Shatru Sesham: Sequel of Baahubali ✔️

Chapter Eighty

The rains battered the earth once again. Everyone had returned to their respective war camps. Narasimha was the sole person on that battlefield. He screamed pouring out his raw pain, anger and angst into that cry. He looked up and cried, "I have always tried to be a good son. When did I end up becoming this?"

Narasimha wearily stood up and dragged himself back to his camp. He walked into his tent. He sent word to Marakasura to cancel the war council meeting. Whom was he meeting anyway? It was just the two of them. He slumped down on his bed. He hadn't even removed his battle robes or his shoes. His weapons were still strapped to his robe. The quiver still dangled around his shoulder.

Narasimha shut his eyes to forget the scenes from the battlefield. But they kept on pursuing him. He woke up with a start. He felt unusually suffocated within his tent. He thought he would take a small stroll outside the camp. He meandered this way and that aimlessly. When he looked up, he saw that he was before the East War Camp.

Narasimha was about to hastily turn back and head to his own camp. But the sight of Bhagiradhi who stood at the threshold of her tent dragged him inexorably towards her. He would seek his answers from her. He took her hand in his and asked, "You claim to be my elder sister. You tell me. What's my fault?"

Bhagiradhi took in his haggard appearance and desolate face. He was torn and conflicted. She held his face between her palms and stared into his eyes. She gestured him to wait. She went into her tent. Narasimha cursed himself for coming there. He ought to leave at least now before she came back. But his feet were rooted to the spot.

Bhagiradhi rejoined him outside after a couple of minutes. She held a manuscript and a red thread in her hands. She gave him the manuscript. Narasimha read the title of the manuscript, "Bhagavad Gita!" Bhagiradhi earnestly nodded her head indicating him to read it when he was alone. Her personal maid who accompanied her outside informed Narasimha, "All the others are sleeping. She is under a vow of silence."

Bhagiradhi silently took his right hand and proceeded to tie the red thread around his wrist. The aforementioned maid once again supplied, "It is a sacred thread for your protection."

Narasimha silently took his leave of Bhagiradhi and her maid. He looked at the red thread on his wrist, and then at the manuscript in his hands. He reached his tent. It was dark. Nobody had noticed his temporary absence from the camp. He lit the lamp beside his bed and opened the manuscript in his palms.

The manuscript appeared to have been read numerous times before this. Though its leaves were tattered at a number of places, it had been very carefully preserved by its previous owner.

He opened a leaf at random. He read out the lines that fell across his line of vision,
"Uddhared atmanatmanam
Natmanam avasadayet
Atmaiva hi atmano bandhur
Atmaiva ripur atmanah!"
(Let a man lift himself by his own self. Let him not degrade himself; for this self is one's friend and also one's enemy!)

Narasimha felt uplifted by the words he read. Everyone in the camp began stirring. He rose up and began preparing for the next day of battle.

The dawn arrived bringing strife along with it. Narasimha spoke and rallied his men, "Two days went against us. But this is a new day. Quoting the words he had read that morning,
'Uddhared atmanatmanam
Natmanam avasadayet
Atmaiva hi atmano bandhur
Atmaiva ripur atmanah!'
What defeats a person is his thinking."
Pointing towards his brain, he remarked, "He who is defeated here cannot win anywhere else. Victory and defeat lie here."