He ascended the hill along with his team mates, reaching to a height, waved at others to stop, dismounted from his horse and walked up to a distance towards the edge of the cliff. From there he could see the city far away. Columns of smoke emanated from various parts of the city. He could hardly see any soul moving, for he had vanquished them all. This was pura number one hundred his clan had destroyed. He used to keep an account of the activities of his clan, for he didn’t want the narrators to miss much; at least they should have the numbers correct.
It was sunset. An ethereal setting. The smell of burning flesh intoxicated him. Standing there, bathing in the glory of his own achievements the conqueror was suddenly overcome by a feeling he had never felt before. He felt like god. It was much much different from what he used to feel invariably when his sword sliced through the flesh of the Dasyus— an electric pulse that originated from the tip of his sword the moment it touched the Dasyu skin and through the sword that pulse went through his body and finally into his brain neurons and when it reached there the sensation was near delirium and he would howl so loudly that the entire valley would reverberate with the sound. It was also much much different from what he used to feel when he hysterically vibrated and oscillated atop the brown and oily skinned bodies of the Dasyu women.
This was something new, a kind of experience when you no longer desired anything; it was as if he had fulfilled his life and nothing more was needed; he felt as if he was no longer a body but a spiritual entity. A light surrounded him and he wanted himself lost in it. He heard some one calling out his name. He heard it from far away. A timeless call. To him the echo felt like a series of calls issued forth from many mouths. He felt somebody shaking him slightly as if to wake him up. The conqueror in reply said in a low voice: “Indra is not asleep, Indra is awake”
