The Mahadev Mandir's courtyard pulsed with the fervor of Maha Shivaratri, the air vibrant with the echoes of Bahubali's transcendent rendition of the Shiv Tandav Stotram.
As the thunderous applause and chants of "Jai Maharaj! Jai Shiv Shankar!" subsided, Bahubali stood at the center of the field, his presence commanding yet warm, his white dhoti glowing under the torchlight.
The crowd—nobles, Brahmins, common folk, and visiting kings from Anga, Kalinga, Dwarka, and beyond—watched eagerly, their faces alight with anticipation. Dushala, Bhanumati, Duryodhana, the Kauravas, and the Magadha royals stood nearby, their smiles reflecting the night's joy.
Bahubali raised his hands, his voice clear and resonant, carrying over the gathered thousands. "Your love for Mahadev and Magadha fills my heart. As promised, it's now time for my brothers-in-law, the mighty Kauravas, to perform! First in line is Yuvraj Duryodhana, the strongest of them all. Tonight, he will face you, the people of Magadha, in a test of strength—a tug of war!"
A puzzled murmur rippled through the crowd, faces exchanging confused glances.
Duryodhana's eyebrows shot up, and Dushasana whispered, "Tug of war? What's Bahu planning?"
Bahubali, catching the crowd's bewilderment, smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling. "Let me explain, lest you think I jest! Duryodhana, renowned for his might, will stand alone on one side, using only one hand. On the other side, ten brave souls from the audience will compete. If they fail to defeat him, five more will join, and the numbers will grow until Duryodhana is bested. And to make it interesting—those who defeat him will receive a prize of one hundred gold coins!"
The crowd erupted in excited murmurs, eyes widening at the prospect of gold. Children clapped, and men whispered eagerly, sizing up Duryodhana's towering frame.
Duryodhana threw back his head, laughing heartily, his voice booming. "Bahu, Get ready to empty Magadha's treasury, because I'll pull every last soul in Rajgir before I yield! Bring on your challengers!"
His brothers—Dushasana, Vikarna, Yuyutsu, and the others—cheered loudly, Dushasana shouting, "Jyeshta, show them Hastinapur's strength!"
Bhanumati and Dushala giggled, Bhanumati calling, "Nadha, don't bankrupt my brother!"
Bahubali grinned, clapping Duryodhana's shoulder. "Give it your best, Dury! Magadha's people are eager to test the Kuru lion!" He gestured to the herald, who announced, "Volunteers, step forward for the tug of war!"
Ten sturdy men—farmers, blacksmiths, and guards—leapt forward, gripping a thick rope laid out on the field, their faces a mix of excitement and determination. Duryodhana, in his crimson kurta, took his place at the rope's end, wrapping it around one hand, his stance unshakable as a mountain.
The herald blew a conch, signaling the start. The ten men pulled with all their might, grunting and straining, their feet digging into the earth.
The crowd roared, "Pull! Pull!" But Duryodhana stood firm, his arm barely flexing, a playful smirk on his lips.
After a minute, he gave a slight tug, and the ten men stumbled forward, tumbling into a heap to the crowd's laughter and cheers. Dushasana whooped, "That's our Jyeshta! Unmovable as Gandhamadan!"
Five more volunteers joined, making fifteen.
Again, they pulled, veins bulging, but Duryodhana held steady, his single hand like iron. With another gentle pull, he sent them sprawling, the crowd roaring with delight.
The numbers grew—twenty, thirty, fifty—each round drawing louder cheers as Duryodhana, with one hand, toppled his opponents, his brothers chanting, "Suyodhana! Suyodhana!"
Karna, standing with Vrushali, laughed, "Bahu, you've unleashed a titan! Magadha's treasury will empty before he gets defeated!"
By the time two hundred men gripped the rope, Duryodhana's smirk faded, his brow furrowing with focus.
The crowd held its breath as the rope strained, taut as a bowstring. He planted his feet, his arm rippling with muscle, and held firm, but sweat glistened on his face. With a mighty heave, he pulled, scattering the two hundred, though his breath came heavier. The crowd gasped, then cheered, children jumping in excitement.
The numbers climbed—three hundred, four hundred, five hundred.
Duryodhana, now serious, roared with effort, his single hand defying the mass of men.
Bhanumati and Dushala stood, clapping and shouting, "Nadha, hold strong!" Dushala called, "Bhaiya, for Hastinapur's honor!"
The Kauravas chanted, "Jyeshta, you're unbeatable!" But as five hundred and five men joined, the rope began to slip. Duryodhana's feet skidded, his face red with strain. The crowd leaned forward, breathless, as he fought valiantly, his brothers' cheers deafening.
Finally, with a collective heave, the five hundred and five pulled him forward, and Duryodhana stumbled, laughing as he fell to one knee, the rope slipping from his grasp. The crowd erupted in wild applause, chanting, "Jai Magadha! Jai Hastinapur!"
Duryodhana rose, grinning, and raised his arms in mock surrender. "Well fought, Magadha! You've earned your gold, but I gave you a battle!"
Bahubali stepped forward, his voice ringing with warmth. "People of Magadha, guests, behold Yuvraj Duryodhana's might! Five hundred and five of you to defeat him—what a spectacle! As promised, every participant will receive one hundred gold coins, to be distributed by morning. Let this night honor Mahadev and the strength that unites us!" The crowd cheered, "Jai Maharaj! Jai Yuvraj!" as attendants began noting names for the prize.
Duryodhana clasped Bahubali's hand, laughing. "Bahu, you've made me a legend and a pauper in one night! But what a game! My brothers are next—what torture do you plan for them?"
Dushala giggled, "Bahu, be kind to my brothers—they're not all as strong as Bhaiya!"
Bhanumati teased, "Or as stubborn!"
The Kauravas groaned playfully, readying for Bahubali's next challenge, as the festivities continued, the night alive with laughter, music, and the divine glow of Mahadev's blessings.
A/n: suggestb some games for the brothers