Baal Garuda is a unique subject. This Baal Garuda Story for web film & Novel Written by Shrikant Vishwakarma. Shrikant Vishwakarma is a mythology and fantasy writer written various projects. In 20025, Baal Garuda or Mahabali Baal Garuda, both are ready. You will get this book as a novel on Amazon. Here is Baal Garuda or Mahabali Baal Garuda's story
Author Shrikant Vishwakarma
shrikantvishwakarmaa@gmail.com
9930921181
Chapter One: The Fear of the Dark Night
Our story begins in the
village of Pakshipuram. Long ago, this village was founded by Lord
Garuda for all the birds of the world. But over the centuries, humans settled
there, and the birds mysteriously vanished.
It was a moonless night
of Amavasya. Darkness spread over the village like ink. The clouds had
swallowed the moon and stars, as though nature itself wished to conceal some
impending misfortune. The wind whistled through the night, not only disturbing
the silence but also echoing the unspoken fear lodged deep in the villagers’
hearts.
At the center of the
village, beneath an ancient banyan tree, torches flickered. In their glow,
around fifty or sixty villagers had gathered, holding sticks, clubs, and a few
sharp spades. Their faces showed anger, but in their eyes lingered that same, old
fear.
“This is too much,
Ramlaal Kaka!” a young man shouted, striking his staff against the ground.
“Yesterday, that demon killed Shyamu’s two goats. Now it doesn’t even fear
attacking in broad daylight.”
A woman spoke up, her
voice trembling. “The worst thing is that our children have stopped going to
school. Ever since that wolf was seen near the school last month, even the
teacher refuses to let them walk alone.”
Discussions continued,
plans were drawn, yet everyone’s eyes kept scanning the darkness, as though the
monstrous wolf might leap out at any moment.
Chaos erupted. Torches
flared high, weapons were raised, and the entire crowd rushed toward the sound.
Their long shadows, stretched by the firelight, danced menacingly across the
fields.
As they reached the edge
of the farmlands, the bushes rustled violently—and from within leapt a giant
black figure. It was the wolf. Its eyes glowed a fiery red-yellow, like burning
embers. It cast a hateful glare at the mob, then darted toward the forest.
“Catch it! End it
tonight!” someone roared.
The mob gave chase. The
jungle echoed with shouts, the clash of sticks, and the pounding of paws. The
wolf was clever. Instead of fleeing straight, it ran in zigzags, slipping
through shrubs and side paths, as though deliberately luring them in a chosen direction.
After nearly fifteen
minutes of pursuit, the wolf stopped before a massive, dark cave at the foot of
a hill. It turned once to face the villagers, its eyes glinting strangely—as if
challenging them—before vanishing into the pitch-black cavern.
The villagers froze. They
peered into the mouth of the cave, but only endless darkness awaited them.
“Let’s go inside!” Birju
exclaimed eagerly.
“No!” Ramlaal Kaka caught
his hand. “This cave is ancient and deadly. Even in daylight, stepping inside
is a risk to one’s life. At night, it is nothing short of suicide—especially
with that killer waiting within.”
“Then should we just
leave empty-handed?” someone else protested.
“For tonight, yes,”
Ramlaal answered in a weary tone. “But tomorrow, we shall return. This battle
cannot drag on much longer.”
Exhausted, angry, and
frustrated, the villagers turned back. Their steps were heavy, for everyone
knew this was only the beginning. The real war had yet to come.
From within the cave’s
darkness, two red-yellow eyes watched them retreat. Suddenly, a colossal hand
brushed over the wolf’s head, and it bowed its neck in submission. From the
depths of the cave, a deep, divine voice rumbled:
“You need not fear
anymore... they should.”
Chapter Two: The Eternal Secret of the Cave
After the villagers left,
silence swallowed the cave. The faint light from outside reached only to its
entrance; within, dense darkness reigned. The wolf still stood with its head
lowered, as if awaiting someone.
Suddenly, a flame burst
alight in one corner. In its glow appeared a towering figure—a gigantic man
with a powerful frame, his face etched with centuries of sorrow and experience.
On his forehead was a deep wound that had never healed, glowing faintly.
It was Ashwatthama—the
immortal warrior of the Mahabharata.
Ashwatthama stroked the
wolf’s head. “Fool, how many times have I told you? Don’t stray so close to the
village. By now, those humans would have killed you—if I hadn’t given you my protective
shield.”
He turned his gaze to the
cave wall, where ancient carvings glimmered in the firelight—scenes of the
Mahabharata war: Bhishma, Drona, and Ashwatthama himself. He shut his eyes,
memories flooding back—that night when he had slaughtered the sons of
the Pandavas in their camp, and then Krishna’s fury... and the curse.
“But the time for fear is
past,” Ashwatthama told the wolf. “Now we must seek the gem—the Mani—that
alone can free me from this curse. And it lies somewhere... here, in
Pakshipuram.”
The wolf lifted its head,
as though asking—how?
“Yes, I know what you’re
thinking,” Ashwatthama smiled grimly. “But be patient. Kripacharya has given me
signs. Soon, everything will be revealed.”
The wolf suddenly
stiffened, its ears twitching. It rushed to the cave’s entrance, staring
outward.
“What is it?” Ashwatthama
asked.
The beast growled softly.
In the distant sky, a small dot appeared, growing larger.
“A helicopter?”
Ashwatthama’s brows furrowed. “In this desolate land? This is no ordinary
matter.”
He moved stealthily to
the cave’s mouth, watching intently. The helicopter was not coming directly to
them, but toward the mountain’s peak.
“Something is happening,”
Ashwatthama murmured, “something great—something that has not occurred in
thousands of years.”
The wolf growled again,
uneasy.
“You are right,”
Ashwatthama nodded. “Perhaps this is the sign we were waiting for.”
The wolf lay down beside
him. Ashwatthama placed a hand upon its head and closed his eyes. Yet questions
long buried rose again within him—Would he ever truly be freed? Could he
ever find the gem? And most of all—was he ready for the price that freedom
might demand?
Outside, an eerie
stillness spread through the air, as though nature itself knew that something
monumental was about to unfold.
Chapter Three: A Mysterious Encounter in the Himalayan Peaks and the
Revelation of Pakshipuram’s Secret
The morning sun bathed
the snow-clad peaks of the Himalayas in a golden glow. A blue helicopter cut
swiftly through the mountains, tracing its path across the icy expanse. Inside
sat three people, their faces marked with seriousness and anticipation.
Dr. Rama Krishnan, a
renowned historian and archaeologist, was carefully examining an ancient book
that rested on his lap. Its leather cover bore the marks of centuries, and upon
it was engraved in gold the image of Garuda.
“Do you really think this
Aghori Baba can help us?” the pilot, Anurag, asked, glancing back.
Rama Krishnan lifted his
eyes. “Anurag, when I first saw this book, even I could not believe it. But
now... now I know. Every word written here is true.”
Seated beside him, Dr.
Preeti Sharma, a linguist, added thoughtfully, “The language of this book is
far older than classical Sanskrit. Some of the mantras... I have never seen
anything like them before.”
The helicopter suddenly
tilted as Anurag maneuvered it towards a small plateau. Below, amidst the snow,
stood a lone hut, with smoke curling from a sacred fire burning at its front.
As the helicopter landed,
the three stepped out and turned their gaze toward the hut. Outside sat an Aghori
Baba, lost in deep meditation. His body was smeared with ash, and an
otherworldly calm radiated from his face.
Rama Krishnan bowed with
reverence. “Pranam, Baba. We have come to you with a mystery.”
The Baba slowly opened
his eyes. A strange light flickered within them, as though he already knew
everything. Without a word, he stretched out his hand.
Rama Krishnan,
understanding, placed the book in his palm. The Baba flipped through the pages,
his lips moving soundlessly, as though reciting mantras.
Suddenly, he looked up.
“This... this is the very scripture I had been waiting for.”
“You know about it?”
Preeti asked in astonishment.
“Know about it?” The Baba
smiled faintly. “Child, I saw this scripture being written.”
The three exchanged
bewildered glances, but the Baba continued:
“This book speaks of Pakshipuram,
a city founded by Lord Garuda himself. When he was creating this city, one of
his feathers fell.”
“A feather?” Rama
Krishnan asked.
“Yes,” the Baba said
gravely, “but not an ordinary feather. It carried within it the complete power
of Garuda. Whoever possesses it can wield the strength of the mighty Garuda
himself.”
Anurag opened his laptop,
shaking his head. “But Baba, we’ve searched every map of the world. There is no
trace of a city named Pakshipuram.”
Visit for More.....................................
