The war in Patala Lok raged relentlessly for three days, the cavernous battlefield a tapestry of chaos and carnage. Bahubali, Magadha Naresh, stood as a solitary tempest, his divine bow Ajaydhansu unleashing a ceaseless storm of arrows upon Kindhasura's fifteen akshauhini sena.
The asura army, once a roaring ocean of warriors, now lay decimated, their bodies piling into grotesque mounds across the scorched plain, their blood staining the obsidian earth. Drenched in their dark ichor, Bahubali fought without rest, his kavach was no more, his movements a blur of divine precision, each arrow from Ajaydhansu claiming lives with unerring aim.
Above, the devas—Indra, Agni, Vayu, Varuna—watched from Patala's ethereal skies, their voices a chorus of awe as ninety percent of the asura forces fell to the lone mortal's might.
On the third dawn, Kindhasura, ensconced in his obsidian palace atop a jagged peak, could no longer ignore the devastation. His fiery eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed the wreckage of his army, his senapati Vritraghna slain, and his once-invincible sena reduced to scattered remnants.
Slamming his massive trident into the throne, he roared, "Enough! This mortal mocks my dominion! His arrows have bled my sena dry, but I, Kindhasura, blessed by Brahma Dev boon, will end him myself!" Clad in armor black as night, wielding a bow forged in Patala's deepest forges, he descended to the battlefield, his presence a shadow that chilled the air.
The asuras, seeing their lord, rallied with desperate roars, but Bahubali stood unshaken, his gaze meeting Kindhasura's across the blood-soaked plain. The demon king's voice thundered, shaking the cavern walls. "Bahubali, you've carved a path of ruin through my army, a feat no mortal should dare! Your bow sings death, but I am no mere asura—I am Kindhasura, scourge of Patala, blessed by powers beyond your gods! I challenge you to single combat, bow against bow, to settle this war. Face me, or flee like a coward, and let Swarga weep for its champion!"
From the skies, Indra's voice rumbled with concern. "Devas, Kindhasura enters the fray himself! His dark astras and sorcery rival our own. Can even Bahubali, Mahadev's disciple, withstand such a foe in single combat?"
Agni's flames flared, his tone resolute. "Indra, trust in Mahadev's choice. Bahubali's heart is pure, his Ajaydhansu divine. Kindhasura's pride will be his undoing—watch, and see dharma triumph."
Bahubali raised Ajaydhansu, his voice calm yet resonant, carrying the weight of dharma. "Kindhasura, tyrant of Patala, I accept your challenge. You've plagued this realm with terror, defying the order. I, Bahubali, stand for Patala's liberation. Let our bows decide—your tyranny ends here. Come, face me, and let justice sing through my arrows."
The battlefield cleared, asuras retreating to form a wide ring, their chants fueling Kindhasura's fury. The devas leaned closer, their divine sight fixed on the duel. Bahubali and Kindhasura faced off, their bows drawn, the air crackling with their intent. The duel began, arrows flying like meteors, each shot a clash of mortal and demonic might.
For five days, the combat raged without pause, a spectacle of skill and endurance that awed even the heavens. Kindhasura's arrows, imbued with dark sorcery, screamed through the air, trailing shadows that sought to bind Bahubali's soul.
He loosed the Nagastra, serpentine shafts hissing toward Bahubali, but the Magadha king countered with the Garudastra, arrows summoning illusory eagles that devoured the snakes mid-flight.
Kindhasura invoked the Tamas Astra, plunging the battlefield into darkness, but Bahubali's Prakasha Astra pierced the gloom, its radiant arrows restoring light and striking the demon's armor, drawing black blood.
Bahubali's Ajaydhansu sang, its golden string a blur, his arrows relentless. He targeted Kindhasura's weak points, piercing gaps in his armor, grazing his limbs, yet the demon's boons rendered him near-invincible, his wounds healing swiftly.
Kindhasura laughed, his voice a guttural taunt. "Foolish mortal! My boons shield me from death! Your arrows sting, but they'll never fell me. Swarga's champion tires, while I grow stronger! Yield, Bahubali, and I'll spare you as my slave!"
Bahubali's eyes blazed, his voice steady, unyielding. "Kindhasura, your boons are but chains of pride, binding you to your doom. I fight not for glory, but for dharma, guided by Mahadev's trident and Mata Parvati's grace. Your laughter betrays your fear—each arrow I loose weakens your spirit. Stand and fight, demon, for Patala's freedom is my vow!"
The duel intensified, Kindhasura summoning illusions—dozens of himself, each firing arrows, their forms shimmering. Bahubali, recalling his training, closed his eyes, trusting Mahadev's insight, and loosed arrows guided by instinct, dispelling the phantoms and striking the true Kindhasura, who roared in pain. The demon retaliated with the Rakshasa Astra, conjuring spectral warriors, but Bahubali's Himaghna Astra encased them in ice, shattering them with a single shot.
By the fifth day, both warriors were bloodied, and Kindhasura's armor splintered. The devas watched, breathless, as the duel reached its climax.
Bahubali, sensing the moment, drew upon his ultimate weapon, taught by Mahadev Himself. Raising his hands, he chanted, "O Pashupati, Lord of Beasts and Souls, lend me Your divine wrath. Let the Pashupatastra end this tyranny, for Patala's sake!" A blinding light erupted, an arrow of cosmic energy forming in his grasp, its power shaking the battlefield. Kindhasura's eyes widened, fear flickering for the first time.
Bahubali's voice was iron, his gaze unyielding. "Your time is ended, Kindhasura. The Pashupatastra is dharma's verdict, not mine. Face your fate, and may your soul find peace in Mahadev's judgment." He loosed the astra, a blazing comet that tore through Patala's air, striking Kindhasura's chest.
The demon screamed, his form disintegrating in a burst of light, his dark boons unraveling as the astra consumed him, leaving only ash scattered on the wind.
The battlefield fell silent, the surviving asuras dropping their weapons, their will broken. From the skies, Indra's voice boomed, "Victory! Bahubali has slain Kindhasura! Patala is free, and dharma reigns! Hail Mahadev's disciple, savior of the worlds!"
Agni's flames roared, his voice exultant. "Bahubali's devotion has wrought a miracle. Kindhasura's reign is dust, and Swarga owes this king its gratitude."
Varuna's waters calmed, his tone reverent. "His heart is a temple of dharma, his arrows its prayers. Patala's rivers will sing his name, as will we, for eternity."
Bahubali, blood-soaked and weary, knelt, offering pranam to Mahadev and Mata Parvati. "O Shiva, O Parvati, Your will is done. Patala is free, and I am but Your servant." Rising, he faced the cowed asuras, his voice gentle yet firm. "Go, warriors of Patala. Live in peace, serve dharma, and let this war's scars heal. Kindhasura's tyranny is no more—build a new Patala, under Mahadev's light."
The asuras bowed, retreating, their hearts stirred by his mercy. The devas descended, their forms radiant, offering blessings.