Nine years had passed since Bahubali first met Karna by the riverside. Now fifteen, Bahubali had grown into a lean, determined young man, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of two lifetimes. His days followed a disciplined rhythm, shaped by devotion and training. Each morning, he rose before dawn, bathed in the Ganga, and performed his Surya Puja, the ritual his father, Abhiram, had instilled in him since childhood. Karna, his steadfast friend, often joined him, their voices blending as they chanted praises to the sun god, their silhouettes framed against the rising light.
After breakfast with his mother, Sumitra, who greeted him with a warm, "Good morning, Bahu," he would make his way to the riverbank. There, beside the Shiv Ling he had crafted from sand, he performed penance to Lord Shiva, chanting "Om Namah Shivaya" with unwavering focus. The mantra was his anchor, a bridge to the answers he sought about his reincarnation in this ancient era.
Following a simple lunch, Bahubali joined Karna for archery practice. Over the years, Bahubali had discovered a natural talent for the bow, rivaling Karna's own prodigious skill. Their sessions were both training and friendly rivalry, each pushing the other to new heights. They competed daily, their arrows splitting wood and piercing straw targets with precision, their laughter ringing out over the river. Afterward, Bahubali returned to his Shiv Ling, praying until nightfall cloaked the world in darkness. This routine had defined his life, a balance of devotion, discipline, and camaraderie.
One evening, as they rested after a particularly intense archery contest, Karna turned to Bahubali, his brow creased with curiosity. "Bahu, why do you spend so much time in penance? Hours every day, chanting to Lord Shiva. What are you seeking?"
Bahubali smiled, his gaze fixed on the rippling Ganga. "Answers, Karna. I'm seeking answers."
Karna's expression turned puzzled, his head tilting. "Answers? To what? You're already skilled, devoted, and wise beyond your years. What more could you need to know?"
Bahubali's smile deepened, but he shook his head gently. "It's not something I can explain, my friend. Not yet. Maybe someday, but for now, let's just say I'm searching for my purpose."
Karna frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but he let the matter drop, respecting his friend's silence.
In the six years since their friendship began, Hastinapur had seen great upheaval. King Maharaj Pandu had ascended the throne, married Maharani Kunti and Maharani Madri, and then faced a devastating curse that forced him to renounce his crown and retreat to the forest with his wives. The city buzzed with whispers of the Kuru dynasty's uncertain future, but Bahu's focus remained on his path and his friend.
Two years ago, Karna had confided in Bahubali about his struggle to find a teacher. "No one in Hastinapur will take me as a student," he said bitterly. "They see my father's profession and turn me away, saying a suta's son has no place learning the art of war."
Bahubali had listened quietly, then placed a hand on Karna's shoulder. "There's someone who might teach you, Karna. Lord Parashurama, the warrior-sage of Mahendragiri Parvat. He's the greatest teacher of martial arts in this age."
Karna's eyes widened, but he shook his head. "Parashurama only accepts Brahmins as students. I'm a suta's son, Bahu. He'd never consider me."
Bahubali's voice was firm, his gaze steady. "That's not true. He taught Mahamahim Bhishma, who isn't a Brahmin by birth. It's not about caste—it's about your determination. Go to him, Karna. Tell him everything about yourself. Don't hide who you are, not even your kavach and kundalas." Bahu had learned of Karna's divine armor and earrings after an accident during practice. "Be honest, and show him your resolve. It all depends on the effort you put in."
Karna hesitated, doubt clouding his face. "I will try, but what if he refuses me? What if I'm not worthy?"
Bahubali's tone grew fierce. "Don't just try, Karna. You will not return to Hastinapur until Lord Parashurama accepts you as his student. You're meant for greatness—I know it. Go, and don't look back."
Karna's expression hardened with determination. He nodded, his jaw set. "I'll do it. I'll ask my parents' permission and leave for Mahendragiri Parvat."
True to his word, Karna departed two years ago, and Bahubali had not seen him since. He trusted his friend was pursuing his destiny, just as Bahu was chasing his own.
One afternoon, after lunch, Bahubali made his way to his Shiv Ling for his daily penance. As he approached, he froze. A figure sat near his usual spot—an aghori, his body smeared with ash, dreadlocks adorned with beads, and a bag of bones and offerings at his side. Bahu blinked, surprised. He hadn't known aghoris existed in this era, but he felt no fear, only curiosity.
Approaching respectfully, Bahubali folded his hands in greeting. "Pranam, revered one."
The aghori's piercing eyes studied him, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, you're not repelled by me? Most would flee at the sight of an aghori, boy."
Bahubali smiled warmly. "Why would I be? You're a Shiv bhakt, like me. That's all that matters."
The aghori raised an eyebrow, his voice gruff. "A Shiv bhakt, eh? That's a bold claim for someone so young."
Bahubali's smile didn't falter. "Does age matter when it comes to devotion?"
The aghori grumbled, conceding the point. "No, it doesn't. Tell me, boy, is this Shiv Ling yours?"
Bahubali nodded, his eyes softening. "I made it, but it doesn't belong to me. How can a Shiv Ling belong to anyone? It's for all who seek Mahadev."
The aghori's smirk widened. "So, if I pray to it, you won't mind? I'm late for my worship, you see."
"Please, go ahead," Bahubali said, stepping back. "I'll meditate nearby."
The aghori's eyes narrowed. "Meditate nearby? Don't you know you must be in front of the Shiv Ling when you pray?"
Bahubali tilted his head, curious. "Why so?"
The aghori scoffed. "Foolish boy! You stand before someone when you want something from them. The Shiv Ling is where Mahadev resides."
Bahubali's voice was calm, his words measured. "Mahadev is omnipresent, revered one. He is everywhere, not confined to the Shiv Ling."
The aghori's face darkened, his voice rising. "You dare insult Mahadev in my presence? No, you'll stand here until my worship is done. No meditation elsewhere!"
Bahubali began to speak, but the aghori cut him off. "No ifs or buts! If you call yourself a Shiv bhakt, you'll obey."
Bahubali sighed, nodding. "Fine, I'll do as you say."
The aghori sat before the Shiv Ling, pulling ashes, bones, and animal flesh from his bag. His prayers were intense, lasting an hour, as he offered the items to the Ling. When he finished, he stood, leaving the ashes and flesh strewn across the sacred structure. "I'm done, boy. You can pray now—if you still want to."
Bahubali's eyes flicked to the Shiv Ling, then back to the aghori. "Why wouldn't I?"
The aghori laughed, a harsh sound. "You'd pray with the Ling in this state? Doesn't the flesh, ash, and bone deter you?"
Bahubali shook his head, his voice steady. "Why would it? Ash is dear to Mahadev. As for bones and flesh, it's up to each devotee how they worship. There's no right or wrong way. You prayed with them; I prayed standing here."
The aghori's eyes gleamed with interest. "You seem desperate, boy. What do you want from Mahadev?"
Bahubali's gaze grew distant, his voice soft but fervent. "His darshan. I want to see his swaroop—his hair adorned with rudraksh, Ganga flowing from his jata, the moon crowning his head. I want to see him with Devi Parvati, his trishul and damaru in hand, clad in tiger skin, Nagraj Vasuki coiled around him, a garland of skulls at his chest, his neelkanth glowing with enchanting beauty."
As Bahubali spoke, lost in his vision, he didn't notice the aghori's smile or the subtle shift in his form. With each detail, the aghori's appearance changed, until Bahubali blinked out of his trance and gasped. Before him stood Lord Shiva, radiant and divine, exactly as Bahubali had described.
Bahubali's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. Shiva's voice was gentle, a smile playing on his lips. "Am I as you imagined, vatsya?"
Bahubali snapped out of his stupor, falling to his knees and touching Mahadev's feet. "How could my imagination ever capture your glory, Mahadev? I am blessed beyond words to be in your presence."
Shiva's hand rested on Bahubali's head, his voice warm. "Your devotion has impressed me, vatsya. Ask what you desire."
Bahubali's heart raced, but his voice was steady. "Prabhu, I want to know why I was reincarnated in this time, a soul from Kaliyug in the age of the Mahabharata."
Shiva's eyes gleamed with knowledge. "You are here for a purpose, vatsya. Lord Brahma granted a boon to an asura named Kindhasur, declaring he could only be slain by one from Kaliyug. That one is you."
Bahubali nodded, absorbing the revelation. "So, in the future, I must defeat Kindhasur, Swamy?"
"Yes," Shiva confirmed. "Now, tell me, what boon do you seek?"
Bahubali's eyes shone with resolve. "I wish for you and Mata Parvati to be my teachers, Gurudev."
Lord Shiva, smiled. "Why us, vatsya? Most seek me for knowledge alone."
Bahubali returned her smile. "Everyone knows you are each other's half, Devi. I seek complete knowledge, from both of you."
Mata Parvati appeared, radiant beside Lord Shiva, with laughter that was like a melody. "Well said, vatsya. Your wisdom impresses me. I accept you as my disciple."
Shiva's smile widened. "I, too, am impressed. But keep this secret, known only to your immediate family."
"Whatever you wish, Gurudev," Bahu said, his heart swelling with gratitude.
Shiva's voice grew solemn. "Be here tomorrow morning, Vatsya. I will take you to Kailash Parvat. Say your farewells to your mother and father tonight."
Bahu bowed deeply. "Thank you, Gurudev."
With that, Shiva and Parvati vanished, leaving Bahu alone by the river, his heart pounding with awe and purpose. That night, he returned home and sat with his parents. "Maa, Pitaji, I'm leaving Hastinapur tomorrow to seek a teacher," he said, his voice steady but tinged with emotion.
Sumitra's eyes glistened, but she smiled. "Go with our blessings, Bahu. Be careful, and make us proud."
Abhiram placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "You've always been special, Bahu. Follow your path, and may the gods guide you."
The next morning, after his Surya Puja, Bahubali stood by his Shiv Ling, his heart full of anticipation. A blinding light engulfed him, and when it faded, he opened his eyes to find himself on Kailash Parvat, the abode of his divine teachers. His journey had truly begun.