Chapter 3: Paravani – The Soaring One
On the third night, The Listening Circle gathered again beneath the Tree of Timelessness.
Above them, the sky shimmered with unusual brightness. Among all the stars, six glowed more radiantly than the rest—the Krittikas, the mothers who had raised the Deva Senapathi, the God of War, the master of Paravani. It was as if those celestial mothers leaned closer that night, eager to hear the story of their beloved son’s messenger.
On the third night, the stars shone sharper, like polished blades in the sky. Tonight, it was Paravani’s turn. He descended gracefully, his feathers carrying the moonlight as if it were his own.
He landed softly before the others and folded his splendid fan. The air seemed to hold its breath. Mushak’s whiskers twitched, eager. Bheema sat alert, steady as stone. Simha’s mane glowed like an ember. Suka tilted his head, ready to listen.
Paravani began, voice smooth yet edged with quiet pride. “My Master is Kartikeya—the youthful commander, leader of divine armies, the fiercest warrior and yet the most composed and handsome. His 6 faces shines like dawn, his focus never wavers, his heart belongs to the rhythm of nature itself. And I, Paravani, am His vahana.”
He opened his feathers just a little, enough for them to glimmer, then closed them again. “Strength, friends, is like these feathers. They are beautiful, yes, but if I spread them at every step, they become arrogance. Power is the same. My Master teaches: true power is not a show, it is a responsibility.”
Simha rumbled with approval. “Speak more, Paravani. What is the duty of such strength?”
The peacock’s eyes shone with a warrior’s flame. “Power must never be turned against the weak. It is not for troubling, not for boasting, not for stomping upon blades of grass. Power is for protecting—protecting those who cannot defend themselves, shielding the good from the claws of the wicked, standing as a wall against adharma. My Master wields his spear, the Vel not to harm the helpless, but to pierce the pride of those who misuse strength.”
Bheema wagged his tail, thoughtful. “So power is not destruction, but protection?”
“Yes,” Paravani nodded. “My Master Kartikeya is fierce, yet his fierceness is disciplined. He commands warriors, but he is never drunk with pride. He is the best among warriors, yet his gaze rests gently on rivers, mountains, and the beauty of the peacock’s dance. He teaches that one who truly owns strength remains cool, calm, and composed—using it only when it is needed. To roar at every moment is to waste the roar. To strike without reason is to wound dharma itself.”
Suka whistled softly. “Ah, a lesson painted in bright colors. A warrior’s grace that does not forget nature’s song.”
Mushak squeaked, impressed. “Then even strength must become humble, just like wisdom.”
Paravani spread his wings wide, then lowered them with dignity. “Yes. Strength without discipline is storm. Strength with discipline is shelter.”
The circle fell into silence, each carrying the weight of the words.
Then, as if stirred by Paravani’s feathers, the Tree of Timelessness gave a long sigh. Its leaves shimmered as though brushed by unseen hands. For a breath, the air thickened, carrying the fragrance of wild jasmine though none bloomed nearby. A presence stirred—older than wars, gentler than rivers, fiercer than any blade.
Simha lifted his head slowly. “The Tree listens again.”
They all felt it: the reminder that beyond warriors, beyond wisdom, beyond strength itself—there waited a Mother whose heartbeat pulsed through the roots beneath their feet.
The Tree fell still, holding the secret. And the Listening Circle knew their path was drawing closer to Her.
- By prateek bajpai Shisya of Gurudev Shri Praveen Radhakrishnan