IX

Concerning the Servants and their Devices

The priesthood of Ārhmanhaḥ widely changed in its behaviors since the passing of the unified kingdom. Changes began in their behavior, such as covering themselves out of shame, performing more clandestine rituals, and renouncing any ownership of vast material possessions since the time of Levāñyhaḥ’s reign. By that point, their order had become fully corrupted, yet, before, there were no self-imposed or externally imposed limitations on the wealth they could amass.

Though the majority of wealth was said to be held by the higher of the Shrahaḥtrayan, and the wealthy of the Varizhhō, indeed it was the case that many of the Arhaḥmān, out of donations and alms given by wealthy patrons, acquired wealth that could make them almost lords in their own right. It must be said, however, that though they obtained as such in assets and land, their sole focus and directive was to set their minds upon the Gods of which they held to for long in the higher ages. But greed had gotten the better of them, when the Era of Unification had set. They took bribes, their hold over the religious precepts faltered, and they set themselves above all others, so long as their corrupted patrons remained above or at equal level to them.

When the age had passed, and the power held was relinquished by force by the great warrior-priestess of that time, they, as a whole, shifted their mindsets to what they ought to have done before, becoming once more agents set wholly on the path of that which was holy. With this reversal, they also adopted the practice of medicants and self-deprecatory attributes that resemble those pious followers of the faith(s) of both their world and our own. They now seal their forms and faces from the lay-folk, attend public events or give services only on ordinance from the public and members of aristocracy, and keep to themselves for the better part of their lives in atonement for past wrongs that, by all accounts, and even by the people themselves, would have already thought forgiven by the current period of the world.

Such acts as passing oblations of foodstuff were also reduced thereafter, and since the abandonment of the Gods has become more of a rarity. Whether the Gods truly need such sacrifices to be able to subsist their forms is unknown, but the decline in the practice has given cause for concern for the more devoted of the Ṃārhaḥn, who believe they are now starving those divine benefactors that keep the universe in order.

While such changes now have become commonplace behavior due to past wrongs, that does not mean that the Arhaḥmān completely replaced the more customary practices, as many habits and rituals that existed prior to their corruption still passed to the present day. Such acts as saluting the Sun, purifying themselves in baths in the morn and the evening (though now with their clothes and perhaps at different intervals), fasting every fifth-week of the month, and keeping devices on hand for the sole purpose of tracking time at both a micro and macrocosmic scale.

One such device that has already been mentioned is the use of sun-dials. Before the Era of Unification, sun-dials were often used in conjunction with grand orreries set in both heliocentric and geocentric models, and tables of calendars all set to the highest of mechanical precision to be able to tell the position of various constellations, and the time and order of various rituals and festivals. Indeed, being able to keep an exact record of such things from both the human and divine perspectives of the cosmos assisted with many of the spiritual and mundane operations and rights performed by the Ṃārhaḥn.

But keeping such things maintained or even alive became fraught with difficulty since the Era of Tribulation. They were soon abandoned from lack of funds and a shift in perspective from the Arhaḥmān, who now use memory and paper rather than gigantic contraptions and tools of old. Nevertheless, the sun-dial at least, has persisted in portable form for the more basic of time and record-keeping.

X

Concerning the Solar and Lunar Dynasties

There are two main dynasties that the Shrahaḥtrayan claim descent from. The first is the solar, whose progenitor is Samiztrahaḥ, and the second the lunar, whose progenitor is Svyamhaḥ. In each line the first human heir was Drizhaka of the solar, son of Mānu, and Iḷē of the lunar, sister to Drizhaka, daughter of Mānu, and wife to the Demi-god son of Svyamhaḥ, Bodhyhaḥ.

At different points of time, did the ruling order claim descent from one of these two, with long lineages detailing the descent from hundreds or even thousands of generations. When concerning Gods, the generational trees can swap between both patrilineal and matrilineal lines, as the gender of a person matters little when the divine figureheads of old are given the greater importance. It does not mean that a preference was not set for male heirs, but that ruling queens and princesses were quite common in eras of old.

Of these two, the solar was predominant from the Era of Formation to the Era of Unification, while the lunar became predominant from the Era of Tribulation onward. There were exceptions, however, such as in the Era of Tribulation, where the predominant line for Zūryaṃār’s household was that of the solar, while Lūshhaḥ’s household descended from the lunar, though it would matter little for the Light, as his native form was already beyond the material gods.

As the ages passed since the splitting of the continents, many Shrahaḥtrayan and associated aristocrats claimed descent from either one, when such a line was not present in their family tree. Furthermore, instances of forgery and manipulation of records became all too common from the beginning of the Era of Dissolution onward, when legitimacy of rule was contested. Yet, it can be said that the kings and queens of the respective capitals of the continents still carry the divine descent, leading back to the gods of the sun and the moon. No line of theirs was perished between and so in mind and body, at least, their hereditary holds valid.

XI

Concerning Kishṭyavā and the Churning of the Ocean of Milk

Kishṭyavā is said to be the progenitor of many of the Daivhaḥhō in existence. There are many conflicting stories as to how he was born or where he came from, possibly due to his having come in various cycles of the eras, but the most common is that he was born of a son of Ishvhaḥṃār and settled within one of the Higher Realms before having made his descent to Ārhmanhaḥ to settle near the Trdsyhrvti. His name could be considered as a title of sorts, for there was a Kishṭyavā in each and every cycle, much like there were Mānus, and they, each time, heralded a new generation of both human and divine beings.

As was related by the King Ashphaḥhyēma, he was the father of both the Gazhigam, and the Pakṣhevahm. But he fathered many lesser celestials, both of the side of the Gods and the side of the Demons. And one can say that his offspring were directly responsible for the enmity that arose between the Dehaḥṃār and Yavhaḥṃār in later times.

The story that Hvesykhiḥ related to the group in book 3 of the Ṃārhaḥnyahm concerns a matter that was instigated by Kishṭyavā’s children. There was a time before the age of men, and still during the formation of the cosmos, where the Demons in bitter jealously sought to obtain immortality for themselves, and wrest power away from their more good-natured kin. What they learned was that the cosmos had to be churned much like butter, to produce a nectar that would be agreeable for all elevated beings. This nectar was known as the Vaisvyamhaḥ, but they alone could not achieve its formation. And so they tricked the Dehaḥṃār, and those allied with them, using what was referred to as sweet parlance, to negotiate the extraction of that nectar from the unformed cosmos.

For this process to work they would need a rod, large enough to process through the three worlds, a rope long and taut enough to withstand the churning of the rod, and a location between both the higher and lower realms where this could be performed.

And so scouts on both sides were sent away far and wide, in search of the necessary elements. The rod was fashioned from a mountain that was brought in hasty fashion and resulted in the deaths of numerous celestials (who were thereafter revived by Vshephaḥ). The rope that was to be used was none other than Hvesykhiḥ herself, who on Īrshevhaḥ’s and the Gazhigam’s behest went as a neutral figure to be coiled about the fashioned rod. And the location that was set was an empty space that rested between, where gasses and vapors of all kinds effused, and bright lights emitted and cascaded through the void.

Now when they came together, the Dehaḥṃār and Yavhaḥṃār on either end, pulled Hvesykhiḥ and began the churning process. Stars from across the desolate cosmos came to the epicenter and all about the dust, and gas, and myriad lights, formed into what could be comprehended as an ocean of milk, pure and white, and said to be alike to Svyamhaḥ herself. Now at this time, bodies of planets were still in formation, and they were sucked into the cycle of churning that the celestials initiated.

On and on they turned the snake, and the rod churned the milk. But they saw something amiss. The mountain that was used as the rod was slowly sinking, and they had not the strength to pull it. And so it sunk and seemingly vanished, and those on both sides were pulled into the milk from the force of the mountain’s drop, and subsequently, did many perish from either drowning or from poisons emitted from the churning itself. Hvesykhiḥ attempted to absorb the poison, and she was successful, but this did not change the predicament that the celestials faced. The Dehaḥṃār and Yavhaḥṃār beseeched the Light for mercy on their condition, and so he came, in the form of a turtle and uprooted the mountain from the milk and held it aloft for the celestials to once more use.

From this act of cooperation, did the churning finally complete, and at its end, many jewels, divine artifacts, and celestial beings arose from within, and each of the Dehaḥṃār and Yavhaḥṃār claimed a portion as their own. But at its end arose the object of their desire, the Vaisvyamhaḥ, and the Yavhaḥṃār, sly as they were, with artifice, stole away both the Vaisvyamhaḥ that was brought above by the heavenly physician, and the heavenly physician herself.

Now, with both spirited away, the Dehaḥṃār grew despondent, and supplicated to those higher for help. Ishvhaḥṃār heard their cries and sought to rectify the situation. He consulted with his grandson, Kishṭyavā, and both sought for Vshephaḥ’s advice on the matter. Vshephaḥ was understanding of the situation and so with the Light, the two merged and became a new incarnation known as Muhoyhiḥ, an enchanting damsel, whom bewitched the Yavhaḥṃār into handing both the immortal nectar and its carrier.

Carried away by her, she drank of the nectar, and distributed to the Dehaḥṃār, whose strength and might were bolstered beyond what they were before. Angered, the Yavhaḥṃār went to war with their brethren, but were fiercely beaten and sent to dwell permanently within the lower worlds. But not alone, for Daryurhaḥ accompanied them, as that was his station. They had not the strength to resist the terms, but they sought to sabotage one last element of the churning which was the formation of the Earth itself.

The epicenter of the churning was none other than the solar system of which Ārhmanhaḥ inhabits, and though her form was already solid and her spirit infused into the body of the planet, there was yet to come life by which wayward souls could inhabit and fulfill their Khāryaḥ. The Demons and those allied with them sought to disrupt this process and rushed to destroy the forming planets. But the Light came and assumed the form of a great boar that blasted away the Demons, and under his protection, did he raise the planets, the celestial bodies, and Ārhmanhaḥ herself, setting them in the positions that they hold today.

The Demons, who were once more humiliated, as a last effort, approached the coiled Hvesykhiḥ for assistance, as many of her kin sided with those Yavhaḥṃār. While it was not related, or perhaps even known by Ashphaḥhyēma, the Gazhigam’s relation with Demons predated even their descent, though having happened in ages past, it was no wonder that such knowledge was forgotten. Hvesykhiḥ, furious at their request, released the poison that she had acquired from the ocean of milk, and its issuance felled many of her kin and caused the rest to flee.

But the poison would not abate, for its potency was too high. Vegetation across the three worlds began to die, and its effects were felt most in the lower worlds. At once did Īrshevhaḥ call for Hvesykhiḥ, and he imbibed the poison from her throat, and absorbed that which was released into the cosmos. And to this day, does he hold it in his throat until its eventual use in the dissolution of the cosmos.

XII

Concerning the Games of Dice and Carroms

Aside from the Royal Game, playing dice and carroms are also popular past-times. As could be expected, their rules and conditions are similar to what we are familiar with, but with certain exceptions. When concerning dice, due to preference for rounder and circular objects, the dice were maximized to have twenty sides, not at all unlike the D20 dice popularly used in Dungeons & Dragons.

In the past, denizens of Ārhmanhaḥ were predominantly using a twelve-sided dice, but a figure in the distant past was said to have introduced a sixteen-sided and later the twenty-sided dice, due to the greater volatility of chance and stakes involved. The twelve-sided dice are still used for the Royal Game, but in all other cases, the twenty-sided is preferred. The dices that are used tend to be more circular, with the flat edges all but smoothed away, and are usually tossed into a container with little holes in which the dice will settle.

Alike to our world, games such as backgammon and craps exist in Ārhmanhaḥ, however, what tends to be more popular is its use in a game similar to pachisi or ludo. The board, unlike in our world, is circular, and the paths that come from the board are arrayed in spiral fashion.

From there, the rules are almost identical, save for the fact that three twenty-sided dice are used and that all the pieces on the board must loop around a full three times before it can reach the center. However, if a piece is sent back to the outside portion, it will not have to make the full three revolutions again, it will only have to start from the beginning of its current one. The number of spaces on the board can also differ, but seventy-two spaces for the movement of a piece are still the most common.

With carroms, it is an almost one-to-one match with the way it is played in our world, save for the fact that it, like many other games, is played on a concentric board with usually six or more players depending on its size.

The history of these games in the world of Ārhmanhaḥ is also strange, for it seems they are popular games among the Gods. While the reflection of Gods playing human games is nothing new in the history of humanity, both in our world and in Ārhmanhaḥ, what is strange is that what could be perceived as later variants of the games, were seemingly predominant already at the beginning of the cosmos, as could be understood by age-old reliefs, the divine compositions, and other such things.

The Gods taught and bestowed culture on the Ṃārhaḥn of Ārhmanhaḥ, but there seems to be a rift when it comes to the development of games, where it seems the Ṃārhaḥn of Ārhmanhaḥ had either forgotten these old ways or had evolved their games to match the sport of the Gods.