The morning sun bathed Dwarka's golden palace in a warm glow, its seashell-carved walls shimmering like pearls. Bahubali, having completed his morning rituals—offering bilva leaves and chanting "Om Namah Shivaya" before a small Shiv Ling in his chamber—strolled through a hallway, his gold-embroidered dhoti rustling softly.
The palace hummed with quiet activity, servants polishing marble floors and maids arranging lotus garlands for the upcoming celebration of Prince Pradyumna's birth. As he turned a corner, he spotted Lord Balaram approaching, his muscular frame clad in a blue dhoti, a plow slung casually over his shoulder, his face lit with a broad smile.
"Pranipat, Dau Balaram," Bahubali greeted, bowing respectfully, his voice warm. "How fares Dwarka's mightiest warrior this fine morning?"
Balaram laughed heartily, returning the bow. "Pranipat, Magadha Naresh! I'm as sturdy as ever, ready to wrestle a storm if need be. And you, Bahubali? Dwarka's air agrees with you, I hope?"
"It does, Dau," Bahubali replied, his eyes crinkling. "The sea breeze and Krishna's hospitality rejuvenate the soul. But tell me, how do you manage your mischievous brother's antics?"
Balaram chuckled, his voice booming. "Kanha's a handful, but he keeps life lively! Come, join me for breakfast in the bhojanshala. Let's share a meal before the day's festivities begin."
Bahubali nodded, smiling. "It would be my honor, Dau."
As they walked toward the bhojanshala, their footsteps echoing on the polished floors, they noticed Lord Krishna standing at the kitchen door, his yellow dhoti vibrant against the white marble, peering inside with a suspiciously innocent grin. He seemed to be whispering to someone, his peacock feather crown tilting playfully.
Balaram raised an eyebrow, calling out, "Kanha, what are you up to, sneaking around the kitchen like a cat after milk?"
Krishna spun around, his dark eyes twinkling with mock surprise. "Pranipat, Dau! Pranipat, Jyesht Bahubali! Me? Oh, I'm just checking what delicacies the cooks are preparing for our honored guests. Can't let them serve anything less than perfect for Magadha's king, can I?"
Balaram snorted, crossing his arms. "Checking, eh? Your 'checking' usually ends with a missing pot of makhan, Kanha." Bahubali stifled a laugh, sensing Krishna's playful deceit.
Before Krishna could respond, the patter of small footsteps echoed, followed by a familiar child's voice. "Chacha ji, I got the makhan! Where are we eating it? If Maa catches me, she'll twist my ear till it falls off!"
From the kitchen door emerged Rudra, barely three, clutching a small clay matka brimming with creamy makhan, a smear of it glistening near his mouth, betraying his sneaky indulgence. His green kurta was slightly askew, his rudraksha necklace bouncing as he froze, spotting Bahubali and Balaram.
Rudra's eyes widened, and he quickly hid the matka behind his back, his voice high with innocence. "Pranipat, Pitashree! Pranipat, Bade Chacha ji!"
Balaram, amused, returned the greeting. "Pranipat, little Rajkumar! Quite a morning adventure you're having, eh?"
Bahubali, arms crossed, fixed Rudra with a knowing look. "Rudra, what are you doing here in the kitchen? And what's that you're hiding behind your back?" His tone was stern but laced with affection, his eyebrow arched.
Rudra, his small face a picture of guileless charm, replied, "Pitashree, I just came with Chacha Krishna to see what we're eating for breakfast! This?" He gestured vaguely. "It's nothing, just a matka of… water!" Balaram's lips twitched, his expression one of barely contained mirth.
Meanwhile, Krishna, standing behind, subtly signaled Rudra, pointing to his own mouth to indicate the makhan smear. Rudra, confused, tilted his head, missing the hint.
Balaram and Bahubali turned to Krishna, who suddenly whistled, gazing at the ceiling as if admiring its intricate carvings. They turned back to Rudra, who blinked innocently, his small hands still clutching the hidden matka.
Bahubali shook his head, pointing. "Rudra, if it's just water, what's that white smear at the corner of your mouth?"
Rudra's eyes widened, and he quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, smudging the evidence. "Nothing, Pitashree! See? All clean!" he chirped, his grin faltering under his father's gaze.
Bahubali sighed, his voice firm but gentle. "Rudra, I know your tricks, and I see Chacha Krishna's hand in this. Return the matka to the kitchen before your mother hears of this, or her ear-twisting will be the least of your worries."
Rudra's shoulders slumped, his voice small. "Haan, Pitashree… but please don't tell Maa!" He scurried back into the kitchen, the matka clinking as he placed it on a shelf.
Balaram turned to Krishna, his tone half-accusing, half-amused. "Kanha, was this your doing? Leading Magadha's prince astray with makhan heists?"
Krishna spread his hands, his smile disarming. "Dau, what accusations! I was merely supervising the kitchen's efforts. If Rudra found makhan, it's his adventurous spirit, not my guidance!" His eyes danced with mischief, fooling no one.
Balaram shook his head, chuckling. "You're incorrigible, Kanha. I could argue, but you'd talk circles around me. Come, let's eat before more makhan vanishes."
Rudra reappeared, his face now clean, grinning sheepishly at Bahubali, who ruffled his hair. "No more pranks today, putra, or you'll answer to your mother."
The trio, with Rudra trotting alongside, made their way to the bhojanshala, a grand hall adorned with lotus motifs and low tables laden with steaming dishes—puris, spiced potato curry, fresh yogurt, and sliced mangoes.
As they sat, Krishna teased Rudra, "Partner, next time, we hide the makhan better, eh?"
Rudra giggled, whispering, "Yes, Chacha ji!"
Bahubali and Balaram exchanged exasperated looks, their laughter mingling with the clink of copper plates, the morning meal a prelude to the joyous celebration awaiting in Dwarka.