The journey to Kashi's forest took young Rudra a full month, his ten-year-old frame braving dusty trails and shaded groves, his cloth bag slung over his shoulder with a small Shiv Ling, a spare kurta, and his wooden sword.
Guided by Mahadev's grace and his own resolve, he navigated rivers and villages, his rudraksha necklace gleaming against his green kurta.
At last, he reached the ashram, a serene enclave nestled among ancient trees, its air thick with the scent of sandalwood and the hum of Vedic chants. Vines draped over thatched huts, and a towering peepal tree stood at the heart of the compound, its leaves whispering in the breeze.
At the ashram's entrance, Rudra approached a young student in saffron robes, sweeping the courtyard. "Pranipat, bhrata," Rudra said, his voice steady but respectful. "I am Rudra, son of Magadha Naresh Bahubali. I seek to meet the revered Rishi to become his disciple. May I have an audience?"
The student smiled, noting Rudra's earnest eyes. "Pranipat, young traveler. Wait here—I'll convey your request." He disappeared into the ashram, leaving Rudra to stand under the shade of a banyan, his heart pounding with anticipation.
The forest hummed with life—birds chirping, a distant stream gurgling—yet Rudra stood still, clutching his rudraksha, murmuring "Om Namah Shivaya" to calm his nerves.
After a short while, the student returned, beckoning. "Come, the Rishi awaits you by the great peepal tree."
Rudra followed, his steps light but purposeful, weaving through students tending gardens and reciting shlokas. Beneath the peepal's sprawling branches sat the Rishi, his white beard flowing, clad in simple bark cloth, his single eye gleaming with otherworldly wisdom.
Rudra approached, bowing deeply and touching his feet. "Pranipat, revered Gurudev. I am Rudra, seeking your guidance."
The Rishi's voice was warm yet probing. "Aayushman bhava, putra. Why have you come to this humble ashram?"
Rudra stood tall, his voice clear. "Gurudev, I wish to become your disciple, to learn the secrets of astras, shastras, and dharma's truth."
The Rishi smiled, his gaze piercing yet kind. "Very well, Rudra. I will accept you as my disciple if you prove your sincerity. The path of knowledge demands dedication. Rest today—tomorrow, you begin your service here."
Rudra's heart leaped, and he bowed again. "I accept your condition, Gurudev. I will prove myself."
The student led him to a modest room in the ashram—a simple mat, a clay water pot, and a small window overlooking the forest. "This is your space, Rudra," the student said. "Rest well."
Rudra nodded, unpacking his Shiv Ling and offering a quick prayer before sleeping, dreaming of the trials ahead.
The next morning, after his rituals—Surya pooja and prayers to Mahadev with bilva leaves—Rudra sought the Rishi, who assigned him daily tasks: sweeping the courtyard, cleaning the prayer hall, and chopping wood for cooking.
For six months, Rudra toiled alongside other students, his royal hands calloused but his spirit unyielding. He swept with focus, carried water with care, and split logs with strength, his rudraksha bouncing as he worked.
The students admired his humility, whispering, "The prince of Magadha works like one of us!" Rudra's pranks, subdued by duty, surfaced only in small ways—arranging firewood in playful patterns, earning smiles from his peers.
One afternoon, after six months, the student summoned Rudra. "Gurudev calls you to the peepal tree."
Rudra, now leaner and tanned from labor, approached, bowing. "Pranipat, Gurudev. What task do you have for me today?"
The Rishi's smile was enigmatic. "No tasks today, Rudra. I wish to test your mind. Answer ten questions, and show me the depth of your understanding."
Rudra nodded, his eyes steady. "I will, Gurudev."
The Rishi began, his voice like a river's flow:
"What is stronger than the mightiest warrior, yet softer than a petal?"
Rudra thought, then answered, "Love, Gurudev—it conquers all yet yields gently."
"What moves without feet, speaks without a mouth?"
"The mind, Gurudev—it travels in thought and speaks through action."
"What is always in front of you but cannot be seen?"
"The future, Gurudev—it lies ahead in time but remains unseen."
"What can fill a room but takes up no space?"
"Light, Gurudev—it spreads everywhere yet occupies no room."
"What has keys but opens no locks?"
"A sitar, Gurudev—its keys play music, not open locks."
"What runs all day but never tires?"
"A river, Gurudev—it flows endlessly without fatigue."
"What is born each night and dies each dawn?"
"A dream, Gurudev—born in sleep and gone at waking."
"What is the greatest offering to the divine?"
"A pure heart, Gurudev, for it holds true devotion."
The Rishi's face lit with approval. "I am pleased, Rudra. Your answers reflect sincerity and wisdom. You are worthy to be my disciple."
Rudra's heart soared, his face breaking into a grin. "Thank you, Gurudev! I am honored!"
With a gentle wave of his hand, the Rishi dispelled the maya cloaking the ashram. The huts, gardens, and students vanished, leaving only a clearing with the peepal tree.
In the Rishi's place stood Asurguru Shukracharya, his single eye glowing with divine power, his aura radiant.
Rudra gasped, falling to his feet. "Pranipat, Asurguru Shukracharya! Your blessing is my life's treasure!"
Shukracharya smiled, lifting him. "Aayushman bhava, Rudra. Your heart is pure, your mind sharp. Come, we journey to Patala, where I will teach you the secrets of astras, shastras, and dharma's eternal truths." Rudra, ecstatic, touched his feet again, his rudraksha pressed to his heart.
Together, they departed the clearing, the forest fading as Shukracharya's powers guided them to Patala's mystical realm.
Rudra's heart burned with anticipation, ready to embrace the trials and wisdom awaiting him under the Asurguru's guidance, his path to becoming a warrior of dharma set firmly under Mahadev's watchful gaze.