Chapter 30 - The Kind of God
New
juniorsundar
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Nov 14, 2024
- Messages
- 54
- Likes received
- 332
Murugan stood before the temple.
It was a simple structure, fashioned entirely from dark, weathered wood, and sat at the very heart of the village. It was completely unlike the rest of the buildings in the village, which were aged and made primarily of mud.
It lacked the grandeur of other temples he knew in Bhuloka, most of which expressed impossible architectures and sometimes boasted an excessive glut of gleaming gold. Yet, as his eyes traced the carefully carved posts and the neatly joined beams, he could feel the sincerity that had gone into the construction of this comparatively quaint one. It was a place built of affection, not wealth.
And unlike most temples he had seen in the land of mortals, this one was open. Its entrance was unassumingly inviting, allowing any passersby to see right into the altar without any interruption.
His gaze passed through the wide-open entrance easily and fell upon the two idols housed within - made entirely out of common clay. The figures weren't particularly evocative or precise. They looked like bulges with a faint outline of figures oozing out. But their design was sufficient to spark clarity to any common observer.
The first was of a powerfully built man. His head was bald, and his entire form was coated in a chalky layer of ash. A crimson line bisected his face and abdomen like an unusual birthmark. In his arms, he cradled a fearsome-looking axe. Though basic in design, it carried all the required symbols that allowed a common observer to identify that it was, in fact, Murugan's Guru - Kratos.
Beside Kratos stood the second idol, and it was this one that made him cringe.
It was an equally rudimentary statue moulded from river clay and baked in the sun. It depicted a young boy, barely a man, with a face that was more an impression of youth than a true likeness. The lines were soft and curvaceous, and the features were imperfect, but the artist had spent considerable time on the eyes, giving them a sharp, determined look. In the idol's hand was a long spear, which was, once again, all that he needed to know that it was an idol of someone he was familiar with.
It was him.
As if on cue, the last of the morning worshippers began to file out of the temple. Their eyes fell upon him, and a wave of recognition, followed by awe, passed through the small crowd. Men and women, many with tints of grey blotching their hair and the deep lines borne of age etched into their faces, bowed their heads. A few spontaneously prostrated themselves on the dusty ground before him. This inversion of respect felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
He was taught that age commanded reverence. Yet here he was, with barely a few decades to his name - even with the irregularity of the flow of time in Kailasha - forced to accept overflowing reverence from those more than twice his age.
Without wasting another moment, Murugan extricated himself from the unnerving tableau and turned his back on the display of devotion. He beelined towards his true destination: the second-largest dwelling in the village. It was a humble hut with walls made of neat mud bricks and capped with a thick thatch roof that smelled of dry grass and sunlight.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound, a dull thud, reverberated amidst the quiet air. He waited, and a moment later, the door peeked open.
A pair of familiar, kohl-lined eyes met his for a fleeting second before widening in panic. The door slammed shut. He heard the patter of bare feet rapidly receding into the house.
A quiet smile touched Murugan's lips.
Within moments, the door swung open again. The Village Chief stood in the threshold. His face twitched with a smile of flustered apology. His eyes were wide as he took in his visitor, and his body began to instinctively fold. His hands came together as he prepared to prostrate himself, but Murugan moved faster. He closed the distance in a single step and placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on the older man's shoulder to halt his descent.
"Please," Murugan pleaded with a low voice. "Don't put me in this awkward position, Father-in-law."
The Chief choked at the designation, and he descended into a violent fit of coughing. It started as a seemingly simple clearing of the throat, but progressively descended into a racking spasm that shook his entire frame.
It went on and on, stretching past the point of polite recovery and into the territory of genuine distress. The sound was alarming enough that a woman, the Chief's wife, peeked out from the kitchen area with an expression that was creased with concern.
Seeing the scene, she rushed out while wiping her hands on a cloth tucked into her waist. She gave Murugan an apologetic smile before pulling her still-spluttering husband away from the doorway, guiding him to a small wooden stool.
Once the man's coughing had finally subsided into ragged breaths, he looked up at Murugan with reddened, watering eyes. "M-My Lord," he rasped with a tremble in his voice. "I fear I misheard you."
As he spoke, the Chief's head darted involuntarily to his left. Murugan's gaze followed. From behind the kitchen doorway, a young woman peeked out. Her face was tinted a fetching shade of crimson. As her eyes met her father's and jumped over to meet Murugan's, she quickly bolted in like a fleeing rabbit scurrying into its burrow.
Murugan chuckled softly at the display. He brought the simple cloth bag hanging from his shoulder forward. He placed it on the packed earth floor and slowly untied its knot. From within, he revealed two bronze statues. He placed them carefully in front of the Chief and his wife before sitting back on his heels to wait.
All eyes in the small hut focused on the inanimate objects. An extended silence prevailed, thick with confusion. The Chief leaned toward his wife and whispered, "What's going on? I feel I am missing something."
His wife did not answer. She narrowed her gaze and inspected the statues closely. They depicted a man and a woman. Their design appeared similar to the ones she'd heard of in the massive temples from the cities, in their attention to detail. It was uncanny, because in a way, they looked almost real - like two miniaturised humans coated in bronze. She looked even closer and started to match their appearance with fragments in her memory. It took a moment, but a flicker of understanding began to dawn on her face. Her eyes widened. Before she knew what she was doing, her body collapsed into a fully prostrated state before the two bronze figures. The Chief stared in shock at her reaction. His own inspection followed, and a moment later, he too fell to the floor beside her.
"You are putting us in an awkward position, dear in-laws."
A gentle voice spoke in a calm, resonant baritone that seemed to fill the small hut.
"In this juncture, we are your equals. Would you prefer that we prostrate ourselves before you?"
Those words were enough to make the Chief and his wife jump to their feet in terror. They immediately collapsed again onto their knees with their arms crossed tightly against their chests. Their shoulders were hunched over, and their gazes were locked on the floor. They tried their best to avoid looking at the bronze statues altogether.
"Though it is customary for parents to meet for such an event, regretfully, my parents cannot so easily leave our abode," Murugan explained calmly into the tense silence. "But these statues will act as a conduit. Please, you may talk to them as if you are talking to my parents directly."
The Chief and his wife rapidly bobbed their heads in understanding. But they remained resolutely and fearfully mute.
Seeing their lack of response, another voice spoke up. This one belonged to a woman. It was mellow and pleasant, and flowed in a methodical and measured tempo that seemed to emanate calmness.
"Are you dissatisfied with our son?" The question felt genuine and carried a distinct undertone of disappointment.
The two mortals immediately raised their gazes and shook their hands in frantic disagreement. They saw the two bronze figures now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Murugan. The statues were noticeably smaller than him, which created a humorous dissonance. Though the couple quickly contained their amusement.
"Please do not misunderstand us, Goddess," the Chief's wife finally managed to say. "It's just that… we feel inadequate."
"What is there to feel inadequate about?" the statue of the Goddess Parvathy spoke with a warm tone. "You have raised a filial and confident daughter. Her accomplishment and character are a testament to your commendable upbringing."
"But we are mere mortals, O Goddess," the Chief expressed with a difficult smile. "We cannot deign to place ourselves even in the same sentence as your greatness. We would be tarnishing the opulence of the great Mount Kailasha by sending our daughter there. And it would be an affront to Lord Murugan's reputation to be affiliated with our kind through matrimony. We are jungle dwellers. We are the lowest of the low."
"You need not speak on our behalf," the statue of the Great God Shiva spoke. His voice cut through the Chief's self-deprecation. The bronze head shook slightly. "We would not be here if any of the reasons you listed mattered to us. Rather than beating around the bush, I would like to get to the crux of the matter. What is the true reason for your apprehension? If it is a shortcoming on our son's part-"
The couple once again interjected by vehemently shaking their hands. After taking a moment to centre himself, the Chief spoke cautiously. "We worry about her future, O Great God. It is true that we are mortals and you are gods. Our lives are short. She will watch herself grow old while Lord Murugan remains as youthful as the day they married. What then? And what of her children? Will she even be able to raise a family? Marriage is supposed to be between families that are equals. But we are not equal. We aren't even in the same realm."
At this point, Murugan stepped in. "You need not worry about her future, father-in-law. Marriage is a sacred bond. For us, it is not just limited to one life. We are bound for eternity. Even if Valli passes before I do, we shall find each other in her next life. It is fate. In fact, my mother was not born a god either."
The statue of Lord Shiva cut in, "What my son is trying to say in all his excitement is that you need not preoccupy yourself with your daughter's future. We are confident in the way we raised him, and we can give you our word that he will keep your daughter happy. And if that doesn't offer you peace of mind, know this."
The statue's voice grew deeper and took on a dangerous edge that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the hut. "Once she joins our family, she becomes one of my people. And for me, nothing matters more than my people."
The Chief and his wife quivered. The Lord's words, though meant to be comforting, were not received that way. To them, the unshakeable declaration sent a primal shiver down their spines. Their bodies involuntarily froze in place.
The Lord was infamous for his rage. Legends claimed that once, upon losing his beloved, he had nearly caused the world itself to end as he danced his fury and sorrow away. A power of such magnitude was unfathomable for the Chief and his wife. And it brought them comfort, knowing that their daughter would be backed by a being of such calibre.
"So," Goddess Parvathy interjected. "If you aren't opposed to the prospect of this matrimony, why don't we proceed with the formalities. Actually, we are here today to meet your daughter. All we know of her is from Murugan's recounting."
The Chief nodded slowly. His movements were still stiff with lingering fear. He swallowed hard and called out with a voice that was barely more than a croak, "Valli!"
The name had hardly left his lips when a blur of motion resolved itself beside them. Valli was suddenly there, and with such swiftness that it felt as if she had teleported from the kitchen. She was practically vibrating with excitement. Her hands were clasped together, and her eyes were wide with a joy that bordered on incandescent. A broad, unrestrained smile lit up her face, which was in stark and almost comical contrast to the rigid terror that held her parents captive.
The Chief and his wife stared, dumbfounded. The palpable tension, which was thick enough to cut with a knife, that hung in the air just moments before seemed to simply evaporate in the face of their daughter's sheer and unadulterated delight.
It also became glaringly apparent that a very different conversation had transpired between the two youngsters prior to this formal meeting. In that moment, the Chief and his wife understood with perfect clarity. They were the only two people in the hut who were not already part of the "conspiracy". They were essentially an audience in the final act of this apparent farce of a negotiation.
But they did not feel affronted or angry upon realising this. The two shared a warm smile as they observed their daughter and Lord Murugan exchanging furtive glances.
Youthful love was a universal panacea for the heart. It was innocent, uplifting and pure.
Murugan's marriage ceremony began as the sun dipped below the treeline, as a relatively simple affair steeped in the ancient traditions of Valli's tribe. The occasion had come together so quickly that there had been little time for formal invitations. The entire village gathered around the ceremonial fire with their faces lit in its warm glow - they were the only mortals in attendance.
The groom's party was smaller still. Murugan did not want a large gathering. He was content with the presence of his immediate family, though his parents could not appear in person; their bronze miniature facsimiles were present. His brother was not restricted as such, and he gladly catered for the entire occasion. Murugan had also invited his Guru. Kratos was not entirely absent, having appeared before the main ceremony to offer a curt but sincere blessing. His low rumble of a congratulation overlaid on a gruff growl was fleeting. And as the rites began, the ashen-skinned man made himself scarce. Murugan could see him now and then. He caught the visual of a hulking shadow at the periphery of the firelight - his Guru was always observing but never truly joining the celebration.
The sight of his stoic guru and his teary-eyed in-laws only reinforced Murugan's own perspective on the proceedings. In that, he cared little for the procedure.
To him, it was a mere motion for the community to witness. In his mind, he and Valli were already married the moment their families had agreed. Nonetheless, he knew these rites mattered deeply to Valli's parents, and since it caused him no real inconvenience, he sat through it all with dutiful patience. He felt the coarse, woven cord of sacred grass being tied around his wrist, mirroring the one on Valli's, and listened as his father-in-law chanted blessings to the spirits of the forest. The man's voice grew raspier as the event progressed, as exhaustion, both physical and emotional, started to affect him.
When at last the Chief officiated the final rite, declaring them husband and wife in the presence of all the realms, Murugan's patience was rewarded. He did not wait for the feasting to begin. A wide smile broke across his face as he called down his great peacock. With its iridescent feathers shimmering in the firelight, he swiftly carried his wife away into the twilight sky, towards the distant, snow-capped peaks of Kailasha.
Kratos had anticipated that the boy would take a few more days after his marriage to resume his training. So he was shocked to see Murugan standing at the ready outside his dwelling the very next morning, before the sun had even fully crested the mountains.
"You should be with your wife," Kratos said offhandedly. His voice was a low grumble as he faced his student on the doorstep of his temporary home.
"I promised you that I wouldn't let this detour waylay our progress, Guruji," Murugan expressed solemnly. "And I hate stopping once I've set out to do something."
Kratos scanned the boy for a long moment. He saw no hint of falsehood or reluctance, just the same, steady resolve. With a curt nod, he stepped aside and let him in.
"So what do we cover today, Guruji?" Murugan asked excitedly. He sat down on a simple wooden stool opposite his Master's bedding.
"Today, we reflect," Kratos stated with finality in his tone that left no room for argument.
"Reflect?" Murugan mumbled in confusion.
"We look back at the conflict. We identify points of failure and areas for improvement," Kratos explained. "If we do not reflect, we do not learn. If we do not learn, we do not improve."
Murugan nodded with furrowed brows. He began to recount the events from the moment he was called to the village. In his mind, he replayed each decision.
"Knowing just how weak the Chieftain was, we could have performed a decapitation strike," Murugan surmised. "We could have ended it quickly."
"That is only in hindsight," Kratos denied flatly. "You can make that call now because you know the outcome. If you did not know and made that call, it would have been recklessness."
"I understand that, I do," Murugan reasoned, leaning forward. "But the gap in our strength was so wide. I felt we were overestimating them every step of the way. I saw how you handled their army, Guruji. They were of no challenge to you at all. If we had confronted the barbarians from the very beginning, we could have whittled them down completely without losing a single person from the village."
"And then the next time an army like this comes knocking, those villagers will call on you. They will expect you to expel the attackers again," Kratos completed the boy's line of thought. He fixed Murugan with an intense stare. "What kind of god do you want to be?"
"I… I don't understand the question," Murugan stuttered.
"There is never an end to people's requests," Kratos stated plainly. "People will keep wanting because that is their nature. If you give in to their every want, there will never be an end to it. You will be taken for granted."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Instead, if you give them what they need, but at a cost they understand, then people will think carefully before turning to you. Only those who are truly desperate will seek your assistance."
"That feels wrong," Murugan argued, his voice firm. "We would be forcing people to make a sacrifice when it is not even necessary. Isn't showing their devotion enough?"
"Devotion is the cost of gaining your attention," Kratos corrected. "What comes after is a whole other matter."
"Victory gained without a cost is fleeting," Kratos declared. "It is meaningless. A victory that is not valued is not remembered, and the lessons it teaches are forgotten. Even if the cost is ceremonial, it is necessary."
Kratos's words gave Murugan pause. His Guruji's and his father's strategy towards aiding devotees formed an interesting overlap in his mind. In a way, they were both similar and different. His father was indiscriminate in the way he offered his aid to people as long as their devotion was true, often with explosive and unforeseen consequences - the Barbarian Chieftain being a recent and relevant example of this. His Guruji, equally, did not discriminate. But he emphasised the need for an equivalent exchange, a price for a prize. Devotion was not enough.
"What if I were to help everyone equally?" Murugan probed, a new thought taking shape. "Not personally, but maybe by granting them the power to achieve victory themselves?"
Kratos remained silent for a moment, his gaze unblinking. "You wish to arm them?"
"Not with weapons," Murugan clarified. "With knowledge. With strength. So they do not have to rely on me or any other god."
"And what happens when one man you have strengthened decides he wants his neighbour's land?" Kratos asked. "What happens when he uses the power you gave him not to defend his home, but to take another person's home? You would not be solving their problems. You would be giving them stronger tools to create new ones."
"I will ask you again, what kind of god do you want to be? It is clear that you are not an apathetic god, so offering help to those who worship you is something that you will do. So this dilemma is something that you will face sooner rather than later," Kratos reiterated. "There is no right answer here, just the answer that will allow you to sleep through the night."
"This... is giving me a lot to think about," Murugan muttered in thought.
That night, ironically, Murugan struggled to find sleep. The conversation with his Guru echoed relentlessly in his mind. Which was dissonant to the quiet breathing of his new wife beside him. He shifted his weight for the tenth time, and the loud rustle of the bedding crackled in the stillness of their room.
"Having trouble sleeping?" Valli's voice spoke up in a soft murmur from beside him.
Murugan froze. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"
"Yes," she responded instantly. There was no accusation in her tone, only fact. It was a quality Murugan was quickly coming to appreciate. Her bluntness was refreshing. Although some friction is necessary for a successful relationship, it shouldn't be present in the communication channels.
Although Murugan loved his mother dearly, her tendency to speak around an issue rather than through it often led to drawn-out misunderstandings that could have been solved with a single, honest sentence. Valli did not deal in subtext.
"You are turning too frequently," she complained through a yawn. "If there is something on your mind, why don't you share it? Maybe I can help."
Murugan was quiet for a moment as he considered her offer. He then turned to face her silhouette in the dim light. "What if," he began, "and I truly mean this as a hypothetical… what if the elders from your tribe did not have to die?"
"What do you mean?" Valli asked with a hint of grogginess in her voice.
"What if we could have defeated the barbarians without the loss of a single life from your village?" Murugan clarified.
There was a pause before she answered. "That would have been amazing," she said. At this point, her voice sounded more awake. "But it would have felt hollow."
That was not the answer he expected. Murugan rolled onto his side to face her fully. "Hollow?"
"I know that you and your Guru could have annihilated the barbarian army singlehandedly," Valli stated. "I saw it. We all did. But you didn't do that."
"Do you resent us for that?" he asked cautiously. This was the question that had been lurking beneath the surface of his thoughts all day.
"Not at all," she said without hesitation. "Well, I did think about it for a while. I thought about how unfair it seemed that such a steep sacrifice was necessary when you held so much power. But the more I thought, the more I realised it was not unfair at all. The alternative was the complete destruction of our village. Compared to that, our loss was a victory."
"But as you said, it was a sacrifice that was not truly necessary," Murugan pressed.
"Of course it was necessary," Valli countered firmly. "Without it, we would not have understood the price of our safety. We would have seen your power as a simple solution - a tool to be called upon without thought. We would have taken your assistance for granted."
"But doesn't that defeat the purpose of worshipping gods?" Murugan probed, genuinely curious. "To ask for aid in times of need?"
"Devotion from a believer is not something that must be rewarded. It is the believer's choice and duty," Valli corrected gently. "My father always says that it is our choice to pray and worship. And if it is something we choose to do, then we must do it at all times, in happiness and in sorrow. It is how we build a relationship with higher beings. But we understand this relationship is one-sided. To expect the gods to solve our problems without a cost would be to take advantage of that bond. What you did, exacting a cost for your aid, fits with our beliefs. It honours the sacrifice, and it honours the gods."
Valli's words struck a chord deep within him.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place, the answer to the question his Guru had asked him became vivid and clear.
Murugan couldn't be like his father. He couldn't dissociate himself from the consequences of his actions by letting the universe self-correct itself. Nor could he dissociate himself from the problem itself by treating it as a transactional interaction.
The former was like a careless parent, and the latter was like a distant merchant. As always, the right answer was somewhere in between.
The kind of god Murugan wanted to be was a protector, a guide.
It was not about solving problems from up high or exacting a toll, but just about being present. It was about sharing in the cost and understanding their struggle, not as a transaction, but as a shared experience.
He would not just give them the strength to fight their battles; he would show them how to be strong.
It would be difficult. It would be involved. Not everyone would appreciate it. But that was okay! Because as his wife had rightly surmised, gods were, in a way... human.
"You have helped me," he whispered back with gratitude overflowing in his voice.
She hummed sleepily as she shifted closer. "Good. Now you can finally be quiet so I can sleep."
A chuckle escaped Murugan as he embraced her tightly and closed his eyes.
It was a simple structure, fashioned entirely from dark, weathered wood, and sat at the very heart of the village. It was completely unlike the rest of the buildings in the village, which were aged and made primarily of mud.
It lacked the grandeur of other temples he knew in Bhuloka, most of which expressed impossible architectures and sometimes boasted an excessive glut of gleaming gold. Yet, as his eyes traced the carefully carved posts and the neatly joined beams, he could feel the sincerity that had gone into the construction of this comparatively quaint one. It was a place built of affection, not wealth.
And unlike most temples he had seen in the land of mortals, this one was open. Its entrance was unassumingly inviting, allowing any passersby to see right into the altar without any interruption.
His gaze passed through the wide-open entrance easily and fell upon the two idols housed within - made entirely out of common clay. The figures weren't particularly evocative or precise. They looked like bulges with a faint outline of figures oozing out. But their design was sufficient to spark clarity to any common observer.
The first was of a powerfully built man. His head was bald, and his entire form was coated in a chalky layer of ash. A crimson line bisected his face and abdomen like an unusual birthmark. In his arms, he cradled a fearsome-looking axe. Though basic in design, it carried all the required symbols that allowed a common observer to identify that it was, in fact, Murugan's Guru - Kratos.
Beside Kratos stood the second idol, and it was this one that made him cringe.
It was an equally rudimentary statue moulded from river clay and baked in the sun. It depicted a young boy, barely a man, with a face that was more an impression of youth than a true likeness. The lines were soft and curvaceous, and the features were imperfect, but the artist had spent considerable time on the eyes, giving them a sharp, determined look. In the idol's hand was a long spear, which was, once again, all that he needed to know that it was an idol of someone he was familiar with.
It was him.
As if on cue, the last of the morning worshippers began to file out of the temple. Their eyes fell upon him, and a wave of recognition, followed by awe, passed through the small crowd. Men and women, many with tints of grey blotching their hair and the deep lines borne of age etched into their faces, bowed their heads. A few spontaneously prostrated themselves on the dusty ground before him. This inversion of respect felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
He was taught that age commanded reverence. Yet here he was, with barely a few decades to his name - even with the irregularity of the flow of time in Kailasha - forced to accept overflowing reverence from those more than twice his age.
Without wasting another moment, Murugan extricated himself from the unnerving tableau and turned his back on the display of devotion. He beelined towards his true destination: the second-largest dwelling in the village. It was a humble hut with walls made of neat mud bricks and capped with a thick thatch roof that smelled of dry grass and sunlight.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound, a dull thud, reverberated amidst the quiet air. He waited, and a moment later, the door peeked open.
A pair of familiar, kohl-lined eyes met his for a fleeting second before widening in panic. The door slammed shut. He heard the patter of bare feet rapidly receding into the house.
A quiet smile touched Murugan's lips.
Within moments, the door swung open again. The Village Chief stood in the threshold. His face twitched with a smile of flustered apology. His eyes were wide as he took in his visitor, and his body began to instinctively fold. His hands came together as he prepared to prostrate himself, but Murugan moved faster. He closed the distance in a single step and placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on the older man's shoulder to halt his descent.
"Please," Murugan pleaded with a low voice. "Don't put me in this awkward position, Father-in-law."
The Chief choked at the designation, and he descended into a violent fit of coughing. It started as a seemingly simple clearing of the throat, but progressively descended into a racking spasm that shook his entire frame.
It went on and on, stretching past the point of polite recovery and into the territory of genuine distress. The sound was alarming enough that a woman, the Chief's wife, peeked out from the kitchen area with an expression that was creased with concern.
Seeing the scene, she rushed out while wiping her hands on a cloth tucked into her waist. She gave Murugan an apologetic smile before pulling her still-spluttering husband away from the doorway, guiding him to a small wooden stool.
Once the man's coughing had finally subsided into ragged breaths, he looked up at Murugan with reddened, watering eyes. "M-My Lord," he rasped with a tremble in his voice. "I fear I misheard you."
As he spoke, the Chief's head darted involuntarily to his left. Murugan's gaze followed. From behind the kitchen doorway, a young woman peeked out. Her face was tinted a fetching shade of crimson. As her eyes met her father's and jumped over to meet Murugan's, she quickly bolted in like a fleeing rabbit scurrying into its burrow.
Murugan chuckled softly at the display. He brought the simple cloth bag hanging from his shoulder forward. He placed it on the packed earth floor and slowly untied its knot. From within, he revealed two bronze statues. He placed them carefully in front of the Chief and his wife before sitting back on his heels to wait.
All eyes in the small hut focused on the inanimate objects. An extended silence prevailed, thick with confusion. The Chief leaned toward his wife and whispered, "What's going on? I feel I am missing something."
His wife did not answer. She narrowed her gaze and inspected the statues closely. They depicted a man and a woman. Their design appeared similar to the ones she'd heard of in the massive temples from the cities, in their attention to detail. It was uncanny, because in a way, they looked almost real - like two miniaturised humans coated in bronze. She looked even closer and started to match their appearance with fragments in her memory. It took a moment, but a flicker of understanding began to dawn on her face. Her eyes widened. Before she knew what she was doing, her body collapsed into a fully prostrated state before the two bronze figures. The Chief stared in shock at her reaction. His own inspection followed, and a moment later, he too fell to the floor beside her.
"You are putting us in an awkward position, dear in-laws."
A gentle voice spoke in a calm, resonant baritone that seemed to fill the small hut.
"In this juncture, we are your equals. Would you prefer that we prostrate ourselves before you?"
Those words were enough to make the Chief and his wife jump to their feet in terror. They immediately collapsed again onto their knees with their arms crossed tightly against their chests. Their shoulders were hunched over, and their gazes were locked on the floor. They tried their best to avoid looking at the bronze statues altogether.
"Though it is customary for parents to meet for such an event, regretfully, my parents cannot so easily leave our abode," Murugan explained calmly into the tense silence. "But these statues will act as a conduit. Please, you may talk to them as if you are talking to my parents directly."
The Chief and his wife rapidly bobbed their heads in understanding. But they remained resolutely and fearfully mute.
Seeing their lack of response, another voice spoke up. This one belonged to a woman. It was mellow and pleasant, and flowed in a methodical and measured tempo that seemed to emanate calmness.
"Are you dissatisfied with our son?" The question felt genuine and carried a distinct undertone of disappointment.
The two mortals immediately raised their gazes and shook their hands in frantic disagreement. They saw the two bronze figures now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Murugan. The statues were noticeably smaller than him, which created a humorous dissonance. Though the couple quickly contained their amusement.
"Please do not misunderstand us, Goddess," the Chief's wife finally managed to say. "It's just that… we feel inadequate."
"What is there to feel inadequate about?" the statue of the Goddess Parvathy spoke with a warm tone. "You have raised a filial and confident daughter. Her accomplishment and character are a testament to your commendable upbringing."
"But we are mere mortals, O Goddess," the Chief expressed with a difficult smile. "We cannot deign to place ourselves even in the same sentence as your greatness. We would be tarnishing the opulence of the great Mount Kailasha by sending our daughter there. And it would be an affront to Lord Murugan's reputation to be affiliated with our kind through matrimony. We are jungle dwellers. We are the lowest of the low."
"You need not speak on our behalf," the statue of the Great God Shiva spoke. His voice cut through the Chief's self-deprecation. The bronze head shook slightly. "We would not be here if any of the reasons you listed mattered to us. Rather than beating around the bush, I would like to get to the crux of the matter. What is the true reason for your apprehension? If it is a shortcoming on our son's part-"
The couple once again interjected by vehemently shaking their hands. After taking a moment to centre himself, the Chief spoke cautiously. "We worry about her future, O Great God. It is true that we are mortals and you are gods. Our lives are short. She will watch herself grow old while Lord Murugan remains as youthful as the day they married. What then? And what of her children? Will she even be able to raise a family? Marriage is supposed to be between families that are equals. But we are not equal. We aren't even in the same realm."
At this point, Murugan stepped in. "You need not worry about her future, father-in-law. Marriage is a sacred bond. For us, it is not just limited to one life. We are bound for eternity. Even if Valli passes before I do, we shall find each other in her next life. It is fate. In fact, my mother was not born a god either."
The statue of Lord Shiva cut in, "What my son is trying to say in all his excitement is that you need not preoccupy yourself with your daughter's future. We are confident in the way we raised him, and we can give you our word that he will keep your daughter happy. And if that doesn't offer you peace of mind, know this."
The statue's voice grew deeper and took on a dangerous edge that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the hut. "Once she joins our family, she becomes one of my people. And for me, nothing matters more than my people."
The Chief and his wife quivered. The Lord's words, though meant to be comforting, were not received that way. To them, the unshakeable declaration sent a primal shiver down their spines. Their bodies involuntarily froze in place.
The Lord was infamous for his rage. Legends claimed that once, upon losing his beloved, he had nearly caused the world itself to end as he danced his fury and sorrow away. A power of such magnitude was unfathomable for the Chief and his wife. And it brought them comfort, knowing that their daughter would be backed by a being of such calibre.
"So," Goddess Parvathy interjected. "If you aren't opposed to the prospect of this matrimony, why don't we proceed with the formalities. Actually, we are here today to meet your daughter. All we know of her is from Murugan's recounting."
The Chief nodded slowly. His movements were still stiff with lingering fear. He swallowed hard and called out with a voice that was barely more than a croak, "Valli!"
The name had hardly left his lips when a blur of motion resolved itself beside them. Valli was suddenly there, and with such swiftness that it felt as if she had teleported from the kitchen. She was practically vibrating with excitement. Her hands were clasped together, and her eyes were wide with a joy that bordered on incandescent. A broad, unrestrained smile lit up her face, which was in stark and almost comical contrast to the rigid terror that held her parents captive.
The Chief and his wife stared, dumbfounded. The palpable tension, which was thick enough to cut with a knife, that hung in the air just moments before seemed to simply evaporate in the face of their daughter's sheer and unadulterated delight.
It also became glaringly apparent that a very different conversation had transpired between the two youngsters prior to this formal meeting. In that moment, the Chief and his wife understood with perfect clarity. They were the only two people in the hut who were not already part of the "conspiracy". They were essentially an audience in the final act of this apparent farce of a negotiation.
But they did not feel affronted or angry upon realising this. The two shared a warm smile as they observed their daughter and Lord Murugan exchanging furtive glances.
Youthful love was a universal panacea for the heart. It was innocent, uplifting and pure.
Murugan's marriage ceremony began as the sun dipped below the treeline, as a relatively simple affair steeped in the ancient traditions of Valli's tribe. The occasion had come together so quickly that there had been little time for formal invitations. The entire village gathered around the ceremonial fire with their faces lit in its warm glow - they were the only mortals in attendance.
The groom's party was smaller still. Murugan did not want a large gathering. He was content with the presence of his immediate family, though his parents could not appear in person; their bronze miniature facsimiles were present. His brother was not restricted as such, and he gladly catered for the entire occasion. Murugan had also invited his Guru. Kratos was not entirely absent, having appeared before the main ceremony to offer a curt but sincere blessing. His low rumble of a congratulation overlaid on a gruff growl was fleeting. And as the rites began, the ashen-skinned man made himself scarce. Murugan could see him now and then. He caught the visual of a hulking shadow at the periphery of the firelight - his Guru was always observing but never truly joining the celebration.
The sight of his stoic guru and his teary-eyed in-laws only reinforced Murugan's own perspective on the proceedings. In that, he cared little for the procedure.
To him, it was a mere motion for the community to witness. In his mind, he and Valli were already married the moment their families had agreed. Nonetheless, he knew these rites mattered deeply to Valli's parents, and since it caused him no real inconvenience, he sat through it all with dutiful patience. He felt the coarse, woven cord of sacred grass being tied around his wrist, mirroring the one on Valli's, and listened as his father-in-law chanted blessings to the spirits of the forest. The man's voice grew raspier as the event progressed, as exhaustion, both physical and emotional, started to affect him.
When at last the Chief officiated the final rite, declaring them husband and wife in the presence of all the realms, Murugan's patience was rewarded. He did not wait for the feasting to begin. A wide smile broke across his face as he called down his great peacock. With its iridescent feathers shimmering in the firelight, he swiftly carried his wife away into the twilight sky, towards the distant, snow-capped peaks of Kailasha.
Kratos had anticipated that the boy would take a few more days after his marriage to resume his training. So he was shocked to see Murugan standing at the ready outside his dwelling the very next morning, before the sun had even fully crested the mountains.
"You should be with your wife," Kratos said offhandedly. His voice was a low grumble as he faced his student on the doorstep of his temporary home.
"I promised you that I wouldn't let this detour waylay our progress, Guruji," Murugan expressed solemnly. "And I hate stopping once I've set out to do something."
Kratos scanned the boy for a long moment. He saw no hint of falsehood or reluctance, just the same, steady resolve. With a curt nod, he stepped aside and let him in.
"So what do we cover today, Guruji?" Murugan asked excitedly. He sat down on a simple wooden stool opposite his Master's bedding.
"Today, we reflect," Kratos stated with finality in his tone that left no room for argument.
"Reflect?" Murugan mumbled in confusion.
"We look back at the conflict. We identify points of failure and areas for improvement," Kratos explained. "If we do not reflect, we do not learn. If we do not learn, we do not improve."
Murugan nodded with furrowed brows. He began to recount the events from the moment he was called to the village. In his mind, he replayed each decision.
"Knowing just how weak the Chieftain was, we could have performed a decapitation strike," Murugan surmised. "We could have ended it quickly."
"That is only in hindsight," Kratos denied flatly. "You can make that call now because you know the outcome. If you did not know and made that call, it would have been recklessness."
"I understand that, I do," Murugan reasoned, leaning forward. "But the gap in our strength was so wide. I felt we were overestimating them every step of the way. I saw how you handled their army, Guruji. They were of no challenge to you at all. If we had confronted the barbarians from the very beginning, we could have whittled them down completely without losing a single person from the village."
"And then the next time an army like this comes knocking, those villagers will call on you. They will expect you to expel the attackers again," Kratos completed the boy's line of thought. He fixed Murugan with an intense stare. "What kind of god do you want to be?"
"I… I don't understand the question," Murugan stuttered.
"There is never an end to people's requests," Kratos stated plainly. "People will keep wanting because that is their nature. If you give in to their every want, there will never be an end to it. You will be taken for granted."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Instead, if you give them what they need, but at a cost they understand, then people will think carefully before turning to you. Only those who are truly desperate will seek your assistance."
"That feels wrong," Murugan argued, his voice firm. "We would be forcing people to make a sacrifice when it is not even necessary. Isn't showing their devotion enough?"
"Devotion is the cost of gaining your attention," Kratos corrected. "What comes after is a whole other matter."
"Victory gained without a cost is fleeting," Kratos declared. "It is meaningless. A victory that is not valued is not remembered, and the lessons it teaches are forgotten. Even if the cost is ceremonial, it is necessary."
Kratos's words gave Murugan pause. His Guruji's and his father's strategy towards aiding devotees formed an interesting overlap in his mind. In a way, they were both similar and different. His father was indiscriminate in the way he offered his aid to people as long as their devotion was true, often with explosive and unforeseen consequences - the Barbarian Chieftain being a recent and relevant example of this. His Guruji, equally, did not discriminate. But he emphasised the need for an equivalent exchange, a price for a prize. Devotion was not enough.
"What if I were to help everyone equally?" Murugan probed, a new thought taking shape. "Not personally, but maybe by granting them the power to achieve victory themselves?"
Kratos remained silent for a moment, his gaze unblinking. "You wish to arm them?"
"Not with weapons," Murugan clarified. "With knowledge. With strength. So they do not have to rely on me or any other god."
"And what happens when one man you have strengthened decides he wants his neighbour's land?" Kratos asked. "What happens when he uses the power you gave him not to defend his home, but to take another person's home? You would not be solving their problems. You would be giving them stronger tools to create new ones."
"I will ask you again, what kind of god do you want to be? It is clear that you are not an apathetic god, so offering help to those who worship you is something that you will do. So this dilemma is something that you will face sooner rather than later," Kratos reiterated. "There is no right answer here, just the answer that will allow you to sleep through the night."
"This... is giving me a lot to think about," Murugan muttered in thought.
That night, ironically, Murugan struggled to find sleep. The conversation with his Guru echoed relentlessly in his mind. Which was dissonant to the quiet breathing of his new wife beside him. He shifted his weight for the tenth time, and the loud rustle of the bedding crackled in the stillness of their room.
"Having trouble sleeping?" Valli's voice spoke up in a soft murmur from beside him.
Murugan froze. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"
"Yes," she responded instantly. There was no accusation in her tone, only fact. It was a quality Murugan was quickly coming to appreciate. Her bluntness was refreshing. Although some friction is necessary for a successful relationship, it shouldn't be present in the communication channels.
Although Murugan loved his mother dearly, her tendency to speak around an issue rather than through it often led to drawn-out misunderstandings that could have been solved with a single, honest sentence. Valli did not deal in subtext.
"You are turning too frequently," she complained through a yawn. "If there is something on your mind, why don't you share it? Maybe I can help."
Murugan was quiet for a moment as he considered her offer. He then turned to face her silhouette in the dim light. "What if," he began, "and I truly mean this as a hypothetical… what if the elders from your tribe did not have to die?"
"What do you mean?" Valli asked with a hint of grogginess in her voice.
"What if we could have defeated the barbarians without the loss of a single life from your village?" Murugan clarified.
There was a pause before she answered. "That would have been amazing," she said. At this point, her voice sounded more awake. "But it would have felt hollow."
That was not the answer he expected. Murugan rolled onto his side to face her fully. "Hollow?"
"I know that you and your Guru could have annihilated the barbarian army singlehandedly," Valli stated. "I saw it. We all did. But you didn't do that."
"Do you resent us for that?" he asked cautiously. This was the question that had been lurking beneath the surface of his thoughts all day.
"Not at all," she said without hesitation. "Well, I did think about it for a while. I thought about how unfair it seemed that such a steep sacrifice was necessary when you held so much power. But the more I thought, the more I realised it was not unfair at all. The alternative was the complete destruction of our village. Compared to that, our loss was a victory."
"But as you said, it was a sacrifice that was not truly necessary," Murugan pressed.
"Of course it was necessary," Valli countered firmly. "Without it, we would not have understood the price of our safety. We would have seen your power as a simple solution - a tool to be called upon without thought. We would have taken your assistance for granted."
"But doesn't that defeat the purpose of worshipping gods?" Murugan probed, genuinely curious. "To ask for aid in times of need?"
"Devotion from a believer is not something that must be rewarded. It is the believer's choice and duty," Valli corrected gently. "My father always says that it is our choice to pray and worship. And if it is something we choose to do, then we must do it at all times, in happiness and in sorrow. It is how we build a relationship with higher beings. But we understand this relationship is one-sided. To expect the gods to solve our problems without a cost would be to take advantage of that bond. What you did, exacting a cost for your aid, fits with our beliefs. It honours the sacrifice, and it honours the gods."
Valli's words struck a chord deep within him.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place, the answer to the question his Guru had asked him became vivid and clear.
Murugan couldn't be like his father. He couldn't dissociate himself from the consequences of his actions by letting the universe self-correct itself. Nor could he dissociate himself from the problem itself by treating it as a transactional interaction.
The former was like a careless parent, and the latter was like a distant merchant. As always, the right answer was somewhere in between.
The kind of god Murugan wanted to be was a protector, a guide.
It was not about solving problems from up high or exacting a toll, but just about being present. It was about sharing in the cost and understanding their struggle, not as a transaction, but as a shared experience.
He would not just give them the strength to fight their battles; he would show them how to be strong.
It would be difficult. It would be involved. Not everyone would appreciate it. But that was okay! Because as his wife had rightly surmised, gods were, in a way... human.
"You have helped me," he whispered back with gratitude overflowing in his voice.
She hummed sleepily as she shifted closer. "Good. Now you can finally be quiet so I can sleep."
A chuckle escaped Murugan as he embraced her tightly and closed his eyes.