Long time ago, in the timeless age when gods, devas, and mortals still mingled upon the earth, there existed a forgotten land nestled between the mighty peaks of the northern mountains. This land, though small and unseen by many, was revered by the devas as the birthplace of the forgotten language,
Samutra, a tongue once spoken by the very earth, wind, and stars. Samutra was more than a language - it was the soul of creation, containing within it the primal song that had woven the universe together.
But as the ages turned and mortals multiplied, greed and ambition clouded the hearts of kings and sages alike. Samutra, which once gave life to all, became a tool for power, used to bend nature to the will of men. The gods, horrified by this corruption, withdrew Samutra from the world, erasing it from the minds of all who knew it. The land where it had once flourished was cast into darkness, and it became known as
Samskara, the land of forsaken tongues.

Commanding attention and respect, this legendary serpent figure is a sight to behold, as it stands poised with a sword, blurring the lines between myth and reality, immersed in a world of adventure.
Yet one deva did not forget.
Vasuki, the great serpent deity who had once been tasked with guarding Samutra's sacred temple, remained tied to its fate. Vasuki had served the devas loyally for eons, coiled around the holy mountain of Meru, his immense form stretching from the depths of the oceans to the skies above. But the loss of Samutra weighed heavily on his heart, for the language had once been his voice - the divine breath with which he communicated the will of the universe to all beings. Without it, Vasuki felt adrift, silenced, and severed from his ancient purpose.
Vasuki, however, was not a deity to accept such loss without struggle. Deep within the coils of his body, a seed of hope remained - a desire for redemption, both for himself and for the lost land of Samskara. But to restore Samutra, Vasuki knew he would need to undertake a perilous journey, one that even the gods themselves had forbidden. He would need to sail across the
River of Oblivion, a mystical boundary between the realms of memory and forgetfulness, to reclaim the lost words of creation from the shores of oblivion.
The gods had warned that none who ventured beyond this river would return whole, for its waters washed away not only memories but also the essence of one's being. But Vasuki, undeterred, began to prepare for the voyage. He first sought the counsel of
Garuda, the mighty eagle and king of the skies, and an ancient rival. Though their histories were fraught with tension, Garuda respected Vasuki's resolve.
"You seek to redeem a language that even the gods have abandoned," Garuda said, his sharp eyes narrowing. "But you must know that the River of Oblivion is no ordinary water. It drinks deeply of the soul and will strip you of all that you are."
"I know this," Vasuki replied, his eyes filled with determination. "But Samutra is more than a language. It is the breath of creation itself. Without it, the world suffers, and I, too, am diminished. I will risk everything to restore it."
Garuda nodded slowly. "Very well. I will carry you to the river's edge, but beyond that, your fate is yours alone to bear."
Thus, mounted upon Garuda's back, Vasuki soared across the skies, far beyond the mountains of Samskara, to the forgotten corners of the world. When they reached the River of Oblivion, its waters shimmered with a strange, unnatural light. The river was vast, its surface swirling like molten silver, and its current hummed with an eerie, otherworldly melody.
Garuda set Vasuki down at the river's shore, his wings beating powerfully as he prepared to take off again. "Remember, great serpent," Garuda warned, "the further you travel upon this river, the more you will forget. Each drop of its water will steal away a part of you."

In a forest alive with flames, this warrior, draped in a regal red cloak, stands resolute, embodying the raw power of fire and strength, a true guardian of the mystical realms intertwined with nature.
Vasuki gave a solemn nod, and with a final word of thanks, he slithered into the river's waters. Immediately, he felt its pull. It was not the physical current that tugged at him but the relentless erosion of his thoughts and memories. The farther he swam, the more he could feel pieces of himself being stripped away - his name, his past, his purpose.
But Vasuki clung fiercely to one thought - the memory of Samutra, the forgotten language, and the land of Samskara. As long as he could hold onto this single thread, he believed he could reach the other side.
For days, or perhaps centuries - time itself seemed to dissolve in the river's embrace - Vasuki drifted onward. His once mighty form shrank as the waters claimed more and more of him. His scales dulled, his fangs lost their edge, and the divine light that once shone in his eyes dimmed. Yet even as his strength waned, Vasuki pressed forward, his will driven by the singular purpose of redemption.
At last, after what seemed an eternity, Vasuki glimpsed the far shore - a desolate, mist-covered land where the ruins of forgotten civilizations lay scattered like broken dreams. This was the realm of lost words, where the remnants of languages, stories, and songs that had been forgotten by the world now dwelled.
Weak beyond measure, Vasuki slithered ashore. Before him stood a towering figure, cloaked in shadow and light - a guardian of this forsaken place. It was
Kala, the embodiment of time and memory, whose eyes held the weight of all that had ever been forgotten.
"You seek the words of Samutra," Kala intoned, his voice like the grinding of ancient stones. "But know this, Vasuki - once forgotten, nothing can be truly reclaimed. To restore Samutra, you must sacrifice all that remains of yourself. Are you willing to pay this price?"
Vasuki, though barely able to speak, nodded. His journey had already cost him so much, but he knew that the restoration of Samutra was worth any sacrifice.
With a solemn gesture, Kala opened a great tome, the pages of which were filled with flickering, half-formed symbols - the lost words of Samutra. As Vasuki gazed upon them, the last of his memories began to unravel, and his form dissolved into the air like mist. Yet in his final moments, he spoke the words of Samutra once more, breathing them back into the world.

In this captivating portrayal, Lakshmi embodies the beauty of art and grace, her presence resonating with melodious harmony and fine craftsmanship.
As the forgotten language was restored, the land of Samskara began to stir from its long slumber. The earth trembled, and the skies sang with the resonance of Samutra's ancient power. The devas, witnessing this from afar, wept with joy and sorrow, for they knew that Vasuki had succeeded - but at the cost of his very existence.
From that day forward, the language of Samutra returned to the world, though few could speak it. It became a sacred tongue, used only by those who understood the true balance of creation. Vasuki, the great serpent, was remembered not for his strength or power, but for his sacrifice - a sacrifice that redeemed not only the forgotten language but also the world itself.
And so, the legend of
Vasuki, the Serpent of Redemption was passed down through the ages, a tale of loss, sacrifice, and the enduring power of hope.