After the charged events of the Kalapradarshan, Bahubali and Karna parted ways with Duryodhana, his brothers, and Ashwatthama, making their way to their quarters in the Hastinapur palace.
The corridors, adorned with intricate tapestries and lit by golden lamps, echoed with the day's drama, but the two friends walked in silence, their minds reflecting on the duel and its implications. Karna's bold challenge had shifted the court's dynamics, and Bahubali's defense of dharma had left an indelible mark.
Meanwhile, Duryodhana, his brothers—Dushasana, Vikarna, and Yuyutsu—and Ashwatthama approached Gandhar Raj Shakuni awaited, his sly smile barely concealed. The Kauravas bowed, saying in unison, "Pranipat, Mamashree." Shakuni responded, his voice oily, "Kalyan ho, mere bacchon." Ashwatthama followed, offering, "Pranipat, Gandhar Raj," to which Shakuni replied, "Kalyan ho, Dronaputra."
Shakuni's eyes gleamed as he gestured for them to sit. "We can all agree the Kalapradarshan was a resounding success, wouldn't you say?" His chuckle was mirrored by the others, and
Duryodhana grinned, leaning back. "It went as well as it could, Mamashree. Finally, someone has shown that pompous Arjuna his place in archery. This Karna—he's a force, and with Magadha Naresh Bahubali backing him, the Pandavas' pride is shattered!"
Shakuni nodded, his fingers stroking his beard. "Satyavachan, mere bache. Karna's skill is extraordinary, but consider this: if a senapati is so formidable, what must the power of Magadha Naresh Bahubali be? I wager he could challenge even Mahamahim Bhishma. You must befriend them, Duryodhana. Bahubali and Karna could prove invaluable allies in the future. Their strength, combined with your ambition, could reshape Aryavrat. But for now, let us refresh ourselves and prepare for the evening's feast."
The Kauravas and Ashwatthama agreed, dispersing to their quarters, their minds buzzing with Shakuni's schemes and the prospect of an alliance with Magadha.
As evening fell, Bahubali and Karna, dressed in regal silks, made their way to the feast hall, their steps steady despite the day's tensions.
On the palace corridor, they encountered Duryodhana and his brothers, exchanging warm greetings. "Pranipat, Magadha Naresh Bahubali, Senapati Karna," Duryodhana said, his tone respectful yet eager. "The Kalapradarshan was unforgettable, thanks to you both."
Bahubali returned the pranipat, his voice calm. "Pranipat, Prince Duryodhana, noble Kauravas. Your prowess with the mace was a sight to behold."
Duryodhana grinned, gesturing ahead. "Come, Magadha Naresh, let's enter the feast hall together." The group moved as one, their camaraderie a stark contrast to the earlier rivalry.
Inside the grand feast hall, adorned with chandeliers and floral garlands, the atmosphere was lively. Nobles, warriors, and royals mingled, the aroma of spiced dishes filling the air. At the center, Arjuna sat, playing the veena, his fingers coaxing a melodious tune that captivated the room.
As the final notes faded, the hall erupted in applause, but Duryodhana's claps were slow and mocking. With a smirk, he called out, "Wow, Arjuna, you play the veena so well! Why not leave fighting to warriors and play music with the women instead?"
Arjuna's face darkened, his hand tightening on the veena, his pride stung—especially with Bahubali and Karna present. The Pandavas glared, and the tension thickened.
Duryodhana reached for a pearl necklace, poised to toss it dismissively at Arjuna, but Bahubali swiftly grasped his wrist, his voice firm yet measured. "Prince Duryodhana, do not belittle the kalas. Music is one of the sixty-four arts, a divine gift. By insulting it, you insult Mahadev, who plays the damaru, and Mata Saraswati, whose veena is the soul of creation. Respect all skills, as you would respect all warriors."
The hall fell silent, every eye on Bahubali. Duryodhana froze, his necklace still in hand, stunned by the rebuke—not a berating, but a reasoned explanation, a rarity in his experience.
The Pandavas, including Arjuna, looked surprised, their hostility softened by Bahubali's wisdom. Even Yudhishthira, known for his righteousness, nodded subtly, impressed.
Vikarna and Yuyutsu, Duryodhana's brothers, exchanged wide-eyed glances, unaccustomed to seeing their eldest brother corrected so thoughtfully.
Duryodhana lowered the necklace, his expression softening. "Magadha Naresh. I… I didn't realize my jest would insult Mahadev, the aradhya of my mata. I meant no disrespect to the divine. Thank you for stopping me and teaching me this truth. I am sorry."
Bahubali's gaze was kind, his voice gentle. "Do not worry, Prince Duryodhana. To see people equally, you must see all things equally—no human, no job, no art is lesser than another. This is the path of dharma, honoring all as Mahadev does."
Mata Gandhari, who had just entered with Dhritarashtra, Bhishma, Kunti, Kripacharya, Shakuni, and Vidura, overheard the exchange, her blindfolded face radiating approval. "You are right, Putra Bahubali," she said, her voice warm. "Your wisdom honors this court." The elders, having witnessed the entire scene, nodded in agreement, impressed by Bahubali's ability to defuse conflict with reason.
The room's occupants offered pranipat to the elders, who responded, "Kalyan ho." Gandhari, her voice soft, addressed Bahubali. "Putra Bahubali, do you also play the veena? Your respect for the kalas suggests a mastery of them."
Bahubali bowed, his tone humble. "Yes, Mata, I know the veena."
Gandhari smiled. "May I request you to play for us, Putra? Your music would be a blessing to this gathering."
Bahubali's eyes shone with devotion. "Mata, I have called you my mother. Your words are an order, not a request. If it is your wish, I will play."
Arjuna and Subhadra, who had been on the stage, stepped down, Arjuna's expression still clouded but curious. Bahubali ascended the stage, offering a namaskar to the veena, a gesture that intrigued the crowd. He adjusted the strings with practiced ease, tuning them to his liking, then closed his eyes, his fingers poised.
The hall held its breath as he began playing the Shiva Tandava Stotram, the notes weaving a divine tapestry of Mahadev's cosmic dance—fierce, graceful, and transcendent. The music enveloped the room, drawing every listener into a trance, their eyes closed, hearts immersed in the divine rhythm. Only one girl, standing among the crowd, gazed at Bahubali intently, her eyes reflecting awe and something deeper.
In Kailash, Mahadev and Mata Parvati paused, their smiles radiant as they listened to their disciple's offering. "Our Bahubali honors us with his heart," Mahadev said, his voice resonating with pride.
As the final notes faded, the hall erupted in applause. Duryodhana, his earlier mockery forgotten, exclaimed, "Amazing, Magadha Naresh! You've played as if Mahadev himself guided your hands!"
Gandhari's voice trembled with emotion. "Putra Bahubali, your music touched my soul. It was as if I saw Mahadev's tandava before my heart's eyes. Bless you, child."
The crowd echoed their praise, even the Pandavas nodding reluctantly, their earlier resentment softened. Bahubali descended the stage, thanking them with a humble pranipat. "Your kind words honor my gurus, not me. I am but their vessel."
As he rejoined Duryodhana, a young woman approached, her grace drawing eyes. Duryodhana smiled, gesturing. "Magadha Naresh Bahubali, Senapati Karna, this is Dushala, my sister, the lone princess of the Kurus."
Dushala offered pranipat, her voice warm. "Pranipat, Magadha Naresh Bahubali, Senapati Karna. Your veena was divine, Maharaj. I felt Mahadev's presence in every note."
Bahubali and Karna returned the pranipat, Bahubali smiling. "Pranipat, Princess Dushala. I had great teachers, and their wisdom flows through me. Your kind words gladden my heart."
Dushala's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Who were your teachers, Magadha Naresh? Such skill must come from divine mentors."
Bahubali's tone was gentle but firm. "I am sworn to keep their names secret, Princess, as a condition of their teachings. But their lessons guide every step I take."
Dushala nodded, respecting his silence, as did the others.
The group moved to the feast, the hall now filled with tables laden with delicacies. As they sat, the elders joined, and the conversation turned to lighter matters, though the day's events lingered in every mind.
Bahubali and Karna, ever mindful of their mission, prepared for the trade meeting with Dhritarashtra, ready to weave Magadha's vision of dharma into Hastinapur's future, their hearts anchored by Mahadev and Mata Parvati's blessings.