That spring morning, King Santanu left his chariot under a tree and started to walk along the bank of the Ganga. He was enjoying the beauty of the dawn, its grey deepening into light orange, and then the crimson of the early sunrise.
Suddenly, he heard a sound up in the air, as if some bird were flapping its wings. Landing on the river, this mysterious creature assumed the figure of a woman of stunning beauty. There she stood in front of him, resplendent in the morning light. Chaste as a lotus, white as the moon’s silver, her eyes had the glow of starlight. Her body was agile and graceful, like that of a swan just risen from a pool. Santanu kept staring at her, dazed and dumbfounded. Was she an earthly creature or some celestial being, he wondered. Two pairs of eyes now met, each probing the other’s mind.
‘Who are you?’ Santanu asked, his eyes still riveted on her face.
‘That you would never know, O King,’ she responded, in a voice that sounded like the chiming of bells in a temple. ‘I must remain shrouded in mystery. But I know that you are the king of Hastinapur.’
‘You seem to be teasing me,’ said Santanu, smiling. Then, after a pause, he said, ‘Do you know what you have done to me? I am vanquished. I have fallen in love with you. A more beautiful woman I have never seen, even though Hastinapur is known for its beautiful women.’ Then, somewhat hesitatingly, he asked, ‘Will you marry me and be my queen? I offer you all that I have – my crown, my treasure, my life…’
‘I thank you, O King, for the magnanimity of your heart. I don’t doubt your feelings for me. But if you want to marry me, you must accept my conditions, howsoever harsh and painful these may sound.’
‘Standing here on the bank of this holy river, with the sun as my witness, I vow to do whatever you may ask of me. Just speak, O Love.’
‘Then listen, O King,’ she started off in a voice that now sounded stern and inflexible – not the gentle chiming of temple bells but the sweep of a tidal wave that would brook no resistance. ‘My prime condition, O King, is that you must never ask me about my origin – who I am and where I come from. Let this veil of mystery remain between us, forever. Also, you must never cross my word, never provoke me into anger. And I must have the freedom to do anything I like, howsoever grotesque or bizarre it may seem.’ Then came the final blow. ‘And if you violate any of these conditions, I will depart instantly, never to return. I hope I have made myself clear.’
Quite perplexed, Santanu heard it all in awe and wonder. But being still in the grip of his blind passion for this mysterious woman, he said, ‘Let all the gods in Indraloka help me keep my word.’ Then, holding her hand, he led her to his chariot. As he drove her to his palace, he felt as if he were in heaven.
A royal proclamation was issued that nobody in the kingdom should ask who the queen was – a royal personage or a commoner. Santanu and the queen lived in perfect love and harmony for about a year, until she gave birth to a male child. After delivering it, she wrapped the newborn babe in a black cloth and walked to the bank of the Ganga. Intrigued, Santanu followed her with bated breath. As she reached the river, she dropped the child into the swirling waters and returned to the palace.
That night, sleep eluded Santanu. He kept tossing and turning in bed. As he looked out of his bedroom window at the moon, it seemed to grimace at him. What a terrible price he had paid, he said to himself, for his infatuation with this woman. But bound by his vow, he bore it stoically.
However, when she did the same to their second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh male child, he could no longer contain his horror. As she was about to wrap up their eighth child in a black cloth, he loomed over her like a dark cloud and shouted, ‘No, I will not let you kill him and I’m prepared for any dire consequences.’
Smiling, his queen responded: ‘I do understand your anguish. But since you have broken your vow, I must depart instantly. However, before leaving, I must tell you that I have savoured the joys of earthly life, howsoever briefly. Now I can say that I’ve known both kinds of happiness – earthly and celestial.’ She paused for a while and then resumed: ‘How very strange that it is only at this moment of parting that we are destined to understand each other. It is now that I will unveil the mystery of my origin, dear Santanu. You would have already guessed that I am a celestial being, not a mortal. My name is Ganga and I descended on earth to carry out a very painful mission. And now I’m going to tell you everything so that you may judge me dispassionately.’
Then she explained how she had offered to salvage eight vasus, celestial beings, who had been cursed by sage Vasishtha to live as mortals, doomed to earthly pain and suffering.
She narrated how, one day, the sage had gone deep into the forest to collect wood. On returning to his hermitage, Vasishtha found his beautiful cow, Nandini, missing. Since he adored this animal not only as his only source of sustenance – milk and butter – but also for its beauty and grace, he was shattered. Who could have stolen his cow, he wondered. Who could have committed this crime? Since the sage had acquired supernatural powers through tapas, he was able to locate and identify the culprits. Empowered by his yogic strength, he summoned the eight vasus to present themselves before him. Quaking with fear, they came, prostrated themselves at his feet and sought his forgiveness. Prabhasa, the main culprit, then confessed that while he was the one who had stolen the cow, the others had only stood around. But even his candid confession did not mollify the sage, who raised his right hand and cursed the thieves.When Prabhasa’s accomplices begged to be spared, the sage softened the blow of his curse by saying that while Prabhasa would remain eternally bound to the wheel of earthly existence, the others could return to their abode in heaven if some celestial being would offer herself as their saviour. She would have to descend on earth and marry a mortal. But every child she gave birth to must be drowned in the Ganga to enable it to escape the toils and tribulations of earthly life. However, this liberation from pain would not be available to Prabhasa, who must stay back on earth to undergo eternal suffering.
‘So, you see why I undertook to liberate seven of these vasus. But since you chose to hold back the eighth child, it must now live under the sage’s curse. But since he too is a celestial being, death would not be able to strike him unless he summoned it himself.’
As the king heard it all, he was both pained and happy. He was pained because this child was fated to a tragic existence on the earth, but he was also happy that he was blessed with a son who would carry his dynasty forward. Now there would be someone to succeed him to the throne.
As he was lost in these thoughts, Ganga broke into words again: ‘But there is also a bright side to this dismal scenario. This child will grow up to be the most illustrious member of your Kuru race – valiant, truthful and compassionate. And now, here is my gift to you. I will carry this child with me to heaven, where sage Parasurama will himself teach him the art of archery and sage Vasishtha will initiate him into Vedic studies. But I promise to bring this sapling back to you as a fully grown tree, in whose shade your dynasty will flourish.’
As she carried away the eighth child tenderly in her arms and vanished into the air, King Santanu felt utterly forlorn. ‘Now the long wait,’ he said to himself. But he was also pleased that his son would return to him fully groomed, both in martial arts and Vedic knowledge.
After Ganga departed, Santanu renounced all sensual pleasures. He spent long hours in meditation, ate simple food and gave alms to Brahmins. He lost interest in state affairs, which he now delegated to his ministers and counsellors. Seeing him lonesome and depressed, some Brahmins brought him proposals for marriage from several neighbouring kingdoms. But having lived with Ganga, his ideal woman, he could not think of marrying anybody else.
Sixteen years later, as he was walking along the bank of the Ganga, Santanu saw a handsome young man practising archery. He was building a bridge across the river with his arrows. ‘A strange game,’ the king said to himself. But as he looked at the archer’s face closely, he noticed that while he had the beauty and grace of Ganga, he was tall, strongly built and fair like himself. Just as he was gazing at him, there was a stir in the air and he saw Ganga descending on the river. Gliding on the waters, she approached him and said, ‘There, O King, is the young man you have already recognized as your son. I have named him Devavrata. Take him home to love and cherish. Now you have someone who’d be willing to sacrifice anything in his life to bring you love and happiness. Take care of him. I also leave my blessings for both of you. Farewell!’
Santanu now leapt forward to embrace his son. Fervently he kissed him on his cheeks, saying, ‘I love you, O Devavrata.’ Tears of joy streamed down his face as he took him to his chariot. Devavrata then turned to his father and said, ‘Can I hold the reins of your horses, father? I think I know the way to your palace.’
‘My palace is now yours, my son, for aren’t you now the Crown prince of the kingdom of Hastinapur?’
Now that his son had come back into his life, Santanu felt rejuvenated. He returned to his normal routine – delicious food, hunting and the company of friends. Since the body has its own appetites, he also began to miss the presence of a life partner. But such a relationship, he knew, was made only in heaven, not contracted on earth.