Birth of Kings

1

Sacred Waters

Amist rose by the banks of the River Ganga as King Shantanu steadied his war horse. Frothing at the mouth, ready for his command, the loyal creature had been exhausted by a master possessed. To his bewilderment, he had not managed to secure a prized kill. As was his custom, he had set out at dawn, feeling at peace when alone with nothing to separate him from the depths of wilderness. Today he had been frustrated by countless creatures evading his relentless pursuits, arrows missing by a hair's breadth. Allowing his horse to gain its composure, the young King found himself where he would end most days, by the divine river that had fallen from the heavens.

Both master and creature lurched forwards instinctively to drink deeply from the pristine waters. Suddenly, he felt her presence. She was the unmistakable beauty that had vividly stirred his dreams since childhood. It was her who he compared all others against, having spurned the most desired princesses in the land. Within his soul, he knew it was his destiny to wait for her. She was perfect in every sense. Her skin was golden, her eyes sharp, cutting through the night with their lustre. As graceful as the river from which she emerged, her long black hair tumbled to her waist.

Feeling the blood pulsate within his skull the young King whispered, I am Shantanu, the fourteenth King of the Kuru dynasty. You are the beauty I see when my eyes are closed and the world is dark. I am certain you are the one I have been waiting for. We are destined to unite for eternity. Return with me, my Queen, you will sit upon the throne of Hastinapura!

Staring deeply into his eyes she too knew it was their fate as she softly replied, My Lord, I have loved you for years. She paused to examine the determination of her suitor before declaring with resolute clarity, If I am to be your wife, you must never question who I am or any of my actions, no matter how terrible they may seem. Accept these conditions and I will be your wife. Break them and we will be no more.

Entranced, the demand seemed acceptable. He was not shocked by the condition as he stated authoritatively, I swear to never question you, my Queen!

Like the rolling river beside them, the lovestruck couple flowed effortlessly into the embrace of one another, their blood racing as they tore off their robes and made passionate love. Returning to Hastinapura at the break of day, a tremendous reception greeted the pair as it dawned upon the gathered crowds that their beloved King had brought home a magnificent Queen. Reflecting the perfect setting in which he discovered her, Shantanu named her Ganga, to the jubilation of his people. Having waited patiently for years in the search for a perfect wife, it had seemed that the monarch would never marry, and the kingdom would be left without an heir. The eruption of joy and the overwhelming relief felt by all was tangible. The couple wed in a magnificent ceremony.

Over time it was clear that King Shantanu had found the perfect Queen. She was powerful in her own right and had a natural flair to match her unparalleled beauty. Above all, for those fortunate to witness their relationship it was clear that they were deeply in love. Almost a year after their first encounter, the city of elephants reverberated to the joyous news that Ganga was pregnant, carrying within her the heir to the throne of Hastinapura. The celebrations that greeted the news continued for months as the public became captivated by the thought of a powerful heir being born to such formidable parents. Ganga carried herself with a resolute calm throughout the pregnancy, not allowing the acclaim to affect her. It was as if she foresaw more troubling times ahead.

As winter drew in and the pregnancy reached its final stages, a respected noble burst into the chambers of the King to inform him that a beautiful baby boy had been born to Queen Ganga. Full of life and unbridled joy, Shantanu ran to the quarters of his dear wife, ignoring the throng of guards and maids who were desperate to gain his attention. Bursting through the doors of her chamber he stood motionless as he saw her bed empty with no sight of his precious infant. His world fell silent as he fought to hear a newborn cry.

Stumbling desperately around the room he demanded, Where is my wife? Where is my son?

The personal guard of Ganga replied solemnly, Immediately following the birth, the Queen held her newborn gently to her breast before storming out of the chamber and beyond the city walls.

The King was stunned in disbelief, unable to speak as he remained rooted to the spot waiting for more information. The guard feared the wrath of Shantanu, having failed in his duty to protect the Queen. He trembled as he continued, Our Queen stated that death would await anyone who attempted to follow or obstruct her path to the river of her name.

Without a second thought, Shantanu summoned his swiftest horse and burst through the gates of Hastinapura, heading for the location he felt sure to find his wife. He flew through the night across the familiar, challenging terrain. Reaching the bank of the river where they first met, he saw her. A palpable horror descended as it became clear a dreadful incident was unfolding. The Queen stood in the foaming waters holding the infant aloft. She appeared transfixed, uttering verses from a bygone era that no mortal could comprehend. The river seemed to gain life in her presence as it frothed and bubbled in synchrony with her command.

Realising it was paramount to approach with caution, Shantanu gently dismounted his horse before stealthily approaching Ganga. Before he could take another step his world descended into a chaotic blur as the Queen raised her voice before plunging the infant mercilessly below the raging depths of the river. Howling a blood-curdling scream, the pain of her actions seemed to overwhelm her. Sensing the presence of Shantanu, she turned to him with no trace of their precious son. The river seemed to calm instantly, mirroring her steely glare.

He would never forget the ethereal appearance on her face as she asserted, Remember the oath you swore to me!

The pain became etched on her face and was in stark contrast to the intensity of her voice and the ferocious determination of her actions. Shantanu sank to the ground as she embraced him near the very spot where they first met, and he had taken his oath for her. Though his lips trembled, he did not once ask why she had drowned their precious child, for fear of losing her.

The Queen was renowned for having a mystical power over all that she encountered, and this occasion was no different as she was able to wash away the memory of her actions with her legendary calm. The manner in which the newborn prince met his death would remain a guarded secret between the couple. To the world they announced that due to a fatal condition detected at birth, they had given up the child to spend its short-lived time on earth under the care of compassionate sages.

The people of the kingdom did not question the King, fully believing his tale of holy men summoned to care for the tragic newborn prince. These sages resided throughout the land and were widely respected scholars. Known as rishis, they practised intense meditation to attain supreme truth and eternal knowledge. It never crossed the mind of the people that an elaborate fiction had been cast, using the respect and authority that rishis possessed, to hide the truth.

The King could never have envisioned the spiral of events that unfolded next. With unfathomable repetition, over several years, the same terrible pattern emerged. On each occasion the Queen became pregnant, she gave birth to a beautiful son, only to drown him under the untamed currents of the sacred river. On all seven occasions, her actions cruelly mirrored the tragedy of their firstborn.

Though crushed by despair and haunted by what he had witnessed, Shantanu did not stop loving his wife. On each occasion a child was murdered in cold blood she met him with a stare that reminded him of the oath he had taken and his love for her. He was entirely powerless, reliant on the very person who was ruthlessly delivering his torment, to provide him with strength. He felt despair in his role of covering up the true demise of their children. The couple detailed an elaborate story that an ancient curse had swept through the family, with all seven sons born to a terrible disease. Internally, the soul of the King was utterly unnerved. He could not understand the state of mind of his wife as she seemed equally harrowed by the deaths and dependent on his unwavering love and support. Knowing that he would lose her by raising doubt, he never dared to question her.

2

The Eighth

The torment of watching his seven healthy sons murdered by his wife had a dreadful impact on Shantanu, as he aged and turned grey. The enduring pain of silence was evident on his increasingly withered face. In the depths of guilt for the passive role he played in the murder of his children, Shantanu discovered that Ganga was pregnant for the eighth time. As had become tragic custom, the monarch observed his wife throughout the pregnancy. He could not fathom how someone so tender and caring to all living things could suddenly turn so dark and evil.

As the cries of labour rang around the palace for the eighth time, the King had planned what action he would take. Hearing Ganga summon her chariot he exploded through the city gates heading for the river Ganga where he hid under a tree. The wait was cruel and felt like an eternity. Just before dawn broke he saw the silhouette of his wife on her royal chariot. He was taken aback by the haunting sight as a sudden rage surged through him. He would not allow her to kill another son; the heir he desperately craved.

As though in a trance Ganga walked to the bank of the river holding the precious infant aloft. The King had witnessed enough tragedy. Slicing through the ancient verses she was muttering, he screamed, You will not kill our son!

In a flash, he ran towards Ganga as the words cut through her. She turned sharply to face him with the stare that had always managed to disarm him. Confused by her pain-stricken smile, he was ready to snatch his child from the jaws of death. To his astonishment, without hostility, she calmly placed the infant into his powerful arms. Though relieved, the King was still wary. The raging torrents reminded him of the perilous situation and heightened his vigilance. Ganga continued to stare at the King. As always, he was entirely dependent upon her to assure him as she gently stroked his face. Before he could summon the strength to question her, she whispered, Let me show you who I am.

Like a waterfall cascading, she transformed before him. The King gasped as he saw crystal waves as old as time, illuminated in a divine light. The woman he loved with all his soul was a Goddess.

Time stood still as she spoke in a molten tone that boiled and roared, I am Ganga, the sacred river of heaven and earth!

Shantanu felt as though the earth would give way below him and he wanted nothing but to fall at her feet. The weight of duty to his newborn son strengthened him. Transfixed with her magnificence, he listened in awe as the Goddess continued, My actions can be explained by a tale of two curses. In a time when there was barely a distinction between heaven and earth, when Kings roamed freely in the realms of the Gods, you were a King named Mahabhishek of the Ikshvaku dynasty. You were a King so powerful that you sat in Indra’s court beside the Gods. I visited the court frequently and when our paths crossed there was a palpable attraction between us that silenced all present.

As Ganga spoke to the soul of Shantanu, he was able to envision the precious memory of his previous life. He saw the hostility of the Gods as they questioned the union of a mortal King with an immortal Deva. For daring to gaze at each other with forbidden desire in their presence, the Gods cursed the pair to share a human life where they would be King and Queen to satisfy their desires. Without Ganga saying another word, he understood the unconditional love he had for her. Still clutching their precious child, he gazed down, confused by the cruel murders he had witnessed.

Ganga continued to describe the second curse which involved eight elemental gods, known as Vasus. Each God represented an aspect of nature and cosmic phenomenon. Dhara was the God of Earth, Varuna the God of Water, Agni the god of Fire, Vayu the God of Wind, Aditya the God of Sun, Prabhasa the God of Sky, Soma the God of the Moon and Dhruva the unmoveable God of the polar star. With the rapt attention of Shantanu, Ganga explained, "Eight Vasus of heaven, invisible to the eye of mortal beings once came to the earth with their wives. The Vasus roamed the earth before coming across the mountain where the sage Vasishtha had his ashrama. There they saw the sacred cow Nandini with her calf. Infatuated by the divine creature that illuminated the emerald slopes of the hillside with her splendour, the wife of Prabhasa pleaded with him to take the cow for her as a gift. The Vasu instantly refused, knowing that the creature belonged to Vasishtha.

"Tormented by an unrelenting barrage from their wives who questioned how the immortals could fear a mere rishi, the eight Vasus flashed down upon the peaceful mountainside and seized Nandini and her calf. Without witnessing the incident, Vasishtha knew in his soul that the Vasus had taken his precious cow, who was as dear to him as a daughter. The wise rishi simply could not live without her and visioned his precious companion and her calf being stripped from their home. The image sent a rage through him that he could not control.

"Draining every ounce of the formidable power he possessed, Vasishtha cursed the Vasus to be born mortal. The curse rocked the eight immortals who could not imagine being trapped in human flesh. They fell from the heavens bowing at the feet of the great rishi, imploring him to revoke the curse. Although Vasishta took pity upon them, his words could not be rescinded. Speaking solemnly, he stated, ‘You must pay for your actions. For seven of you, the curse will be short-lived. Seven will spend nine months in the dark waters of a mother's womb before being liberated by death soon after birth. It will be your responsibility to find your mother.'

Stunned into silence, the focus of Vasishtha turned to Prabhasa, who had led the group to sin and was accountable for seizing Nandini and her calf. Lowering his tone and staring at Prabhasa, Vasishtha proclaimed. ‘Your curse will last many decades longer. You will have a formidable and long life as a human!' Exhausted by the curse he had inflicted upon the Vasus, the rishi reclaimed Nandini and her calf before disappearing into the mountainside home to begin his tapasya once more.

The chill of winter turned the landscape to ice. As if fate dawned upon them, the Vasus immediately saw life emerging from the earth through sparkling waters that sprung from the mountainside. It was the cliff from where I, the sacred Ganga arose. Believing there to be no one more suitable to be their mother, the Vasus prayed in my honour as their only salvation. Hearing their calls, I appeared before the immortals, who fell to my feet to tell of their curse. Knowing that I too was destined to marry you and share a human life, it was as if the stars had aligned, and destiny had struck.

Shantanu was astonished by the tale of two curses. He now knew the actions of his wife were pure and an intimate part of their destiny. Kneeling before her in admiration, he instinctively gave the precious infant back to her, understanding that the fate of the child was hers to decide.

The Goddess accepted the child stating, One day this child will rule the Kurus. You will be reunited on his sixteenth birthday.

Shantanu gasped, What about us? If I will not see my child for sixteen years, at least let me see you! We will meet in secret, away from the eyes of men and immortals.

Washing away his sadness as only she knew how, Ganga responded, Our time together in this life is complete. Nothing is hidden nor can it ever be. A mist grew around her, and with the child under her protection, Ganga vanished into the haze.

Shantanu stood motionless, staring at the point she had stood, before letting out a primal scream that shook the forest. Not knowing how he would continue as King without her, he remained there for hours. The silence that greeted his desperate cries forced him to realise that the life he had known with Ganga was no more. Grasping at what was left, he mounted her chariot and began the painful journey back to Hastinapura.

The King began to lead a vastly different life from the moment his world changed forever. He had always been solitary by nature, however, whereas he previously enjoyed the thrill of a hunt, he now spent his days in the wilderness admiring creatures without ever making a kill. His routine would always lead him to the banks of the Ganga, where he would spend hours by the water. The river became the centre of his universe, as life continued to revolve around him. It was here that he felt peace within his soul, feeling the presence of his wife without ever seeing her, listening to the often gentle and occasionally fierce motions of the sacred river.

As much as he missed his wife, he also longed for his son, wondering if he would ever return. For the King, it was unthinkable to leave the kingdom without an heir, but he felt powerless in a situation that was far beyond his control. With time, Shantanu found the only escape from the sorrow that tortured him was to dedicate himself to the kingdom. Under his reign the realm was prosperous and his people at peace.

One morning, as was now his habit, Shantanu fell asleep by the sacred river, dreaming of his true love. He could see her face vividly in dreams as he had done during his childhood. In a shallow slumber, he listened to the murmurs of the river, imagining that she was speaking to him. Suddenly the sound of the frothing river stopped, arousing the attention of the King. He peered across in disbelief as the riverbed had become completely dry. In the distance, a huge wave fought to break past a glistening dam of golden arrows that had formed the perfect seal against the incessant flow of water.

Gasping in awe, he heard the unmistakable voice of Ganga, Shantanu! she called in a fluid tongue.

Behold your son Devavrata! He has been schooled in the art of war by he who all kshatriya fear, Parasurama. Brihaspati educated him in every aspect of politics and Vasishtha taught him the Vedas. The ancient throne of the Kuru dynasty is secure; you have been provided with the perfect heir and a mighty warrior. With those prophetic words, she left. It would be the final time King Shantanu heard her voice.

With a thunderous roar, the river exploded into life as the dam of golden arrows released its grip upon it. A young prince rode upon the great wave, effortlessly arriving before Shantanu; walking from the river to the bank as if there was no difference between water and land. Staring at his father with dark eyes, he carried an immense aura about him. Bound by destiny, the young warrior grasped Shantanu in a powerful embrace. The King felt a joy that had left him many years before, refusing to let go of his son until they arrived back in Hastinapura. The hope provided by having such a powerful heir to the throne fulfilled Shantanu with renewed vigour and banished the torment that had anchored to his soul.

3

The Terrible VOw

King Shantanu lived a blissful life with his gifted son by his side. The pair shared an intensely intimate relationship. It was clear that Devavrata would bend the very earth to secure the happiness of his father. The prince was a powerful figure who belied his years. To the people, he was the saviour they had waited years to welcome. When the time was appropriate, Devavrata was given the title of Yuvaraja, cementing his destiny as heir apparent. The recognition suited the young prince and he grew into the position with the authority expected of him.

Although Shantanu hunted no more, the thrill of nature never left him. Finding peace in the wilderness he continued the obsession of a lifetime. As if the sacred river was entwined in his destiny, she coursed into his life once again, this time her tributary, the Yamuna. Wandering along her banks he was struck by a deeply intense fragrance that drew him in. Requesting his charioteer to remain, he wondered what divine scent aroused him so vividly, in a fervent manner he had not experienced in years. He followed the aroma on foot and found her. Her eternal beauty stopped him in his tracks as he hid in the woodland, hypnotically observing her dipping her feet in the mystic blue waters. Remaining discrete, he realised the irresistible scent was emanating from her luscious skin. Without hesitation he wanted her to be his new Queen, replacing a void left by the absence of Ganga.

Approaching the maiden with supreme confidence, he professed his love for her. He saw in her heart that she was thrilled with the thought of being his Queen, but she spoke to warn him that he would need to gain the acceptance of her father, who was King of the fishermen along the river. Requesting to know where he could be found, Shantanu left the maiden and marched confidently to a simple hut, where he found her father. The fisher-king carried an unmistakable aura with a necklace of fish bones, surrounded by a band of zealous followers at his side, who awaited his command. Her father barely acknowledged the powerful monarch, savouring a catch that had been freshly grilled. Ordinarily, the image of Shantanu was known throughout the realms. He was accustomed to being recognised and respected, yet the fisher-king sat unperturbed enjoying his meal. There was a palpable silence as both men waited for the other to speak. Those gathered around the fisher-king gawked at the glistening attire of the monarch which contrasted with their squalid home.

Although he needed no introduction, Shantanu impatiently broke the silence announcing, I am the Kuru King Shantanu, ruler of Hastinapura. I was brought to your presence by the most magnificent beauty who claims to be your daughter. It would be my honour to make her my Queen. I have come in peace, to ask you for her hand.

The fisher-king heard every word spoken but remained focused upon his catch, expertly removing flesh from bone, licking his soiled fingers as he devoured the meal. Remaining slouched over the skeletal remains, he turned his eyes towards the monarch, picking his stained teeth with a sliver of cartilage.

Rising slowly, the fisher-king spoke gruffly as Shantanu hung on his every word, My daughter will be your Queen on one condition. A rishi once foretold that the son of my daughter will rule the lands you control. Promise me her son will be your successor!

Although the request of the fisher-king seemed reasonable, it floored Shantanu. His mind flashed to Ganga and his precious son Devavrata. The love he had for the son he had desired for years was all-encompassing. He could not fulfil the promise the fisher-king demanded. The voice of Ganga rang in his skull, that Devavrata would rule the Kuru dynasty. Without uttering a word, knowing he could not fulfil the request of the fisher-king, the monarch turned and left the simple hut.

As he strode away the charred smell of flesh gave way to the wall of divine aroma that had originally enticed him. Ignoring every instinct in his body, he hurried back to where he had left his charioteer and stallions. Untying his great horse from the chariot, Shantanu stormed away from the scene. The fragrance emanating from the fisher-girl rooted and began to grow. The further he went, the more he wanted to turn back. Brushing his emotions aside, he refused to return. The Kingdom belonged to Devavrata; nothing would stand in the way.

Although he refused to accept it, the encounter changed the life of the King forever. Like ice breaking a stone, cracks began to form in his relationship with Devavrata. It was no fault of the young prince, who doted over his father. The mind of Shantanu was occupied by what may have been, rather than the reality of everything he was blessed to have. Almost overnight, Shantanu gave up his forays into the wilderness. To those around him, it was clear that something had changed since his last adventure as the King became more and more distant, longing for something out of reach. Devavrata was startled by the dramatic loss of zeal that his father exhibited. He was determined to end the misery his father endured.

Recognising that the last trip his father made had to be the turning point, he demanded the charioteer who escorted the King to reveal where they had travelled that day. Frightened by the might of Devavrata, the simple charioteer heeded his command, assembling his finest horses to take the prince along the same route to the banks of the Yamuna. The fragrant smell of the fisher-girl struck the pair as soon as they arrived in the region. Instinctively, Devavrata followed the scent. As night fell he reached the simple hut of the fisher-king and stormed in.

The fisher-king was surprised at the return of royal visitors, chuckling as he observed the powerful prince stood before him. Casually stuffing tobacco into his blackened mouth, he did not wait for Devavrata to question him and bluntly informed the prince why his father had visited his simple abode. Realisation dawned upon the son of Ganga in a flood of emotion. His father had forsaken love and happiness for his gain.

Powerful energy swelled within Devavrata as he demanded, I am the only son of King Shantanu, tell me what you want, and you shall have it. I only desire the happiness of my father, which lies with your daughter.

The fisher-king repeated his demand, The son of my daughter will be the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Shantanu.

Devavrata stared defiantly at the fisher-king. Holding the palm of his right hand to face the fisherman he declared a vow in a voice that underlined his determination, I Devavrata, the Yuvaraja of Hastinapura will surrender all claims I have to the throne. Your grandson will be the next Kuru King!

The fisher-king was stunned. He had not expected such a valiant and worthy prince to relinquish his divine right to the throne. The wily fisherman did not know how to immediately respond, taking time to gauge the mighty warrior stood before him. It seemed inconceivable to him that the power of ruling a formidable dynasty and renowned Kingdom could be given away with such resolve. In his warped mind, he believed something was amiss.

Demanding more he stated in a rage, I will not allow your father to make brief use of my daughter while she is young, only to discard her! Kshatriya dressed in regal uniform have notoriety for abusing simple families like mine! Although you seem noble and have given me your word, what of your sons, who will no doubt be powerful warriors? How can I be sure the children of your seed will not be jealous enough to overthrow my grandchild as rightful heir?

Devavrata paused, unsure why the fisher-king would question the vow he had taken. As a noble warrior, his word would never be broken.

Devavrata roared in a voice that resonated around the surrounding region and shook the heavens, I vow before the Gods of heaven and the men on earth. I vow in the name of my mother, the divine Ganga. I vow on the name of my guru, Parasurama. I vow upon the everlasting principles of dharma, that not only will I never marry, but to secure the happiness of my father, I will remain celibate my entire life!

The world fell silent with the immortal words spoken. In tribute to the sacred vow, the heavens opened to shower Devavrata with fine translucent petals illuminated by divine light, preceding an echo which reverberated from the earth, the forests, the rivers, and the heavens. The thunderous voice spoke a name from imperceptible sources, ‘Bhishma, Bhishma, Bhishma!'

It would be the new name of Devavrata, ‘Bhishma’ signifying his status as one of a terrible vow.

The fisher-king was stunned into silence. Signalling towards the gathered crowd, he summoned his daughter mustering the courage to say, Kshatriya of unquestionable honour, take your new mother to the King.

Without saying another word, the fisherman wandered back into his hut, not turning back to say goodbye to his beloved daughter. As the carriage of Bhishma rolled away with the magnificent prize of Satyavati safely onboard, the fisher-king wept. As if destiny brought him to this juncture, giving away his daughter would be his final act on earth. A peaceful death met him that fateful night.

News of the vow Devavrata had declared spread like wildfire. From that moment he would forever be known as Bhishma. King Shantanu could not fathom the vow that his son had taken to secure his happiness. In his eyes, he saw the immortal Ganga.

Holding him closely he blessed Bhishma, I too have been celibate for twenty years, earning karma which I will bestow upon you for the sacrifice you have made for me. I grant you the boon of Ichcha Mrityu; let death only meet you in a manner and timing that you control.

The prophecy of Ganga appeared true; Bhishma was bound to have a long and formidable life. Although the people of the realm were despondent that the mighty prince had sworn to never rule them, they were inspired by the knowledge that Bhishma swore to always protect the crown of Hastinapura, regardless of who sat upon it. With a new Queen, they also had hope that the Kingdom would be provided with an heir. The potential the future held seemed remarkable; a new King supported by the formidable Bhishma. The people rejoiced at the thought of the powerful family that the world would both respect and fear. Married once again in a grand ceremony, Shantanu revelled in the new life he had found. For Bhishma, the happiness of his father filled him with indescribable joy.

4

A New Beginning

In time, two sons were born to Satyavatī and Shantanu, named Chitrangada and Vicitravīrya. With Shantanu advancing in years, it would be Bhishma who assumed the role of father figure to the children. The mighty warrior cherished the company of his brothers, teaching them step by step all that he knew, whilst they equally adored him. The final years of life for King Shantanu were filled with immense happiness that had evaded him so cruelly in previous decades. Having known death was approaching, the monarch arranged a ceremony to commemorate Chitrangada as Yuvaraja of the kingdom, cementing his destiny to rule following the death of the King, and securing the Kuru legacy.

Just like the sacred river he loved so dearly, life left the mortal body of King Shantanu, his soul flowing to his forefathers and eternal rest. As was custom, his ashes were scattered within the sacred Ganga. However, on this occasion, the ceremony carried greater significance as Shantanu was finally reunited with the love of his life.

In the aftermath of the death of the beloved King, Bhishma ruled as regent in place of his brother, who was still too young to rule. It marked an idyllic period for the Kuru kingdom as the uncrowned Bhishma led with authority and garnered the respect of all.

Amid triumph for the Kingdom, Hastinapura was visited by a Gandharva who shared the name of the young King. A colossus at the gates of the city, it was clear that he was not mortal. Standing taller than all around him, his body illuminated everything in his surrounding, giving him a formidable presence. Waiting patiently, the visitor gazed at the defenders of the realm who scrambled away in awe.

The chief guardian summoned the courage to address the Gandharva asking, Who are you and what brings you to our city?

Focusing his sharp eyes upon the guard, the Gandharva spoke in a manner that contrasted his stunning, unworldly face, I hear the Yuvaraja of Hastinapura uses my name. If he is the warrior that his name suggests, allow him to combat me. Blood will be spilt. Only one Chitrangada will survive to see the sun setting over the horizon! His powerful voice shook the walls of the great city; the message terrifying all who heard it.

Cruelly, Bhishma was away from the capital on diplomatic duty and was unable to defend his brother against such conflict. Without his much-needed counsel, the young King, who was naive as he was brave, decided to face the mighty warrior from the heavens. Creating a spectacle to draw a crowd, the Gandharva roamed around the large square of the city, whistling music of the Gods. He resembled a tree full of birds as he ranged around the crowds, who gasped in awe. When the young warrior King emerged donning full armoury and weapons, the mighty Gandharva and the crowd fell silent. The visitor had not expected to face such a slender youth, whilst the people had prayed their King remained out of reach from such a dreadful mismatch.

Brushing back his midnight blue hair, the Gandharva challenged the King, leaving an opportunity for mercy, You have dared to take my name, for which there can only be one. I consider this a crime more severe than the theft of any object imaginable. Seeing as you are merely a child, I will spare your life if you renounce your name. Kneel before me and beg for pardon!

The young King felt a surge of strength pulse through his slender frame. This was the first true challenge he had faced, and he was not prepared to admit defeat in front of his people without a fight. He wanted all present to realise that they had a King they could be proud of.

With the authority of his legendary ancestors, he drew his sword and raged, I am Chitrangada, King of Hastinapura. I know of no other and take pity on you if you wish to fight me for the sake of my name! The face of the Gandharva grew dark. The crowds cheered in raucous appreciation before a nervous silence fell upon the square. Within the blurred blink of an eye, the hand of the Gandharva flashed through the air, followed immediately by a sickening gurgled groan leaving the mouth of the young King as the celestial being drew away from the monarch's neck holding a razor-sharp blade the size of a feather. Staggering around gasping for breath whilst clasping his throat, the young King attempted to stem the torrent of arterial blood leaving his body. Within seconds he collapsed in a heap, eyes still staring at the victor as his blood formed a pool across the sand. Screams of terror rose from all quarters. The Gandharva vanished as swiftly as the life of the young King ended, leaving a chasm in the heart of the royal household.

History had shown the Kurus that periods of great prosperity were often followed by years of tragedy and without warning catastrophe had ripped through the soul of the dynasty. Messengers flew upon their horses to inform Bhishma of the tragic news. The crown regent howled in anger and despair that he could not be by the side of his young brother. From his tender birth, Bhishma had raised Chitrangada as he would his own son. He had taught him all he could in the short time he was alive, putting his heart and soul into the task, for the legacy of their father. It was inconceivable that the young King would meet such an early demise. Now all that remained was a mound of ashes destined to flow in the sacred river.

The attention of Bhishma turned sharply to Vicitravīrya. Whereas previously the young prince had been groomed in the shadows of royal life to serve as a loyal minister to his brother, he was now at the epicentre of attention. All hope was pinned upon the sole heir, who was immediately commemorated as Yuvaraja of Hastinapura. Bhishma honourably continued to rule as regent of the kingdom, awaiting the youthful King to come of age. Within a few short years, the young prince blossomed into a valiant kshatriya. It seemed the brutality of the untimely death of his brother, compounded by the weight of expectation to rule the kingdom, had accelerated his development to maturity. With the blessing of Bhishma, when he was deemed ready, Vicitravīrya was crowned King of Hastinapura.

The new King was humble, knowing he was no match for the might of his elder brother. Due to this, it was Bhishma who held the true power of the throne in an arrangement that was temporary until Vicitravīrya reached full maturity and was a feared kshatriya in his own right. The years that passed were bountiful and peaceful in equal measure. A sense of calm descended upon the kingdom enabling Bhishma to strengthen ties with realms across the land. Having watched Vicitravīrya mature into a fine young warrior, it was decided with the blessing of Queen Satyavatī, that the time had arrived for the King to find a Queen.

News had spread across the land that a significant swayamvara was being arranged for the three princesses of Kasi. Since their childhood Amba, Ambika and Ambālikā had been highly regarded for their intelligence and beauty. They were destined to draw acclaim from monarchs across the land, however,