It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: "The Three Trials of the Wind," by Shiv Ramdas, Part 1 of 2

Episode Date: July 7, 2024

Margaret reads you a reimagining of Hindu mythology by a masterful speculative fiction author.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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You can listen to Sniffy's Cruising Confessions, sponsored by Gilead, now on the iHeartRadio app or wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes every Thursday. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into tech's elite and how they've turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech brought to you by an industry veteran with nothing to lose.

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That's iHeart.com slash podcast awards. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, five-year-old Cuban boy, Elian Gonzalez, was found off the coast of Florida. And the question was, should the boy go back to his father in Cuba? Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home, and he wanted to take his son with him. Or stay with his relatives in Miami? Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. CoolZone Media Book Club! Book Club! Book Club!

Club. Hello, and welcome to the CoolZone Media Book Club, which is your weekly book club that you don't have to do the reading for, because I do the reading for you. I'm Margaret Killjoy, your host today. And today, I have a short story I'm really excited about. This is a story I was pretty sure I was going to do ever since I first took on this here book club. It's a story by an author named Shiv Ramdas. It's a story by an author named Shiv Ramdas. And I first read this story a couple years ago because my friend Shiv,

who you might have heard on Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff, he was a reverse guest. He told me the story of the great Gama. And y'all should go listen to that. But that one's real. And this one's fiction. Is there a difference? Who knows?

I mean, there's a difference, but, you know, reality is mutable. Anyway, Shiv was like, hey, I have this story. I think you might like it. I wrote a sort of anarchist interrogation of Hindu mythology. You want to read it? Dear listener, the answer was yes. I did want to read it. In fact, years later, I want to read it to you.

But first, this isn't an ad transition. It's a bio transition, in which I now read you Shiv's bio. bio transition, in which I now read you Shiv's bio. Shiv Ramdas is a multi-award nominated author of speculative fiction, short stories, and novels. He lives and writes in Seattle, Washington with his wife and three cats. In 2020, he became one of only two Indian writers to ever be nominated for a Hugo, a Nebula, and an Ignite award in the same year. He also gained Twitter fame in 2020 for live-tweeting the saga of his brother-in-law's rice mishap. His first novel, Dome Child, was India's first mainstream cyberpunk novel. His short fiction has appeared in Slate,

Strange Horizons, Fireside Fiction, PodCastle, and other publications. This story, which is called The Three Trials of the Wind, has actually only been published previously to this on his Patreon, which he has one in case you want more of the Patreon-only content. And yeah, this is an interrogation of Hindu mythology. A lot of the names have been changed, but I think to people who understand Hindu mythology better than I do, it'll probably be obvious who I'm talking about. The Three Trials of the Wind by Shiv Ramdas On the last day of heaven, the great god Raka sent for his guru and bade him to prepare for the end.

Then he shaded his eyes, looking out of his window once more. All the way to the horizon, the red-tinged ocean raged, although no longer did it rise. Through the water the tips of golden roofs peeped out, twisted by the currents, yet standing proud against the swell. Far below, under the depths, lay the broken pillars and scattered stones, all that remained of the ivory towers. Overhead, an angry purple sky loomed, the only light coming from a glimmering sea under the ghostly glow of a ragged, fading moon. A flash of movement caught the corner of Raka's eye, and he turned his attention to the countless little dots battling

violent, ever-reddening waves, each one a ship swarming with Asuras. He reached for his thunderbolt, which was never far from his side. The temptation to strike those distant dots with a few blasts from his Vajra was both great and easily indulged, for Raka never missed. It would be the easiest thing in all three worlds to blow a few of them to atoms. Also, the most futile. For every ship he saw, another thousand from the swarm lurked hidden. And so Raka of the evil eye instead turned his gaze over the viscera of heaven, through the spray from the roaring waves crashing down all around him, beyond the rubble and ruin of his kingdom sweeping past in the tide, to the farthest edge of the horizon where blinked the tiniest point of light,

so faint even he could scarce make it out. And he smiled, the smile of victory. On the seventh to last day of heaven, Hani, lord of the wind, alighted at the foot of Pahadra. There it stood, greatest peak in creation, the mountain between worlds, the holy abode of Aknos himself.

Hani looked up at the rocky expanse, and it was as Aknos' brow frowning back down at him, craggy and forbidding, hard and black, rising all the way into the clouds where the greater part of it lay hidden. A single, narrow, worn path curled its silvery way around the massive expanse, a worm clinging to an elephant's toe. Honey paid it no heed, for he intended to fly straight up to the summit. You'll want to take the path.

Honey whirled around to find her jogging on the spot, a middle-aged woman in wraparound sunglasses, hair tied in a topknot, wearing a tiger print tracksuit and red sneakers, holding a bottle of water. She smiled, a broad and brilliant flash of white, quite unblemished by the fact that she was missing a tooth. Unless you've got lots of time and nothing to do, of course. I suppose gods have more time than most. Honey raised an eyebrow.

Who might you be? The woman sighed. Why don't I ever get the bright ones? No, don't answer that. It's a trick question. The bright ones don't come here. Now, I'll be honest, I do somewhat resent the fact that I had to interrupt my breathing exercises and run to you with my chakras still all tangled up. So, let's just pretend you're bright enough to take what you're getting for free, even if it is just advice, Lord Hani. Here is what all the pilgrims are supposed to know.

vice, Lord Hani. Here is what all the pilgrims are supposed to know. Three things. Count them if you don't believe me. First, if you intend to go to Aknos, and of course you do, but what you see there is the path of three trials. Long story short, take the path. Want to hear the official version? It's all grand and wordy about how the path to Achnos is open to all who would brave the three trials, blah, blah. Cue drumroll, but I'm- You get it, I'm sure. Second, and this one's my favorite. Once you take the path, you will not be irked by beast or weather or foe. It's supposed to just be the trials between you and your goal, see?

What's that? Got something to say? Only that I get this one too, answered Hani. She grinned again. See, that's why it's my favorite. Nobody ever argues with that one. Mortals, gods, asuras, everyone likes hearing nice things. Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes, the third.

This isn't really one of the official ones. I just added it on so that there'd be three trials and three rules, and it's all a lot more symmetrical. It's the one where I tell you that you won't succeed, and you should go back now. No shame in not being the first. Just a thought, said Honey.

If indeed you give all this advice to everyone, and nobody ever succeeds, isn't that a good reason to not listen to you and just fly straight up? Good, you're trying to be bright, replied the woman, nodding approvingly. Although I'd have thought that someone who's actually in the scriptures would know them.

Forgotten what happened when Maitar and Oton had their bet to see who could find the beginning or the end of Aknos first, Oton flew up into the sky for an eternity before realizing he could never get there. No, if you want to find Achnos, you must approach him as any mortal would. Didn't you say you'd understood the rules?

Certainly I remember the scriptures, replied Hani, and the story you speak of told of a pillar of fire, not Mount Pahata. The woman waved her hand. Fiery pillar, black mountain. What's the difference? It's all Achnos. And there's nothing in the scriptures about approaching Achnos as a mortal would. She sniffed. Well, not everything is in the scriptures, Lord Hani. For instance, there's nothing in them about your contrarian personality either. If that's how you're going to be, I'll merely say good luck to you and happy travels, whichever direction you choose.

One moment, said Hani, holding up a hand. Before you go, is there anything you can tell me about these trials? Anything that will help? It's vital that I reach Aknos immediately. You think you're the first to come here? No, I... Look, I don't care why you came. That's not my job. Everyone's got problems, Lord Honey. That's why they come here. That's why we have a system. And the system is, I give you the rules and you take the path. If you have an issue, I suggest you take it up at the top. There was a terrible silence during which even Honey knew not whether he would respond with passion or patience, for the wind blows gales both hot and cold. But in the end,

calm prevailed and he satisfied himself with a formal bow and a frosty manner. Thank you for your advice, he said. She looked at him. You know, you took that better than most. You're not a bad sort, really. I like you. I'm sorry you only had two temples. I appreciate the thought, said Hani. But now I must go, for I have no time to lose, and the sun has long since risen. Hani set off on the narrow, winding path to the summit. At first, he tried flying, but in vain.

There was some force preventing him from taking to the air. Whatever it was, it was evidently only on the path itself, for Honey found he could fly alongside it quite comfortably. It was only when he attempted to cross over it, to avoid a particularly nasty outcropping of rock, and found himself unable to re-enter the trail's narrow confines, that he realized what had happened, that he would have to go back to the beginning and start again, on foot this time. So he descended, wondering if she would still be there. Sure enough, she was, flashing her gap-toothed grin at him from a distance. You can't cheat, Okno slurred Honey, she called out. One foot in front of the other, that's how you do it. Honey ignored her, concentrating on making up for lost time by running up the path as swiftly as he could,

which was very swift indeed, for the Lord of the Wind had given up his power of flight but little else. Onward and upward he sped, light of foot but heavy of heart. In his mind he relived it again, what had transpired when a god had been asked the unthinkable by his king. My lord, I cannot do this. You can, and it must be you, for no other would reach him in time.

I cannot ask this. Achnos would smite me ere I finish speaking. Nay, for he has promised you a boon and will not break his word. But even if true, you have sworn obedience unto death to your king, and this is what I command. But my king, what you command me to ask of him, is the Nritya. This is wrong. Raka stood tall, and the thunderclouds gathered and darkened on his brow.

More wrong than your refusal to stop the darkness, than seeing paradise overrun by the invaders and their children? Then standing against your own kind in order to aid the usurpers? Is this your honor and dharma? And Hani felt his will weaken under Raka's relentless gaze, for the wind may sometimes scatter the clouds, but they always return, bringing with them ever more of the storm. He bowed his head. I do as you bid, my king. Then the vision was gone, and Hani, messenger of Raka, was still running up the path to the summit of Pahara, faster, higher, until he had long since

ceased to be able to see the ground, billowing clouds forming a thick soupy fog everywhere but the path he was on, the unmistakable smell of green meeting water all around. And the bidding that I have to do to my king, King Capitalism, is interrupt stories with ad transitions, like this one. Hi, I'm Ed Zitron, host of the Better Offline podcast, transitions like this one. unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel winning economists to leading journalists in the field and I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse and naming and shaming those responsible. Don't get me wrong though, I love

technology. I just hate the people in charge and want them to get back to building things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God, things can change if we're loud enough. So join me every week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. Hola mi gente, it's Honey German and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again, Thank you. We're talking real conversations with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators, sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the vibes that you love.

Each week, we'll explore everything from music and pop culture to deeper topics like identity, community, and breaking down barriers in all sorts of industries. Don't miss out on the fun, el té caliente, and life stories. Join me for Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral. Listen to Gracias Come

Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, a five-year-old boy floated alone in the ocean. He had lost his mother trying to reach Florida from Cuba. He looked like a little angel. I mean, he looked so fresh.

And his name, Elian Gonzalez, will make headlines everywhere. Elian Gonzalez. Elian Gonzalez. Elian. Elian. Elian Gonzalez. At the heart of the story is a young boy and the question of who he belongs with. His father in Cuba.

Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or his relatives in Miami. Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom. At the heart of it all is still this painful family separation. Something that as a Cuban, I know all too well. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, as part of the My Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, I'm Gianna Parente. And I'm Jimei Jackson-Gadsden. We're the hosts

of Let's Talk Offline, the early career podcast from LinkedIn News and iHeart Podcasts. One of the most exciting things about having your first real job is that first real paycheck. You're probably thinking, yay, I can finally buy a new phone. But you also have a lot of questions like, how should I be investing this money? I mean, how much do I save? And what about my 401k? Well, we're talking with finance expert Vivian Tu, aka Your Rich BFF, to break it all down. I always get roasted on the internet when I say this out loud, but I'm like, every single year you need to be asking for a raise of somewhere between 10 to 15%. I'm not saying you're going to get 15% every single year,

but if you ask for 10 to 15 and you end up getting eight, that is actually a true raise. Listen to this week's episode of Let's Talk Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. On the last day of heaven, Raka, Lord of Paradise, still stood motionless at his window. There was a footstep at the threshold, and old Dada swept into the royal bedchamber, pulling fast the curtains of solitude behind him, and the war drums finally fell silent, although the stench of burning flesh and dead hope still lingered.

Raka turned, palms folded. Gurudev, he said. Tatha raised his hand in the customary blessing. Tathastu, my king. At last you send for me. I've been trying to speak with you for days. It's finally time, Gurudev. There was a heavy silence,

and then Raka turned to look out of the window again. Thatha came to stand beside him. Outside, the waves were even larger than before, crashing down ever more furiously. Lord Jala still fights bravely, said Thatha. Even the ocean has its limits, said Raka, and there are too many of them. Thatha squinted. It's so very dark, I can hardly make out anything.

And it'll grow darker still. Sojan fell yesterday. The sun shall not rise again. Soon, the blackness will cover paradise. How did it come to this? What of the other gods? What of them? You've been shut away offering prayers for our victory for too long, Gurudev.

Paradise will fall, probably within hours. Where is Maitar? It is the preserver's duty to intervene when the balance is threatened and aid the forces of light. You must send for him at once. Do you think I don't know that? When the tide first began to turn in this war, I immediately sent word to him. Nobody can find him. We've searched all three worlds again and again in vain. Thotha's shoulders drooped. His voice was a hoarse whisper. So it's over.

I won't permit darkness to prevail, no matter the cost. Listen to me, Raka. As your guru and advisor, my duty is always to speak my truth to you. And my advice is that you should sue for peace with the Asuras and... Never. Raka had drawn himself up very straight. The lightning flashed in his eyes. You ask the impossible. This clash of civilizations began too many yugas ago, and too much blood has been spilled.

It was the Asuras who broke our treaty, not I. It was they who turned on us after the churning. Forget your ideas of surrender and compromise. None of it will happen, not while I am king. Do you really think that I would see paradise defaced with their grotesque domes and twisted minarets? No, now we must no longer look to O-Tan, but to Aknos. Aknos? You say paradise has but hours left, and Bahara lies at the far edge of creation. Even Hani would take weeks. He stopped. When did you send him?

Maybe just in time. Have faith in Hani. I do. Faith? Is that the best we can do? Faith is what makes gods of us all, Gurudev. There was a long, cold silence in the bedchamber. Together they stared out of the window.

Outside, the ocean had gone completely still, nary a ripple on the deep crimson water. Lord Jala has fallen, said Thafa. In a way, it no longer matters. It's all up to Hani now. You really think we can depend on Aknos? There is none more capricious than the destroyer. He… He broke off, his eyes wide. The Nritya, he whispered. Exactly. Hani will not ask Aknos to intervene. Instead, he will ask the destroyer

for a boon he cannot refuse. To perform his own dharma, to break his meditation, to do his dance of destruction and end creation now, before the forces of darkness ever taste victory. From the ashes of this universe, O-Tan will breathe life into another, and perhaps the Raka and that creation will succeed at quelling the Asuras once and for all. Vatha shook his head rapidly. No, Rakan, no. Destroy all that is and will be.

Extinguish all of creation before its time. What has come over you? You cannot. But I have. Hani agreed to this madness. His agreement is unnecessary. I am his king. Obeying me is his dharma. He walks the path I

charged him to. If this is the path you have chosen, we have already lost. It is. Make your peace with it, Guru Dev. There is no peace in what you ask, only damnation. May O-Tan grant us salvation. Don't waste time praying to O-Tan, Guru Dev, answered Raka. Pray instead for Hani. He turned back to the window. If there's salvation to be had, it shall come to us on the wind. On the sixth to last day of heaven, Hani of the terrible purpose was now walking and beginning to despair

that he'd ever got anywhere. Hundreds of Yojanas he had traveled, and it was somehow always the same, narrow and winding, crisscrossed by rivulets, although the stones underfoot

held firm and true. It was not hard going, or even easy going, it was just going, on and on, one step after another, each one heavier than the last, with the burden of what would happen if he failed or succeeded. He was finally beginning to tire

when he turned yet another bend and came to yet another stream across the path. Honey knelt down and drank, splashing the cold, clear water on his face, looking into the stream as the droplets splashed back down, forming ripples and tides of their own before slowly fading away. But the face that looked back at him from the stream was no longer his. It was dark and fierce, with a large, bristling mustache. The face of an Asura. Hani reached up to touch his face that wasn't, and recoiled as he realized that neither was the hand. Broad and hairy with thick fingers, wearing gold rings. Honey leapt to his feet, and that was when he realized he was no longer on the path. He was in a huge, richly bedecked hall, with tapestries and weapons on the walls. It was a place he had never seen before, resplendent in gold and deep

burgundy. The roof was gold too, and at his feet ran the stream, one of many that laced the engraved floor, sending wafts of coolness into the humid air. Hani noticed that he wasn't alone. Indeed, the hall was filled with people, and they all looked like him, dressed in fine clothes adorned with flowers and jewels alike. And they were all looking straight ahead to the massive gold throne at the front of the hall and the richly dressed king on it. And before the throne stood another man, traveler or tramp, it was hard to say. His clothes had once been fine, but were now more tatter than cloth.

The king spoke, Well, Mala, what say you? Shall we accept this treaty? A woman stepped forward, a tall asura with long, thick hair, adorned with white jasmines. My lord, I've heard whispers among the court that say we should imprison these visitors who enter our borders uninvited. I say that this is an unworthy response. The Apanas have traveled far to come to our land.

At the very least, we should receive them with the courtesy due visitors and even help them if we can. If what Raka says is indeed true, that the preserver himself has agreed to aid us in this quest, it certainly merits careful consideration. And Hani looked again and the beggar was indeed Raka, a younger, frailer Raka, but unmistakably him. Every word is true, said Raka. O-Tan himself suggested it. At the bottom

of the cosmic ocean of milk lies Rasa, the nectar of divinity, and the only way any of us will ever taste any is if we work together. Nay, said the other Asura, even if we work together, how could we find the rasa in the ocean of milk? There is no power in any of the three worlds that could possibly scour its depths. By churning the ocean until rasa rises to the surface, a ripple of laughter ran through the hall. Where would you find the churning rod for such a task? Which is why we, this show, are sponsored by Big Churning Rod.

Get your churning rod today for all your churning needs. host of the Better Offline podcast, and we're kicking off our second season digging into how tech's elite has turned Silicon Valley into a playground for billionaires. From the chaotic world of generative AI to the destruction of Google search, Better Offline is your unvarnished and at times unhinged look at the underbelly of tech from an industry veteran with nothing to lose. This season, I'm going to be joined by everyone from Nobel-winning economists to leading journalists in the field, and I'll be digging into why the products you love keep getting worse, and naming and shaming those responsible. Don't get me wrong, though. I love technology. I just hate the people in charge and want them to get back to building things that actually do things to help real people. I swear to God things can change if we're loud enough, so join me every

week to understand what's happening in the tech industry and what could be done to make things better. Listen to Better Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever else you get your podcasts. Check out betteroffline.com. Hola mi gente, it's Honey German and I'm bringing you Gracias, Come Again, the podcast where we dive deep into the world of Latin culture, musica, peliculas, and entertainment with some of the biggest names in the game. If you love hearing real conversations with your favorite Latin celebrities, artists, and culture shifters, this is the podcast for you.

We're talking real conversations with our Latin stars, from actors and artists to musicians and creators, sharing their stories, struggles, and successes. You know it's going to be filled with chisme laughs and all the vibes that you love. Each week, we'll explore everything from music and pop culture Thank you. podcast by Honey German, where we get into todo lo actual y viral. Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. On Thanksgiving Day, 1999, a five-year-old boy floated alone in the ocean. He had lost his mother trying to reach Florida from Cuba.

He looked like a little angel. I mean, he looked so fresh. And his name, Elian Gonzalez, will make headlines everywhere. Elian Gonzalez. Elian. Elian. Elian. Elian. Elian.

Elian Gonzalez. At the heart of the story is a young boy and the question of who he belongs with. His father in Cuba. Mr. Gonzalez wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him.. His father in Cuba. Mr. Gonzales wanted to go home and he wanted to take his son with him. Or his relatives in Miami. Imagine that your mother died trying to get you to freedom.

At the heart of it all is still this painful family separation. Something that as a Cuban, I know all too well. Listen to Chess Peace, the Elian Gonzalez story, as part of the My Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, I'm Gianna Parenti.

And I'm Jimei Jackson-Gadsden. We're the hosts of Let's Talk Offline, the early career podcast from LinkedIn News and iHeart Podcasts. One of the most exciting things about having your first real job is that first real paycheck. You're probably thinking, yay, I can finally buy a new phone. But you also have a lot of questions like, how should I be investing this money? I mean, how much do I save? And what about my 401k? Well, we're talking with finance expert Vivian Toot, aka Your Rich BFF, to break it all down. I always get roasted on the internet when I say this out loud, but I'm like,

every single year you need to be asking for a raise of somewhere between 10 to 15 percent. I'm not saying you're going to get 15 percent every single year, but if you ask for 10 to 15 and you end up getting eight, that is actually a true raise. Listen to this week's episode of Let's Talk Offline on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. Lord Oton has thought of this. Mount Balena shall be our churning rod.

And where do we get a churning rope large enough to girdle the mountain? At Oton's request, Arius the Celestial Serpent has agreed to be our churning rope. Nonsense! The mountain will just sink like a stone in a pond. If it does, Lord Otanis vowed to take the avatar of Kurma, the tortoise, and place the mountain on his back so we can keep churning until we have the rasa. And the nectar we share, half for the Apanas, half for the Asuras, restoring equality to both our peoples and ensuring this alliance prevails

till the end of time. You certainly seem to have all the answers, Raka, said the king. What say you, Lahurtaku? And Hani realized they were all looking at him, and he stood in silence, for he knew the scriptures, and so he knew what would happen. There would be no rasa for the Asuras. And yet, what could all of this be but a test of his honor? For he was Hani, not Lahurtaku, and surely the path to ask Aknos-Aboon for his king lay in not betraying that king. And so he assented in a voice to match his new body, heavy and rumbling. My advisors agree, said the king. As do I. Very well, Raka. You will have your alliance.

I do have one request, Maharaj. Since it is us upon us who brought this proposition to you, we only ask that we be allowed to choose which end of the celestial serpent we shall churn with, and we ask that we get to hold it by the tail while the Asuras take the head. I agree to your terms, said the king, and together we'll churn the ocean. A cheer went up and by the time it ceased, Hani found Raka standing before him.

Thank you for your assistance, said Raka, extending his hand. I look forward to this alliance between our people. Hani clasped the hand with both of his and then realized it was no longer a hand, but a thick, green-black scale, one of the quadrillions all along a gargantuan serpent that stretched all the way across all there was. He stood under the open, starless black sky stripped to the waist, the taste of sweat in his mouth heaving and yanking at the scale, thousands of other Asuras around him, all striving to do the same thing. He heard a squelching underfoot and looked down. He was knee-deep in white, sweet-smelling liquid.

Milk. He felt his muscles ripping and burning as a loud voice shouted at him to pull harder. Then the air was filled with a thick green mist that reached out with malevolent fingers, wafting up his nose and throat, and he was sputtering, choking, fighting for air as tears streamed down his cheeks into the milk below.

Through a bleary vision, he could see the other asuras coughing too. Several had fallen, overcome by fumes. Break time, next shift up, roared the voice, and a young Asura ran in to grab the scale Hani was pulling at, already beginning to cough. Hani somehow made his way out of the noxious green air and fell to the ground, still coughing. Someone clapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up, as best he could, at another asura. Almost there, he grinned, wiping his own eyes. First the poison, then the rasa. A third asura came up, tears streaming down his cheeks. Where is this stuff coming from?

Irius, answered the other, the poison streams into him as we churn the ocean and he breathes it out. Meanwhile, the Apannas have the tale and no trouble at all. Why our king agreed to this, I have no idea. What's done is done. Focus on what we can achieve together instead. Hani listened to this exchange, still feeling lightheaded. Should he tell them the truth? Hani listened to this exchange, still feeling lightheaded. Should he tell them the truth? No, why should he, Hani, work against his own people? Although in truth, the longer he spent in this body,

the less he felt like Hani, or anything he recognized. As though he was, but he wasn't. That everyone looked at him, but none saw him. It's here! A great shout went up, followed by an even louder cheer. The next moment, Raka stood nearby, holding aloft a large golden pot. As one, they all crowded around him, eager hands reaching out. All but Hani Lahurteku, who, knowing what came next, stood far back.

And as it was written, so did it happen. The Apanas drank their share, and no sooner was it time for the Asuras to have theirs, than O-Tan changed form. And there stood Mohini, deity of distraction, casting her spell of diversion, whispering in the ear of every Asura at once, sowing her seeds of suspicion and anger as the Asura host turned on itself in bloodlust, as the Apanas drank everyone's share. Hani Lahurteku stood there, shielding his ears and his mind, refusing to listen to the sweet voice calling him to arms. With hands clapped to his ears and jaw clenched, he looked at the Apanas.

There was Imus drinking his fill, and there was Aishi laughing happily, her mouth stained with nectar, one and all. The only one Hani could not see was himself, and his memories, growing ever more confused, yielded him nothing. Had he in fact been there? Or had he drunk of the rasa later? His mind was silent upon the point, as are the scriptures to this very day. A growing unease clasped at Hani Lahurteku,

the cold touch of dread creeping up his spine. Could it be that the reason he could not see himself among his brethren was that he was trapped here, in this Asura body? Was this to be his fate, lost and forgotten, never to attain to divinity, never to fly again? He looked again at his fellow Apanas, and in their pleasure he took no solace. As they sat there now, glowing with celestial power, the golden pot lying unbidden in the milky swell, a last few drops still kissing its surface. Without thinking, he moved, pounding forward on thick, muscular legs. Closer,

he was almost there. Then his foot caught in something, and over he splashed, landing next to the golden pot. As he watched, a drop of nectar welled on its lip, preparing to obey gravity's bidding. Reaching out, he caught it, bringing up his hand to his mouth. He felt it touch his tongue. Surely the sweetest, most delightful taste in all the cosmos. Light and airy, with a hint of eternity about it. As he swallowed, he felt a terrible blow to the knee. Pain such as he had never felt before. The acrid fumes of flame filled his nostrils.

Hani collapsed, leg buckling uselessly and on fire. Before him stood Raka, Vajra raised and pointing at him. Now, O-Tan shouted Raka, and from the corner of his eye, Hani caught the most fleeting glimpse of whirling gold,

and then it struck him on the neck, O-Tan's discus, with all its awesome force. For the second time in just a few moments, he felt the most intense agony he'd ever experienced. Not even Raka's thunderbolt had cut like this, cleaving bone from body, ripping flesh from frame, and all he could do was scream,

scream as loudly as he could in that low, rumbling voice, as his newly divine head was severed from his body. Just as the scriptures told, now immortal Lahir from lifeless Teku. He landed with another loud splash, watching what had been his body thrash around, turning the milk of the ocean a pale, rose pink. The salty sweet milk pulled him under, filling his mouth, nose, eyes, everything. And still he screamed to any who would listen, that he had been cheated of his godhood, that it was all a mistake, that it was not he whom they should strike, that there was rasa enough for everyone.

Then the milk was gone, and he lay screaming into the stream on the path, and the face that screamed back from the water was his once more. And that's the end of part one. When we come back with part two, we will continue with The Trials of the Wind by Shiv Ramdas. It Could Happen Here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media,

visit our website, coolzonemedia.com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen Here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources. Thanks for listening. Curious about queer sexuality, cruising, and expanding your horizons? Hit play on the sex-positive and deeply entertaining podcast, Sniffy's Cruising Confessions. Join hosts Gabe Gonzalez and Chris Patterson Rosso as they explore queer sex, cruising, relationships, and culture in the new iHeart podcast, Sniffy's Cruising Confessions. Sniffy's Cruising Confessions will broaden minds and help you pursue your true goals.

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