THREE
For sixteen years Shantanu lived alone like a hermit, in his palace. He turned all his attention to his kingdom. The rule of Shantanu, son of Prateepa, of the House of the Moon, was a just and prosperous one and his people were contented. More than anything else he was a sad man; but his very sorrow seemed to give Shantanu strength and wisdom, so his reign could be a finer one than before.
The king had one pleasure he still indulged in: he hunted. But now Shantanu never killed any creature. He only watched their wild lives as an avid spy. Most of all, his hunting took him back to the place beside the river, where, to his mind, he had found and lost everything.
Whenever he came there he would grow strangely peaceful, as if he sensed her presence near him; though not once did she appear before him, for sixteen lonely years. But he would set himself down at the deep-flowing water's side and lose himself in the murmuring of her currents and the mists that clung and drifted across her expanse. And it was as if she reached incorporeal fingers through daylight and darkness and took his pain from him.
Sixteen years passed and one day Shantanu fell asleep beside the Ganga, dreaming of the past. He saw her standing before him once more, stroking his face with her cool hands, smiling at him, calling him with her eyes and with open arms. It was midday. Shantanu dreamt that the river had stopped flowing.
The king woke up and saw the dream was true: the Ganga was dry beside him! A short way upstream, all her water had gathered in a huge wave: froth-flecked and swelling higher every moment, but powerless to flow. Shantanu saw an exceptional dam across the river, which she could not breach.
It was a filigree wall of golden arrows, a brilliant net through which no drop of water passed. He heard a soft laugh at his back and whirled around. There she was her face wreathed in a smile.
Shantanu cried, "So you've decided to take pity on me! Shall we go back to the palace? Shall we tell the people their queen has come home?"
But she said, "All that is past. When the sun sets on one day, who can call him back so you can live the same day again? There is no returning; not a moment may we retrieve. Turn your heart away from what is over."
Something in her voice startled him. He realized what she said was true; moreover, he felt changed himself by the years. Now that he knew who she was, he felt worshipful toward her. Shantanu struggled briefly with himself. Then, growing calm, he asked, "Why have you come back?"
"Do you see the river, my lord?" she said, a laugh in her fluid throat.
"Yes," he breathed. "Who has done this?"
He also smiled. He did not quite know why, except that a great happiness was dawning on him. Wryly, he added, "Who holds your tameless flow in check, which all my love could not bind?"
Before she could answer, there was a deafening report. The dam of arrows gave way and the immense wave that had built up behind it came roaring down the empty riverbed. A youth who shone like a God rode that cataract, effortlessly at its crest.
Ganga called out in her river-tongue to the boy. He turned toward them, laughing in exhilaration, walking on the water as if he trod solid ground. He gained the bank, ran flushed and breathless to the river-Goddess and flung his arms around her.
"Mother, did you see? I held the river up again!"
Only then, he seemed to notice Shantanu. He looked at the king with his great dark eyes, uncanny recognition sweeping across his heart. The young face was a picture of confusion, as delight and disbelief chased each other across it. Laughing, Ganga said, "My child, this is your father. And this is our son Devavrata."
The boy prostrated himself at Shantanu's feet. With a cry, Shantanu raised him up and embraced him.
Ganga said, "Devavrata is sixteen today and he knows everything a prince should know. Vasishta taught him the Vedas and Vedangas. Brihaspati taught him politics and at my begging him, the bane of the kshatriyas, Parasurama himself taught him archery.
I do not think the Kurus will find a better heir for their ancient throne than my Devavrata. He is a kshatriya, my lord, take him with you to your kingdom of heroes."
The boy stood beside his father, bright with the sense of the destiny that was upon him. Though his eyes were full, he embraced his mother in farewell, unflinchingly. Smiling bravely, holding back her tears, Ganga vanished.
Arm in arm, father and son turned back toward Hastinapura and the future. Shantanu was full of joy.