SOME time passed, and they were quiet, listening to the sizzle of the waters and feeling the steam dampen their skin. Aiṛth then propped up her legs, sitting cross-legged upon the stones, and said, “Friends! Would you like to hear a song?”

“Which one?” asked Tūmbṃār.

“The Lay of the Five Brothers,” said Aiṛth. “It is but a portion of it, for I do not wish to bore you with the whole of the prosody, but compact as it is, it should be to your liking—I hope.”

All in the group were eager to hear, but Iḷēhaḥ in heart could not accept. Doubt and fear lingered in her mind, but none could tell, let alone pay heed to her, as they were transfixed on the words of the priestess that echoed through the realm:

As unification passed, a queen rose,

And a king she had whose potency fell.

The Queen devoted from Sun’s rise to close,

Performed austerities with ringing bells.

She pleaded the Gods a boon of children,

Weeping with sorrow at her predicament.

After many days of prayer to the Light,

Her call was answered by those five of Right.

Those gods spoke together in one grand voice,

“We harken to thy call, Ārhmanhaḥ’s queen,

For we are pleased with thy mantras of choice.

O Maiden of the Earth: we have foreseen

Thy progeny begot by us to rule

Shall in their future split the land in five,

Bringing devastation to them like fools,

And sorrow to thee through whom they have thrived.

Thou who art lady of all the Midworld,

We have told thee in confidence this plight,

Of the time the world shall be unfurled.

What shalt be thine answer to our foresight?”

Though pained, knowing the ends of such union,

She answered in mind with voice that was clear,

“O Gods, your words have yet to be proven.

Even should such predictions come from seers,

My desire for children shall not be stayed.

The duty of lines affects all Ṃārhaḥn,

And so with such resolve, and unafraid,

I request the boon that shall give me sons.”

The Dehaḥṃār were in all of heart glad,

Giving the boon they had already planned.

The Queen told the King of what she received,

And in joy, he asked her to take their seed.

The Gods descended in likeness of men.

With union of light did four there arise,

Who would bring betrayal beyond their ken,

And destroy their nation by their designs.

Ghrthhāya, begot first by Eruhaḥ,

Civistahram, by the God Zūrkhahaḥ,

Shraovast of the Goddess Sangmāhithaḥ,

And Viscavim, son of Tomaiguhaḥ.

When the fifth was to come, the King of Gods,

Under due compulsion of his siblings,

Gave for a time to those he was at odds,

Two-thirds his power like lesser beings.

And so he assented and descended in form

As a seer, curing the King’s impotence.

Through the seed of man and the breath of storms,

The Queen was answered her deliverance.

Months did pass, and at last came Zūryaṃār,

Possessed of two-thirds man and one-third god.

They lived, grew, and strived the brothers of yore,

Teaching the younger the rules of the rod.

But as time passed, the elder could then see

How the King favored the youngest with glee.

For through him the blood of the King possessed,

Which left the four to feel wholly unblessed.

Their lack of love caused envy to arise,

Wrath blazed inside to cause them to despise.

As the youngest grew, he received favor

From all ministers who saw his nature.

The brothers’ hearts sequestered with evil,

Love gone to be the bane of their people.

It was decided he would take the crown,

For the demons’ fall that earned him renown.

King Zūryaṃār saw love from all about,

Giving to his brothers no shred of doubt.

But behind his back, they schemed upon schemes,

To finally steal their brother’s regime.

The unassuming King harked to their pleas,

Saying to them, “What is it that ails thee?”

They cried, “Hast thou forsaken thy kinship?

Thou who art our brother, long has it been

since thy coronation, we last convened.

What say we play a game in fellowship?”

Within the halls of their brother’s palace,

They each drank great from a golden chalice.

King Zūryaṃār was inebriated,

And they struck at the chance long awaited.

The four set about rules for the gamble,

With the King agreed not sensing scandal.

The dice were cast, and all the pieces moved;

After many rounds, their favor was proved.

The brothers had won, and the King had lost.

No reprove could stop the wretched who crossed.

The King was exiled, and his throne was forfeit,

But he forgave their act of artifice.

Soon many situations was he placed

Wherein he looked past his brothers’ disgrace.

His eldest son killed in treachery,

Ignoring his brothers’ accessory.

Sold in thralldom to a far-away king,

Forgiving the debt imposed upon him.

His wives ravished and burned on the pyre,

Him bawling, with no call to who conspired.

For every fault, he senselessly forgave,

Not wishing his brothers to tear away.

But the four kings would not settle for peace,

Wishing for war, their ambition unceased.

Their dark hearts had hardened to such folly,

That they sought to wrest all that was lordly.

Demons poisoning their minds toward grandeur,

The desire heralding the overture.

On the battlefield stood the troops amassed

Chariots, elephants, and archers vast,

With Drasūvayeznd flying on high,

Surrounding the earth’s quarters in the sky.

Zūryaṃār, stood at the head wavering

With dread, for beyond the palavering,

He could see his elders situated

By his brothers’ helm, as had been fated.

Yet Lūshhaḥ beside exposed his blindness,

Giving the truth to let go of such kindness,

And strengthen his dear friend’s commitment

Resolved toward all righteous left to be spent.

With the words of Light revealed in his mind,

The five kings stepped forth toward their elders lined,

Seeking permission to engage in war

To whom the elders gave as they sought and swore.

As battle commenced, the Dvhaḥṣhtro awoke

And all caught within its hold when invoked

Could do naught but suffer under blaze

Of divine retribution and godly rays.

The land torn, the sky billowed, and seas raged;

Many perished or split by arms engaged.

When the storm of cataclysm subsided,

And the death of all troops coincided

The elder lost and the youngest had won,

Leaving nine survived under setting sun.

When called to strike the heads of the fallen,

The King halted on seeing them sullen.

Their heads were hung low in sorrow and shame,

As his heart grieved to those he should maim.

The light that shone within fell to dwindle,

No anger could he muster or kindle.

Yet on the advice of his closest friend,

They were surely not bereft of punishment.

Exiled to kingdoms across the sea,

Their mother cried, “My sorrow is with thee!”

Sad was the king to the end of his days,

Unable to look past the faults of his ways.

Yet after he left his kingdom behind,

He saw his brothers, now of sound mind.

The brothers stood before him with Lūshhaḥ,

As Zūryaṃār looked upon them with awe.

Their love came his way; all was forgiven,

And they went where all before had striven.

Past the Halls of the Forefathers, they went

Past the abode of the Gods, they did ascend

To the place beyond, where all was vast,

Now wholly in peace at the very last.

ĀḤṂ, ĀḤṂ, ĀḤṂ!

When her voice faded and silence hung once more, a resounding cheer came from all sides for her friends and the Gazhigam alike were astounded by the song. And she was glad that they liked it, but—though they did not notice it—Iḷēhaḥ stood silent, clapping slowly.

On the other side of the baths were the ministers and advisors to the King, and they watched the group intently and clapped likewise. When the cheer had stopped and the priestess was carried away by the throng of her friends and the Gazhigam, they continued to scheme among themselves how it was they could have the group be rid of the King’s favor. They were unconvinced of the sincerity of the group, regardless of the trust of their guardian, and they had suspected the group to have ill intentions. And so, long into the night, they devised their treacherous plans, as the group rested without a care.