The gates of Rajgir, Magadha's gleaming capital, erupted in cheers as Prince Rudra returned after six years of training under Asurguru Shukracharya. Banners of Shiva's trishul fluttered from every spire, and citizens lined the streets, tossing jasmine petals that danced like snow in the breeze.
Rudra, now sixteen, rode a white stallion, his lean, muscled frame clad in a simple saffron dhoti, his rudraksha necklace glinting against his chest, a small Shiv Ling tucked in his bag. His dark curls framed a face sharpened by trials, his eyes holding the wisdom of Patala's depths. The people chanted, "Jai Rajkumar Rudra! Jai Magadha!" as children ran alongside, waving flags.
Bahubali and Dushala awaited at the palace steps, their faces alight with joy. Rudra dismounted, touching their feet. "Pranipat, Pitashree, Maa. Your blessings guided me home."
Dushala embraced him, tears streaming. "My son, you've grown so handsome! We missed you every day, Rudra."
Bahubali clasped his shoulder, his voice thick. "You've returned a warrior, putra. Tell us of your journey."
Rudra smiled. "Later, Pitashree. First, to Dada and Dadi—they must be waiting." The family nodded, and Rudra rode to his grandparents' modest home in Rajgir's old quarter.
Abhiram and Sumitra, seated on their veranda, spotted him from afar, their eyes widening.
As Rudra dismounted and approached, Sumitra's hands flew to her mouth, tears flowing. "Rudra? My little one?"
Abhiram stood, his voice trembling. "You're back, beta! Look at you—a young man!"
Rudra touched their feet, his eyes misty. "Pranipat, Dada, Dadi. I've missed your kheer and stories."
Sumitra hugged him tightly, sobbing. "You left a child, returned a prince! How are you, beta? Was the training hard? Did you eat well?"
Abhiram, wiping his eyes, clasped his hand. "Tell us everything, Rudra. We missed you so much!"
Rudra laughed, hugging them. "I'm well, Dadi—stronger, wiser. Gurudev's teachings were tough, but dharma guided me. I learned astras, maya, healing—everything to serve Magadha."
They spent the afternoon talking; Sumitra fed him sweets, and Abhiram shared tales. As evening fell, Bahubali and Dushala joined the family, reuniting in joyful tears and laughter, and sharing stories late into the night.
The next day, the palace hosted a grand feast for Rudra's return, tables laden with puris, halwa, and spiced curries, nobles and commoners alike celebrating.
Bahubali, beaming, raised a toast. "To Rudra, Magadha's future, returned from his guru's grace!" The crowd cheered, "Jai Rajkumar Rudra!"
A month later, in private, Bahubali addressed Rudra. "Putra, you've mastered basics—now join the Nyay Rakshak. Experience Aryavrat's common life, aid the oppressed, and learn justice's true face."
Rudra bowed, his eyes eager. "As you command, Pitashree. I'll serve dharma beyond Magadha's walls."
Dushala, teary-eyed, hugged him. "Be safe, Rudra. The Rakshak's path is dangerous."
Rudra smiled. "Maa, Mahadev watches over me. I'll return wiser."
Bahubali nodded. "Go with my blessings, son. Let your heart guide you, as it did in Kashi."
Rudra, cloaked as a Nyay Rakshak, roamed Aryavrat, helping the distressed—a farmer wronged in Chedi, a widow in Kosala, his alias "Shambhu" becoming a whisper of hope.
One day, in a dense forest, he heard shouts and clashing steel. Spurring his horse, he burst into a clearing where bandits attacked a royal chariot, its guards fighting valiantly but outnumbered.
Rudra drew his sword, charging into the fray. "Halt, or Face justice!" His blade flashed, slicing through a bandit's spear, his wooden sword from training replaced by a steel one forged in Patala's fires.
The bandits turned, one snarling, "A boy? We'll gut you first!" Rudra dismounted, his rudraksha swinging as he parried a mace, twisting to slash the attacker's arm.
Another bandit lunged with a dagger, but Rudra dodged, kicking his legs out from under him.
Three more rushed, their axes raised; Rudra spun, his sword a blur, disarming one and felling another with a precise strike to the knee.
The leader, a burly brute, swung a chain, but Rudra ducked, countering with a thrust that pierced the man's shoulder, sending him crumpling.
In minutes, the bandits lay defeated, groaning or unconscious. Rudra checked the guards, binding wounds with cloth from his bag.
A beautiful girl descended from the chariot, her friends peeking out, her silk sari slightly disheveled but her poise unbroken. "Pranipat, brave warrior. You saved us from those fiends. I am Charumati, daughter of Dwarkadhish Sri Krishna and Devi Rukmini. Can I know the name of my saviour?"
Rudra smiled, sheathing his sword. "Pranipat, Princess Charumati. I am Shambhu, a hunter in these woods. Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "We're unharmed, thanks to you. Please, what can I offer as gratitude?"
Rudra's eyes twinkled. "I helped without expectation, Princess. Dharma demands it. Safe travels."
He mounted his horse, riding off into the trees, leaving Charumati and her friends in awe. "Such humility," Charumati murmured. "A hunter with a warrior's heart."
Rudra continued his wanderings, his alias "Shambhu" becoming legend among the oppressed, his deeds a secret tribute to his father's Nyay Rakshak vision, as Magadha's prince learned the true pulse of Aryavrat.