They say the gods plant rage in the heart to guard what one loves —yet the weight of his rage crushed the very thing it swore to protect.
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Getting beaten was part of Mohan's life. Spit and stones were the language he knew too well. Each day he returned home with new wounds. Whenever he came to the lakeshore, KaanKuwar healed him. He could close the cuts and ease the pain, but he could not stop the cruelty of men. It was their world, their laws, and he was bound to watch without interfering.
One day, Mohan did not come.
KaanKuwar's intuition was saying that something was wrong. He left the waterside and walked into the village.
A crowd gathered outside Mohan's hut. KaanKuwar pushed his way through and saw him — chained, bleeding, covered in marks of a fresh beating. Soldiers dragged him out like an animal.
"He will be dragged to the hill," someone whispered.
"He has been given the death sentence," another voice said.
The words pierced KaanKuwar. He forced his way to Mohan, pushing soldiers aside, and knelt before him.
Mohan lifted his head, his eyes wet with tears.
KaanKuwar took his trembling hands. "Don't be afraid," he said softly.
"Who are you?" a soldier barked, shoving him with a stick.
But KaanKuwar caught his wrist and threw him back. Rage flared in his eyes. "What has he done?"
"This untouchable filth committed a grave sin by touching the prince with his inauspicious hands." Another soldier spat.
"I didn't…" Mohan's voice broke as he tried to speak. "I tripped… someone pushed me… my hand brushed his clothes… I didn't mean to…"
"You did nothing wrong, I will not let them kill you." KaanKuwar told him.
He rose to his feet. "You cannot kill him for this. He harmed no one."
"Who are you to question the king?" a soldier shouted and charged. KaanKuwar struck back, knocking him down.
One soldier held KaanKuwar's hand "You can get punished for doing this."
"This order is madness! He didn't do anything wrong." KaanKuwar roared.
"He…made the prince polluted, they now need to hold a purification ritual for him." The soldier replied.
"Stupid humans." He murmured to himself.
"Tell me, does his flesh carry poison? Do his hands grow thorns? Is he not made of the same blood and bone as you?" KaanKuwar yelled.
The soldiers ignored him, tightened their grip on Mohan, and began to drag him.
KaanKuwar's anger grew. He shoved them back, fighting without using his full strength. More soldiers rushed in.
Then one soldier lifted his staff and slammed it on Mohan's skull. "Better he die here and end this drama!"
Blood ran down Mohan's face as he collapsed, groaning and gasping in pain. That sight broke KaanKuwar's control. Heat burst from his body, fire spilling into the air. His skin glowed, his eyes turned red, and the pupil turned gold.
Soldiers drew back in terror as flame licked the ground.He struck without mercy. Flames shot from his hands. Thunder roared from his palms. One after another, soldiers fell, burnt and broken. Houses caught fire, the air filled with smoke and screams.
Now the innocent people were getting hurt, were getting murdered by the Dragon rage and heat of KaanKuwar.
Mohan, barely conscious, watched through blurred eyes. "No… stop…" he whispered, crawling forward. His body shook, his blood soaking the ground, he dragged himself towards KaanKuwar, but the heat was too strong to go near him.
"Stop!" he cried, his voice hoarse. "Brother, stop this!"
KaanKuwar listened nothing.
The Dragon's wrath was beyond words. He was in his unbridled fury, at that moment even demigods feared to go near him.
His strikes kept falling, destroying everything around him.
Mohan forced himself to stand , flames searing his skin. He reached in front of KaanKuwar, raising his arms. "Please, stop!"
KaanKuwar's blazing eyes turned. For a moment he heard only a voice through the fire. His hand rose. He did not see Mohan — only another figure standing in his way.
Lightning burst from his palm.
The strike hurled Mohan into the air. His body crashed lifeless onto the earth with a sickening thud.
And then he realised. Silence fell.The fire dimmed. KaanKuwar froze. His breath grew heavy, his heart loud.
When he saw his still-broken body, the world collapsed.
He stumbled forward, knelt, and lifted Mohan's head onto his lap.
"No… I will heal you," he whispered, pressing his hands against him. He tried, again and again, but the body did not respond. His own strike was beyond undoing.Mohan was gone. He cannot heal a dead body.
KaanKuwar looked around. The village lay in ruins. Bodies and blood of soldiers and innocents covered the ground. He fell into deep remorse.
Tears streamed down his face. He bent over Mohan, his screams breaking the silence.
A cry tore through him, raw and shattering, echoing across the ruined village.
He wept, he broke down, and in his lap, Mohan's body grew cold.
Mohan had been his only friend. And now, by his own hand, he was murdered.
The God punished him for hurting innocent Humans — Day and Night he endured the same physical pain he had given to others, until the karmic burden was lifted. He suffered this punishment for 27 years.
But no punishment was heavier than the weight of Mohan's death. No pain was greater than the pain he was feeling in his chest.
The rage that rose to protect him had destroyed him.
He attempted to meet Mohan's soul but was unable to find it.
He performed Mohan's last rites with his own hands, burnt the clothes Mohan had once gifted him, and left the lake and the village forever.
And the people of that land still whisper the folklore of a monster who came, burning homes and bodies alike. They do not know it was no legend. It happened for real, marked by the Dragon's heartbreak and grief.