(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Bhishma stood quietly—But his mind moved fast.
'…I cannot change his path …but I can walk beside it.'
He looked at the boy again.
Small. Curious. Unburdened.
So unlike himself. A faint smile formed.
"Devara."
The boy turned instantly.
"…Hmm?"
Bhishma spoke calmly—
"Would you like to come with me?"
A pause.
"To see the world beyond the river? For few days..."
Devara froze hearing what Bhishma just said.
"…Outside?"
His eyes widened in realisation it was a golden opportunity for him to harvest more karma points.
"…Other places?"
A heartbeat.
Then—He nodded rapidly.
-Nod
"YES!"
No hesitation. No second thought.
Just pure excitement.
Ganga watched. Silent. Thinking.
"...."
Her gaze shifted between them.
Then—She sighed softly.
-Sigh!
"Very well."
Devara lit up hearing even his mother gave her permission.
But—She raised a finger.
"On one condition."
He straightened instantly.
"…Okay."
"You will not cause trouble for your brother."
A pause.
Devara nodded—Seriously.
-Nod
"…I promise."
Ganga narrowed her eyes slightly.
"...."
Because—His words were sincere. But his eyes… Sparkled.
With mischief.
Bhūdevi, would have laughed if she saw this moment happening between mother and her son.
Ganga simply sighed again.
-Sigh!
"…We will see."
Ganga reached for him.
"Come."
And in a ripple—They vanished into her river and entered her domain.
Devara floated mid-water—Confused for a second.
"…Mom?"
Ganga moved around him.
Calm. Focused.
"You are meeting the world."
A pause.
"You will not go looking like you wrestled a crocodile."
The crocodile, nearby, blinked.
-Blink!
Offended as if saying you are addressing the wrong person.
Devara looked at himself.
"…I didn't wrestle—"
"Not helping."
With a gentle motion—The water moved.
Clothes formed. Elegant.
Simple—Yet unmistakably noble.
Ornaments shimmered lightly—Not excessive—But refined.
His hair adjusted.
His presence—Elevated.
Devara blinked caught off guard by the sudden changes happening all over him.
"…Woah…"
Ganga stepped back. Examining.
Then nodded even through she was little reluctant as if she got the feeling something is still missing.
-Nod!
"Acceptable."
Devara grinned at her after looking at his reflection on the water mirror which she summoned.
"…I look cool."
Ganga did not respond. But her lips twitched slightly feeling how much trouble he will be causing for Bhishma there even through its only few days.
Back on the shore—
Bhishma stood beside his chariot.
The wind shifted slightly—As he picked up his bow.
A weapon of authority.
He drew the string.
"...."
And as he did—Energy gathered. Blue. Spiraling. Condensing.
Forming—An arrow. Not of wood. But of intent.
Of message. Of will.
The air vibrated.
A faint vortex formed around it—As if space itself acknowledged its purpose.
Astra: "Dūta-Astra" [1]
A divine arrow that carries the will and message of the archer across vast distances.
It seeks its intended recipient unfailingly—no matter how far.
Cannot be intercepted unless by equal or higher authority.
Bhishma released the astra[2].
-BOOM!
The astra shot forward—Breaking through air—Leaving behind a streak of glowing blue light.
It ascended. Higher. Then—Vanished.
Carrying his message.
Hastinapur...
Kuru[3] Palace...
Within the grand halls of Hastinapur—Morning light filtered through carved pillars.
In the inner chambers—Rajmata Satyavati sat with Ambika and Ambalika.
For once—There was peace. A rare, fragile kind.
"It was no ordinary sign…"
Satyavati spoke softly.
Her eyes distant—Still recalling the moment.
"As I offered milk to the Shiva Linga…"
A pause.
"…a serpent appeared."
Ambika's breath caught as she whispers.
"…A serpent?"
Satyavati nodded with a serious expression.
"It drank the offering."
Ambalika whispered in awe—
"…A divine acceptance…"
Satyavati continued—
"And the flower…"
Her voice softened as she recalled.
"…it rolled toward me…"
She raised her hand slightly—As if still feeling it.
"…and fell into my palm."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Sacred. Heavy.
Because such signs—Were not given lightly.
Then—The light shifted in the sky. Dark clouds gathered suddenly.
Thunder rolled faintly across the sky.
-Rumble!
Ambika looked up with narrowed eyes.
"…What is happening?"
A flicker—Lightning danced.
And then—A blue dot appeared in the sky.
Small. Distant.
But approaching. Fast. Too fast.
Ambalika stepped back.
"...."
"…It's coming here!"
The dot grew—Brighter. Louder.
Until—
-BOOM!
It struck the courtyard.
But instead of destruction—It burst into light.
Words formed in the air.
Glowing. Alive.
🔱 Message of the Arrow:
"Devavrata Bhishma returns..."
"He brings with him his younger brother—A prince born of Goddess Ganga..."
"He shall remain in Hastinapur…"
"…until the marriages of the Kuru princes are complete..."
After all three finished reading the full message about what happened when Bhishma met his mother Rajmatha Goddess Ganga.
The light shimmered—Then faded.
Leaving behind silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Satyavati stood still.
Then—Her face changed. Not into shock.
But—Hope.
A rare, fragile bloom.
She stepped forward—And suddenly—She embraced Ambika and Ambalika.
Tightly.
"…This…"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"…This is the answer. Mahadev[4] must have send for us."
Both women froze.
"...."
"...."
"…Answer?"
Satyavati pulled back—Her eyes glistening.
-Sob!
"For years…"
A pause.
"I carried this burden."
Her voice lowered.
"Because of my choice… Devavrata[5] gave up his throne."
Silence. Heavy.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"He became the protector… instead of the king."
Her hands tightened slightly.
"And ever since… No heir who sits upon that throne… meets a fortunate end."
Ambika lowered her gaze.
Ambalika clenched her hands.
Because they knew. Too well.
Other kingdoms—Avoided them.
Marriage alliances—Became rare.
Because the throne of Hastinapur—Had become…
A shadow. A curse which they were avoiding.
Satyavati looked at the sky.
"But now…"
A faint smile.
"Mahadev has answered."
Ambika whispered in low voice while in deep thought—
"…This prince…"
Ambalika followed—
"…He could change everything…"
Satyavati nodded slowly.
-Nod
"Or perhaps…"
A pause.
"…protect it."
The three women turned toward the Small Temple where the Shiva Linga located where Satyavati and them would do prayers to Lord Shiva..
And prayed. Not for power. Not for dominance.
"...."
"...."
"...."
But—For safety. For survival.
For their sons—To live.
Elsewhere—Mothers schemed—To make their sons kings.
But here—They feared it.
Plotted quietly—To avoid it.
Because in Hastinapur—The crown was not glory. It was a gamble with death whether how many days a Kuru King can last.
The moment the message faded—Rajmata Satyavati did not wait.
"Come."
Her voice carried purpose now.
Ambika and Ambalika followed—No longer just mothers worried—But queens preparing.
Because a prince—A new variable—Was about to step into Hastinapur.
They reached the council hall—
Where Vidura, the Mahamantri[6], stood.
Calm. Observant.
He bowed deeply.
"Rajmata[7]."
Satyavati spoke without delay.
"Devavrata[8] returns."
A pause.
"With his younger brother."
Vidura's eyes sharpened. Then—Softened.
"…I see."
No shock. Only understanding.
Because if Bhishma brought him—Then he was not ordinary.
Vidura turned instantly. His voice firm.
"Guards!"
They appeared.
"Prepare the royal avenue."
"Decorations. Security. Announcement."
A pause.
"Let the city know—A prince of Hastinapur arrives."
The guards bowed—And scattered like arrows released.
The news spread.
From corridor to corridor. From servant to soldier.
From palace—To people.
"…A new prince?"
"Bhishma's brother?"
"Born of Goddess Ganga?"
Excitement bloomed in them.
Training Grounds...
Far from the celebration—Steel met discipline.
On the archery grounds—Pandu stood blindfolded.
Still. Focused.
The world around him faded—Until only sound remained.
A faint rustle.A whisper of movement.
-TWANG!
The arrow flew—Striking the target dead center.
His lips curved slightly.Then—Footsteps.
-Thud. -Thud.
"…Prince Pandu."
A guard approached.
"…A message from the palace."
Pandu removed the blindfold.
"…Yes?"
"Mahamahim Bhishma returns."
A pause.
"With his younger brother."
Pandu blinked caught surprised by the announcement.
"…Brother?"
Then—A smile.
Elsewhere—On another ground—A mace cut through air.
Fast. Heavy.
But—It never struck.
Because Dhritarashtra moved.
"...."
Blind—Yet precise.
Each step calculated. Each shift intentional.
The sound of air—The movement of force—He read it all.
Dodging every strike.
Until—
"…Prince."
The guard's voice broke the rhythm.
The training stopped.
Dhritarashtra turned slightly.
"…Speak."
"Mahamahim Bhishma returns."
A pause.
"With his younger brother."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then—
"…I see."
A faint smile appeared.
Both princes ended their training.
Not in urgency—But in anticipation.
Across Hastinapur—Garlands were hung.
Paths were cleared.
Voices rose.
And in every corner—One question lingered.
'What kind of person the new prince is?'
The great gates of Hastinapur opened.
Towering. Majestic.
Adorned with garlands, banners, and sacred symbols—As if the city itself had dressed for the occasion.
And through them—Bhishma's chariot entered.
The wheels rolled forward—Slow.
Measured.
But the reaction—Immediate.
Citizens gathered in waves.
Men, women, children—All pressing forward.
"…That's him?"
"Mahamahim Bhishma's brother?"
"Ganga putra[9]…!"
Cheers erupted.
-Cheers!!!
Flower petals rained from all sides—Falling like soft blessings upon the path.
The air filled with joy—And curiosity.
Because inside the chariot—Sat a child.
Calm. Radiant.
Devara.
His green eyes wandered—Taking everything in.
The colors. The people.
The energy.
"…So many…"
He whispered softly. Not overwhelmed.
Just fascinated.
And then, The people noticed.
Something.
Not visible—But felt.
A calmness. A purity.
"...."
"...."
"...."
As if standing near him—Made the heart lighter.
The crowd quieted—Just for a moment.
Then cheered even louder.
The chariot moved deeper—Through streets lined with devotion.
Until—It reached the heart.
The Kuru Palace gates.
At the entrance—Everything stood prepared.
A maid held a glowing ārti plate[10].
Beside her—Rajmata Satyavati. Ambika. Ambalika.
Their faces—Bright with expectation.
Nearby—Vidura stood calmly. Observing. Understanding.
"...."
"...."
"...."
And to the side—The princes.
Pandu, smiling—Explaining everything in hushed excitement.
Dhritarashtra, listening—Absorbing the sounds.
"…The crowd is large…"
"They are cheering."
"…He must be here."
Bhishma stepped forward.
His presence alone—Commanded silence.
"...."
The crowd stilled. The wind paused.
And his voice rang out—
"People of Hastinapur—"
A pause.
"Behold…"
He raised his hand.
"The son of Goddess Ganga—"
The moment stretched.
"Gangaputra… My brother..."
The name descended—
"Devaratha."
For a heartbeat—Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then—A roar.
-CHEERS!!!
"DEVARATHA!"
"GANGA PUTRA DEVARATHA!"
"LONG LIVE!"
The chants rose—Wave after wave—Like the river itself answering.
Devara blinked by the roar of response he was reciving.
Then looked at the crowd.
"...."
Then at Bhishma. Then back at the crowd.
"…That's reserved for my mother…"
He stepped forward slightly—
Raising his hand.
"…You can just call me Devara! That's how everybody calls me..."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
A beat.
Then—Laughter.
Warm. Genuine.
Bhishma chuckled seeing his brother's reaction.
-Chuckle!
Satyavati smiled wider.
Even Vidura's lips curved slightly.
Pandu laughed openly.
-Haha!!!
Dhritarashtra tilted his head—
"…They are laughing…"
While Pandu replies after laughing.
"…In a good way."
Devara stood there—Not like a prince claiming authority.
Not like a ruler demanding respect.
But like—A child.
Who belonged. Naturally. Effortlessly. Standing with Bhishma.
The chariot came to a halt.
Before an elevated platform—Where the royal family stood in quiet anticipation.
Bhishma stepped down first.
Then turned—Offering his hand.
Devara took it.
Climbing up beside him.
His eyes moved quickly—Taking in everything.
The palace. The people. The faces.
Then—He noticed.
A maid stood ahead—Holding an ārti plate.
Flame flickering gently.
And beside her—Rajmata Satyavati. Ambika. Ambalika.
Standing. Watching.
But not stepping forward.
Devara tilted his head.
"...."
"…Hmm?"
The maid stepped closer—Ready to begin.
But—A small hand rose.
"…Wait."
The flame paused mid-air.
Bhishma looked down.
"…Is something wrong?"
Devara pointed at the arti plate on maid's hand.
"…Why aren't they doing it?"
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Instant. Heavy. The air shifted.
Subtle—But unmistakable.
Because that question—Had weight.
Bhishma froze hearing his brother's question.
"...."
Not because he didn't know the answer.
But because—He didn't know how to say it.
Not to him. Not like this.
"…They…"
He hesitated. Words—For once—Failed him.
Before the silence could stretch further—Satyavati moved.
She stepped forward—Then crouched.
Lowering herself—To Devara's height.
Her hand gently ruffled his hair.
"...."
"Because…"
Her voice was calm.
"…we are widows."
No bitterness. No shame. Just truth. Simple.
Devara blinked. Processing. Thinking.
"...."
His hand returned to his chin.
"…Hmm."
Everyone watched. Because now—They were waiting.
Not for tradition. But for him.
Devara looked at her.
"...."
Then at Ambika. Then Ambalika.
Then—Back at Satyavati.
And said—
"That doesn't make sense."
Silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
He continued—
"You're mothers."
A pause.
"You've seen generations."
Another.
"How can that bring bad luck?"
The words landed.
Not loud. Not forceful.
But clear. Unshaken.
"I'd be happier…"
A small smile appeared on his face.
"…if you did it."
The air changed. Not dramatically.
But deeply.
Because what he said—Was not rebellion.
It was truth. Unfiltered.
Satyavati froze hearing her words which even her own sons never said something like this.
Her eyes—Softened.
"...."
Something within her—Long buried—Stirred.
Ambika's fingers tightened slightly.
Ambalika lowered her gaze—Not in shame—But in thought.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Bhishma stood still.
Silent.
Because for the first time—He saw something.
Not strategy. Not politics.
But—A perspective untouched by burden.
'…He sees differently…'
Satyavati slowly stood. Her hand still resting lightly on Devara's head.
Then—She turned. And took the ārti plate.
The maid stepped back. Without protest.
Because no one—Stopped her.
Ambika stepped forward.
Then Ambalika. Together.
The flame moved. Circling Devara.
Not as a formality.
But as—A blessing. A mother's blessing.
Three of them. Together.
The light reflected in his eyes.
Bright. Pure.
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(Author note:)
I hope you guys give me your opinion and idea's.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review!!! And power stone too!!!
Guys it will motivate me more?
[1] The Messenger Arrow
[2] when ever divine astra's were used instead of arrow I will be using Astra to address it
[3] Kuru-Lineage name
[4] Lord Shiva
[5] Bhishma
[6] Prime Minister
[7] Queen Mother
[8] Bhishma
[9] Son Of Ganga
[10] A ritual where lighted wicks (ghee or camphor) are waved in a circular motion before a deity, idol, or honored guest to welcome, worship, and pay respect.