Bahubali stepped through the gates of Hastinapur, his heart swelling with nostalgia as the familiar sights and sounds of his childhood enveloped him. The bustling streets, the distant rush of the Ganga, and the vibrant calls of vendors stirred memories of simpler days. Bahubali made his way to his family home, eager to reunite with his parents after a decade of absence. His house came into view, its thatched roof unchanged, a beacon of warmth and simplicity in the heart of the city. As he entered quietly, he saw his mother, Sumitra, cooking over the hearth, her back to the door, humming a soft, familiar tune that tugged at his heartstrings.
Moving silently, Bahubali crept behind her and gently covered her eyes with his hands, a playful gesture from his childhood. Sumitra gasped, startled, her hands pausing mid-stir. Then, guided by instinct, she reached up to touch his hands, her fingers tracing their strength and calluses. A smile broke through her surprise as she whispered, "Bahu? Is that my son, my Bahubali?"
Bahubali laughed warmly, removing his hands and turning her to face him, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Maa, how did you guess it was me so quickly? I thought I'd surprise you after all these years, but you knew me in an instant!"
Sumitra's eyes glistened with tears of joy as she cupped his face, her hands trembling with emotion. "Oh, Bahu, why wouldn't a mother recognize her own son? I'd know you anywhere, my child, even if a thousand years had passed. Look at you, so tall and strong, a man now, but still my little boy who used to run to me with stories of the river! My heart has held you close every day you were gone."
Bahubali's smile softened, his heart warmed by her unwavering love. "Maa, how are you? I've missed you so much, you and Pitaji. Every day away, I thought of you, of home, of your voice and your cooking. I'm here now, and my heart is full just seeing you."
Sumitra pulled him into a tight embrace, her tears soaking into his shoulder. "How am I? How are *you*, my Bahu? Your father and I missed you terribly, praying every dawn and dusk for your safety, wondering where you were, what you were learning. We felt such an emptiness without you, but we trusted you were following your path. Did you find the teacher you sought? Tell me about your journey, my son—every moment you can share!"
Bahubali returned the embrace, his voice gentle yet filled with gratitude. "I'm well, Maa, stronger and wiser than I ever dreamed, thanks to the path I walked. I missed you both so deeply, and coming home to you now feels like a blessing beyond words. I found my teachers, and I've completed my training. They've shaped me into who I am, and I'm ready to face whatever lies ahead, but being here with you is where I feel whole again."
Sumitra pulled back, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and pride. "Who were these teachers, Bahu? What kind of teachers could guide a boy like you into such a man? Tell me their names, so I can offer my gratitude to them in my prayers!"
Bahubali hesitated, bound by the sacred condition set by Mahadev and Mata Parvati. His voice softened with respect. "Maa, I cannot name them, as that was a condition of their teaching. They are the greatest guides I could have hoped for, their wisdom boundless and their hearts full of compassion. I carry their teachings in my soul, and I hope to honor them by living as they taught me. Please understand, Maa—I wish I could share more, but this is my vow."
Sumitra studied his face, then nodded, her gaze filled with understanding and trust. "I respect your wishes, Bahu. You've always been true to your word, and I trust your heart. Come, sit! I'll make your favorite kheer to celebrate your return. It's been too long since I cooked for my son, and I want to see that smile of yours grow even brighter!"
Bahubali grinned, the promise of kheer stirring fond memories. "Kheer sounds like a gift from the heavens, Maa. Where's Pitaji? I long to see him too."
"He's at the palace, working," Sumitra replied, bustling toward the kitchen. "He'll be overjoyed to see you, Bahu. He talks of you every day, wondering when you'd return to us."
As Sumitra prepared the kheer, they sat together, talking for hours. Bahubali shared carefully curated tales of his training, describing the rigor of his studies, the beauty of the mountains, and the discipline he embraced, all while omitting the divine nature of Kailash and his gurus. Sumitra recounted the years he'd been away, sharing stories of Hastinapur's changes, her daily prayers for him, and the quiet ache of missing her son. Her voice trembled as she spoke of how she'd kept his favorite blanket folded, hoping he'd return to claim it. When the kheer was ready, Bahubali savored each spoonful, the familiar sweetness a taste of home that warmed his soul. After eating, he stood, stretching. "Maa, I'm going to roam the city for a bit, see how Hastinapur has changed."
Sumitra's eyes softened with maternal concern. "Come back by night, Bahu. We have so much more to catch up on, and your father will want to hear every word of your return."
Bahubali nodded, his smile reassuring. "I'll be back, Maa. I promise."
He stepped out into Hastinapur's bustling streets, the city's pulse both familiar and new. The vendors' calls, the laughter of children, and the Ganga's distant murmur stirred memories of his youth. His feet carried him to Karna's home, where he knocked and was greeted by Radha, Karna's mother, her face lighting up with recognition. "Bahu! Oh, what a joy to see you after all these years!"
"Namaste, Maa," Bahubali said, bowing respectfully. "Is Karna here?"
"He's by the riverside," Radha replied, her smile fond. "You know the spot, where you boys used to play and practice your archery. Go find him—he'll be thrilled to see you."
Thanking her, Bahubali headed to the familiar bend of the Ganga, the place where he and Karna had forged their friendship as children. As he neared, the sharp *twang* of an arrow slicing the air reached his ears. Peering through the reeds, he saw Karna, his bow drawn with effortless grace, each arrow striking the target's center with unerring precision. Bahubali watched, marveling at his friend's skill, honed under Lord Parashurama's tutelage. Karna's head snapped up, sensing a presence, his voice sharp. "Who's there? Step out and show yourself!"
Bahubali emerged with a mischievous grin, echoing their first meeting years ago. "I am Bahubali, son of Abhiram the charioteer. I didn't mean to spy, my friend, but it's not every day you witness archery of such mastery. Your skill is a sight to behold! Pray, what is your name, noble archer?"
Karna's eyes widened in disbelief, then softened with joy as he rushed forward, enveloping Bahubali in a fierce embrace. "Bahu! My brother, my friend! I've missed you more than words can say! How are you? When I returned to Hastinapur, I went to your house, eager to find you, but your mother told me you'd left for training. I've been waiting, hoping every day you'd come back to us!"
Bahubali hugged him tightly, his smile broad and genuine. "Karna, I've missed you too, more than I can express. I only returned to Hastinapur today, my training complete. After seeing Maa, my first thought was to find you. Look at you—a true warrior now!"
Karna grinned, pulling back to study Bahubali's face. "You've changed, Bahu—stronger, wiser, but still the same mischievous friend I knew. Tell me, who were your teachers? Where did you train to become this man before me?"
Bahubali shook his head, his smile tinged with secrecy. "It's a secret, Karna, one I'm bound to keep. Let's just say my teachers were extraordinary, their wisdom and guidance beyond anything I could have dreamed. I carry their teachings in my heart, and I hope to honor them with my actions. But enough about me—tell me of your journey with Lord Parashurama!"
Karna's face lit up, his voice brimming with pride and gratitude. "As you advised, I went to Mahendragiri Parvat, determined to seek Lord Parashurama's tutelage. I stood before him and begged to be his student, but he refused, saying he only teaches Brahmins. I didn't give up, Bahu. For six months, I stayed at his ashram, serving, waiting, proving my resolve. I told him everything about myself, as you urged—my birth as a suta's son, my kavach, my kundalas, all of it. After six months, he looked at me and said, 'Your past matters not now; you are my disciple.' His training was grueling, but it forged me into the warrior I am. I owe it all to your counsel, Bahu."
Bahubali's smile widened, his heart swelling with joy for his friend. "I'm so proud of you, Karna. You faced rejection and hardship, yet your determination won through. Lord Parashurama saw what I always knew—you're destined for greatness."
Karna's expression turned thoughtful. "And you, Bahu? What's next, now that your training is complete? What path will you walk in Hastinapur?"
Bahubali's gaze grew resolute, his voice firm with purpose. "I want to change society, Karna. I dream of a world where lower castes can learn anything they desire, where talent and effort outweigh birth. I want to break the chains of prejudice, to give every soul a chance to rise through their own merit. This is the mission I have set for myself, and I intend to see it through."
Karna's eyes gleamed with determination, his voice fervent. "Then count me in, Bahu. I've felt the sting of being denied knowledge because of my birth. I know the challenges we face, the doors slammed shut before us. I'll stand by you, fight for this cause with you. Together, we can make a difference. Tell me, what's our first step toward this vision?"
Bahubali placed a hand on Karna's shoulder, his smile warm. "For now, Karna, we stay with our families, reconnect with our roots, and let our hearts find peace in Hastinapur. Soon, we'll plan our path forward, strategize how to bring this change. But today, let's just be two friends, grateful to be together again."
The friends talked for hours by the riverside, reminiscing about their childhood antics, sharing stories of their training, and laughing over shared memories. As dusk painted the sky in hues of orange, they performed Surya Puja together, their chants blending with the Ganga's gentle flow, a moment of unity that sealed their renewed bond. They parted for their homes, promising to meet again the next day.
That night, Bahubali's father, Abhiram, returned from his work at the palace. Seeing his son after ten years, he enveloped Bahubali in a fierce, tearful hug. "Bahu, my son! You're back at last! How are you? What did you learn in all these years away? Tell me everything, my boy, for my heart has yearned for you every day!"
Bahubali laughed, returning the embrace with equal warmth. "Pitaji, I'm well, and I've missed you beyond words. I trained under great teachers, learning skills and wisdom I hope will make you proud. I can't share their names, as that was their condition, but know that I carry their teachings in my heart. I'm home now, ready to be with you and Maa again."
Abhiram's eyes shone with pride, his voice thick with emotion. "You've grown into a fine man, Bahu, and I can see the strength in your eyes. Stay with us now, let us make up for the years we lost. Tell me more—what was it like, your training? What kind of man has my son become?"
Bahubali smiled, sharing vague yet heartfelt stories of his rigorous training, the challenges he overcame, and the peace he found in discipline. Abhiram listened, his heart swelling with pride, asking question after question, eager to know every detail his son could share.
A year passed in Hastinapur, and Bahubali settled into a steady routine that grounded him in the love of his family and friend. Each morning, he performed Surya Puja at dawn, followed by Shiva Puja at his sand-crafted Shiv Ling by the Ganga, his chants a tribute to Mahadev. He helped his mother with household chores—fetching water, chopping wood, and sharing quiet moments of laughter. He assisted his father with chariot work at the palace, learning the rhythms of Abhiram's trade. In the afternoons, Bahubali and Karna sparred by the riverside, their arrows splitting targets and their swords clashing in a dance of precision. At dusk, Bahubali performed another Surya Puja, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the Ganga. Nights were spent eating with his family, sharing stories, and resting under the roof that had sheltered his childhood. This rhythm strengthened his bond with his parents and Karna, preparing him for the mission ahead—to reshape society and fulfill the divine purpose set by Mahadev and Mata Parvati.