The Rajasuya Yagna, a grand ritual to crown Yudhishthira as emperor of Aryavrat, progressed as the Pandavas' armies subjugated kingdoms not under Bahubali's Magadh, including Anga under Karna, Darsana, Nishadha, and Vidarbha.
These lands, inspired by Magadha's reforms, resisted fiercely but fell to the Pandavas' might, their banners lowered in submission.
With the conquest complete, invitations for the yagna were dispatched across Aryavrat, including to Magadha.
Bahubali received the scroll in his sabha, and his ministers gathered as he read it aloud. "Dharmaraja Yudhishthira invites us to the Rajasuya's culmination in Indraprastha, to witness his ascension as samrat."
Sahadeva, his trusted minister, spoke first, his voice thoughtful. "Maharaj, this is a gesture of unity, but after our duel at Magadha's borders, attending might reopen old wounds. Yet, declining could strain ties with the Pandavas, who now hold sway over much of Aryavrat."
Bahubali nodded, his gaze steady, reflecting on the past conflict where he had bested Arjuna, Sahadeva, Nakula, Yudhishthira, and Bhima in successive duels. "The Rajasuya celebrates their triumph, but to join their celebration after defeating them in battle would be unseemly. Send a reply: I honor the yagna but cannot attend, lest it seem I gloat over our past encounter. May Yudhishthira's reign prosper under Mahadev's grace."
The messenger departed, carrying Bahubali's polite declination, faster than the wind. In Indraprastha, Yudhishthira read it, his face calm. "Bahubali declines, citing our duel. Wise words—let us not push; his stand is honorable."
Arjuna nodded, "He fought fairly, and his refusal shows humility."
Bhima grunted, "Good riddance—his presence would sour the yagna."
The Pandavas proceeded, the yagna a spectacle of Vedic rites, attended by kings under their banner.
During the ceremony, Lord Krishna was selected as the guest of honor, his presence a divine seal on the event.
As kings offered tributes, Shishupala of Chedi, his voice venomous, insulted Krishna repeatedly—mocking His birth, His deeds, His counsel.
The sabha tensed, murmurs rising as Shishupala's barbs crossed a hundred, fulfilling Krishna's vow to forgive ninety-nine offenses.
Krishna's eyes hardened, his voice resonant. "Shishupala, your insults end now. As promised to your mother, I spared you a hundred times, but dharma demands justice."
With a flick of His wrist, the Sudarshana Chakra whirled forth, severing Shishupala's head in a flash of light. The sabha gasped, then fell silent, Krishna's act a reminder of divine retribution.
In the opulent Mayasabha, a hall of illusions crafted by Mayasura, Duryodhana wandered, marveling at its wonders—pools that seemed solid, floors that shimmered like water. Mistaking a crystal-clear pond for a marble floor, he stepped forward and fell in with a splash, drenching his silks.
Bhima, nearby, laughed loudly. "Andhe ka beta andha!"—blind man's son is blind. The sabha erupted in laughter, nobles and kings chuckling at Duryodhana's expense. Draupadi's maids tittered, and even Pandavas stifled smiles.
Duryodhana's face burned with humiliation, his eyes narrowing as he climbed out, water dripping. He vowed revenge silently, his pride wounded deeper than any blade.
Shakuni, seizing the moment, approached Duryodhana in his chambers. "My dear Suyodhana, the Pandavas mock you openly, their Mayasabha a trap to humiliate you. But I have a way to reclaim your honor—my dice, blessed with magic, never fail. Invite them to a game, and let fate turn the tables."
Duryodhana's eyes gleamed with malice. "Yes, Mama. Their laughter will turn to tears. Prepare the board—we'll pay them back tenfold."
Bahubali and Karna, in Magadha and Anga, received reports of the incident through Nyay Rakshak spies. Bahubali penned a message to Duryodhana: "Mitra, heed the past—don't take drastic action that affects the future. Let dharma guide your response, not anger. Your friend, Bahubali."
Karna added his own: "Mitra Suyodhana, we stand with you, but revenge blinds. Think of Hastinapur's peace."
But Duryodhana's heart was set on vengeance, his pride a wounded lion, roaring for retribution. "We cannot contain a wounded lion," he told Shakuni. "It will make or break when attacked. The Pandavas will rue this day."
Meanwhile, in Patala, Rudra completed his training under Shukracharya, mastering swords, axes, gada, spear, wrestling, archery, maya, magic, and healing.
The guru blessed him with the Sanjeevani Mantra, a sacred incantation to revive the fallen. "For your gurudakshina, do not show prejudice for asurs and only kill them when they have committed adharma, and adhere to dharma as your father does, Rudra. Protect the weak, uphold justice, and let Mahadev's light guide you."
Rudra bowed, his voice resolute. "I vow it, Gurudev. Your teachings are my armor—I'll serve dharma with all I am."
With Shukracharya's blessings, Rudra departed Patala, his sixteen-year-old frame now tall and muscled, his rudraksha a constant companion.
Returning to Magadha, he was welcomed with joy, but his heart burned to serve. Reunited with his family, he shared his adventures, and Bahubali, proud, said, "Rudra, your path begins. Use your gifts for Aryavrat's upliftment, as Mahadev wills."
Rudra nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I will, Pitashree. Dharma calls, and I answer." The prince's return marked a new era for Magadha, his training complete, ready to forge his legacy in the unfolding saga of Aryavrat.