The river flowed like a whisper of eternity.
At dawn, the mist clung to the sacred waters, turning the world into a dream half-remembered. The kingdom of Hastinapura still slept—but the river did not. It never slept. It had seen kings rise, empires crumble, and oaths that would scar generations.
And on that morning, destiny walked along its banks.
King Shantanu stood alone.
The wind lifted the edges of his royal garments as he stared into the flowing waters. He was a king feared in battle, respected in court, beloved by his people. Yet in that moment, he was simply a man—lonely in the echo of his own greatness.
Then he saw her.
She rose from the mist like a fragment of the moon descending to earth.
A woman stood at the river's edge. Her beauty was not merely seen—it was felt. It pressed against the air. It silenced the birds. Even the river seemed to bow around her feet.
Her eyes held depths older than time.
Shantanu's breath faltered.
"Who are you?" he asked, though his voice felt unworthy of the question.
She smiled—not shy, not proud—but knowing.
"I am Ganga."
The name struck him like thunder.
Ganga
The sacred river. The divine mother. The celestial being whispered about in hymns.
Yet she stood before him in mortal form.
Shantanu did not question the miracle. Kings are taught to command armies—but not their hearts.
"I have never seen beauty such as yours," he said softly.
"And yet," she replied, her voice like flowing water, "you look at me not with fear… but with longing."
He did not deny it.
The silence between them deepened—not awkward, not uncertain—but inevitable.
"I will marry you," Shantanu declared, because some truths arrive fully formed.
Ganga tilted her head slightly.
"You may," she said. "But on one condition."
The air tightened.
"You must never question me. No matter what I do. No matter what you see. No matter the pain it brings."
A strange condition.
A dangerous one.
But Shantanu was already lost in her presence.
"I swear it," he said.
The river carried his words away.
And with that oath… the first crack formed in destiny.
---
Their marriage was celebrated like the union of heaven and earth.
The kingdom rejoiced. The people adored their queen. Crops flourished. Enemies retreated. Peace wrapped Hastinapura in golden light.
But joy is fragile.
Soon, a child was born.
A son.
Shantanu's heart trembled with pride as he held the infant. The boy's fingers curled around his father's thumb, small yet strong.
Ganga watched silently.
That night, while the palace slept, she carried the newborn to the river.
The moon shone bright.
Without hesitation… she stepped into the water.
And let the child sink beneath the surface.
The river swallowed him.
No scream.
No struggle.
Only silence.
From the shadows, Shantanu watched.
His blood froze.
His mind shattered.
His heart screamed—but his lips did not move.
The oath.
He had sworn never to question her.
Ganga returned, calm as ever.
Not a tear stained her face.
And Shantanu… said nothing.
---
A second son was born.
And again—she carried him to the river.
And again—the waters claimed him.
The palace began to whisper.
The king began to break.
By the third child, sleep abandoned him. By the fourth, his smile became a mask. By the fifth, his soul began to rot in silence.
Seven sons.
Seven times he watched.
Seven times the river devoured his blood.
Each time his fists clenched.
Each time his oath chained him tighter.
What kind of mother does this?
What kind of king allows it?
But love can be more blinding than darkness.
---
When the eighth child was born, something changed.
The infant did not cry loudly. He stared—wide-eyed and aware, as if he understood the weight of his arrival.
Ganga lifted him gently.
She walked toward the river once more.
But this time—
"STOP!"
The word tore from Shantanu's throat like a wounded beast.
The oath shattered.
The wind roared.
The river swelled violently.
"How long must I endure this madness?" he cried. "You have drowned seven of my sons! I am a father before I am a king!"
Ganga turned slowly.
For the first time, sorrow touched her divine face.
"You have broken your promise," she said softly.
"I would break a thousand oaths to save my child!"
The river surged higher, as if alive with anger.
Then she spoke words that trembled through the night.
"These were not mortal children. They were celestial beings—cursed to be born on earth. I freed them from their suffering."
Shantanu stood frozen.
"This last one," she continued, holding the infant close, "must live his full destiny."
The child gazed at his father.
Ganga stepped back into the river.
"I will raise him until the time is right. Then I shall return him to you."
The waters rose like a curtain.
And she vanished.
Taking the child with her.
Shantanu fell to his knees at the riverbank.
King of a mighty empire.
Powerless before fate.
The mist closed in again.
The river flowed as it always had.
But that night, Hastinapura's destiny was sealed.
For the child who had survived…
would one day take a vow so terrible…
that the earth itself would remember it.
And his name would be—
Devavrata.
The world would later call him something else.
A name forged in sacrifice.
A name born of an oath.
But that… was yet to come.