CZM Book Club: "The Three Trials of the Wind," by Shiv Ramdas, Part 2 of 2

for books? I think I told you that. You know, if this was at nineteenth century, it would have been a league. It would have been the Cool Zone Media Book League, or the League for Cool Zone Media Books, the League for Cool Zone Media Books. So this isn't a nineteenth century story. I just like when everything was named leagues. That's n't related to anything. What is related is this story where we last left our hero Hanni.

He was on the path and then he faced one of his trials and he got his head cut off, but he didn't die because he managed to drink some immortality juice. Before that. Part two, he reached up forgetting he had no body and a hand obeyed his own. This time he touched his neck. No wound there, although it felt a bit sore. All there, said a voice, and he turned his head to see a pair of legs and tiger print. Looking up, he found the woman's eyes glaring down at him. Our trial, Eh thought, you'd

never stopped shouting. Huh, how long has it been, asked Hanny, two days? What I'm closer to three? Really? How did you find me?

it appears this path keeps growing longer. Still pretty short if you want to turn around, said the woman, But not the direction I need to go. And with that, on the third to the last day of heaven, Hani, lord of the Wind, resumed his climb. This time he made slower progress than earlier, For each step his leg ailed him a little more. At first, Hani paid it no mind, for he was grateful to have a leg at all. But as the pain grew, so did his gratitude. Ebb,

was this what it was like to be mortal? This constant journey from one ache to another. Still he persevered hour after hour, yojana after yojana, until the pain was so great that he could no longer lift his leg, but had to drag it along the ground as the trees grew closer and closer over the path, until finally he knew that without rest, his good leg would also give out. He settled on a tree stump by the path, feeling the welcome relief in his joints, enjoying the cool

air on his hot cheeks. As he sat, he saw a single gulmaher break free from its green home, floating downwards. He leaned back to follow its fluttering progress. Then he felt the embrace of soft folds of satin enveloping him. He was in another hall, this when even larger and more richly decorated than the last. Gone was the tree stump. Instead, he sat on a throne, and yet another asura body bejeweled and elegantly clothed. A massive crowd of people stood around,

staring up at him with adoring eyes. This time he couldn't move or speak. He could merely be feeling what that body felt. Looking whose eyes looked? They looked down at the foot of the throne at a dwarf, his head shaved smooth. The dwarf spoke, what say you, King, Bahaka, will you grant my humble plea? A voice spoke, and it came from the body Hani, now resided in three steps is nothing, shappala, ask for a yojana of land or a kush and it will be yours. No, replied

the dwarf. Three steps of land at a place of my choosing is all I want? And vamana thanks you for your generosity. Then Hani remembered and strove to cry out to warn the king to beware that it was all a trick. This was no ordinary visitor. There was no shippala. It was my Tar himself, in the fifth Avatar, here to write the balance once more. But he could not. He was powerless to do anything but wait for Bahaka

to reply. Certainly, shappala, if that is what you wish you may have your three steps of land anywhere you want. Shappala bowed, straightened up, and began to grow, as has been written, larger and larger, until he blocked out the sky. And still he grew until his foot covered all the earth. My first step, said Shappala. Then he lifted a leg and with his other foot he covered the heavens. My second step. Tell me, o king, now that your kingdom belongs to me, how will you keep your promise? Where

should I place my third step? And Hani found himself looking up as Bahaka tilted his head to regard vamana. Place it on my head, my tar, he said proudly, and Bahaka will have kept his word. Hani screamed again, with no sound or success, as that great foot bore down with all the weight of heaven behind it, slamming into his head with a force that made Raka's Vodra

seem a mere inconvenience. His backbone twisted, snapped, and still the great foot bore down, driving his head down into his body and further down, deep into the earth itself, and still it pressed down with no respite at all. Hani screamed until he could scream no more, And yet the foot stayed where it was, pushing down unabated. He counted the seconds as they turned to minutes, which turned to weeks, and still the terrible force pressed down against

his skull. Hani had long since given up on escape, on scaling Bahada, on finding Acnos. One hundred years went by a hundred more, and still it bore down, sometimes shifting, ever so often, replaced by a different foot, but always there. Two hundred and fifty years, with a heel to his head, Paradise Racca Acnos all faded to faint shadows, nebulous strands of a forgotten cobweb in a dark corner of history that he forgot them no longer irked him. All was

futile anyway. The only reality that of the foot, and in time Honey came to love the foot, to draw comfort in knowing it would always be there. But no matter what happened, the foot would never abandon him, never leave him to float out into an uncertain future without its anchoring restraint. Until suddenly it was gone, and he was lying curled on the path, head leaning brokenly against the stump, watching as the Gomaha leaf continued its slow spiral down to the forest. Floor. He tried to get up,

but his legs would not obey. There was a heaviness in them, seeping through all of him, a weight, but one very different from that of the foot, one that told him that it was finished. He had taken the second trial and it had broken him. He would not even meet with the third. All he needed to do now was to rest, to give into the darkness that spread across his mind. And given he did, gave into

these sweet, sweet deals. Am I right? You can get all your foot needs from all our foot vendors at cool Zone Media where we put at brakes and things. Here we go, and we're back on the next to last day of heaven, Hani, Lord of the Wind, lay where he had fallen and did not stir Hani opened his eyes and the first thing he discovered was that his neck was broken. His head lolled to one side, and try as he might, he could not move it.

He could feel the pain spreading through his frame in deep, widening circles, beginning at the base of his neck all the way down to his knees, where all feeling stopped completely. When he attempted to shift his legs, like his neck, they refused to respond. While lying there helpless, he saw it.

There It lay at the very end of the path, at most half a yojana away, a massive black outcropping of rock, like a great lingam that had fallen over, upon which shone a large, luminous semicircle of light, the first light he'd seen since he stepped on this accursed path. Around it grew flowers, also, the first he had seen, row upon row of them, curving around the light. In the middle. At the center of the flowers sat a woman in her tiger skin tracksuit. She was smiling, beckoning

him to come to her. Then Hani knew knew it as surely as he knew himself that his ordeals were over. Everything would be all right now. All he needed to do was to reach her, even if the only part of him that was working was his arms. And so Hani, god of the Wind, began dragging himself on his belly towards the light inch by agonizing inch, minute after tortuous minute, past several times he lost consciousness. Each time he woke

up and resumed pulling himself forward once more. His forearms were a raw mass of flesh, his fingernails long since ripped out dusty fingers encrusted with dried black blood, eyes watering from the combination of sweat and dirt. Then he was there, finally, mercifully, at the rock with a semicircle of light on which she sat. Only she was gone, and it was no rock. It was a toe, a colossal toe. And what had appeared to be light was in fact the nail. A haze stretched its web over

his mind. The darkness was returning stronger. Come with me, it said, and Hani was almost ready to acquiesce. Almost with the very last of his strength, Hani gripped at what he thought was a rock with fingers of bloody meat, and swung himself up. On the last day of Heaving the Broken God, Hani laid his forehead on Ocnos's toe. All around Hani, the earth and the grass and the rocks in the air armed and vibrated together, and the sound they made was the voice of Acnos, little wind, God,

you have come a long way. Hani lay there, unable to speak, for there was nothing left in him but the faintest spark, watching itself blink out of existence. From somewhere far above, a great hand came down. A finger touched Hani's head and he felt the golden glow of life burn within him again, muscle and sinew knitting back into place. He still lacked the strength to do anything but stand. But stand he did, as befits a god. Forgive me, my Lord, he said, for I failed to

take the third trial. The earth and rocks, in grass and air all around shimmered once more, and Acnos was gone, and in his place once again sat the woman in the tiger print track suit. Yet here you are all the same. Speak, Are you here to claim your boon? He bowed his head in assent. What was it again? Anything in my power? Was it not? I really must stop making that promise? All right? What will it be?

And in that moment, with the task he had suffered so much for finally at an end, with fulfillment of his purpose, with one sentence away, all he had to do now was utter the words. He opened his mouth to answer, and he found he could not. They would not emerge, even as he searched himself in vain for his dharma, his duty to his king. It was in there somewhere, yet it eluded him, like golden drops of rasa From a time. Both eons passed and yesterday tantalizingly

out of reach. He opened his mouth and shut it again, opened it once more, then shook his head. I'm not hearing a request. The Apanas have no answer to the Asora advance. They have tried to the last of them, and they have failed. They shouldn't you be saying. He opened his mouth and shut it again. We aren't you an apana. It had been so very long since he'd set out home, so very far away and long ago, that it now felt like just another stop on the journey.

Here to this moment. Well, and under that gaze, Hanni found himself giving voice to the dark shadow nestling in his heart, to the thoughts he feared to utter, even to himself ever since the churning. When I set out, I was, and now he hesitated. I know not what I am, only that it is not what I would be. Does this person not want me to destroy all creation for Raka's glory? Or did you think your task a

secret from me? Hanni said nothing. He dared not, even as reality shimmered again and the mighty form of the destroyer loomed over him once more. A silence pressed down, hard and cold, a silence to last an eternity or a moment, no telling if either was any different. Akno spoke again, and Pahada itself trembled at that terrible voice speak Hannie, does Raka wish me to end all creation so that he may feel victorious? Or will the extinction

of merely all the Asa race suffice? And that's not something we sell, but we do sell other stuff like these ads. We don't actually sell you the products of the ads. We actually sell the advertising space, which we have no control over what they sell. Yah, I'll probably figured that out a while ago. Here's the ads and we're back. Hani hung his head, staring down at his toes. Neither a great one. They've done nothing but engages per the rules and means that Raka himself demanded. When Raka wins,

then all means are just. When he does not, it is called a dharma. Are you saying you no longer wish me to save paradise? Hani? Hanni hesitated, feeling the words build up, smashing against the inside of his lips, yearning to be free, until they would be held back no longer but burst forth, and as each one emerged, Honey knew it to be true. No great one, because paradise requires no saving. Once again a silence that lasted forever,

or a moment unbreakable save. But by the voice of Acnos, finally, yes, it is not paradise that you were sent here to save. But Rakka Raka, who calls himself King of Heaven, yet flees to the Preserver in the name of balance every time his strength is tested. He sent you to me so that he and his ilk will not lose what was first stolen and then squandered. But my Lord said Hani, and his voice quavered as he spoke. Would the Preserver ever be unjust?

to pass? And the voice of Acnus was heard again because Each time Raka invoked the balance, it weakened the preserver a little more, until the day came when he had no power left, until even the illusion of balance was gone, and all that was left was Racca's desires. And when that day came, Raca ceased to seek balance and instead sent you here seeking destruction. He has drunk so deeply of the chalice of his hubris that he sought to use not just God's but creation himself, just

to have his way. I no longer believe in his way? Why not? I do not know? You do? Do you remember as you called it the foot? Hani didn't answer, He had no need to. They both knew he remembered it very well, or to give it the name by which Creation knows it. Raka's balance a balance you felt for what it truly was a scale where he and his kind sit born aloft on one end, while all the weight rests on the other. But how, my Lord, the scriptures and songs and stories they all say something else?

Whose scriptures are those who tells those stories? But my Lord, the things of which you speak have been since creation itself? And does that mean they must be true? Tradition does not bestow virtue or truth. Only age, and Hani of the woken mind knew that this was true too. Every word Akno said was true. He shivered as though an invisible cloak had worn out, without ever realizing it had now been cast off, leaving him cold, defenseless, and vulnerable

for the first time. So the answer to Raka's request is no, as it would have been even if you had asked it of me. I offered you a boon, not Raka. Hani hung his head. That leaves but one thing, the boon I promised you, For all who journey to me shall ask me of what they desire. Another silence, one that stretched across eternity. What is yours? Hani fell to his knees, trembling. Finally, he spoke, to make right, Lord, nay, not right, for Yugas of wrongdoing can never be made right.

But grant me the strength to do what I must, to make what reparation I can. And if I do, what of you that is also no longer part of this story? My lord? An Aknos smiled a smile very different from the one Hani had grown accustomed to ceiling. It was warm, gentle, and the very sight of it sent new strength flooding through his limbs. Now you have passed the final trial, So be it. I grant your boon, little wind God. Now do what Raka asks you to fly to him, My Lord, for too long has the

balance been waited on one side alone? Heaven will not cease to be heaven if there is no Raka. It is merely Raka who will cease to be Raka without Heaven. So it shall be you shall return home to Paradise. But you will not return alone. Let it guide you and fly you back over the fallen walls of Paradise, so that you may plant it hilt deep in the chest of Raka and give him the destruction he so deeply craves. And without him and his vision of heaven,

perhaps they'll be a better one. Rise Hani, instrument of my will, and hold out your hand. Hani obeyed, saw the trident falling into his outstretched hand. He felt it pulse, power coursing through him, power as he had never imagined, enclosing them both in a shimmering white glow in the last hour of heaven. Hani, servant of Aknos, breaker of the Balance, sword up into the sky trishol in hand.

Although we no longer knew which was him and which was the tree show they were one, an incandescent, white hot ray of will, racing towards paradise and the heart of a king until the last moment of heaven. The great god Raka, waiting for the end, never saw it coming. But the end of the story came just now, because

the story is now over. So I really like this story, and I like it more each time I read it, partly because I understand it a little bit more each time I read it because it's not a mythology that I was previously familiar with. But I asked Shiv what he wanted to say about it to you all, and this is what Schiff told me. The story is a sort of interrogation of mythology as well as an exploration

of how it changes with shifts in perspective. To that end, it takes two well known stories about two separate avatars of Vishnu and sort of recontextualizes them and examines what happens to the foundations of what they say when we do that, and as a result, it ends up being a commentary on a fair few things, from the importance of isolating viewpoint from vantage point to various other sociological and maybe even psychological aspects of how that plays across

the human condition. But the whys and what's and how's of those are perhaps best left for a reader to interpret within their own frameworks, because isn't that the whole point of telling a story? Okay, and Shiv that makes a lot of sense to me, But I'm not the writer.

I'm one of the readers, and so I'm gonna offer my frameworks and not my own contextualizations, but like my own thoughts on it, right, because it's a book club, and that's what we do here at book club is sometimes I tell you how I think about things, and oh god, I mean it's so hard to say things besides just like, well, I like it, but I also I find it to be just this amazing commentary on what's happening India right now, where you have this Hindu

nationalism that is almost like beyond Islamophobic, right like it's basically Nazis. They're really into Hitler, the people who just lost a little bit of power compared to what they have had for the past what eight years or something.

I don't have my notes in front of me, but you know, it's been a while India's went far right, and honestly, in general, I think the West would do well to pay attention to India because two of the things that are most pressing in our lifetimes is the rise of nationalism and fascism, right and also climate change, and probably the place with the highest population density where those things are hitting really hard right now is India.

And things are real bad. But I really like how this story takes all this mythology and it turns it on his head without stopping being mythology. It's not like ha ha, gods are dumb, fuck you, but instead it's like, hey, all of these stories, all of these traditions. First of all,

tradition doesn't mean anything except that it's old. What can they say instead instead of like ha ha, we tricked those people because we're clever and good and children of light and everyone else is bad, you know, and we're like dealing with this thing right now. Obviously I don't know whether this is what she was thinking about or not during it, but you know, obviously the sort of fear of the other and the fear of Islam is like huge right now in India and hear these stories

about how actually we could all work together. All you got to do is like not be a dick and don't trick people the whole time, but instead, like, together, we can churn the sea and bring up the nectar of divinity and all become gods if we just work together. And that's pretty cool. I don't know if I need to be a god personally, but like metaphorically, fuck yeah, let's work together. And also I like how the recontextualization.

It's just like, well, what if you were was like literally on the other side of this, you know, what if you were on the other team, how would that seem? So I like this story. And here at the end of it, I want to plug a few things. I want to plug a short story that I haven't read yet. I basically was like, hey, Shav, what should I plug

at the end of this? And there's a short story called Batiya Pi b a h Tia like and then Pi isn't like Private Investigator, And it's in a light speed magazine and it's kind of a prequel to Shiv's current work in progress novel, So y'all should check that out. I will also also I want to plug that. If you're listening to this on one of the two podcast feeds, it's on, and you should check out the other one.

If you're listening to this on It could Happen Here, you should try listening to Cool People did Cool Stuff. I tell history stories every week twice a week, Monday and Wednesdays. Well, it's one story, it split over two parts because it's so good. And then also, if you're listening to this on Cool People, It's cool Stuff, you should check out It could Happen Here, which keeps up

with current events. But I obviously really like fiction too, and you probably do too, unless you listen to this by accident, in which case, how'd you make it this far? Proud of you? Good job, buddy, good job.