The soft rustle of leaves outside Kalpak's window was the only sound in his small study, as the golden hues of a setting sun spilled across his desk. A mug of tea, now lukewarm, sat untouched beside an open book whose pages were so fragile they seemed to whisper secrets. Kalpak's fingers hovered over the yellowed parchment, a tangible connection to an ancient world.
"7000 BC. The middle of Aryavarta, the land that would one day be called India. There existed a place named Nageshvara," he read, his voice low and filled with awe.
He paused for a moment, his mind swimming with images conjured from the words—an ancient land, a grand civilization. For as long as he could remember, Kalpak had been fascinated with myths, the kind that linger at the crossroads of history and legend. But this—this was different. This was a forgotten truth, a piece of a puzzle lost to time.
His eyes flickered to the next passage.
The demon king, Ravana, constructed a grand temple in Nageshvara, known as the Nageshwar Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva.
Kalpak leaned back, fingers tracing his jawline as he considered the implications. Ravana, the same Ravana vilified in the ancient epic "Ramayana, had built a temple? Why?" Ravana was often portrayed as arrogant, powerful, and destructive. But this—this version of him was something else entirely. A man of ambition, yes, but also of reverence. Devotion.
Kalpak turned the page, the weight of history pressing down on him.
Ravana, in his boundless ambition, created an underground chamber beneath the temple to store his vast treasures.
His brow furrowed. Treasure. Gold. Power. Was that all Ravana had sought? He imagined the demon king in the heart of his empire, standing over riches beyond imagination, yet yearning for something far more elusive. Kalpak's fingers tightened on the book as he continued to read.
He erected an enormous door, which he named Shiva, as he was one of the greatest devotees of Lord Shiva.
Kalpak's heart skipped a beat. He could see it now, a grand temple hidden beneath the earth. Towering stone spires casting shadows over the land. Inside, behind a massive door, treasures gleaming in the dim light, untouched for millennia. And at the center of it all—a colossal statue of Lord Shiva, serene in meditation.
Kalpak could almost smell the cool, musty air of the chamber, the scent of ancient stone and earth. His mind drifted further, imagining the weight of Ravana's devotion, his relentless pursuit of something more than wealth—power, perhaps, or knowledge? What had driven him?
He shook his head, refocusing. The text held the answers, if only he could decipher them. He turned the next page, eager for more.
---
The story unfolded before him like a forgotten memory slowly resurfacing, the edges of reality and myth blurring together.
Ravana, in his fervent devotion, sat in front of the statue and performed penance for 1,000 years.
Kalpak paused. A thousand years? His eyes scanned the text again, searching for clarification, but none came. He frowned, but something in the back of his mind stirred. This wasn't the kind of hyperbole typical of myth. No, there was something deeper here, a ritual lost to time.
After 1,105 years, Lord Shiva, pleased with Ravana's unwavering devotion, descended to ask what boon Ravana desired.
Kalpak leaned forward, his breath catching in his throat. "A boon". Ravana had earned a favor from Lord Shiva himself. The possibilities were endless. Immortality? Invincibility? The power to rule the world?
But as he read the next lines, his pulse quickened.
Without hesitation, Ravana asked, "Oh Lord Shiva, I desire this entire place to be filled with gold, and I wish for whoever first enters this door to receive the power of destruction."
Kalpak felt his mouth go dry. The power of destruction. What could that mean? Control over fire? Earthquakes? War itself?
His mind raced, imagining the immense power Ravana had sought. Not for himself, but for the first person to enter the sealed chamber. It was a trap. A time bomb, waiting for the chosen one to trigger it.
Lord Shiva, Kalpak noted, was no fool. The text described Shiva as both serene and commanding, his voice echoing through the cosmos itself. He could almost hear it.
"I cannot grant such power, as it would be too dangerous for anyone to possess. However, you may ask for something else in exchange for the power," Shiva had said.
Kalpak's chest tightened. He imagined Ravana standing there, unwavering, his ambitions laid bare before the god. How many times had Kalpak himself stood on the precipice of discovering something great, only to be denied at the last moment?
"No, Lord Shiva," Ravana had replied. "I desire nothing else. If you cannot grant me the power, then provide something to secure the door from being easily opened."
Kalpak could almost feel the weight of Ravana's words. His determination. His frustration. Kalpak had seen this kind of obsession before—in himself, in the sleepless nights spent poring over ancient texts, in the quiet desperation to uncover the truth. He could feel Ravana's need, his hunger for control, echoing across time.
Shiva, ever wise, had considered Ravana's request before finally nodding.
"Very well, Tathastu."
---
Kalpak imagined the divine light that must have filled the chamber then, bright and overwhelming, as Lord Shiva produced a key. His pulse quickened as the book described it.
The key was intricate, formidable, and shaped like a trident.
A symbol of Shiva himself. The trident— 'Trishula'—a weapon capable of both creation and destruction. Kalpak's mind buzzed with possibilities. What kind of door required such a key? What secrets lay behind it?
Shiva's voice, once again, resonated through the text. "This door can only be opened by seven keys, and the key in your hand is one of them. I have sent the other keys to various places around the world. Additionally, this door can only be opened by chosen individuals." With those final words, Lord Shiva vanished, leaving Ravana alone with his thoughts.
The ancient stone walls of Ravana's grand palace loomed, casting long shadows across the dimly lit chambers. The golden glow of oil lamps flickered against the intricately carved pillars, their flames dancing as if mocking Ravana's growing rage. He stood alone in the vast hall, the only sound his heavy breathing, the fire in his chest rising as he gazed at the key in his hand.
A simple thing, really. The key, forged from divine light and iron, felt heavy in his palm. It glowed faintly in the dim light, its trident shape sharp and cold.
"How could you do this to me, Lord Shiva?" His voice trembled at first but quickly swelled into a roar, echoing off the walls of his palace. The mighty Ravana, conqueror of kingdoms, feared by gods and demons alike, was brought to his knees by the very deity he had worshipped for centuries. The one he had hoped would empower him beyond the constraints of mortality. And yet—denied.
His thoughts spiraled, chaos rising like a storm inside his mind. 'Years. Centuries.' He had sat in penance for over a thousand years, devoted, patient, waiting for the moment when Shiva would finally bestow upon him the power to control his legacy, his destiny. He had endured the endless trials, fasting, meditating, for what? A promise of power diluted by limitations, scattered across the world?
It wasn't fair. It wasn't just.
Ravana clenched the key tighter, the edges digging into his skin. This was not how it was supposed to end.
---
The grand halls, adorned with murals depicting Ravana's many victories, now felt suffocating. He had envisioned this place—this Nageshwar Temple— as a monument to his reign, a sanctuary for the untold riches he had collected throughout his conquest. The treasures meant nothing to him compared to what was behind that massive door, sealed not only with metal but by the decree of a god.
'The power of destruction.' It was all he had wanted, a power that would allow him to shape the world according to his will. To secure his legacy for his sons, for generations of Rakshasas to come. And now? Now, it was all out of reach.
Shiva's final words echoed in his mind: "The keys are scattered. The chosen ones will unlock the door. You are not the one, Ravana."
Ravana's hand shook as he recalled Shiva's serene gaze, a gaze that saw through him. He had believed himself to be invincible, but Shiva had seen the truth—his desire, his pride. His anger was not born from the denial of power itself but from the humiliation of being told he was not worthy. He, Ravana, lord of Lanka, was not chosen.
His body quivered with the weight of his frustration. No one—not even a god—would stop him from claiming what was his.
---
For days, Ravana isolated himself, consumed by this new obsession. The clinking of armor and footsteps of his warriors echoed far in the distance, but the king paid no heed to his kingdom or its affairs. His generals, uneasy and unsure, waited for him to emerge, their whispers filling the palace like the quiet murmur of an approaching storm.
And then, at last, Ravana emerged from the depths of his palace, his fiery gaze sharper than ever. His decision had been made. If he was not chosen, he would find those who were. He would gather the seven keys, tear down the veil of divine secrecy, and claim the ultimate power for himself.
He summoned his most trusted advisors to the grand chamber.
"My lord," Kumbhakarna, Ravana's giant brother, approached. His voice was as deep as the earth itself, but it carried a rare note of caution. "What troubles you? You have not eaten, nor have you rested."
"There is no rest for a king who has been denied his birthright," Ravana spat, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent chills through the room. His generals shifted uneasily. Ravana was known for his temper, but this—this was something else. The flame of ambition had turned into an inferno of vengeance.
Kumbhakarna frowned, glancing at the other advisors. "The gods do not easily grant what you seek, brother. Perhaps there is another path"
"There is no other path," Ravana interrupted, his voice low but filled with finality. He raised the key in his hand, letting the dim light catch the sharp edges of the trident. "This is only one. Shiva has scattered the others across the world, along with the chosen individuals who can open the door. I will find them."
"But my lord," another advisor interjected hesitantly, "these chosen individuals... they are humans. Scattered across the lands. How can we find them when even the gods have hidden them?"
Ravana smiled, a dark, dangerous smile that sent a ripple of unease through the room. "I will not stop until they are found. We will send spies, soldiers, whatever it takes. They may be hidden, but they are only human. Humans can be broken. They can be persuaded." He turned, his cloak swirling around him like the shadows of night. "And if they refuse, they will die."
---
Thus began Ravana's relentless search. He mobilized his vast network of spies, his armies spread across continents, his eyes scanning every corner of the earth. Years passed. The world moved on, empires rose and fell, but Ravana remained fixated, driven by a singular purpose. The keys.
His spies whispered into the ears of scholars, merchants, and wanderers, searching for any clue, any mention of individuals with strange abilities or divine protection. His soldiers ransacked temples, burned villages, left no stone unturned. And yet, the keys remained elusive, always just out of reach.
Ravana, for all his power, found himself trapped in an endless cycle of pursuit, his patience growing thinner with each passing year. His kingdom thrived, his people revered him as a god-king, but inside, Ravana was a man undone by his desire. A desire that gnawed at him day and night, leaving him restless, tormented.
"Perhaps Shiva was right," a small voice whispered in his mind during the quiet hours of the night. "Perhaps this power is not meant for you."
But Ravana silenced that voice, pushing it deep into the recesses of his mind. He could not afford doubt. Not now.
---
On the fiftieth year of his search, a lead finally emerged. One of his spies, disguised as a wandering merchant, had uncovered rumors of a small village deep in the mountains, where a strange young man had performed miracles. The villagers spoke of him with reverence and fear, claiming that he was able to summon storms, command the earth, and see into the future.
Ravana's pulse quickened as the spy recounted the tale, the possibilities running wild in his mind. This could be one of them—a chosen one, destined to unlock the door.
Without hesitation, Ravana dispatched a squadron of his finest soldiers to retrieve the man, dead or alive. He would not wait any longer. The power of destruction was within reach.
---
The squadron returned weeks later, battered and bruised, but victorious. The young man, bound in chains and beaten, was dragged before Ravana. He was thin, his clothes torn, but his eyes—his eyes burned with defiance.
Ravana studied him, his eyes narrowing. There was something different about this one. Something dangerous. The young man met his gaze without fear.
"You are one of them," Ravana said quietly, stepping closer. "The chosen ones. Tell me where your key is."
The young man, barely able to stand, spat at Ravana's feet. "I owe you nothing, demon king. I will never betray the will of the gods."
Ravana's temper flared, but he forced himself to remain calm. "You are mistaken if you believe the gods care for you. You are nothing to them. A pawn, a tool in their games. But to me," he leaned in closer, his voice a low growl, "you could be so much more. Join me, and I will spare your life. Together, we will unlock the door and claim what is rightfully ours."
The young man's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You do not understand, do you? The power behind that door is not meant for men like you. It is meant to balance the scales of creation and destruction. If you open that door, the world will burn."
Ravana's eyes darkened. He had heard enough. With a swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Then you are of no use to me."
---
The young man's execution marked the beginning of Ravana's descent into darkness. His obsession consumed him, driving him further into madness. The more he searched, the more elusive the keys became, as if the gods themselves were toying with him. He grew paranoid, convinced that spies lurked within his own ranks, that the gods were conspiring against him.
His once-great empire began to crumble, his people growing weary of their king's erratic behavior. But Ravana did not care. He was close—so close to unlocking the secret of the Nageshwar Temple, and nothing would stand in his way.
His anger was palpable. Ravana had intended to pass this power to his future son, to secure a legacy of unparalleled strength and dominion. But now, his plans were thwarted by the divine decree. Determined not to be defeated, Ravana set out on a relentless quest to find the chosen individuals and the remaining keys.
More Years passed as Ravana scoured the earth, his spies and soldiers searching every corner of the world. He eventually discovered that the chosen individuals were ordinary humans, scattered and unaware of their significance.
Yet, despite his immense power and resources, Ravana could not identify them before he perished in battle, along with his sons.