The grand hall of Mahishmati's palace was silent except for the faint crackling of torches lining the walls.
Queen Sivagami Devi sat on the ornate stone throne, her face impassive, but her sharp eyes gleamed with thoughtfulness.
In front of her, Amarendra Baahubali stood with stoic reverence, his hands clasped behind his back.
Though he had been crowned king, he still bowed his head before his mother, out of deep respect.
Beside him, Bhallaladeva, the Commander of the Armed Forces, stood with his arms crossed, his face a mask of barely veiled contempt.
The nobles and ministers gathered, their expressions curious.
The air was heavy with unspoken anticipation.
Finally, Sivagami Devi's voice rang out, calm yet firm, cutting through the silence.
"It is time you truly know your kingdom, Amarendra."
Baahubali's brows furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, awaiting her words.
"You have fought its battles," she continued, her voice measured,
"but you have yet to walk among its people."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp.
"A king must not rule from the throne alone. He must know the struggles of those who kneel before it."
Baahubali's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded without hesitation.
"As you command, Mother," he replied solemnly.
Sivagami's expression softened, though only slightly.
Her voice lowered.
"You will leave the palace in disguise. No guards. No horses with royal emblems."
Her eyes moved to Kattappa, who stood quietly behind Baahubali.
"Kattappa will accompany you. He knows the land better than any man."
The loyal commander stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt, and bowed deeply.
"As you wish, Your Highness," he said with unquestioning loyalty.
Baahubali turned back to Sivagami, his eyes steady.
"And what of the kingdom in my absence?" he asked.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Sivagami's lips.
"I will rule in your stead."
Then, her tone became light, almost playful, which was unusual for the stern queen.
"And perhaps, I will find you a suitable queen while you're away."
Baahubali's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise with a faint chuckle.
"That may be the greatest battle of all, Mother," he jested softly.
A rare smile ghosted across Sivagami's face, though it was brief.
---
By dawn, Baahubali and Kattappa had already left the stone gates of Mahishmati behind.
Both were dressed in plain garments, their royal insignias stripped away.
Baahubali wore a simple brown tunic and trousers, with a cloak draped over his shoulders, hiding his regal bearing.
A short sword hung by his side, and his hair was loosely tied, making him appear no different from a common traveler.
Kattappa, however, was still the imposing warrior, his presence unyielding despite the humble attire.
His eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, always alert.
They traveled on foot, blending with the caravans of merchants, sharing campfires with weary travelers.
For the first time in years, Baahubali felt freedom from the weight of his crown.
No courtiers.
No nobles.
Just the dust of the road and the cries of common men.
---
It was on the fourth day of their journey that they came upon destruction.
The two men stood on a rocky hillside, overlooking a small kingdom that had once been lush and prosperous.
Now, it was reduced to ash and blood.
Fires still smoldered in the ruins.
The village huts were charred skeletons, blackened by flames.
Fields were trampled into mud, and the cries of the survivors echoed in the distance.
Baahubali's eyes hardened, his jaw tightening.
"Who did this?" he asked coldly, his voice low with restrained fury.
Kattappa's eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the scattered tracks in the dirt.
He knelt, running his fingers over the footprint patterns, his brow furrowing.
After a moment, he sighed heavily.
"Pindari," he muttered grimly.
"No doubt about it."
Baahubali's eyes flickered with recognition, and he turned to Kattappa, his voice sharp.
"I thought they used to terrorize Kunthala."
Kattappa nodded slowly, his expression grave.
"Aye, they did."
He rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the distant plumes of smoke.
"But Kunthala grew stronger. Their prince, Virendra, saw to that."
His tone was heavy with unspoken admiration.
"The Pindari grew desperate. They sought weaker prey."
He gestured at the ruined kingdom before them.
"This is the result."
Baahubali's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white.
He stared at the desolation, his heart hardening with righteous fury.
"These people were defenseless," he said softly, his voice low with restrained rage.
Kattappa's eyes narrowed, his voice grim.
"And that is why they were chosen."
His voice was hoarse, filled with bitter experience.
"The Pindari take what they want. Land, food, women. They leave nothing but corpses behind."
Baahubali's gaze darkened, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Cowards," he muttered bitterly.
"To prey on the weak."
They descended the hillside, walking among the scattered bodies of the dead.
Baahubali stopped before a young boy, no older than seven, who clutched his mother's lifeless hand.
The child's eyes were hollow, his face streaked with soot and tears.
He stared at Baahubali silently, too numb to even weep.
Without a word, Baahubali knelt, gently brushing the child's hair back from his soot-streaked face.
"You're safe now," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible.
The child did not answer.
He only stared at the king, his eyes empty.
---
As they left the village, Baahubali's gaze remained distant, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had seen.
The road ahead was silent, the only sound was the distant cries of vultures over the dead.
Kattappa's voice was low, filled with quiet sadness.
"The kingdom is not always what you see from a throne, Bahu."
He glanced at Baahubali, his eyes hard with wisdom.
"It is often much worse."
Baahubali's jaw tightened, but he did not speak.
The image of the child stayed with him—the silent gaze, the empty eyes.
For the first time, he felt truly burdened by the crown he wore.
---
The embers of the campfire flickered faintly against the cool night breeze, casting dancing shadows over the rocky clearing.
The scent of damp earth and burnt wood lingered in the air.
Baahubali sat on a large rock, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
His expression was pensive, his brow slightly furrowed.
The orange light of the fire reflected in his steel-gray eyes, giving them a smoldering intensity.
Beside him, Kattappa sat cross-legged on the hard ground, meticulously sharpening his sword with slow, measured strokes.
The faint, rhythmic scrape of the whetstone filled the silence between them.
After a long moment, Baahubali finally spoke, his voice low and contemplative.
"You said Kunthala once suffered under the Pindari."
Kattappa's hand stilled briefly.
He glanced at Baahubali, his brows slightly knitted.
"Aye, they did," he said carefully, his tone cautious.
Baahubali's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice turning curious.
"And now they are stronger. Strong enough to repel them."
He turned to Kattappa, his gaze sharp.
"I want to see it."
The old warrior's hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword.
He let out a quiet breath, his expression hardening.
"That is unwise, Bahu." Kattappa said firmly, his voice edged with warning.
"We should return to Mahishmati. The kingdom needs you."
Baahubali's eyes glimmered with defiance, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You sound like my mother."
Kattappa's brows knitted deeper, his tone stern.
"She entrusted me with your safety," he said gravely.
"I will not fail her."
Baahubali chuckled softly, his voice teasing.
"I thought you were bound to my command, not hers."
Kattappa's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
For a moment, the silence stretched between them.
The fire crackled softly, the wind carrying the faint howl of distant wolves.
Then, Baahubali's eyes softened slightly, his voice quieter.
"I only wish to see how they endured."
He glanced at Kattappa, his eyes steady.
"If they can fight back the Pindari, they must be doing something right. Something worth knowing."
Kattappa sighed heavily, running a calloused hand over his face.
"Stubborn as your father," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with exasperation.
Baahubali's lips curved into a faint, boyish grin, but he said nothing.
Kattappa let out a resigned sigh, staring into the flickering flames.
"You won't be dissuaded, will you?"
Baahubali's grin widened slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Not this time."
The old commander's shoulders sagged slightly in defeat.
He muttered a string of curses under his breath, but there was no venom in them.
"Then let us pray we both live to regret this."
---
The next morning, they resumed their journey toward Kunthala.
The road was rugged and uneven, winding through forested hills and narrow mountain passes.
The sun was low on the horizon, casting a golden haze over the landscape when Kattappa's sharp eyes caught something—a faint glimmer of steel among the trees.
His hand shot out, grabbing Baahubali's forearm.
"Wait."
His voice was low but firm.
Baahubali stopped instantly, his eyes narrowing.
Without a word, Kattappa unsheathed his sword.
The metal glinted faintly in the dappled light.
A faint rustle came from the bushes ahead.
Then, in an instant—they were surrounded.
Pindari raiders emerged from the shadows—dirty, scarred men in ragged leather armor, their eyes wild with bloodlust.
Their faces were smeared with soot and dirt, and their weapons glimmered with recent bloodshed.
There were at least thirty of them, armed with curved swords, spears, and axes.
The leader, a hulking man with a scar across his cheek, sneered, revealing yellowed teeth.
"Two travelers, all alone?"
His voice was gravelly, his eyes cruel.
"You must be very brave... or very foolish."
Baahubali's lips curled slightly, his eyes cold and sharp.
"You'll find out soon enough," he said softly, his voice deadly calm.
The leader's grin widened, taking it for arrogance.
He raised his rusted sword.
"Kill them."
The Pindari charged.
---
Before the first blade could fall, Baahubali moved with blinding speed.
He unsheathed his sword, the steel gleaming in the sun.
With a single, fluid motion, he twirled around, his sword slicing through the first raider's throat.
The man gurgled, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing.
Beside him, Kattappa was a whirlwind of steel, his movements swift and precise.
He parried an axe strike, twisted his wrist, and plunged his sword into the raider's chest with brutal efficiency.
The two warriors moved in perfect tandem, their blades flashing as they cut through the Pindari with seamless coordination.
Baahubali's movements were fluid, his strikes powerful yet graceful.
He fought with raw strength and agility, his blade a blur of silver.
In contrast, Kattappa fought like a seasoned veteran—every strike was measured and efficient, aimed to kill swiftly.
A Pindari with a spear lunged at Baahubali's back, but before he could strike, Kattappa's sword flashed, severing the man's arm at the elbow.
Without missing a beat, Baahubali spun, driving his blade through another attacker's chest, his eyes cold and merciless.
The remaining raiders faltered, their eyes wide with fear.
The ruthless efficiency of the two warriors left them stunned.
One of the Pindari turned to flee, but Kattappa's blade cut him down before he could take two steps.
The rest of the raiders scattered, fleeing into the forest, their cries fading into the distance.
Baahubali and Kattappa stood amidst the bodies, their blades dripping with blood.
Their breathing was steady, unfazed by the battle.
Kattappa exhaled sharply, wiping his blade clean on the cloak of a dead raider.
He glanced at Baahubali, his eyes hard.
"Do you still think this is wise?"
His voice was hoarse with warning.
Baahubali sheathed his sword, his expression unyielding.
"I have to see for myself, mama(brother of mother)," he said quietly.
His eyes were resolute, his jaw firm.
"I have to know."
The old warrior stared at him for a moment, then sighed heavily, muttering a string of curses under his breath.
"Then let us get it over with," he grumbled.
And with that, they continued toward Kunthala, the sun setting behind them, their shadows stretching long against the bloodied earth.
---