Mrithyunjay and the prisoners of Kanchu Kota had come a long way. They hadn't encountered any inspection or checking till now. But they could be stopped near the checkpost at the eight crossroads junction of Peepli. They were physically and mentally prepared to fight their way out if they were on the verge of discovery.

One of the prisoners began singing a ballad praising their departed champion, Bhairava Varma,
"Born to an unwed mother,
Son of a hero who slew a tiger with his bare hands,
Grandson of a legendary family whose eldest sons kept secrets for Mahishmati for generations,
And Karikala Kattappa's beloved student is gone,
Gone forever from our lives,
And lives amidst the stars...."

Mrithyunjay drifted off to sleep in the cart listening to this ballad about his father, "Keep on singing, my friend. I want to know who my father really was."
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The Udayagiri Mountains on the side of Vijayapuri,
The tribals of Kada had been marching for more than half a day. They had been joined by groups from other villages and more number of Suras. The officers leading them had been tight-lipped. They just gave arbitrary orders. After reaching this place, they ordered, "Make preparations for cooking here. After lunch, we will cross to the Mahishmati side of Udayagiris."

The march was halted. A few of the tribals started grumbling. They wanted to know the reason why they were being taken. Mutiny was brewing among them.

One of the Suras silenced them, "We are recruiting for the King's army. It is a huge opportunity for all of you. Think of yourself and your former poverty-stricken lives and the bright future that lays ahead of you. Whoever wants to return can return now. But you won't get another opportunity like this."

This assurance somewhat convinced the disgruntled tribals in the group and everyone began doing the chores they were entrusted with.

Just then, one of the soldiers whispered in the man's years, "The five girls from Kada ran off."

The man smiled superficially before he dragged the soldier with him. After he was out of earshot from the dissenting tribals, he hissed in the soldier's ears, "What nonsense were you spouting?"

The soldier quietly led his senior officer to a distant clearing where the dismembered bodies of three Suras lay in a heap, "They were about to molest one of those girls when somebody intervened and got them to escape."

"How many times have I told you folks to keep your hands to yourself. But no! You have to dirty them. Did anyone see how he looks like?"

"No, it happened in a flash like lightening", the soldier answered. "What do we do with the girls?"

The officer snorted in anger, "Just ignore them for now. They aren't going to sabotage our plans. Assemble all the men from that tribe."
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The five girls were crying silently. One girl was scolding another girl beside her, "It is your beauty that has caused all these problems. You should have steered clear of them."

Narasimha who was escorting the five girls lost his patience, "Stop blaming her for every single thing. Her beauty is not a mistake. But what those men did was unacceptable. Learn to blame what is wrong."

The loud-mouthed girl instantly shut her mouth. She stopped plaguing her friend with her recriminations. They reached a deserted temple on a hillock, "I believe all of you can find your way back to the village from here."

All the girls quietly nodded.  The girl who was molested was trying to hide her torn sleeve. Her dress was ripped and torn in many places. She seemed embarrassed about it. Narasimha gave her a silk saree that belonged to his mother, "This saree belongs to my mother. Take this."

The girl received the saree with immense gratitude. Her eyes brimmed with tears. He parted from them and turned back to rejoin the other tribals. The girl repaired to the back side of the temple to drape the saree around herself in solitude.

There were two ladies who were already there. One of them had been laid back on a stone slab while the other maintained a vigil over her. Suddenly, the tribal girl recognized the familiar face of the warrior chieftain.

She enquired Aparaajitha, "What happened to her?"

Aparaajitha saw that the girl herself was in no good state. There were visible signs of molestation. Drawing up her sword, she asked, "Have you been ill-treated by somebody?"

"It almost happened."

The memory of the incident made the girl shudder, "But I am safe now. My friends are waiting in front for me. I just have to wear this saree."

The girl showed the saree she was holding to Aparaajitha. It was the same saree in which she had seen Narasimha on the banks of Bhagiradhi. She breathlessly asked, "Where is the person to whom it belongs?"

She pointed her finger in the opposite direction. Aparaajitha requested the girl, "Can you and your friends stay with her till she wakes up? As soon as she wakes up, both of us will take all of you home safely."

The girl was unable to comprehend anything. But she agreed to Aparaajitha's request. It seemed like a good plan too. Both women were seasoned warriors. They would be able to protect them if a search party was sent for them.

Aparaajitha hastily jumped on her horse and rode in the direction the tribal girl had pointed out. She was riding swiftly on her horse when her horse tripped and fell. She landed roughly beside her  horse. She was about to rise when a knife was placed against her neck by Narasimha who emerged behind a thick grove of trees.

"Why are you following me?" Narasimha asked. Just then he recognized her as the princess from Suvarnadweepam. "You are Princess Suvarnamekhala, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

"I am not angry, Gajendra. I am so happy that this moment has at last come."

"My name is Narasimha", Narasimha corrected her.

"No, you're not. You are Gajendra Baahubali, Mahendra Baahubali's son and my brother", Aparaajitha explained.

Narasimha gave her a dirty look as though wondering if she had lost her mental sanity, "Did you have an accident recently? That explains why you are blabbering like this."

"I know it would be difficult to convince you. But first listen to me fully", Aparaajitha  asked.

Narasimha stood undecided. He scoffed at the very idea. He paced to and fro. Aparaajitha held his hand, "Sit down here with me."

"Just because I am sitting down, it doesn't mean I am going to believe you. I am doing this because I am unable to say 'No' to you."

Aparaajitha smiled looking at Narasimha's expression. She was reminded of the scene of her father quarreling with her mother, "It doesn't mean I agree with you, Avanthi. It just means I can't say 'No' to you."

Aparaajitha began her story, "Mahendra Baahubali was the rightful king of Mahishmati. He had an older daughter called Bhagiradhi and a younger son called Gajendra Baahubali......"

She concluded the story with how the two siblings got separated and how she grew up with her aunt, Shodasi Devi in exile and how the son was presumed to be dead by everyone until recently.

"And now you want me to believe I am this Gajendra Baahubali. What exactly prompted you to think I would believe this outrageous tale?" Narasimha laughed in derision.

"Because it is the truth, Gajendra. That's why."

"If you tell me my father hadn't always ruled over Mahishmati and somebody else used to rule it before him, I might believe you. If you tell me my father has been a bad and unjust ruler, I might believe you. But if you tell me I am not my father's son at all, I will never believe you."

"I have proof. That saree that you gave to the girl belonged to my mother."

"So....." Narasimha placed his hands on his hip. He tried to counter and logically explain away her arguments. "Maybe, your mother gave it to my mother. Or maybe, both of them had similar looking sarees."

Aparaajitha shook her head, "No, it was one of a kind." After a pause, she continued, "My mother never gave it to your mother. But perhaps my brother gave it to her. When we lost him, he was swaddled in that saree. It proves that you are my brother."

"It doesn't prove anything. Do you get it?" Narasimha shouted.

"What about the red birth mark on your back? My uncle, Aditya Varma will attest to the fact that Mahendra Baahubali's son, Gajendra Baahubali had a birthmark at the same place. Isn't it too much of a coincidence?" Aparaajitha asked.

"A hundred birthmarks and sarees notwithstanding, I refuse to believe that I am Gajendra Baahubali because my mother says so. I am Narasimha, son of Maharaj Subahu of Mahishmati because my mother who introduced me to my father says so. To believe otherwise would be to suspect the chastity and integrity of my mother which I do not have the power of doing in a hundred lifetimes."

Aparaajitha pleaded, "Please don't go, Gajendra. You are my brother. My little brother whom I held with these hands." She held his arms tightly.

Narasimha tried to wiggle out of her grasp. He felt sorry for Aparaajitha, "I feel sorry for you. But you are deluding yourself. Wake up before it is too late."

Aparaajitha released him suddenly. She repeated his own words to him, "I feel sorry for you. But you are deluding yourself. Wake up before it is too late."

Narasimha was unnerved. He shook his head vehemently. He stepped back and started running from that place as though he was scared. He couldn't believe that his entire life had been an elegantly piled up tower of falsehood. The princess must have been mistaken. She must be wrong. He kept repeating to himself again and again, "She is wrong. She is false."
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