The forest was alive with the quiet hum of evening—cicadas sang, wind whispered through the banyan trees, and somewhere in the distance, a stream murmured over pebbles. Shiva followed Shyam Baba through the winding trail, his steps heavy with shame and exhaustion. His right arm was wrapped in cloth, his eyes sunken, but the fire that once lived within him was faintly stirring again.
They walked in silence. Baba's ochre robe fluttered in the breeze, the rudraksha around his neck glinting faintly in the light of the sinking sun.
Finally, Shiva broke the silence.
"Baba… where are we going?"
Baba didn't turn. "To a place where your heart once belonged. The forge that birthed your first hammer."
Shiva froze mid-step. Memories flooded him—flames licking at metal, the clang of hammers, and the stern yet kind face of a man who once guided his hands.
"Manu…" he whispered.
Baba nodded and gestured forward. "He has been waiting for you."
The old forge stood nestled between two giant rocks, just as Shiva remembered it. The anvil was cracked but still steady, the great bellows leaned against the wall, and the hearth glowed faintly, though no fire burned in it.
When Manu turned, his eyes widened—but only for a moment. Then a small, proud smile crossed his face.
"So, the prodigal son returns," he said. "And with a sādhu, no less."
Shiva knelt, his voice thick. "I failed, Master. I lost everything… even my hammer."
Manu's gaze softened. "You lost only the metal, not the flame that shaped it." He looked at Baba and then back at Shiva. "You are not the boy I once taught. You carry something else now… something ancient."
Shyam Baba placed a hand on Shiva's shoulder. "He carries the fire of the Ashen Ram, and the wind of the Azure Deer. His spirit is reforging itself, but he must temper it through creation."
Manu nodded. "Then let us create."
The forge roared to life under Baba's mantra. Shiva stood before it, feeling its heat wash over him. Sweat rolled down his brow as he lifted the tongs, placing a dull block of iron upon the anvil. His palms trembled, but when his right hand brushed the tattoo of the ram, it pulsed—red fire flaring beneath his skin.
The flame in the forge changed hue, from orange to a deep golden white.
"Strike," Manu commanded.
The first hit echoed like thunder.
The second strike sang with rhythm.
By the third, the sound began to blend with his breath, his mantra, his heartbeat.
Baba began to chant softly behind him:
"Om bhūr bhuvaḥ svaḥ, tat savitur vareṇyam…"
Each repetition synchronized with Shiva's hammerfall. Sparks burst, golden and crimson, forming patterns that resembled the runes of old Sanskrit. The metal began to glow—not from heat alone, but from life.
As he worked, Shiva felt Ram's fire flare within him, and from his left arm, the whispering wind of Deer fanned the forge's flames, shaping them. Fire and air, once chaotic, now danced together—perfect balance.
Hours passed, but Shiva didn't falter. His muscles screamed, his breath came ragged, but his eyes shone with determination.
At last, Manu raised a hand. "Enough."
The metal now shimmered with radiant orange veins, as if molten energy pulsed beneath its skin. Shiva lifted it with both hands, gazing at his creation—the rebirth of his weapon.
He whispered, "You are not just fire anymore. You are the flame that learns, that breathes…"
He closed his eyes, and as if guided by something beyond him, said softly,
"Your name will be Jwala."
At that moment, the forge flared one last time, enveloping the hammer in light. When the glow faded, the weapon gleamed with runic etchings along its shaft, each glowing faintly with mantra energy.
[System Notification: Weapon Registered — Jwala]
[Vajra-Agni removed from inventory]
[Fire Affinity +10% | Hammer Wielding Resonance Enhanced]
[Mantric Core — Active]
Manu watched silently, pride shining in his eyes. "The flame answers to you again, Shiva. But this one carries the breath of the heavens as well."
Baba stepped forward, tracing the Sanskrit runes with his fingers. "The Gayatri has blessed it. Use this hammer not just to destroy, but to awaken what sleeps within you."
Shiva bowed deeply to both of them. "I will not fail again."
As the night fell, the forge quieted. Shiva stood outside, the new hammer resting across his shoulder, glowing faintly in the dark like an ember refusing to die.
Somewhere, deep within his mind, two voices whispered together—one deep as molten rock, one soft as rushing wind:
"Now, we are one."
And for the first time since his fall, Shiva smiled.
End of chapter 21- The Hammer Rekindled