. Rage listened and became drowsy, and did not dance and leap as fast as before, and Preserver went further away so he would not hear too much.

Now the sun's belly was very heavy with gold, and he had begun to stoop low. He stopped a little to listen to Song humming. Rage was stumbling as he danced there, and when he tripped for a moment, the sun lifted him up and ate him whole. But the taste of Rage was very bitter, and the sun went red in the face, as red as a dying coal. 

Then the sun stopped and listened to Song's melodies, and found them very sweet. Finding them sweet in his ears, he thought, 'they must also be sweet in my belly, which is all upset now that I have swallowed Rage.'  So he began to eat all of Song's melodies, licking them up like sweet fruits. But his tongue burned the sounds and they became harsh. 

So the sun said to Song, "Sing now inside me, to calm my belly, so that I may hear you better. For I have grown ill with what I have eaten, and will soon die." Then he swallowed Song. And when he had done so the sun grew very drowsy with the sweetness of the music, and began to cool, stooping very low and looking very red and large. 

"Now I am finished. I must have one last meal before I die. I will eat that herb that grows on the lake of gold, and I will eat the great ugly one who sleeps upon it, for he is the seasoning." So the Sun ate the lily-pad on which their grandfather the Rakshasaraja was sleeping, and him he also ate. And when he had done this he lay down, so that only the top half of him was showing, and grew very dim.

Then Preserver said, “See, the sun has eaten Grandfather, and Corpse, Song and Rage also. I said that perhaps we should not have him sit with us, and they did not listen; now they are in the sun’s belly. If he dies now, will they die with him? I want to take them out from his belly before then.”

But Perfection answered, “Is the sun not very great and round, and his tongue burning like fire? You cannot find them inside his belly, because all the things that were here are inside him now, and you will be scorched before you can take out Grandfather, or Corpse, or Song, or Rage.”

Preserver went close to the sun, who was no longer bright and hot, and put his hands inside his mouth. But when he touched the sun’s tongue, his hands were scorched, and he tumbled back.

He sat and blew on his hands, which were burning hot. Perfection said to him, “Did I not tell you that the sun’s tongue burns like fire? You cannot take them out from his belly through his mouth, because the sun is round and large, and they are lost inside him; but if his belly is flat, then it can be done.”

So she went close to the sun, and she stretched and squeezed his belly, so that it would be wide and flat and not rise so high. But the sun’s belly was full of many things, and so it rose up again when she did not hold it, as if it were hanging down to the ground. So Perfection stretched and squeezed it harder and harder, and still could not make it flat.

Now the sun groaned and rolled about as Perfection squeezed his belly, but he was too round and heavy to move. And he was very ill and weak and dim. When Perfection pressed down on him with all her strength, he burst like a blister, and died.

Out came the sheep which the sun had eaten, the ewes and rams alike. 

Out came the warm gold he had drunk which filled up the lake on which the sheep had been grazing.

Out came Corpse, who was dead, like him.

Out came Rage, kicking and screaming.

Out came Song, and melodies came out of her.

Out came their grandfather the Rakshasaraja, still laying atop his lily-pad, of which he was the seasoning.

The sun burst open and all these things came out of his mouth. So quickly did he spit them out that they flew far over the air. They came down a very long way away, more than ten days walk. They landed in a puddle of warm gold that had soaked the sand, and made it into a land rich and hot. And it was night-time there, because the sun was dead.

Then there was nowhere left for Perfection and Preserver to be, because the lake of gold had been drunk up, and the sun was dead. So they went to live in another place, which was called the Indias.

[hr]

Throughout all of that, the Rakshasaraja slept fitfully, for he’d dreamt of a defiled and most unclean world indeed. All was of night-black and ash-gray and haunting yellow, as though the whole of creation was some jaundiced hide stained here and there with black ink. The skies were naught but crumbling black ichor, the wind carried the aroma of necrosis, and the only sound was that of a discordant wailing; the world itself lamented its desolation, for the Sublime had all been reduced to ruin and its Ear had been powerless to spare it from the fury of its defilers.

The Ear could hardly even remember the purity of its true and original form!

The Rakshasaraja raged against this phantasmagorical hellscape, trying to rearrange the flakes of ash fallen from the sky into something beautiful. He tried to make a gargantuan mandala upon the ground, an icon whose concentric circles depicted a grander and far purer scene, but as he toiled in that artifice the ashes rain down, and he had not gone far before the black-snow had already undone all of his progress behind.

When all the world was ash and motes of dust, there was no way of transfiguring the ruin back into anything resembling wood, let alone an unblemished forest.

So the Rakshasaraja despaired and wept. Though his two lower eyes had their vision blurred by tears, the third eye upon his brow still saw clearly, and it beheld one marvelous sight upon the far horizon that he had somehow overlooked until now. It was a single white shaft, a Pillar that was Purity.

Perhaps, he had [i]conjured[/i] that miraculous redoubt, that one tiny bastion of beauty, through sheer force of will. Or perhaps he had simply chanced to see it for a split moment before the blackened sky rained down upon it and smothered its grace forevermore. But that did not matter, for in that same moment, the Rakshasaraja awoke, and so exuberant were his thoughts, so tangible his awe, that in his dream he had brought a man to form. He had not even spoken this creature into existence, and yet here before him was a man and a son, beautifully and perfectly formed.

As he was not word-formed, this man had not been innately named upon his birth. Yet he did have a name, or perhaps would come to know it later, and that name was [abbr=in Sanskrit this is स्तम्भ which means ‘pillar’, in reference to how he first manifested in the Rakshasaraja’s dream]Stambh[/abbr].

Though Stambh was a man of sorts, and certainly one by appearance, Stambh was also [i]different[/i]. Though far too humble to ever proclaim himself greater than any other mortal, he was certainly of a different spirit; having been fully-formed even in the very moment of his nascence, poetry was the first thing to leave his lips rather than some shrill cry.

This being the case, it was only natural that he went on to become known as a great sage.

[hr]

When Nawal came to the land of mountains, it was empty save for the howl of the wind between the slumbering bulks of the stone giants and the creaking of snow underfoot. It still bore the traces of the bloody rain that had swept as far as the eye could see, and the peaks were mantled with dirty red like so many fields of strange flowers. This was no more than the trick of a hopeful mind - few things seemed to truly grow there, some patches of dark trees on the lower slopes, hard and grey spiny bushes clinging to the rocks, pale flowers of strange shapes dangling from sparse and steely stalks. Odd, hairy butterflies flitted between the blossoms in places where the twisting rock gave respite from the elements.

Behind him, the mountain pass loomed, steep and forbidding. The journey to reach it had been long and arduous, full of strange turns and shadowed passages, and the last stretch of climbing it had made his bare feet sore. He sat down to rest where he was, cross-legged on the rocky ground, and breathed deeply of the crisp air. Now that he was at leisure to contemplate its every detail, the view ahead was more curious even than it had seemed at first, unlike any of the ranges he had crossed in his travels.

Most of the mountains were not sloped, as it was wont to be, in the shape of sand dunes. They stood, straight and slender, like a wide forest of trees petrified by time. Their feet climbed gently up in a way that reminded Nawal of anthills, before abruptly breaking into sheer walls of stone that surged arrogantly towards the sky. Some of them were bare and impervious, forbidding to any but the most foolhardy climber. Most, however, were not as inaccessible as he had thought at first glance. There were sloping ridges on their sides where the red snow had gathered, some wide enough for a few trees to precariously cling on, winding their way upward at inconstant angles. With the trained eyes of the pilgrim, he thought he could spot the mouths of some natural caves over one of them. Enough determination, he considered, could see one to the very top of such strange peaks.

His ears caught a light rushing sound somewhere nearby. Rising to his feet, he looked to the side, where a cleft opened in the mountainside whose break he had crested. A clear stream of water rushed out from the gap, thin but gleaming with the purity that could only be born of the very ground. Nawal approached and stooped over the source. Further down, the rill was tinged with crimson where it dove into a drift of bloody snow, but here at the fount it was as clean as any water he had ever seen. Hands cupped, he drank of it, and the shivering cold that spread through him banished the last of his weariness.

The dust of the journey washed from his throat, he looked to the mountains again. The tall, straight pillars spoke to him of isolation, narrow as they were, their summits like so many tiny islands up in the boundless sea of the heavens. Up there, he thought, the air was clear and the eye unperturbed. All things would be open to one who dwelt there and had the patience to delve into the emptiness for the fruits of wisdom that grew in its depths. If one were just stubborn enough to reach so high a place.

Nawal wiped his beard, shook the cold water from his fingers, and walked on.



[hider=You’re telling me there’s been THREE Indias all along?]

The Rakshasaraja falls asleep on his lilypad, and his drowsy mumblings birth a herd of sheep. The five Rakshasas that were formed from his words don’t know what to do with them: their only idea is to eat the sheep, but none is hungry enough. Itzala shows up and offers to help if they’ll invite him; despite the warning of the sheep and the Rakshasa Preserver’s misgivings, the others accept. Itzal gobbles up the whole herd, then, unsatisfied, he eats Corpse, Song, Rage and the Rakshasaraja himself, and drinks the golden lake. Full at last, he lies down and announces that his death is near. Preserver and Perfection, the last left uneaten, try to get the others out of his stomach, and squeeze him so much that he pops open and dies for real. Everything he’d eaten spills out to a place on Galbar; Preserver and Perfection leave as well, and settle somewhere known as the Indias. In the sun’s absence, it gets dark.

Meanwhile, the Rakshasaraja is mourning in his sleep for the lost primordial harmony. He finds a fragment of order in the shape of a pillar, and dreams it into being as a man called Stambh.

Down on Galbar, a wanderer named Nawal arrives in a distant land of strange mountains.

By the power and virtue of Cyclone, the sage known as Stambh is created for 0 MP.[/hider]