Sons of Darkness

ISBN: 978-93-5559-084-8

© Gourav Mohanty, 2022

Cover design: Micaela Alcaino

Frontispiece: Jennifer Bruce

Map: © Gourav Mohanty

Printing: Nutech Print Services India

Published in India 2022 by

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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, derived from the author’s imagination. It does not warrant, represent or make any claim of spiritual or historical authenticity. We respect all faiths, religions and communities, and do not in any manner intend to disrespect, insult, impair or disparage the beliefs, feelings, sentiments of any person, community, religion, society and its culture, custom, practice and tradition. All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The views expressed are those of the Author alone and do not purport to represent the Publisher.

To Mahwash

for being my wings, as well as the wind beneath them.

To Jejema

for introducing me to our ancient worlds.

To Astha

for being Satyabhama.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

GOURAV MOHANTY was born in Bhubaneswar, Odisha. A gold medallist from SLS, Pune, he currently practices law in Mumbai. He moonlights as a stand-up comic and a blogger. As evident, his life has many tabs open.

A connoisseur of mythologies and momos, he has earned numerous scholarships in his time at law school, one of which took him to the castles of Europe. Ever since, he has been drawn to conjuring a world where Vedic India meets Italian Renaissance.

Sons of Darkness is Gourav’s first novel. He is immersed in writing Volume II of this epic tale: Dance of Shadows.

[email protected]

www.gouravmohanty.com

@thekingbeyondthewall

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AUTHOR’S NOTE

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE

ADHYAYA I: WINTER OF DISCORD

ADHYAYA II: ALL THAT GLITTERS

ADHYAYA III: BEST SERVED COLD

THE SWAYAMVAR: PART I

THE SWAYAMVAR: PART II

ADHYAYA IV: A FIGHTING CHANCE

BATTLE OF MATHURA: PART I

BATTLE OF MATHURA: PART II

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

When I took the wonderful characters of the epic Mahabharata and tossed them into a parallel dimension that was pervasively bleak and nihilistic, it was with the intention of making you, my reader, sit up and gasp on your couch.

The bare bones of Sons of Darkness saw the light after I read A Game of Thrones. My vision was clear. Epic Grimdark Fantasy was an unexplored bastion of Indian literature, and I wanted Sons of Darkness to be the first to conquer it. So, I started building a new world on the legacy of scores of hand-drawn maps, character sketches, raw notes, castle plans, detailed fight scenes, caste tattoos, heraldic designs… you name it. And five gruelling years later, here we are, at the threshold of an exciting adventure.

But before you fasten your seat-belts, do give my bipolar invitation below a read. I was asked to draft this Author’s Note because the world of Sons of Darkness is completely different from what you may know about the Mahabharata through books and TV shows. You will encounter strange new characters that were not part of the original epic poem. Old, loved characters take unfamiliar journeys and meet untimely ends. Am I thereby abusing my literary privilege? Who can tell? None of us were there when it happened. Then again, if you prefer the unsullied version, just read Vyas’ beautiful, original piece.

If you are, however, prepared to dive head-first into a chasm of chivalry and cynicism, all I ask is that you leave your helms and shields behind. Forget what you think you know about Krishna. Forget Karna’s backstory. Forget Vyas’ Bharatvarsh. Instead, enter the dark world of Aryavrat. For Sons of Darkness has little to do with the mytho-trope of simply re-writing Mahabharatan reality from a different character’s perspective and more to do with re-imagining a brave new world that is as disillusioned and ultraviolent as our own reality.

When you enter the world of Sons of Darkness, you enter a vast immersive universe, a Narnia of India, if you will. It is every bit as messy and intricate as our own world. There are no good or bad characters in this book, just real people faced with impossible choices. More importantly, Sons of Darkness does not whittle down the sorcery offered by our lore under the guise of science or realism. Instead, it creates an enchanting magic system, premised on our Vedas in a way I promise you have never seen before. But the uniqueness of Sons of Darkness, in my humble opinion, is that it does not project ancient India yet again as a village-world stuck in the Age of the Wheel, obsessed with wooden arrows and mud dwellings. Not at all.

There are swords, morning-stars, battle-axes and war-hammers. There are castles, siege engines, and ports. It is a complex, yet unknowable universe, with threads of its own intricate mythology. Under every sea hides the ruins of Atlantis. Behind every mountain is an Eden of history. You will not just be a reader, but an archaeologist excavating the secrets of this world, along with its characters.

And with that I invite you to leave behind the Light, and enter a world of war and riots, cruel intentions and misguided motives, of delicious Darkness, with me.

Gourav Mohanty
December 2021

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PROLOGUE

The stench of split flesh from the carcasses of the Children of Light wafted out to mock his hunger. The wolves had come, and then left without feeding. Ravens circled overhead, yet none descended. These details remained with the rider as he drew rein at the very spot where his foes had made their last stand. With his dagger he flicked the strands of his long hair, clumped with dried blood, away from his eyes. As he took in the sights of the carnage that had taken place mere hours ago, he absent-mindedly rubbed a luminescent powder onto his blade.

For a Hero of Light, he reckoned he cast a rather grim shadow. Hero. The word slithered nastily in his mind. An honour bestowed upon you when you had killed all those who would have called you a mass murderer.

‘Shall we, Muchuk?’ Asha walked her horse amidst the sprawled bodies to where he sat astride his stallion. ‘Time to deliver the good news.’

Ah yes. Trisiras is dead. He nudged his mount onto the slope of the hill, urging it into a collected canter as his sister followed suit. They made their way up the tortuous track towards the mountain fortress of Svarg – a great hulking fastness that loomed like a crystal-white orb against the dark, poisoned heavens. A faint pillar of light that rose from somewhere within the fortress, served as their lodestar. The beacon of tyranny, Muchuk mused.

‘You seem awfully quiet for someone who has won a war.’ Two sharp eyes stared out from Asha’s beaky, grimy face packed in a half-helm. Under her armour, her hunched muscular shoulders looked all the more ungainly without a bosom to balance her form. It was a miracle she did not slide off her horse.

Muchuk shrugged, turning to stare up at the sky. By now, the third moon was a jade monstrosity. Green light leaked out from it to the west, staining the heavens with stolen emerald hues. Won a war... he sighed, as if it were a great revelation. As if he had not spent years of his life severing, slashing and slitting the Danavas, the Children of Darkness.

But Asha was right. He should have felt victorious, elated even. And yet, despite his valiant efforts, he felt like a man who had finally opened the box of glory to find that it did not contain what was etched on the lid.

They rode past their Men who were busy cutting the heads off dead Daevas, the Children of Light – the few righteous ones who had aligned with the Danavas. Their luminescent white heads made for macabre lamps, if you were into that sort of a thing. It would have been beautiful had it not been for the stench. Perhaps this is why he preferred slaying the Children of Darkness. They immaterialized into the air in a puff of odourless smoke when they fell. No stink. No bodies to toss. Clean, gutter-friendly kills.

‘Muchuk Und?’ Asha persisted.

‘Yes, yes, victory!’ he answered dryly, half wishing he could race his stallion ahead and leave her promptings far behind. ‘Tired of this place yet?’ he asked in a pitiable attempt to change the topic of conversation.

Fortunately, Asha took the bait. ‘I don’t know... this world has been growing on me. Battles and wine aplenty. So many wonders to behold and cherish—Will you stop rubbing that powder on the dagger, you miser?! Now that we know how to make it, we can create it any time and drown in it.’ A pleasant thought, all things considered. Muchuk Und sheathed the dagger. ‘Now where was I? Yes. Hm...I like this place. Not to forget,’ her face split into a wide grin, ‘the Daevas are especially ravenous in bed.’

‘Just what a brother wants to hear,’ Muchuk Und sighed.

She lifted her half-helm, treating the world to her scarred face and long hair. The beaky nose did no favours for her flat face. She might have got their mother’s lush tresses in a cold bargain, but she looked every bit their father’s daughter. Men disappeared from her path. Soldiers obeyed her commands without question. Bards shuddered to sing in her presence. Envy filled Muchuk’s heart. Was there any warrior as fortunate as a truly ugly one? And Asha was as ugly as rain on a wedding day.

‘On the other hand,’ she continued as if Muchuk hadn’t spoken, ‘I do wish we could’ve taught those Nagas a cold lesson in manners. To usher in the Age of Man. And I’m sure you yearn for your wretched family too.’

Family. How long had it been since he saw their ungrateful faces? Now that he began to count the years, Muchuk Und could not believe he had been away from his world for a decade. Guess time passes swiftly when most of it is spent on battlefields.

‘Hopefully less than they crave for me,’ he murmured though he had his doubts. His daughter must be what, eleven summers by now? Would she even remember she had a father? He pushed away the dark thoughts before he tumbled down into the pit of melancholy again. ‘But I doubt your imperial interests will be as entertaining as we had imagined them to be, Asha. With the weapons we will carry back from here, it will be…too easy.’

‘Exactly!’ Her face twisted with distaste. ‘Where is the joy in that? Home will just be…disappointing.’

Muchuk sighed loudly. ‘But what is left to be done here?’

Asha turned to him again, her eyes quizzical as she studied him. ‘Ah, I see now. You suffer the staleness a man feels when he has achieved everything, Brother. The Daevic indifference has infected you. It will pass. You are too cocky to be crabby for long.’

I hope so. Because, like a homing pigeon pining for its humble cage, Muchuk Und was homesick.

II

They swung down from their horses. Seeing Asha’s clumsy dismount, Muchuk gave another deep sigh. For one who claimed to love riding, she was quite an embarrassment to the family name.