Rudradev!

Born into a family of the Shudra caste, his life was marked by toil and resilience.

Rudra's childhood was one of silent struggles and unspoken longing. His father, a skilled potter was the pillar of the household. He was a man of stern demeanor and unwavering discipline. Yet, for reasons Rudra could never understand, his father's gaze softened only for his younger siblings. For Rudra, he held little more than disdain.

To his father, Rudra was a burden. The boy who was too curious, too headstrong, too much of a dreamer in a world that demanded practicality. Unlike his siblings, who eagerly helped with pottery or chores, Rudra's hands always seemed drawn to crafting bows from bamboo or sketching arrows in the dirt. His fascination with archery and the stories of great warriors irritated his father, who considered such dreams foolish for someone of their station.

"Do something useful for once!"

His father would often say, shaking his head in disappointment.

"You think the world will let a boy like you hold a bow? Stop wasting your time and learn your place."

The words stung, but Rudra never argued. Instead, he withdrew, finding solace in the small corners of their modest home or beneath the banyan tree on the village's outskirts. While his siblings received their father's affection and praise, Rudra only received his cold indifference.

His mother tried to bridge the gap, her love softening the edges of Rudra's pain. She would sneak him extra morsels of food or quietly encourage his dreams in whispered words.

"Your father doesn’t see it, but you’re capable of great things, Putra."

She would say, brushing his hair back as he sat by the fire. But even her gentle words couldn’t erase the ache of his father’s rejection.

The village children, too, sensed his isolation. While they played freely and teased one another, Rudra often found himself left out. Some mocked him for his father’s disapproval, others avoided him altogether, fearing association with someone considered a failure even in his own household.

Then he heard the rumors. The rumors that said he was not Samanth and Indu's real son. That his mother, Indu found him by the riverbank one morning and brought him home. Samanth was furious. He accused the boy to be of ill omen.

"Who knows what sin his parents has committed that they had to abandon him!"

Those were Samanth's words. Combined with that when the golden armor of his appeared one day protecting him from the accidental sharp hit of a wheel, the people around him got scared.

"What was that?"

"Why a normal human boy will have such a mystical armor protecting him? It's impossible!"

"He must belong from some Asuri shakti!"

"Yes, He is bad omen!"

That's why Samanth, his father never accepted him and only tolerated the burden of this boy because of his wife. On the other hand, the society pretty much shunned him because of his unknown origin and mystical armor.

Rudra had initially wanted to ask his mother about it. But he couldn't. He feared! He feared that his mother would confirm the rumors. That even the pretence of having a family would be shattered. That he would be left alone, with nothing and no one. Instead he concentrated on archery. The act forbidden by the society!

But Rudra’s struggles only deepened his resolve. Each slight, each cold glance from his father, became fuel for his determination. He spent hours practicing with makeshift bows and arrows, honing his skills in secret. Every time he missed a target, he would imagine his father’s voice in his mind, telling him he was worthless, and he would try again, harder, faster, until he succeeded.

His siblings, though loved by their father, often looked at Rudra with a mix of pity and confusion.

"Why do you try so hard?" his younger brother, Shibu once asked. "Baba will never change."

But Rudra only smiled faintly and replied,

"I’m not doing this for Baba. I’m doing this because I believe I can."

And so, Rudra grew up walking a path of rejection and resilience, carrying the weight of his father’s disdain while nurturing a quiet, unyielding hope in his heart. It was a hope that one day, he would prove his worth. Not just to his father, but to a world that had dismissed him before he even began.

Yet,  every door he knocked on closed before him. But rejection did not crush his resolve. Instead, it forged it into iron. Word of an ancient, reclusive master, Mahaguru Sutapas, reached him. He was a teacher of unmatched skill who had retreated to the uncharted depths of the Girinandi mountains. Who was the Guru of even the greatest Guru of this time! Ignoring warnings of the treacherous journey and the impossibility of finding the guru, Rudra set out alone.

The journey was merciless. For months, Rudra traversed dense forests where venomous creatures lurked, crossed raging rivers that threatened to sweep him away, and braved icy winds that bit into his skin. Hunger clawed at his stomach, and the unforgiving wilderness drained his strength, but he refused to turn back. Refused to accept defeat.

One day, as despair crept closer, Rudra stumbled upon a wounded deer in a clearing. Its leg was ensnared in vines, blood staining its golden fur. Moved by its plight, Rudra freed the creature, tending to its wound with whatever herbs he could gather. To his astonishment, the deer gazed at him with unnerving clarity, its eyes glinting with something almost otherworldly.

"You seek the Mahaguru,"

The deer spoke, its voice a soft whisper that seemed to echo within Rudra’s very soul.

"He awaits where the earth swallows the sun, in the caves of mountain Girinandi. But beware, mortal---many have sought him, and none have returned."

Before Rudra could respond, the deer vanished into the mist as though it had never been there. The cryptic words were all he had, and so he pressed on, his determination renewed.

Reaching the foot of the Girinandi mountain, Rudra began his ascent into the narrow, twisting caves that wound through its heart. The paths were treacherous, often narrowing to the width of his shoulders, and the darkness within was absolute, broken only by the flicker of his makeshift torch. The air grew damp and heavy, carrying the scent of earth and moss.

Days turned into weeks as Rudra navigated the labyrinth. His hands bled from gripping jagged rocks, his body grew weak from lack of food, and his mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion. Each step felt heavier than the last, but his heart burned with the fire of his resolve.

One night, as he crawled through a particularly tight crevice, his hand slipped, sending him tumbling down a steep slope. Pain exploded through his body as he struck the rocky floor. Darkness enveloped him, and for a moment, he lay motionless, his breaths shallow.

But then, faintly, he saw it! A golden glow piercing the suffocating blackness. Crawling on his hands and knees, ignoring the pain, he followed the light. The cavern opened into a vast, domed chamber, its walls shimmering as if embedded with stars. In the center sat a figure unlike any Rudra had ever seen.

Mahaguru Sutapas was cloaked in flowing robes of white, his long hair cascading like a silver river over his shoulders. His eyes were closed, but his presence filled the chamber with an almost unbearable weight. Around him swirled faint motes of light, moving in deliberate patterns as though dancing to an unheard melody. The air itself felt alive, charged with an energy that made Rudra’s skin prickle.

As Rudra approached, his heart pounding, the guru’s eyes opened. They were like molten gold, piercing through Rudra’s very being. The glow in the chamber intensified, and a voice, calm yet commanding, resonated through the air, though Mahagurus’ lips did not move.

"You have endured much to find me, child of the earth. Speak. Why have you come to a place where even the gods fear to tread?"

Rudra, trembling but resolute, bowed deeply.

"I seek knowledge, Gurudev. I seek the mastery of archery, for it is my destiny. No one else will teach me. Take me under your tutelage."

The guru’s gaze softened, though the intensity of his presence did not waver.

"Destiny is not granted. It is earned. Your trials have brought you here, but to wield the bow is to shoulder a burden heavier than any you have known. Are you prepared to pay the price?"

Rudra’s voice did not falter.

"I am."

The chamber fell silent, save for the faint hum of the swirling lights. A faint smile touched Mahagurus’ lips, and he raised a hand, gesturing for Rudra to come closer.

"What is your identity?"

"My name is Rudra, Gurudev. I have come from the lands near Amvastapuram."

As Rudra knelt before Guru Sutapas, his heart pounding in anticipation, the sage's voice broke the heavy silence, calm yet piercing like a blade slicing through fog.

"I am not asking about your name or address, young one,"
Guru Sutapas said, his eyes like twin embers glowing in the dim cave.
"I am asking who you are within. What lights your spirit? What drives you to stand here before me, bruised and battered, refusing to turn away?"

The question hung in the air, its weight pressing down on Rudra. He had faced countless trials on his journey, but none as daunting as this simple query. For a moment, he was unsure how to respond. The flickering lamp's light cast shifting shadows on the stone walls, and the silence seemed to stretch endlessly.

Finally, Rudra looked up, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.

"Gurudev,"

He began, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within him,

"I do not know how to answer that question in words, for I have never been asked it before. All my life, I have been told what I am—a burden to my father, a failure in my village, an outcast because of my birth. But none of that feels like me. None of it defines the fire within me."

He paused, his hands clenching into fists.

"What lights my spirit, Gurudev, is the desire to prove that I am more than the labels placed upon me. I am driven by the belief that skill and determination can overcome the boundaries of caste and birth. I have no noble lineage to boast of, no blessings to rely on. All I have is my will, my hunger to learn, and my unwavering faith that I can be more than what the world sees."

His voice grew stronger, each word resonating with raw emotion.

"I am a mere flame, Gurudev. A flame that refuses to be extinguished."

The flickering light of the oil lamp illuminated the weathered face of the aged man, reflecting a life spent in profound meditation and spiritual pursuits.

"Young one,"

Guru Sutapas began, his voice calm but resolute,

"I see the fire of determination in your heart. But I have left behind the world and its desires. My days are now dedicated solely to the worship of Mahadev. I cannot guide you on this path. Return to where you came from and seek another teacher."

Rudra’s heart sank, but he refused to accept defeat. He bowed low before the sage and in a voice trembling with desperation, said,

"Gurudev, I have been cast out, ridiculed, and dismissed because of my birth. You are my only hope. Please, do not turn me away."

Guru Sutapas closed his eyes, his expression unchanging.

"The path you seek is not for the faint of heart, child. It demands sacrifice, discipline, and an unwavering spirit. But even if you possess these qualities, I am no longer the teacher I once was. My journey as a guide is over."

Rudra clenched his fists, his voice growing more impassioned.

"You speak of devotion, Gurudev, but is it not an act of devotion to help someone who has no other path? Is it not the duty of the wise to guide the lost?"

Mahaguru opened his eyes, a flicker of curiosity passing through them. But his tone remained firm.

"Your words are bold, but devotion is not a matter of convincing another. It must come from within. Go, and prove your worth to another teacher who is still of this world."

Rudra’s frustration threatened to spill over, but he held it back. Lowering his head, he spoke softly, his voice filled with raw emotion.

"Gurudev, I have no home to return to. My father considers me a burden. My village sees me as a fool for dreaming of becoming an archer. Everywhere I turned, I was rejected because of my birth, not because of my worth. You are my last hope. If you send me away, I will have nothing left."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. The slayer of not only asuras, but also Devtas, studied the boy before him, his face unreadable.
Still Rudra continued, his voice steady despite the moisture in his eyes,

"I do not seek to become an archer for glory or power. I seek it to prove that skill, dedication, and effort are not the privileges of the few, but the rights of all. Help me, Gurudev. Not for me, but for all those innocent souls who never get a chance to shine because of society's unfair traditions."

A long silence followed. The cave seemed to grow still, as though the very air awaited Guru Sutapas’s response. Finally, the Guru let out a deep sigh, his stern expression softening ever so slightly.

"You speak with conviction, and there is truth in your words. But words alone cannot prove your worth. If I were to test you, are you prepared to endure pain, exhaustion, and failure without complaint?"

Rudra straightened, his eyes burning with resolve.

"I have endured all of that already, Gurudev, and I will endure it again. Test me as you see fit. I will not falter."

For the first time, a faint smile flickered across Guru Sutapas’s face.

"Very well," he said. "I will not promise to accept you as my disciple. But I will give you one chance to prove yourself. If you fail, you must leave this place and never return. Do you accept these terms?"

Rudra bowed deeply, relief washing over his existence.

"I accept, Gurudev. Thank you for this chance."

The guru nodded, rising to his feet with a grace that belied his years.

"Then prepare yourself, young one. For the path you have chosen is one few can walk, and fewer still survive."

Mahaguru Sutapas

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