Up in the heavens, Surya Bhagwan (the Sun God) watched the heart-wrenching scene unfold below. Kunti's desperate act of abandonment sent a wave of pain and anger through him. He was a father, after all, and that was his son—a beautiful, divinely blessed child left to the mercy of a cold river. His divine teja (effulgence) dimmed slightly with sorrow.
He wanted to reach down and pull the basket to safety, to shower the child with his warmth and protection. But the cosmos are governed by rigid karmic laws and duties. He had already granted Kunti the boon while ensuring her maidenhood was intact; he could not interfere further with mortal destinies. His duty was to shine, to illuminate the world, not to personally intervene in the lives of his earthly offspring. The rules bound him, and he watched, helpless and full of silent fury at the situation that forced a mother to such a cruel act.
Meanwhile, a short distance down the river, the sky was just beginning to turn a soft pink and orange with the approaching dawn. Adhiratha, a kind and respected charioteer for King Dhritarashtra, and his wife Radha, lived a simple life near the riverbank. They were a pious couple, but their lives were marked by one profound sorrow: they were childless.
Every morning, without fail, Radha and Adhiratha came to the Ganga's edge. They bathed, offered prayers to the rising sun, and with folded hands, Radha would fervently pray for the blessing of a son, a little light to fill their empty home.
That morning, as the first rays of the sun kissed the water, Radha's eyes caught an unusual sight. A sturdy, wax-sealed basket was caught in a small eddy near the shore. She pointed it out to Adhiratha, who waded into the water to retrieve it.
They carefully opened the basket. Inside, they found the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. The infant's face shone with an extraordinary radiance, the very teja of the sun. He was adorned with a golden armour (kavacha) and brilliant earrings (kundala). Radha gasped in sheer wonder.
Her heart, which moments ago was heavy with the longing for a child, was instantly filled with a fierce, possessive love. Adhiratha, seeing the divine markings, felt they had been blessed by the gods themselves.
As Adhiratha lifted the baby from the basket, Radha's joy briefly morphed into a sharp, protective anger.
"Which stone-hearted woman could do this?" she fumed, her voice trembling with emotion as she held the baby close.
"To abandon such a beautiful, god-like child to the cold river? What kind of a mother is she? Does she have no heart, no conscience?"
Adhiratha tried to calm her, suggesting that circumstances might have forced the mother's hand. But Radha was beyond reason. In her mind, no circumstance justified this cruelty. She looked at the beautiful, radiant child in her arms and swore an oath right there on the riverbank: this child was hers now, a gift from the Ganga and the Sun God, and she would never let any harm come to him.
They took the baby home, performed the necessary rituals, and named him Vasusena, the one with wealth (vasu) through his earrings and armour. He would also be known as Radheya, the beloved son of Radha.