At Vijayapuri,
Mrithyunjay had just arrived at Vijayapuri in the ship arranged by Aditya Varma. The whole palace was still and lifeless. Shodasi Devi acknowledged him with a nod. General Rudra did not meet his eyes while speaking. His mother, Katyayani tried to make up for the lack of warmth from the others by being extra cheerful, "How was your journey? Did you sleep well?"

Mrithyunjay gave a cursory and brief reply to her inquiries before he asked, "Where is Bhagiradhi? I don't see her."

"She hasn't stepped out of her chamber ever since she came to know about what happened to our people at Malava", said Shodasi Devi wringing her hands. "We send the food and water within. She eats and drinks. Her eyes are listless whenever we try to speak to her. I have tried. Your mother has tried."

Mrithyunjay knocked the door of her chamber. There was a slight ruffling of clothes. The bolt was unhatched from its clasp and lifted. She returned back to her desk and sat down. She tapped her broken quill compulsively.

Her stuff was disorganized and in a crumpled mess. The papers were flying all around. She had begun writing something before she struck it off several times, tearing the sheet in the process. The bottle of ink was upturned. The ink had fallen from the desk, across the legs, and seeped into the carpet.

All the hapless people of Malava swam before Mrithyunjay's eyes. A dead weight settled upon his chest. The lump in his throat thickened as he spoke, "I can hardly believe it. It only seems like a few moments ago when he patted my back and said 'Listen to your heart then. This voyage isn't a matter of life and death. I can anyway stand in for you.' And he stood in for me. He died and I lived."

Bhagiradhi gasped for breath. He was talking about General Samarth. He came and stood behind her. His arms snaked around her slowly burgeoning waistline , "Don't move. Nothing seems constant."

Hot tears trailed down her cheeks as she listened to him. She shuddered within his grasp like a rudderless ship. He did not let her go. He held on to her. She held on to him.

"We do things. We expect something. We end up with something else. When I went to Mahishmati instead of Malava, I thought I was preserving your only family for you, your little brother. I didn't think I was endangering the larger family we had made for ourselves, our family and people at Malava. I wouldn't have done it if I knew. Now what I do or don't do is never going to matter", he cried.

She opened her journal and showed Mrithyunjay a page she had written, "If it was soldiers and warriors who had come prepared to die, I wouldn't have cared so much. But they wanted to live. They wanted to build homes. They wanted to build memories. War is never a solution to anything. But now war is the only solution. I see the peace after war. It is beautiful. I want to live there with my child, with my people. Mother was almost convinced about sending seven thousand soldiers to Emperor Sharyar on his request before I dissuaded her. Will they be enough to earn that peace?"

Mrithyunjay kissed her forehead as he said, "They will. They will."

Bhagiradhi wrote in her journal smiling between her tears, "Don't leave me behind. I wish to see this peace with my own eyes."

He wiped her tears and gently brushed her cheeks with the back of his fingers. He scooped her in his arms and inhaled the unique scent that became her. He placed her gently on her couch.

He lay beside her, enmeshing her and the symbol of their love within the warmth of his broad shoulders as he promised, "Rest and get refreshed. We will start tomorrow. Our child will be born in a free Mahishmati."

Bhagiradhi closed her eyes and slept, after confiding and entrusting her sorrows and her dreams to him. This night would also pass. She would wake up tomorrow to the hope of a new dawn.
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At Mahishmati,
It was a village with a hundred odd homes; ranging from the beautiful villas to crowded tenements. It was a place where nobody was a stranger to the person next to him. Everyone knew their neighbors, their joys, their sorrows, their hopes and their despairs, as intimately as they knew their own.

Whenever the occasion arose, they met underneath the huge banyan tree that stood in the center of their village. Young children were running here and there chasing each other. Their parents cast occasional glances in their direction to ensure they were up to no mischief as they gossiped with their neighbors, "I've been experimenting with my livestock to produce a high-quality breeds. I wonder if I should venture to the town market to get a better price. What do you suggest?"

The older people in the group shielded their eyes from the brightly burning sun as they looked up and complained, "It's uncommonly hot this year. I haven't experienced a heatwave like this in the last couple of years."

They had all been asked to gather here by Narasimha's men. Narasimha reached the venue along with Aditya Varma, Bhavani and their soldiers.

While Aditya, Bhavani and the soldiers maintained a careful and close watch to ensure nothing untoward happened, Narasimha walked towards the banyan tree. There was a wooden stile at its center. He climbed on top of it so that everybody could see and listen to him. There was pin-drop silence. The children stopped running, the middle-aged stopped chit-chatting, the older people stopped complaining. Everyone stood up as a mark of respect. He inclined his eyes gesturing everyone to be seated comfortably. The people of the village slowly settled down.

Looking directly into their eyes, Narasimha apologized, "I have been late in coming to you. I wouldn't have done it if your neighbors hadn't detained me with their affection and love. I am sorry."

He continued, "How is everyone?"

A wide variety of answers ranging from 'good', 'bad', 'miserable', 'the usual', assaulted his ears.

"One by one. I can't hear if all of you speak at the same time", he said smiling.

A few of the younger kids gathered courage by this time to run up to Narasimha and poked their fingers into his tummy tickling him. He did not complain. He put up with their playful behavior. He made silly faces at them eliciting a rollicking round of laughter from the people around him.

One of the villagers stood up. He adjusted his dhoti and his upper garment for a full half a minute. He fingered the five rings he wore. The man had evidently taken pains getting dressed. He was making sure all that trouble he had gone into was being noticed by the others. The deference with which the villagers treated him and the awe in which they stood of him told Narasimha that he must be the village headman.

He complimented the man in good humor, "Your dhothi and shirt are very nice. They have been stitched and fitted to perfection, Sarpanchji. I look like a caveman in front of you and your sophistication. You must tell me more about your tailor after I finish talking to everyone."

The man looked smug and pleased, "Why of course! I will recommend the best tailors in this locality."

The people were impressed. They listened to him with more attention than formerly.

"I don't know how fast news travels around. But there are certain things you should all know. I am not Maharaj Subahu's son, Narasimha, nor am I the Crown Prince of Mahishmati. Maharani Eiravati found me as a newborn and brought me up as her own son."

The people started talking among themselves, "Yes,we heard those rumors. But there is nothing simple folk can do about anything."

A few voices in the audience asked, "Then do you know who you really are? Did Maharani Eiravati tell that to you?"

Narasimha shook his head, "I was told by somebody about my true identity much before, by my sister. But I did not believe her. I will always regret it."

The questions became more vociferous and the voices around him started clamoring for attention.

"Who is your sister?"

"Who are you?"

"Do you know your true parents?"

"My father was Mahendra Baahubali. My mother was Avanthika. I am their son. I am the brother of my sister, Bhagiradhi. I am Gajendra Baahubali", his voice boomed.

The wind stopped blowing; the leaves stood still; there was a stunned silence. The next moment, the people around him cheered madly, "Gajendra Baahubali! Gajendra Baahubali!"

They raised him on top of their shoulders and danced in joyful abandon. The older people in the gathering reminisced about their happy times with Mahendra Baahubali. They wiped their tears of happiness as they saw their old king in Gajendra Baahubali.

"In a week, I am going to the capital of Mahishmati to fulfill my duty and responsibility as a son and a brother. But I want to ask all of you a question? I am told that Maharaj Mahendra always considered his people as his progeny. Is it true?"

The older people in the gathering had tears in their eyes. They nodded their heads. They were overcome by a wave of nostalgia, "Yes, Maharaj Mahendra used to say that all his people were his children."

"So is this responsibility to reinstate good just mine and my sister's? Or is it yours too?" Gajendra asked.

"It is ours too", they uniformly chanted.

"Will you be there with me?" Gajendra reiterated.

They raised their hands upwards and reassured him, "Yes. Yes. We will be there with you."

Aditya edged closer to Gajendra and hurried him, "I have been hearing several rumors from the capital. They say Maharaj Subahu is actually dying and all the ministers and noblemen are vying to capture the throne. It is too dangerous remaining in the same place for very long."

Gajendra acquiesced to his suggestion. He waved his hands to the people and held his folded palms in front of him.