The priest stood on the cliff staring at the pale screen which his lord carried on his head. He wore the sacred thread the other way around now, blood of vaishnavs on his hand and the temple bell as his weapon. Every time the bell struck a man's head the sound reminded hell's lord that he is sending people. The pain of losing his child and wife made him forget the guilt of killing.

Using the name of a god to do their dirty deeds the vaishnavs entered the broken temple, they threw the priest aside and caught his pregnant wife by her hair inside the garbaghriha. As the dim temple lights moonlit her beauty they raped her while her tears shimmered with her dying soul. With the blood of the strangled fetus which they pulled out of the woman and killing it, they painted the Vishnu tilak on the shiv-ling behind her. Forgetting all the pain and  holding her dead child in her arm she touches her husband's injured shoulder. Broken down in tears the priest is shot with anger, pulling the temple bell down breaking the chain, he strikes the bronze on the vaishnav's head. 

He carried his wife on his shoulder, blood dripped from her lifeless fingers, his child in his arms, as he walked to the biggest Vishnu idol he knows. He wasn't angry with the gods, he loved them. It was the mortals he was angry with, the ones who divided and used the name of god for their own greed. He hated the humans who, under god's name did their own selfish deeds and he wanted to show lord vishnu, what his followers are doing. So he did by cremating his wife and child in front of the statue. He asked lord Vishnu himself to give him the power to overthrow this king, to overthrow the monarchy and to show the idea behind religion. The crackling of the burning sandalwood reminded him of his lost life. There he stood covered in blood staring into the smoke as the gods pitied him.

It has been two years since the monarchy fell, the mortal king was filth in front of the priest. A myriad of things were changed, people embraced both the symbols. There he lay on the stone throne in his palace. His wife's statue stood behind him, between the entrance of the veranda, looking out for him. The entrance lit the dark room. He no longer had emotions, he was as cold as his throne. His sacred thread still the other way around reminding him of his death as a mortal. He was the crowned god.

My muse for the four frames was this scene from daashavataram(a truly brilliant masterpiece by Kamal Hassan sir). Humans blame religion for the fights, wars and deaths. These four frames(recently referred to as quite graphic) were a window to show that even when one nation had just one religion, they still found ways to fight for, just to satisfy their own selfish greedy deeds. Being an atheist I am a Shivalik(paternal) and Vaishnav(maternal) I respect people's beliefs and their rituals, I don't intend to hurt any religious sentiments. I just wanted to show the truth behind these religious wars through my story. I request you guys to see my story as a small attempt to show the truth.