Chapter 2: Two Curses -1
Shantanu brought Ganga home to Hastinapura, the city of elephants, and made her his queen. He called her Ganga because of where he had found her. She was unmatched in beauty and grace—a perfect companion who understood his every desire. She was wise and fair, modest yet charming, and knew how to keep her own counsel. Above all, she was his love, and when they were alone together, Shantanu and Ganga seemed to step beyond the bounds of time, becoming something magical.
A year passed, and one summer evening, Ganga told Shantanu that she was pregnant. The news was celebrated in Hastinapura for an entire month—the kingdom was overjoyed that an heir would soon be born in the royal house. Shantanu felt as if he were no longer mortal, his happiness overwhelming him. He chose to ignore the strange unease that seemed to grip his wife during her pregnancy. Ganga often fell silent and refused to see anyone for days. Shantanu attributed her behaviour to the changes a woman experiences during such a time.
Winter was ending, and there was a hint of spring in the air, when one fine morning, a messenger rushed breathlessly into the king's court. He brought the news that Queen Ganga had given birth to a fine son. Shantanu leaped from his throne and ran to his wife's chambers. Ignoring the guards who tried to tell him something urgently, he burst into the room—only to find it empty.
He turned back to the guards and "Where is she? Where is my son?" he cried.
The captain of the guards said, "My lord, the queen barely gave birth before she grabbed the child in her arms and ran out. She said she was going to the river and warned us not to follow her, on pain of death."
Shantanu ordered his fastest horse to be saddled. Though Ganga had an hour's head start, she had travelled by chariot. As twilight fell once again, the Kuru king raced to the riverbank—the very place where he had first met her.
The sun was setting over the western hills. In the fading light, Shantanu saw Ganga standing at the water's edge, holding their baby. She was speaking softly to the river in an ancient, flowing language. He couldn't understand her words, but suddenly he remembered the words she had once spoken to him: "You must never question me, whatever I do, or I will leave you forever."
As he leaped off his horse, she chanted a resonant mantra, lifted their baby high above her head, and cast him into the swirling river. Her cry echoed across the water as if she had torn her heart from her body and flung it away.
She turned in the golden light, and Shantanu would never forget the look on her face. Before he could scream the protest rising in his throat, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Her eyes pleaded with him, reminding him of his oath.
She pulled him down onto the soft moss and embraced him, making him forget everything in the warm tide of her love.
Shantanu never asked Ganga why she had drowned their child, not even in their most intimate moments together.
A year later, she became pregnant again. Once more, there was anticipation and celebration in the kingdom. But again, when she gave birth to a beautiful child, she took the baby to the river and threw it into the foaming currents. Shantanu followed her and found her at the water's edge, but once again, she silenced him with a look and overwhelmed him with her love so that he dared not ask her why she had killed their baby.
Seven times in seven years, Ganga became pregnant because Shantanu could not stop loving her. But living with this terrible secret, his heart grew heavier with each passing day. They told the kingdom that their sons were born with a curse and had been sent to rishis in the forest. This was close to the truth, but Shantanu didn't know that yet.
His anguish coiled around his life like a serpent. His hair turned grey, and his face became lined with sorrow. He tried to stay away from Ganga, but he couldn't. She was closer to him than his own breath, and he couldn't live without being with her. He endured his suffering in silence through the deaths of seven sons.
But slowly, Shantanu reached a breaking point. What tormented him most was Ganga's calmness, her indifference to the monstrous acts she committed. He often wondered if she was a demoness. After all, her past was shrouded in mystery. Even on the day they first met, he recalled now with dark suspicion, she had made him swear never to question her, on pain of losing her forever.
Yet, he also knew how gentle she was, even with the smallest living things. How could he reconcile these two sides of Ganga? Shantanu was close to losing his mind when his queen conceived for the eighth time.
As the time of her delivery approached, Shantanu waited night and day outside her chambers. He listened to her cries of labor as their child came into the world. It was the final hour of the night, just before dawn. Shantanu heard her order the chariot to be brought to the door, and he knew where she would go.
That night, Shantanu rode to the river before her.
He waited by the murmuring water for an hour until dawn touched the sky. It was the longest hour of his life. Then he heard her arrive. In the first rays of the sun, he saw her step down from the chariot, their child in her arms. He stood hidden behind a tree, and she did not notice him in her haste. She ran straight to the edge of the water, and as she lifted the baby to cast it into the flowing river, all the sorrow of seven agonizing years burst from him.
"Stop!" Shantanu howled, his voice echoing against the dawn. "You won't kill my son!"