Three years had passed since the birth of Prince Rudra, and Magadha had transformed into a beacon of prosperity and justice under Bahubali and Dushala's rule.
The kingdom's markets overflowed with silks, spices, and jewels, its gurukuls thrived with scholars of all castes, and its armories forged weapons of unmatched craftsmanship.
Yet, the most profound change was the rise of the *Nyay Rakshak*, a mysterious force of justice warriors created by Bahubali. Clad in simple garb, they mingled with commoners across Aryavrat, aiding the oppressed and exposing corruption.
Their methods were precise: they sent detailed crime reports to the sabhas of specific kingdoms, demanding justice. If ignored, they acted swiftly, ensuring oppressors faced consequences—be it public shaming or, in extreme cases, death at the hands of their shadowy leaders, rumored to be formidable warriors in black, faces veiled, wielding skills that struck fear into the hearts of tyrants.
To the common folk, the Nyay Rakshak were godsends, whispered as Mahadev's emissaries, delivering justice where sabhas failed. Farmers and artisans ceased appealing to corrupt courts, trusting the Rakshak to right wrongs.
But to cruel kings and nobles, they were nightmares, their anonymity fueling dread. Several ruthless rulers met their end at the hands of these black-clad leaders, their crimes exposed before their fall.
Kings who sought to capture the Rakshak found their efforts futile; the warriors vanished like mist, their fighting prowess leaving pursuers wary.
Many monarchs, cowed by fear or wisdom, turned inward, addressing their kingdoms' woes to avoid the Rakshak's gaze, while rumors swirled: "Who commands them? From where do they rise?" None knew they were Bahubali's creation, a silent force born from his vow to uphold dharma across Aryavrat.
In Magadha, the palace radiated joy, its marble halls echoing with the laughter of three-year-old Prince Rudra. The young prince, clad in a white dhoti and yellow angavastram, a rudraksha necklace from his annaprasan day—gifted by Gandhari—hanging proudly around his neck, was the kingdom's darling.
His dark curls bounced as he scampered through corridors, his curious eyes sparkling with endless questions: "Pitaji, why does the sun sleep at night?" or "Chachi, how does ghee make the havan flame dance?"
His harmless pranks—hiding a servant's sandal or slipping a flower into Dushala's hair—drew chuckles from all. He called every servant "chacha" or "chachi," refusing the term "servant," a habit that endeared him to the palace staff. "Rajkumar Rudra, you're naughtier than a monkey!" a cook teased, as Rudra giggled, offering her a mango in apology.
Rudra shadowed Bahubali during morning poojas, sitting cross-legged before the Shiv Ling, mimicking his father's chants of "Om Namah Shivaya" with a high-pitched voice, his tiny hands offering bilva leaves.
Abhiram and Sumitra, his doting grandparents, spoiled him with tales of Shiva's valor, while Dushala taught him to fold his hands in prayer, her voice soft: "Rudra, Mahadev listens when your heart speaks." The people of Rajgir adored their prince, his laughter lighting up the palace like a lamp, his curiosity a mirror of Bahubali's wisdom and Dushala's grace.
Bahubali, despite his duties, prioritized his family, spending evenings playing with Rudra, teaching him to hold a toy bow or recounting tales of dharma. "Pitaji, will I fight demons like you?" Rudra asked, wide-eyed.
Bahubali chuckled, "You'll fight adharma, my son, with courage and kindness."
Magadha's might grew unmatched—its economy swelled with trade, its military bolstered by disciplined soldiers and innovative tactics, making it a superpower in Aryavrat.
Jealous kings plotted attacks, driven by greed for Magadha's wealth, but Bahubali's spies, woven into the Nyay Rakshak's network, uncovered every scheme. He dealt with threats decisively—sometimes with diplomacy, offering alliances, other times with warnings, his reputation as an Athi Maharathi ensuring none dared strike.
On this bright morning, the Magadha sabha convened, Bahubali seated on his lion-carved throne, Dushala by his side, radiant in a green sari, and Minister Sahadeva presenting reports of bountiful harvests and new schools.
A soldier interrupted, bowing. "Maharaj, a messenger from Dwarka seeks audience." Bahubali nodded, "Bring him to the court."
The messenger, clad in blue robes, strode to the center, unrolling a silk scroll adorned with a peacock feather seal. He read aloud: "Pranipat, Magadha Naresh Bahubali and Maharani Dushala. Lord Sri Krishna, Dwarkadhish, invites you and your family to Dwarka for the joyous celebration of Prince Pradyumna's birth. May your presence grace this sacred occasion." He presented a vibrant morpankh, its iridescent hues glinting.
Bahubali, holding the feather, smiled warmly. "Dwarkadhish's invitation is an honor. Tell Lord Krishna we—my wife, my son, and I—will attend with joy. Magadha stands with Dwarka in celebration." The messenger bowed, departing with the reply.
The sabha concluded, and Bahubali shared the news with his family in their private chambers, where Rudra played with a wooden horse, Abhiram and Sumitra sipping rosewater.
"Dushala, Pitaji, Maa, Krishna invites us to Dwarka for Pradyumna's birth celebration," Bahubali said, his voice light. "It's a chance to strengthen our bonds and show Rudra Aryavrat's wonders."
Dushala's eyes lit up. "Rudra's never left Magadha—this will be his first adventure. Let's leave two weeks early, spend time as a family, perhaps by the sea or in Dwarka's forests. We deserve a moment's peace after these years."
Abhiram nodded, his voice hearty. "A fine idea! Rudra will love Dwarka's shores, and you two need rest from ruling. You'll have to teach my grandson to chase waves!" Sumitra added, "And I'll pack his favorite laddus. A family journey will do you all good."
Rudra, overhearing, bounced over, tugging Bahubali's dhoti. "Pitaji, we're going to see the sea? Will there be big boats? Can I meet Lord Krishna, whom you talk so much about?"
Bahubali laughed, lifting him. "Yes, my little warrior! You'll see Dwarka's wonders, and I will introduce you to Lord Krishna. But you must promise to be good—no pranks on Dwarkadhish!"
Rudra giggled, "Promise, Pitaji! But can I prank Bade Mama Duryodhana?" The room erupted in laughter, Dushala ruffling his hair. "Naughty boy, no pranks! But you'll love Dwarka."
The family agreed to depart early, planning a vacation to bond before the celebration, their hearts light with anticipation, unaware of the adventures awaiting them in Krishna's divine city.