Bali and The Ocean Of Milk

Something is rotten in the state of Amravati A mysterious ailment afflicts Indrah, reducing the  omnipotent king of the gods to, well, not quite the man he used to be. To add to his woes, the Holy Trinity threaten to fire him for dereliction of duty. But Indrah’s troubles wilt in comparison to those of his asura counterpart, Bali, ruler of Tripura. Even as Indrah’s its fretting over his delicate health, an assassination attempt on Bali leaves the asura on the brink of death. There is only one thing that can save both these men from certain doom: amrit, the mythical nectar. But to secure it, the gods and the asuras will have to cooperate and churn the Ocean of Milk together… Will Indrah and Bali be able to put aside their ancient enmity, or will old rivalries keep them from pulling off this epic feat? Bali and the Ocean of Milk reimagines the eternal conflict between the gods and the asuras in a  whacky thriller littered with bad jokes and corpses. EXTRACT   The story of ‘Bali and the Ocean of Milk’ has been derived from an old myth of the now lost Hurrian civilization, which traces its origins to the banks of the Euphrates in northern Mesopotamia. The novel reimagines the eternal conflict between the Hurrian gods and their sworn enemies, the asuras, in a wacky thriller littered with bad jokes and corpses. Here’s an extract from the book:   Chapter 1: An Evening in Amravati The rays of the setting sun streamed through the tall crystal windows and lit up Urvashi’s pretty oval face. Waves of silken hair dyed blonde in deference to the latest fashion, cascaded over her pale, shapely shoulders. Slender arms, diamond-encrusted bracelets on either wrist, were crossed over her full breasts. She was perched upon a blue velvet couch, her long bare legs dangling over its edge. As she swung them to and fro, toes brushing against the tiger skin carpet below, her golden anklets tinkled out a perky melody. She was a sight worthy of the gods – except that the god sitting opposite her did not seem to know this. She mooned at him with her large, blue eyes, fluttered her eyelashes, pouted, preened and sighed – elementary techniques that every apsara was taught during induction training.  But her efforts had little effect on the god for whom they were intended. He continued to sit listlessly on his bed, a glum expression on his puffed face. Urvashis pout grew deeper. ‘I’ sorry, Indy, but this is just not happening.’Indrah did not reply. ‘re you even listening to me?’Urvashi sniffed. ‘hings can’ go on like this, you know. It’ about time you did something about it.”es, yes, I know,’Indrah muttered. I just need a little more time…am trying hard.’Tying hard!’Urvashi exclaimed. You have to get hard, darling -not try.’Indrah winced while Urvashi chattered away in her sweet, girlish voice. I mean do you even remember the last time when that happened? That was like two hundred years ago. The day you killed that asura … what was his name now     umm…Vira Vita”ritra,’Indrah said under his breath.  ‘Vitra -right! That’s the one. I knew it was something starting with a V. I still remember the day. You had gone out for the final battle and there I was sitting all by myself, worried stiff, when I heard the apsaras going -Vritra is dead! Victory to Lord Indrah! Indrah grunted. We had such a wonderful time that night after the victory party. Urvashi sighed. You remember, love? Indrah grunted again. Urvashi stood up scowling and hurled an ivory comb to the ground. It shattered into pieces as her voice rose to a shrill pitch. Do you realize that we haven’t made love one single time since that night? Do you? It’s been two hundred years for heaven’s sake and it’s driving me up the wall. Come on, Indy darling -what’s wrong with you?’ Indrah sighed. There was no denying that she was right -he was in bad shape. Rolls of fat swaddled his hips. The taut muscles of his arms had turned into flaccid bags and the chiselled jaw-line, along which Sachi used to love running her fingers during their courtship days, had disappeared into a pair of pulpy chins. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it back, wincing when his fingers touched the bald patch on top. It had surreptitiously replaced his once luxuriant mane and was now clearly visible unless he switched on his halo – the light dazzling anyone who looked him in the face. But these days, he realized that even this simple act drained him of energy quite quickly. In short, Indrah looked and felt like an elderly uncle – not the Almighty King of the Devas, Lord of Amravati, Scourge of the Asuras, Shatterer of Citadels. What was worse was that people had started noticing it…the corridors of the palace were abuzz with whisperings of the King’s decrepit condition. Many of the lesser gods had even begun to talk openly about it. Soon he started cutting down on public appearances conducting most of his work from his inner chambers. It wouldn’t be long before someone started asking uncomfortable questions on why the king spent most of his time inside his bedroom instead of the court… “