"You must descend to the mortal realm, child," Mata Lalita said, her voice laced with both pride and concern. "Embrace the trials that await you. Show compassion, demonstrate wisdom, and above all, uphold Dharma."

Ira gripped the edges of her aanchal tight. Rayer's task was clearly defined, a path laid out before him with specific challenges related to justice and righteousness on Earth. But when the Akashic Records showed Ira her path, confusion clouded her celestial brow.

Her task was... ambiguous. She was to descend to the mortal realm, yes, but not to solve a particular problem or champion a specific cause. Instead, she was to simply...be. To experience the full spectrum of human emotions, to understand their frailties and their strengths, their capacity for both profound love and devastating cruelty.

"But what am I supposed to do?" Ira asked Madhav, pacing the marble floors of their shared courtyard. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, doing little to soothe her agitation.

Madhav leaned against a pillar; his ever-present smile tinged with a hint of seriousness. "Perhaps, Ira, your task isn't about doing as much as it is about understanding." His eyes twinkled. "The mortals are a volatile bunch, driven by passions and desires that the gods can only imagine. You need to see the world from their eyes. Feel their joys, their sorrows, their fears. Only then can you truly understand your role in the new Mahayuga."

Rama placed a comforting hand on Ira's shoulder. "The gods of the old eras saw mortals as pawns, beings to be manipulated and controlled. But times are changing, Ira. You and Rayer, you both must usher in a new age, one where gods and humans co-exist in harmony."

Virinchi however was dismissive; "She would return, failed and wanting a chance to live comfortably in our loka again."

And like always, this did not feel new. Ira was used to this.

Madhav looked at her, "Remember, the Kaliyuga would never be merciful. It hasn't even given their mothers a chance to survive, you won't be left out either. So, think as you do."

While those very words didn't help her anxiety, they had laid a foundation and she knew what to do.

The air in Swarga was usually a symphony of soft light and gentle, resonant vibrations suddenly thrummed with a discordant energy. Madhav felt it deep in his soul, a frantic pulse that spurred his feet across the celestial paths. Beside him, Rama's face was a mask of Grim determination, while Lalita's eyes, normally sparkling with cosmic mirth, were wide with fear. And the moment Madhav tried to stir, he felt an invisible hold tighten.

"Virinchi!" Madhav cried out, his voice echoing strangely in the charged atmosphere.

Virinchi did not turn immediately. His gaze was fixed on Ira, a look of sorrow mingled with absolute finality in his eyes. When he finally shifted his focus to them, the air solidified.

A wave of pure, unadulterated power, not violent, but utterly immovable, emanated from him. It struck Madhav, Rama, and Lalita like an invisible wall, halting them in their tracks, mere yards from the threshold.

Madhav strained against it, pushing with all his might, but it was like trying to move a mountain with a whisper. The force was not designed to harm, but to stop. It was the unbreakable will of Virinchi made manifest. He felt the frustration coil in his gut, the burning urgency to reach Ira, to plead, to intercede, hitting the impassive barrier of paternal decree.

"Do not try," Virinchi's voice was deep, resonant, carrying the weight of universal truth. It wasn't a request.

"Swami, please!" Lalita's voice was laced with anguish. "She is our daughter!"

"Relationships have its place," Virinchi interrupted, his gaze sharp and sorrowful. "But so does balance. So does consequence." His eyes swept over them, acknowledging their pain but offering no reprieve. "You know this was meant to be our son's, Rayer's and not this girl!"

Madhav's mind raced. He knew. They all knew. Ira, in her boundless compassion and fierce love for creation, had broken a fundamental tenet, interfering directly and drastically with the destined cycles of a burgeoning world.

He turned back to Ira. The immense force holding Madhav, Rama, and Lalita remained, a silent, unbreakable barrier. Madhav could only watch, his heart aching, as Virinchi raised his hands towards Ira.

A soft, golden light, emanating from Virinchi's palms, reached out. It didn't engulf Ira; rather, it seemed to connect with her very being, an intricate web of shimmering threads wrapping around her form. Ira cried out, a sound of deep, profound pain that ripped through Madhav's soul. It wasn't a sound of physical torment, but of essence being torn away.

Madhav watched, helpless, as Ira's shimmering aura, her vibrant, unique divine energy field, began to dim. It wasn't just fading; it was actively being drawn out, absorbed into the golden light held by Virinchi. He saw patterns of light resolve and then dissolve from her form, complex arrays of power unravelling. Her divine radiance, which had always shone with fierce brilliance, dwindled until it was barely a flicker, like a forgotten star.

Her body seemed to shrink slightly, becoming more fragile, more... mortal. The sheer, inexhaustible power that defined a celestial being drained away, leaving behind something vulnerable, unprotected. Ira sagged, her head bowed, the only sound her ragged breathing and the soft, continuous hum of her power flowing into Virinchi's hands.

When the last vestiges of her divine energy were gone, leaving her looking pale and frail, Virinchi lowered his hands. The golden light vanished, and the unnatural hum ceased. Ira remained kneeling, trembling, a mere mortal form where a goddess had been moments before.

Virinchi looked down at her, his face etched with sorrow. "The divine spark remains, Ira. The essence of who you are. But the power... it must be returned to the source until balance is restored." He spoke not just to her, but to the cosmic forces themselves, a decree echoing through the planes.

Madhav felt a cold dread settle over him. This was it. There was no more power to plead for, no more divine ability to argue about. Only the act of banishment remained.

Virinchi placed a hand on Ira's shoulder, gently but firmly raising her to her feet. She stumbled, weak and disoriented. Her eyes met Madhav's across the impassive barrier. They were filled with pain, terror, and a silent, heartbreaking plea. Madhav's heart clawed at his chest, desperate to break free, but the invisible wall held firm. Rama and Lalita stood beside him, equally trapped, equally helpless, their faces reflecting his own agony.

Virinchi turned Ira towards the shimmering doors of Swarga. They stood fully open now, revealing a vast, terrifying emptiness, a chasm of cosmic dust and swirling energies, at the very bottom of which, unimaginably far away, hung the pale blue sphere of Earth. The winds of uncreation seemed to blow from that void, cold and cruel.

Without hesitation, without another word, Virinchi placed both hands on Ira's back.

"Go, Ira," he said. "Learn amidst the chaos you sought to control. Find your way back in balance, or not."

And then, with a single, decisive push, Virinchi propelled Ira forward.

She let out a choked gasp, a sound swallowed instantly by the immense void. Her frail form, now stripped of the resilience of divine energy, tumbled over the threshold. Madhav watched in horror as she fell, a small, dark shape against the terrifying expanse of the cosmos, shrinking from his sight with impossible speed.

He could not reach her. He could not call out to her. He could not even move forward to the edge of the precipice. The barrier of Virinchi's will held him, a cruel reminder of his helplessness.

The instant Ira's form disappeared from view, the shimmering doors of Swarga began to swing shut. They moved with divine precision, the soft groan of celestial mechanisms echoing in the sudden silence.

Madhav strained against the invisible wall one last time, a desperate surge of grief and futile rage coursing through him. But it was useless. The doors met with a soft, final click that resonated like a hammer blow in the silence. The shimmering threshold solidified once more into an impassive wall of light, showing no trace of the chasm that had opened or the soul that had been cast out.

The barrier holding Madhav, Rama, and Lalita dissolved. They were free to move, but there was nowhere to go. They stood staring at the closed doors, the radiant light of Swarga now feeling cold and alien.

Silence descended, broken only by Lalita's soft, heartbroken sob. Rama stood rigid, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the doors as if willing them to open again.

Madhav felt utterly hollow. The vibrant energy of Swarga pressed in on him, but it offered no comfort. He had come to save her, to protect her, armed with his own considerable power and the strength of their bond. But against the implacable will of the Father, against the cosmic laws Ira had disrupted, their strength had been nothing. He had watched, imprisoned by an unseen force, as his kin was stripped of her essence and hurled into the abyss.

The weight of their failure settled upon them, heavier than any mountain. Ira was gone. Their intervention had been futile. And the closed doors of Swarga stood as an eternal monument to a judgment rendered, and a rescue that had arrived moments too late. Madhav could only stand there, the image of Ira's falling form seared into his mind, and feel the profound, aching silence where her vibrant presence used to be.

Ira's descent felt like falling. One moment she stood on the pearly gates of Swarga, the next she was hurtling through the swirling cosmos, the vibrant colours of the celestial realm fading into the muted hues of the mortal plane. She landed, not in a palace or a temple, but in a humble village nestled amidst the foothills of the Himalayas.

She was no longer Ira, the to-be goddess. She was Ira, a young woman with an aim, a goal and no knowledge of how to use her power. And that freefall taught her a lot in just a few minutes.