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.
Shantanu was 26 years old, but he had not married, and the kingdom did not have an heir. It seemed he would never take a wife, he 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.
Shantanu came to hunt so that he can enjoy some peaceful time in the forest solely , today the sky was in crimson colour as Shantanu rode a hourse to the banks of the Ganga river. 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 afternoon, he had yet to make a kill. A leopard had escaped from him, and twice a stag had avoided his arrows. A master archer like him would usually have turned back in frustration on such a day when the god 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.
Shantanu brought Ganga 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 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 through 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 sages 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!"