‘No . . . bu-but what about Idhika? The rest?’ Aman said. ‘Wait, you don’t want the Mahayatra to succeed?’

Indra wasn’t pleased. He stopped. The sky thundered. ‘Would you prefer I strike you right here and rid myself of this impediment? Do as you’re told!’

‘I ca-can’t,’ Aman said. ‘For Mother’s safety, I can’t . . .’

Indra shook his head and exhaled. For a second, the dark clouds above parted. His facial muscles loosened, and there was a newfound kindness in his eyes. Looking above, he said, ‘It seems we cannot stay here for much longer. There are hostile spirits about.’

Aman felt himself being lifted into the air. He and the lord were flying. They were heading south, towards the plains, tearing through the wind so fast that little could be seen of the mountains below.

Indra’s lips did not move but Aman could hear him talk: ‘Do you know how I was created? The genesis of the gods? It’s as you would expect. Collective belief. Through prayer. The early man imagined us around four thousand years ago in the Vedic era and spread the idea through oral tales. Those stories painted our features, our world, and their belief slowly enabled us. But it wasn’t until a thousand years later, when we found written mention in the scriptures, that our existence solidified. Our purpose, as prescribed by the mortals, was to create, forgive, shelter and provide for mankind and all living beings.’

The mountains below turned to hills and hills turned to farmland as they journeyed on. At some point, Indra abruptly stopped. The two sailed in the air, somewhere in west India, above a train station. But something seemed to be wrong: thick smoke rose from the land below. Children cried and men screamed. Aman peered down to see a passenger train ablaze. Burning passengers jumped out of it in all directions.

Before Aman could ask, Indra took wing once again, and the two departed. They soared over many clusters of light, heading towards central India. Aman struggled to keep his eyes open in the strong wind.

It was over a village that they halted. They hovered above a tree that had a man tied to its trunk. Stick after stick came down on the man as people continued to surround and shout at him, well after his last breath.

‘Mankind is devolving, constantly killing in the name of god,’ Indra said.

The two took off again, now going back north, towards the Himalayas. ‘But over the four thousand years of our existence, no matter how much the gods tried—and we have—we were unable to rid the plains of evil and suffering. And so it festered. We sat helpless as sin spread to vast corners of the plains. Mortals, instead of being self-reliant, held us accountable for their actions. The belief became superficial. Faith that was once pure and unsullied started being misused—and we were the tools. People were whipped into submission using religion. The rhetoric of discipline and servitude was deceitfully switched with insecurity and division. And the tables fully turned when gods were no longer defending mortals. Instead, mortals defended us and fought among each other for us. Despite this, we didn’t stop trying. We persisted for centuries and rewarded the few altruistic ones.’