The sun rose over the grand city of Mathura, bathing its majestic towers in a golden hue. The streets buzzed with anticipation—today was the day of the great Dhanur-Yagya organized by King Kansa. Rumors had spread like wildfire: the young cowherd brothers from Gokul, Krishna and Balram, had been invited to the royal arena. But the wise and aware knew—it was not an invitation of honor. It was a trap.
Among the quiet onlookers that morning were four figures cloaked in simple garments yet radiating divine strength—Rudra and his three disciples: Karna, Eklavya, and Ishita. Twelve years had passed since they left Mahishmati for the sacred training under Rudra's guidance. Now, as fully awakened warriors, they stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the palace gates.
They were not there to interfere, only to watch—and, if needed, to protect.
As Krishna and Balram entered the arena, the crowd roared in mockery. Standing like two simple village boys amidst seasoned warriors and elephant tamers, no one suspected the storm hidden beneath their calm smiles.
First came the mighty demon elephant Kuvalayapeeda, whose very name sent shivers through the hearts of soldiers. But Krishna, with divine elegance and terrifying strength, brought the beast down in a single, fluid motion. The crowd gasped. Balram grinned proudly.
Then came the famed wrestlers Chanura and Mushtika, towering brutes who had never faced defeat. But fate was against them. Krishna danced around Chanura with ease, striking with such precision that the giant fell like a tree struck by lightning. Beside him, Balram's hal danced with the wind as Mushtika crumbled.
Kansa, watching from above, panicked. His face turned pale, fear gripping his heart like never before.
"You dare defy me in my own court!" he bellowed.
Krishna's eyes locked onto his uncle's, not with hatred—but with destiny.
With one leap, he soared into the royal stand. Kansa reached for his sword, but it was too late. Krishna grabbed him by the hair, lifted him like a doll, and struck him down with the force of dharma itself. The tyrant king fell. The air grew silent.
Justice had been delivered.
From the shadows, Rudra smiled softly. His eyes, proud and calm, met Krishna's. The boy who once ran around with butter in his hands had now fulfilled one of the most critical pieces of divine leela. Krishna, still just twelve, descended from the platform and walked toward his Rudra bhaiya.
"Bhaiya…" he whispered, bowing his head respectfully.
Rudra stepped forward, placing his hand on Krishna's head. "You've done well, Keshav. Your path has now begun."
Balram joined them with a grin, "You saw my hal, bhaiya? I smashed that wrestler like a mango!"
Rudra chuckled, "I saw, Balram. You're still my proud tsundere warrior."
As the sun dipped behind Mathura's towers, Rudra and his disciples bid goodbye to Krishna and Balram. They would remain in Mathura, for destiny had far more chapters awaiting them. But for Rudra and his shishyas, it was time to return home—to Mahishmati.
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The golden gates of Mahishmati stood tall, draped in flowers and guarded by warriors in ceremonial armor. The city had prepared for this day for months—its prodigal sons and daughter were returning.
Drums thundered. Conches blared. Citizens lined the streets, showering them with petals. Rudra walked ahead, his gaze calm as ever. Behind him, Karna, Eklavya, and Ishita walked in honor, their auras brighter than ever before.
Their twelve-year journey had transformed them from mere disciples to legends in the making.
At the royal palace, the grand welcoming began.
Karna's father, the great Sarathi Adhirath And his Mother Radha , stood waiting. When Karna stepped forward, he called out, "Pitashree…Maata...."
Radha ran to her son and hugged him tightly. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Karna turned and whistled softly. From the horizon, a golden chariot approached—his divine rath, pulled by five golden horses, their manes ablaze with fire-like pranic energy. This was the gift of Surya Dev himself.
"This is your Rath?" Adhirath asked, amazed.
"Yes," Karna said humbly. "And you, Pitashree, shall be its Sarathi in the coming days of war and honor."
His father placed his hand on the chariot and smiled, "Then the gods themselves will tremble."
Next was Eklavya. His parents, humble warriors of the tribal clans, stood with pride.
"Look, Pitaji!" Eklavya said, lifting his bow. He nocked three arrows and released them into the air. The arrows whistled, then turned mid-air and landed precisely on the painted marks placed far behind them. His Hunter's Eye Siddhi shone briefly.
His mother embraced him, "You were born a warrior. Now, you are a legend."
Lastly came Ishita. She ran straight into her mother's arms, hugging her tightly. Her younger cousins and aunts gathered around, weeping with joy. Her father stood in the background, arms crossed, hiding tears.
"You didn't forget us?" he asked playfully.
"Never," she replied, before raising her hand. The air turned cold, frost forming around her fingers. Her Bone-Chilling Ice Siddhi activated briefly, forming a shimmering snowflake in the hot air of Mahishmati.
The royal court declared a grand feast in honor of Rudra and his disciples. Songs were sung. Dances were performed. Stories of their victories and their journey spread like wildfire.
Yet in Rudra's heart, he knew—this was just the calm before the storm. Darker times were on the horizon. The war of dharma and adharma would not be far now.
But for this one night, they celebrated.
Twelve years of training had been completed. The bonds of family had been reforged. The disciples had returned not just as warriors—but as hopes for the future.
As the night stars shone above Mahishmati, Rudra sat quietly in his chambers, watching the city sleep.
"They are ready," he whispered to the wind.
"And soon… they will be tested."