Chapter 1: The Hunter and the River
In the vast land of Bharath, where countless kingdoms stretched across the landscape, there was one that stood out—the Kuru Kingdom. Shantanu, the fourteenth king of the Kuru Kingdom, was not just a monarch; he was a solitary hunter, a man who preferred the quiet of the wilderness over the clamor of court life. Since his earliest years, he ventured into the forests alone. To him, hunting was like worship, a sacred act between himself and the untamed wilderness.
Shantanu was 32 years old, but he had not married, and the kingdom did not have an heir. It seemed he would never take a wife, for he had refused the most beautiful and gifted princesses in all of Bharata. Shantanu had always known that one day he would indeed marry, and the Kuru Kingdom would have their crown prince—but only when the woman he had been waiting for, the one who appeared so clearly in his dreams, came into his life.
On the evening of this particularly grueling hunt, the twilight sky was ablaze with dark crimson and turquoise hues as Shantanu rode to the banks of the sacred Ganga. His horse was exhausted, its flanks steaming, yet the king had pushed it relentlessly. Shantanu had ventured far beyond his intended path, driven by an inexplicable urgency. Though he had set out at dawn, he had yet to make a kill. A leopard had escaped him, and twice a fine stag had avoided his arrows. A master archer like him would usually have turned back in frustration on such a day when the gods of the hunt seemed to mock him.
But Shantanu was not one to retreat. He pressed on, determined not to return empty-handed, even if it meant spending the night under the stars. Unbeknownst to him, fate was leading him onward.
As the sun dipped behind the western hills, Shantanu arrived at the shimmering riverbank. "Ganga!"—the sacred river that had fallen from the sky in ancient times. She was as vast as a sea, her far bank barely visible in the fading light. The king dismounted and led his horse to the water's edge, where the river lapped gently at banks of green moss.
He knelt beside his horse and, bending down to the crystal flow, drank deeply, splashing his arms and face with the sweet water. Suddenly, the king became aware that he was not alone.
He turned and saw her: a vision bathed in the last golden rays of the setting sun. Her skin glowed like soft gold, her face and form were flawless, her eyes luminous. Her long, black hair cascaded to her waist, and she stood silently, staring at him, making his heart race as no woman ever had. She was no stranger to him; she was the very woman who had visited his dreams since he was a boy.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stood silently before Shantanu slowly approached her. Words failed him, but he extended his hands, hoping to convey everything with that simple gesture.
She stood there, nervously playing with her curly black hair, her face mirroring the river's surface in an uncanny way. It seemed as if the Ganga and she were one, their rhythms and souls intertwined.
In the deepening darkness, Shantanu finally drew her close and whispered, "I am Shantanu, king of the Kuru Kingdom in Hastinapura. I cannot live without you; I want you to be my queen."
Her eyes were wild as she replied, "Oh, I love you, my lord! But if I am to be your wife, I must bind you with a condition."
"Anything, anything at all; even my life if you wish it."
"You must never ask me who I am, nor question what I do, no matter how terrible it may seem."
His hands parted the flowing garment she wore, which seemed made of river-moss, and he knelt before her to quench all the thirst of his young manhood, for the king was still a virgin. She breathed, "I will be your wife until you question me. But the day you do, I will leave you forever."
"Never. I swear I will never question you, whatever you do."
Now her hands were removing his clothes, and the river swelled around them in a tide of flames. It seemed their bodies turned to water and fire, and they were lost in an ancient dream of love.