The dawn broke over Kailash Parvat, its snow-capped peaks shimmering in the golden light of the rising sun. Bahubali performed his Surya Puja with a heavy heart, his chants interwoven with a deep melancholy. The past ten years on Kailash had been nothing short of a divine blessing, a decade of unparalleled learning under the guidance of Mahadev and Mata Parvati. Their teachings had transformed him into a master of the sixty-four kalas, every weapon known to gods and mortals, and the celestial divya astras. The love and care from Lord Ganesha, Lord Kartikeya, Nandi, and the Ganas had filled his soul with warmth and purpose. Yet today, Bahubali faced the sorrow of departure, for his destiny as the slayer of Kindhasur called him back to the mortal world.
After completing his puja, Bahubali approached the divine court where Mahadev and Mata Parvati sat, their radiant forms exuding serenity and boundless power. He bowed deeply, his voice trembling with emotion as he addressed them. "Pranipat, Mahadev. Pranipat, Mata Parvati. These ten years under your divine guidance have been the greatest gift of my existence. Your teachings have sculpted me from a humble boy into a warrior and scholar, and the love I have received on Kailash has been my sanctuary. My heart aches at the thought of leaving this sacred abode, where I have known only grace, wisdom, and the embrace of a divine family. How can I depart from such light?"
Mahadev's eyes softened, his voice resonating with divine compassion and a gentle firmness. "Bahubali, my beloved vatsya, the time has come for you to descend from Kailash and serve humanity. Your training has forged you into a beacon of dharma, and now you must carry that light into the world below. Your purpose is to uphold righteousness, to protect the oppressed, and to demonstrate to all that talent and virtue transcend the boundaries of birth. This is the path we have prepared you for, and you must walk it with unwavering courage and conviction. The world awaits the disciple of Mahadev and Mata Parvati to show what true greatness means."
Bahubali's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he poured out his heart. "Gurudev, I do not wish to leave you and Mata Parvati. Kailash has been my home, my refuge, where every moment has been filled with your divine presence and teachings. The love of Lord Ganesha, Lord Kartikeya, Nandi, and the Ganas has been a balm to my soul. How can I step away from the ones who have given me everything? The world below feels so distant, so unworthy compared to the purity and wisdom I have found here. I fear I am not ready to face such a parting."
Mata Parvati stepped forward, her smile warm and maternal, her voice soothing yet resolute, like a river flowing with purpose. "Oh, Vatsya, our hearts are heavy at the thought of your departure, for you are not merely our disciple but a son to us, cherished beyond measure. Every step you have taken on Kailash, every question you have asked, and every effort you have made, has brought us joy and pride. Yet, your purpose lies beyond these sacred peaks, in a world where suffering and injustice abound. You must go, Bahubali, to aid the oppressed, to uplift those bound by the chains of prejudice, and to prove to the upper castes that true greatness lies in one's deeds, not their lineage. Your dharma calls you, and we trust you will answer it with the strength and grace you have shown here."
Mahadev's gaze was steady, his tone gentle but imbued with divine authority. "Bahubali, do you remember the promise you made to us as your gurudakshina? To walk the path of dharma, to let righteousness guide every action, to wield the knowledge and power we have given you only for the good of all?"
Bahubali nodded, his voice steady despite the sorrow weighing on his heart. "Yes, Mahadev, I vowed to uphold dharma, to dedicate my life to the principles you and Mata Parvati have taught me. Your command is my purpose, and I will honor it with every breath, every step, and every action I take. Your teachings are etched into my soul, and I will carry them as my guiding light."
Mahadev smiled, his hand resting on Bahubali's shoulder, a touch that radiated strength and love. "Then go, Vatsya. Let the world witness the talent and virtue of our disciple. Show them that a heart devoted to dharma can reshape destinies, break barriers, and bring hope to the hopeless. Your journey begins now, but know that our blessings will forever be with you, guiding you through every trial and triumph."
Bahubali knelt, touching the feet of Mahadev and Mata Parvati, his voice choked with gratitude and reverence. "Bless me, Gurudev, Gurumata, that I may fulfill your wishes and honor the sacred teachings you have bestowed upon me. Grant me the strength to face the challenges of the world below, to remain true to the path of dharma, and to make you proud as your disciple."
Mahadev's voice was a divine benediction, resonating with power and love. "As long as you fight for dharma, Bahu, you shall be victorious and undefeated. Our blessings envelop you, Vatsya, a shield against adversity and a light to guide your path. Go forth, and let your deeds echo across the ages."
Mata Parvati's eyes glistened with pride, her voice tender yet firm. "Carry our love in your heart, Bahubali, and let it strengthen you. Stay true to your path, and know that Kailash will always be your home in spirit. We will be with you, watching over you, every step of the way."
With their blessings warming his soul, Bahubali began his journey back to Hastinapur, the city of his childhood. As he descended the Himalayas, he aided all he encountered—guiding a lost traveler to safety, sharing food with the hungry, and offering words of comfort to the weary. His heart, shaped by Mahadev and Mata Parvati, could not turn away from suffering.
On his journey, Bahubali came upon a village ravaged by famine, its fields cracked and barren from a merciless drought. Moved by the villagers' plight, he chanted a sacred mantra granted by Devi Saraswati's boon, his voice resonating with divine power. Dark clouds gathered overhead, swirling with promise, but no rain fell. Suddenly, Indra, the rain god, appeared before him, his form towering and his voice thunderous with indignation. "Who are you, mortal, to summon rain in this land? By what authority do you interfere with my domain?"
Bahubali bowed respectfully, his voice calm yet resolute. "I am Bahubali, and I mean no disrespect, Indra Dev. This village suffers under a cruel drought, its people starving and desperate. I only seek to bring relief to their plight. I beseech you, let the rains fall and restore life to this land."
Indra's scowl deepened, his eyes flashing with divine wrath. "No rain shall fall here. These villagers have forsaken my worship, turning to other deities. This drought is their punishment for their ingratitude. You have no right to challenge my will. Cease your interference, or face my wrath."
Bahubali stood firm, his gaze steady and unyielding. "Indra Dev, with all due respect, who the villagers worship is their choice, a freedom of the heart. Your duty as the god of rain is to nurture the earth, not to withhold its lifeblood out of anger. I implore you, fulfill your dharma and let the rains fall, for the sake of these innocent souls who suffer."
Indra's voice roared like a storm. "How dare you lecture me, mortal! You overstep your bounds, questioning a god's judgment. Beg my forgiveness and leave this place at once, or I shall strike you down for your insolence!"
Bahubali's expression remained serene, his resolve unshaken. "Indra Dev, I am willing to ask your forgiveness if it pleases you, for I hold no pride in my heart. But I will not leave this village until the rains fall. My gurus, Mahadev and Mata Parvati, have taught me to stand for dharma, to aid those in need, and I cannot abandon these people to their suffering."
Indra's eyes blazed. "Then prove your worth, mortal! Face me in combat!" He drew his divine bow, and Bahubali grasped Ajaydhansu, the bow gifted by Mahadev. The air crackled as the duel began on the parched plain, the villagers watching in awe.
Bahubali loosed arrows with blinding speed, targeting Indra's bow and quiver. Indra countered with divine arrows, their golden tips splitting Bahubali's in mid-air. Bahubali invoked the Agneyastra, its fiery arrows blazing toward Indra, who quenched them with the Varunastra, sending waves crashing across the plain.
The duel stretched into hours, Bahubali's arrows weaving intricate patterns, some aimed to disrupt Indra's stance, others to test his reflexes. Indra's volleys were relentless, his divine skill forcing Bahubali to weave defensive mantras. Bahubali summoned the Vayvayastra, a tempest roaring forth, but Indra's counter, a single arrow imbued with celestial calm, stilled the winds. The villagers gasped, their hope pinned on the young warrior.
As the sun dipped low, Bahubali loosed the Suryastra, its radiant beams rivaling the day. Indra's Chandrastra met it, cooling the battlefield with lunar serenity. Bahubali's next arrow, infused with the Gandharvastra, filled the air with ethereal notes, but Indra dispelled it with a silent shaft, his eyes narrowing with growing respect.
The duel climaxed as Bahubali invoked the Nagastra, serpentine arrows hissing toward Indra. The rain god countered with a divine arrow, summoning Nagraj Vasuki's essence to bind them. Both warriors stood breathless, their quivers nearly spent, the ground scarred from their celestial clash. Indra, his anger now tinged with admiration, spoke. "This ends now!" He summoned his Vajra, the thunderbolt forged from Rishi Dadhichi's bones, and hurled it, its lightning searing the air.
Recognizing the weapon's sacred origin, Bahubali closed his eyes and chanted "Om Namah Shivaya," his voice steady with devotion to Mahadev. The Vajra, resonating with the sanctity of the Shiv bhakt Dadhichi, transformed mid-air into a radiant garland, gently adorning Bahubali's neck.
Indra's anger dissolved, his eyes widening in astonishment and recognition. "You are no ordinary mortal. Your valor and devotion are remarkable, Bahubali. To turn my Vajra into a garland through the power of your faith is a feat worthy of legend."
Bahubali knelt, touching Indra's feet with humility. "Indra Dev, you are my elder, a god of immense power and wisdom. I seek only your blessings, not your praise."
Indra's smile was warm, his anger fully dissipated. "Rise, Bahubali. I am impressed by your courage and your commitment to dharma. You have proven yourself a true warrior and a devotee of the highest order. Ask what you will, and it shall be yours."
Bahubali's voice was earnest. "Indra Dev, I ask only that you let the rains fall upon this village. Restore its fields, revive its people, and let life flourish once more. This is all I seek."
Indra nodded, his hand extended as a gleaming weapon materialized. "Your selflessness moves me, Bahubali. I grant your request, and more. This is the Vasavi Shakti Astra, a weapon of divine power. You may use it thrice, after which it will return to me. Wield it with the same righteousness you have shown today." With a gesture, Indra vanished, and torrential rain poured from the heavens, soaking the parched earth and bringing cries of joy from the villagers.
A month later, Bahubali reached the gates of Hastinapur, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. Memories of his childhood flooded back—playing by the Ganga's banks, meeting Karna, and the simple joys of life with his parents, Abhiram and Sumitra. With Ajaydhansu in hand and the blessings of Mahadev, Mata Parvati, and Indra in his heart, Bahubali stood poised to face his destiny, ready to carve his path in the unfolding saga of the Mahabharata.
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A/n: Karna and Bahubali are of same age now 25
Yudhishthir (eldest of Pandavas) is of age 13
Bheem (second eldest of Pandavas) is of age 12
Duryodhana (eldest of Kauravas) is of age 12
Arjuna (Middle brother of Pandavas) is of age 11