Book I: The Dawn of Destiny
Chapter 1: The King and the River
The winds of Hastinapura carried whispers of destiny long before men could name it.
Upon the sacred banks of the Ganga, where the silver river danced beneath the morning sun, stood King Shantanu, sovereign of the Kuru dynasty—noble, wise, and beloved by his people. Yet even kings are but travelers on the path woven by fate.
One dawn, while hunting in the forests near the holy river, Shantanu felt the fragrance of unknown blossoms drifting through the mist. The breeze carried a melody — soft, ethereal, like the hymn of a forgotten goddess. Drawn by that sound, he reached the water's edge, and there she stood.
She was Ganga, daughter of the celestial waters — radiant as the moon upon still waters, her eyes deep as creation itself. The river seemed to bow before her presence.
Shantanu's heart faltered.
"Who are you, O divine maiden, whose beauty humbles the sunrise itself?" he whispered.
Ganga turned, her smile as serene as eternity.
"I am she whom mortals worship but seldom see. I am the river that bears away the sins of men. Why do you seek my name, O King?"
"Because my soul knows no peace since my eyes beheld you," Shantanu said, his voice trembling with awe. "Be my queen, and share my throne, and I shall honor you beyond life itself."
Ganga's laughter was soft and distant, like ripples fading into mist.
"I shall be yours," she said, "but on one condition: You must never question me, whatever I do. If you speak against me even once, I shall leave you forever."
Bound by love and longing, the king swore the oath.
And so the divine Ganga became queen of Hastinapura.
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For a time, joy reigned in the palace. The people rejoiced, for their king had found a bride of heavenly grace. Yet, with the passing moons, shadows gathered unseen. Each time Ganga bore a child, she carried the infant to the sacred river — and with a calm heart, she cast the newborn into the flowing waters.
The first time, the king wept in silence, remembering his promise.
The second time, rage burned in his chest.
By the seventh, his heart was a storm.
When the eighth child was born, and Ganga once again walked toward the river, Shantanu could bear no more.
"Stop, O cruel-hearted woman!" he cried, his voice echoing through the heavens. "What curse drives a mother to slay her own sons?"
Ganga turned slowly, her eyes filled with both sorrow and divine calm.
"You have broken your vow, O King," she said. "But because your love was true, I shall not condemn you."
Then, with grace beyond mortal measure, she revealed the truth:
"These children were the eight Vasus, divine beings cursed to be born as mortals. I was sent to release them. The first seven have returned to their celestial homes. The eighth shall live — he is destined to be the greatest among men."
She placed the infant in Shantanu's trembling arms.
"Name him Devavrata, but the world will know him as Bhishma, the one who vows and never breaks."
And with a final smile, Ganga vanished into her river, leaving the king alone — holding in his arms the child who would one day shape the destiny of the world.