Time Passes

In the aftermath of the devastating fire that consumed their palace in Varanavat, the Pandavas—Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva—and their mother, Kunti, fled into the shadows, their hearts gripped by suspicion.

They believed Duryodhana, fueled by envy over Yudhishthira's coronation as yuvraj, had orchestrated the blaze to erase them, unaware that he was blameless, the fire a tragic mishap cloaked in whispers of treachery.

To buy time and plan their return, they chose to vanish, letting the Kauravas think them dead. Disguising themselves as Brahmins, they shed their royal garb for saffron robes, concealing their weapons and embracing a life of austerity.

This exile, born of necessity, became a forge for their brotherhood, tempering their resolve through shared trials.

Their wanderings led them to a dense forest, its trees casting long shadows, the air alive with the hum of wild creatures. There, they encountered Hidimba, a towering Rakshasa with eyes like embers and claws sharp as swords.

Spotting the intruders, Hidimba's voice boomed, shaking the foliage. "Mortals in my forest? Brahmins or kings, your blood will feed my hunger! Step forward, or I'll hunt you all!"

Yudhishthira, ever composed, raised his hands in peace, his voice calm despite their humble guise. "Pranipat, mighty lord of this realm. We're simple Brahmins, seeking only safe passage through your forest. We bear no ill will—grant us leave, and our prayers will honor your strength."

Hidimba laughed, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Prayers? I crave flesh, not chants! You, the giant among you—face me, or I'll tear your kin apart!" He pointed at Bhima, whose broad frame betrayed his power even in ascetic robes.

Bhima stepped forward, his eyes blazing, his voice a deep rumble. "Rakshasa, you dare threaten my brothers, my mother? I will crush your pride. Come, let this forest bear witness to whose might prevails!"

The battle erupted, a clash that shook the earth. Hidimba lunged, his claws slashing, but Bhima dodged, his fists hammering the Rakshasa's chest with thunderous force. Trees splintered as Hidimba hurled Bhima against them, but Bhima roared, seizing a fallen trunk and smashing it across Hidimba's head.

The Rakshasa conjured illusions, his form multiplying, but Bhima's instincts, sharpened by Dronacharya's training, pierced the deception. Grappling Hidimba, Bhima lifted him overhead, snapping his spine with a bone-shattering heave, the demon collapsing lifeless.

Hidimbi, watching from the shadows, gazed at Bhima, her heart stirred by his valor. Approaching, she bowed, her voice trembling but earnest. "Pranipat, noble ones. My brother sought your lives, but you've shown strength beyond mortals. I am Hidimbi, and I seek no vengeance. This warrior's might has captured my heart—I wish to be his wife, to honor his courage and share my life with him."

With Yudhishthira's consent, Bhima and Hidimbi wed in a simple forest rite, sealed under the stars with Kunti's prayers to Mahadev. In time, Hidimbi bore a son, Ghatotkacha, a mighty child blending his father's strength and his mother's Rakshasa powers. Leaving Ghatotkacha with Hidimbi, promising to return, the Pandavas continued their journey.

Their path led to Ekachakra, a quiet town nestled in verdant hills, where they settled, still as Brahmins, living in a modest hut and begging alms. The townsfolk welcomed the "ascetics," moved by Yudhishthira's wisdom and Kunti's grace.

One evening, as they shared a sparse meal, they heard a neighbor's sobs. Arjuna approached, his voice gentle. "Good woman, why do you weep? We're humble Brahmins, but if our words or prayers can ease your pain, share your burden."

The woman, her voice breaking, spoke of Bakasura, a monstrous Rakshasa terrorizing Ekachakra. "Bakasura demands a human and a cart of food daily, or he'll destroy us all. Tomorrow, my son is chosen—how can I bear this?"

Bhima's jaw tightened, his voice resolute. "Fear not, sister. I'll face this Bakasura and end his tyranny. No innocent will die while we're here."

Yudhishthira nodded. "Go, Bhima, but stay discreet. Our guise must hold."

Bhima, disguised as a Brahmin, went to Bakasura's cave, carrying the tribute cart. The Rakshasa, massive and grotesque, laughed. "A frail Brahmin? You'll barely sate me! Come, meet your end!"

Bhima dropped the robes, his voice a growl. "Bakasura, your terror ends today. Face Vrikodara, and taste justice!" The battle was fierce, Bakasura's claws rending stone, but Bhima's fists shattered the demon's ribs, his final blow crushing Bakasura's skull. Ekachakra was freed, the townsfolk hailing the "Brahmins," unaware of their true identities, as the Pandavas' fame spread in whispers.

---

In Hastinapur, Duryodhana, now crowned yuvraj after the presumed demise of the Pandavas in the Varanavat fire, ruled with a vigor inspired by his friend Bahubali's reforms in Magadha.

Determined to win the hearts of his people and prove his worth beyond the shadow of his rivalry with the Pandavas, he set about transforming the city.

He ordered the construction of orphanages to shelter abandoned children, food banks to feed the hungry, and schools open to all castes, where he and his brothers taught reading, mathematics, and the Vedas, breaking barriers of birth.

Granaries with advanced storage preserved food from spoilage, and homes rose for the homeless, their thatched roofs a symbol of Duryodhana's newfound commitment to dharma.

The people of Hastinapur, once wary of his ambition, began to cheer his name, their trust kindled by his deeds.

One morning, as Duryodhana inspected a new school, a messenger arrived, bearing a sealed scroll from Kalinga. He bowed, his voice clear. "Pranipat, Yuvraj Duryodhana. King Chitrangada of Kalinga invites you to the swayamvara of his daughter, Princess Bhanumati, renowned for her beauty and wisdom. Princes from across Aryavrat will compete for her hand."

Duryodhana's eyes gleamed, his voice firm. "Kalinga's princess? This is an opportunity to strengthen Hastinapur's alliances. Prepare my chariot, and inform my brothers. I will ride for Kalinga day after tomorrow."

Meanwhile, in Magadha, Bahubali, fresh from his triumph in Patala Lok, received the same invitation during a court session.

The messenger, adorned in Kalinga's colors, spoke, "Pranipat, Magadha Naresh Bahubali. King Chitrangada invites you to Princess Bhanumati's swayamvara, where your valor and wisdom are eagerly awaited."

Bahubali smiled, his tone humble. "Pranipat, noble messenger. I honor Kalinga's invitation. I'll attend, not for ambition, but to respect their call."

In Anga, Karna, read the scroll, his voice resolute. "Bhanumati's swayamvara? Prepare my chariot for Kalinga."

Days later, the three friends—Duryodhana, Bahubali, and Karna—converged on the road to Kalinga, their chariots rolling across Aryavrat's plains. Duryodhana, in Hastinapur's golden armor, greeted them warmly. "Pranipat, mitras! Bahubali, Karna, your presence makes this journey brighter. Hastinapur thrives, inspired by your reforms—schools, homes, granaries. I owe you much, Magadha Naresh."

Bahubali clasped his arm, his voice warm. "Pranipat, Mitra Duryodhana. The people's love is your true crown. Never forget that mitra."

Karna nodded, his kavach glinting. "Pranipat Mitra. Anga follows Magadha's path, and now Hastinapur does too. May Mahadev guide us."

The trio journeyed to Kalinga's capital, its palace adorned with banners and flowers for the swayamvara. Princes from across Aryavrat gathered, their eyes on Princess Bhanumati, whose beauty and wisdom were the talk of the land.

As they entered the grand hall, the stage was set for a contest that would test not just skill, but the bonds of friendship and dharma among the three warriors.