The winds howled through the Himalayan valleys, carrying with them the whispers of a world forever changed. Far below the jagged peaks, nestled in the folds of ancient forests and terraced fields, a small village stirred to life with the first light of dawn.
Bhima Mishra stood at the edge of the stream, his reflection rippling in the water. The face that stared back at him was lined with scars—some visible, others hidden deep within. His once-blue skin had faded to its natural hue, and the glowing yantras that had once etched his body were now faint scars, barely perceptible.
But they were not gone.
He knelt, dipping his hands into the cool water, watching as the ripples spread outward. It reminded him of balance—how even the smallest actions could change the fabric of the world. He had learned that lesson at great cost.
Behind him, the village buzzed with life. Farmers tilled their fields, children laughed as they chased each other, and the elders gathered beneath the banyan tree to share stories of the old gods. They lived their lives unaware of the power that had once threatened their world or the man who had stood between them and annihilation.
And that was how Bhima wanted it to be.
The world believed the “blue monster” was gone, his rampage a fleeting anomaly in the tapestry of history. They didn’t know the truth of what had happened at the Kailasa Temple—the sacrifice, the balance restored, the power sealed. Bhima had walked away from it all, choosing a quiet life of anonymity in the shadow of the mountains.
But as he rose from the stream, his hands dripping with water, he felt the faint hum within him. The Pralaya Shakti had not disappeared. It remained, slumbering deep within, waiting.
One evening, as the stars blanketed the sky, Bhima sat beneath the banyan tree, gazing upward. His mind wandered to Swami Anant’s parting words: “You are not merely a guardian of destruction, Bhima. You are the gatekeeper of balance. And that gate will always need watching.”
The thought gave him both comfort and unease. He had found peace in the simplicity of village life, yet the shadows of the past remained. He knew that somewhere, the remnants of the Sons of Rudra still plotted, their ambitions undeterred by Rudrasena’s fall. He knew the Mahapralaya Astra’s power, though sealed, could still draw others with dangerous intent.
And he knew that his role as the chosen bearer of the Shakti was far from over.
One night, the villagers gathered to celebrate a festival, lighting oil lamps and singing songs of devotion. Bhima watched from the edge of the celebration, a faint smile playing on his lips. A child approached him, offering a small diya, its flame dancing in the breeze.
“Light this, Bhima-ji,” the child said. “It’s for protection.”
Bhima knelt, taking the diya in his hands. As he placed it among the others, its flame grew steady and bright.
“Protection,” he murmured to himself, the glow reflecting in his eyes. “That’s all it ever was.”
The festival ended, and the village returned to stillness. Bhima remained under the stars, listening to the rhythm of the night. He touched the faint scars on his arms, feeling the pulse of energy beneath them.
The dance was eternal, and so was the need for balance.
As the breeze stirred the leaves above, Bhima whispered to the universe, his voice steady and resolute:
“If the dance calls me again… I’ll be ready.”
Closing Line: The camera pans upward to the starry sky, where the faint outline of a glowing yantra forms for a brief moment before fading into darkness.
Author Comments:
The Pralaya form of Bhima Mishra draws inspiration from legendary figures of strength and fury, such as the iconic green titan, but reimagined through the lens of Sanatan Dharma. Pralaya isn’t just a being of brute force; he embodies the divine interplay of creation and destruction, a cosmic force unleashed to restore balance in the universe.
In this form, Bhima is not merely a man but a living yantra, a vessel of primal energy etched with sacred patterns that glow with fiery intensity. His transformation is a testament to the inner battle between rage and control, a conflict that defines his journey.
Witness the glory of Bhima Mishra and the eternal struggle for cosmic balance in Vedic Man: Volume 3. Prepare to be awed as Pralaya roars: ‘Balance must be struck!’
Playing with designs
Pralaya Form