In a miraculous convergence of fate, a month after Arjuna's birth, Gandhari gave birth to 99 progenies: 98 robust sons and 1 cherished daughter, granting the Queen's deepest longing.

The sons of Dritarashtra as per the birth as follows, "Duryodhana, Yuyutsu, Duhsasana, Duhsaha, Duhsala, Jalasandha, Sama, Saha, Vinda and Anuvinda, Durdharsha, Suvahu, Dushpradharshana, Durmarshana and Durmukha, Dushkarna, and Karna; Vivinsati and Vikarna, Sala, Satwa, Sulochana, Chitra and Upachitra, Chitraksha, Charuchitra, Sarasana, Durmada and Durvigaha, Vivitsu, Vikatanana; Urnanabha and Sunabha, then Nandaka and Upanandaka; Chitravana, Chitravarman, Suvarman, Durvimochana; Ayovahu, Mahavahu, Chitranga, Chitrakundala, Bhimavega, Bhimavala, Balaki, Balavardhana, Ugrayudha; Bhima, Karna, Kanakaya, Dridhayudha, Dridhavarman, Dridhakshatra, Somakitri, Anudara; Dridhasandha, Jarasandha, Satyasandha, Sada, Suvak, Ugrasravas, Ugrasena, Senani, Dushparajaya, Aparajita, Kundasayin, Visalaksha, Duradhara; Dridhahasta, Suhasta, Vatavega, and Suvarchas; Adityaketu, Vahvashin, Nagadatta, Agrayayin; Kavachin, Krathana, Kunda, Kundadhara, Dhanurdhara; the heroes, Ugra and Bhimaratha, Viravahu, Alolupa; Abhaya, and Raudrakarman, and Dridharatha; Anadhrishya, Kundabhedin, Viravi, Dhirghalochana Pramatha, and Pramathi and the powerful Dhirgharoma; Dirghavahu, Mahavahu, Vyudhoru, Kanakadhvaja; Kundasi and Virajas."

Pandu's Desire

Pandu, the mighty king, overwhelmed by an insatiable desire for more sons, summoned Kunti again. His voice, though calm, held a trace of something more profound—perhaps guilt, perhaps frustration. "Kunti," he began, "I seek another son. I am still greedy for more heirs for the future of our dynasty. A fifth son, though unprecedented, is my wish."

Kunti, ever wise, met his plea with a mixture of sorrow and firm resolve. She took a moment, letting her gaze settle on the king. "Arya," she spoke softly, but her words were sharp, laced with ancient wisdom, "even in calamity, the birth of a fifth son through the invocation of divine mantras has never been heard. Arjuna was not merely born through my mantra but blessed by the heavens because of our penance. To invoke such power again—after four sons —would bring dishonor. A woman who calls upon the gods for more children after four is seen as promiscuous, and after five, a courtesan. You, the learned king, know the weight of these laws, yet you ask me to breach them."

The pain in Kunti's voice was not from anger but from the sorrow of seeing the man she loved so consumed by his desires that he risked dishonoring their sacred bond. She could feel the deep internal conflict within Pandu—the struggle between his longing for sons and the wisdom that bound him to dharma.

Meanwhile, Madri, listening in the shadows, had waited for the perfect moment to speak, her heart aching with a quiet, unresolved pain. She stepped forward and said to Pandu in a voice tinged with longing and understanding in the room's stillness.

"Arya," she began, "I am not distressed by the knowledge of Gandhari's hundred sons. It does not cause me grief, though I see the joy it brings her. Yet, I have one great sorrow that weighs heavily on my heart. You and Kunti are blessed with sons, but I... I have none. My fate has tied me to this emptiness, and I can no longer ignore it."

Her voice faltered slightly, a vulnerability slipping through. "Arya, I do not ask for the same greatness as Gandhari. But if Kunti can bear children through divine blessings, perhaps she could also bless me. I do not wish to live in the shadows, childless, while you both are blessed with sons. I beg you to ask her for this favor—for your welfare and mine."

Hearing the quiet pain in her words, Pandu felt the weight of his selfish desires. He knew the pain of his own heart, but Madri's suffering, so quietly expressed, cut deeper. He hesitated but nodded, moved by a mixture of guilt and empathy.

Later, in private, Pandu turned to Kunti. His heart was torn, his desires pulling him in two directions. He spoke gently with the urgency of a king who could not quell his longing. "O Kunti, the time has come. You have blessed me with four sons, but I now seek more. Our line must continue. Please share your mantra with Madri. As her husband, I grant her permission. You, the wise one, know the rituals, the mantras, and the path. Please, do this for me—our family, ancestors, and legacy."

There was silence. Kunti's heart was heavy as she heard the desperation in his voice. She knew that giving in would bring pain to her and the kingdom. Yet, in the deep well of her compassion, she saw no other path but to act.

The next day at dawn, Kunti turned to Madri with a sombre expression, her eyes filled with compassion and understanding. "Madri, I will share the mantra with you. Perform the rites, follow the rituals, and pray with devotion. You will be blessed with sons, just as I was. And though I must fulfil Arya's wishes, I know the weight of your heart's desire. I will help you."

Madri's heart soared with gratitude, but her chest had a quiet unease. Having children through divine grace was a gift but also a burden. She would bear the sons that her Arya wished for, but they would be a living reminder of her vulnerability, her place in the kingdom always second to Kunti.

The moment of birth arrived, and with it, the divine blessing. Madri's heart, brimming with quiet hope, called upon the Ashvins, the divine twin gods. A deep yearning prayer echoed in her heart, and soon the gods answered.

The twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, were born radiant and beautiful beyond compare, their divine presence filling the room with light. Their beauty surpassed all human comprehension, yet Madri's heart had a deep, unspoken sorrow. For these children, though she loved them, were not entirely her own.

An unseen voice spoke across Aryavarta, almost like a distant whisper, "Madri, these sons of yours, Nakula and Sahadeva, will possess unmatched beauty, strength, and righteousness. They will shine as beacons of dharma, their existence a reminder of the cosmic order that binds all."

The Burden of Desire

After much contemplation and a deep sense of responsibility towards the Kuru lineage, Pandu again approached Kunti to ask Mantra for Madri. The tension between his desires and dharma wisdom weighed heavily on him.

He spoke to her in private, low yet urgent, "O Kunti, you have fulfilled my desires, and our sons are a blessing to this world. But now, I ask of you again for the sake of Madri. She, too, deserves to bear children and feel motherhood's joy. Will you grant her this boon? Will you bless her with the same divine power you once did for me?"

Kunti, seated in her chamber, her heart heavy with the weight of the past, felt a pang of unease. The memory of how she had used the divine mantra and summoned the gods to bear her sons now seemed fraught with consequences. With a sigh, she spoke, her voice tinged with regret and wisdom, "Arya, I gave her the secret, the sacred boon to be used once, a boon that would bring blessings upon this kingdom. But I fear that in my generosity, I have been deceived. Madri has summoned not one but two gods. The fruits of this are not merely double, but I fear they may be more than we can bear."

She paused, her gaze heavy with reflection. "I did not foresee this, Arya. In my desire to fulfil her wish, I overlooked the dangers of yielding to her request. I, too, am bound by my actions, and now, I see that perhaps I was too quick to share the secret. The evil, the guile that runs through the hearts of women, is not always visible until it's too late. It's a folly that I now regret."

Startled by the bitterness in her words, Pandu took a step back. The pain in her voice was unmistakable, but so was the clarity. His desires had blinded him, unaware of the deeper currents at play. The room seemed to close around him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken truths.

Kunti continued, her voice steady now, as though the air around them was filled with the force of her revelation. "The fruit of this boon has been multiplied, and I wonder what consequences will unfold. If Madri uses this power again, will it be for good, or will it unravel us all? This is my request, Arya—do not command me to do this again. The power of these divine beings is not something to be taken lightly. I ask for nothing but your understanding. Please grant me this boon."

Pandu stood still, processing her words. His heart ached with the weight of his desires, and he now felt the sharp sting of regret. The complexities of his actions—desiring to grow the Kuru lineage and wanting to provide for Madri—had led him to this impasse. The path ahead seemed uncertain, and his heart weighed heavy with guilt.

"I understand, Kunti," Pandu finally said, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I see now that I may have overlooked the wisdom that once guided me in my quest for more sons. You are right. The boon that you shared is not something to be taken lightly. I will not ask you again to grant Madri more sons. I must face the consequences of my desires."

Kunti's expression softened, though the burden of her knowledge remained. "It is not a matter of the number of sons, Arya. It is about the paths we choose, the decisions we make, and the consequences that follow. I can only pray that we all find peace and that our actions will not lead to more suffering."

The air between them grew quiet again, the moment's weight sinking in. Having received his answer, Pandu left the room with a calm resolve. The Kurus' lineage, for better or for worse, would continue—but not at the cost of wisdom or dharma.

The Demonic Shadow

In Vraja, the villagers lived in constant fear as a dark cloud of Asuras loomed over them, their threats growing more menacing with each passing day. News of these demonic attacks reached Vasudeva through secret spies, and his heart ached for the safety of his beloved sons, Krishna and Balarama. As the attacks became more frequent, Nandagopa, alongside Yashoda and Rohini, decided to take refuge in the serene and wild terrain of Govardhana Parvat near Vraja.

The area was alive with nature's beauty but also rife with danger. Cows grazed on the lush meadows, and the distant sound of calves calling could be heard throughout the peaceful valley. The environment, though picturesque, was home to many wild predators. Carts were parked near the river, and herds of cows were led by gopa men and women, who went about their tasks with a sense of harmony. Yet, this place also harboured foxes, lions, and birds of prey. The entire region hummed with a vibrant yet untamed energy.

The Radiant Infancy

The two divine infants, Samkarshana and Krishna, shared a bond as though they were two halves of one being. Like the sun and moon, they grew together, exhibiting the same charm and radiant beauty. Always together, they played, crawled, and were often covered in dust and cow dung, bringing immense joy to their parents. Their mischievous nature and uncontainable energy made them beloved by all in Govraja, where even Nandagopa found it hard to control their playful antics.

One day, in a fit of maternal anger, Yashoda, with a stern expression, tied Krishna's stomach with a rope and fastened him to a mortar. "If you can, free yourself and move around," she said, her tone both firm and weary. Immersed in her daily chores, Yashoda gave little thought to the mischief her son would cause.

But Krishna began his playful pursuit with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dragging the heavy mortar behind him, he crawled toward the forest, his tiny hands clutching the rope. The sound of his effort was met with silence as the infant tugged harder.

Nearby, there was a twin-trunked Arjuna tree, its branches reaching up like the arms of a giant. It was a tree with a story that had witnessed the imprisonment of the two arrogant, drunken sons of Kubera, the God of Riches. Long ago, a sage had imprisoned the sons between its trunks as punishment for their misdeeds. Now, Krishna, in his playful spirit, rolled the mortar between the two trunks.

As the mortar passed, the tree split open, fulfilling the sage's prophecy. The imprisoned sons of Kubera were released, their once-bound forms now freed by Krishna's innocent touch. The miracle only added to the awe surrounding Krishna's strength and divine nature.

The gopa women, making their way to the riverbank, were the first to witness the spectacle. Shocked and horrified, they cried out, "Yashoda! Your son is trapped between the trees, and yet, he stands there unharmed, as if freed from death itself!" Fear and concern overtook them as they rushed to Yashoda. "Come quickly, your son is alive, but this is no ordinary child!" they shouted.

With a pounding heart, Yashoda hurried to the scene. When she saw Krishna between the fallen trees, her heart stopped. He was dragging the mortar, laughing joyfully and completely unharmed. "How can this be?" she gasped.

The gopas, gathering around, whispered in disbelief. "These trees, the pride of Vraja, have fallen without cause—no wind, storm, rain... How did they fall? And yet, the child remains unharmed."

The elders of Vraja murmured, "This is the third omen. First, Putana, then the overturned cart, and now the trees. This is no ordinary child. Perhaps the gopas should leave this land of portents."

Nandagopa arrived, his face a mixture of concern and awe. He rushed to his son, lifting Krishna from the mortar and holding him close as though he had returned from death itself. "How could you, Yashoda?" he scolded, his voice heavy with love and reprimand.

All the while, the gopa women, their hearts filled with reverence, chanted Krishna's name, "Damodara," in unison. The child who had defied nature with his strength had once again proven that he was not just any infant—he was divine.

In Vraja, these miraculous feats continued to unfold, leaving everyone in awe of the extraordinary child, Krishna, who had arrived to change the world.

The Demonic Shadow

As the serene yet bustling Govraja village continued to thrive, life unfolded in its unique blend of tranquillity and chaos. Hidden within the loving embrace of his family, Krishna grew under the watchful eyes of his parents, shielded from the relentless threats of Kamsa's demons.

Over the next eight to nine years, the once-infant Krishna transformed into a spirited and radiant boy whose mere presence seemed to ripple with divine energy. The village witnessed many changes—its trees grew taller, its cattle multiplied, and the bonds among the gopas and gopis deepened.

The first of the demons, Sakaṭāsura, sent by Kamsa to crush the young Krishna with a massive cart, failed miserably. In an act of pure divine power, Krishna, no more than three months old, kicked the cart with his tiny foot, shattering it and reducing the demon to scattered pieces. A mighty force barely contained in a small infant had revealed itself.

Soon after, Trinavarta, a whirlwind demon, abducted the child, lifting him high into the sky. However, Krishna, ever the divine being, choked Trinavarta as he spun through the air before crushing him against a massive rock. The ground below witnessed the demon's fall, and Krishna's safety was ensured once more.

The demons, relentlessly pursuing Krishna, continued to send their agents. Vatsasura, taking the form of a calf, attacked Krishna and his friends while they tended the herds. But Krishna, with the strength of a thousand warriors, seized the demon by his limbs, throwing him to his doom beneath a kapittha tree.

Bakasura, a heron-like demon, swooped down to swallow Krishna whole in another brutal act of terror. Yet the infant god's strength prevailed. He forced the demon to regurgitate him, breaking the demon's beak with his tiny hands, ending the terror he brought.

The threat didn't end there. Aghasura, a colossal black snake, lured Krishna and his companions into his gaping mouth. But Krishna, ever the protector, expanded his body to unimaginable size, bursting through the serpent's insides and ending its malevolent existence.

The danger was far from over. Arishta Sura, the bull demon, charged at Krishna in a fury of violence. Yet Krishna's divine presence was too powerful for such a brute force, as he grabbed the demon's horns and struck him down with a single blow.

Then came Keshi, the horse demon, who attempted to crush Krishna under the weight of his hooves. Krishna, unfazed, thrust his arm into the demon's mouth and defeated him from the inside out, ending yet another demonic reign of terror.

The list of Kamsa's minions seemed endless. Vyomasura, a sky demon, kidnapped Krishna's friends, but Krishna's strength and compassion led him to save them once again, throwing the demon to the ground and suffocating him.

Śaṅkhacūḍa, a jealous demon, kidnapped several of the gopis in an attempt to hurt Krishna but was swiftly slain in a fight with the deity, just like the many demons before him.

Even in the face of great danger, Krishna's power was limitless. Cāṇūra, a pugilist demon sent to challenge Krishna in a wrestling match, was defeated by the divine child's unmatched might and grace.

As each demon fell, the villagers began to realize the true nature of the boy who played among them. Although surrounded by dark forces, Govraja remained safe in embracing Krishna's strength and love. The demons, though fierce and relentless, were no match for the divine power hidden in the form of an innocent child.

And so, the Asuras fell, one after the other, as Krishna, humble and compassionate, continued to grow and live among his people. Govraja became the heart of the universe, where the divine met the earthly, and the world's future was shaped by the strength of a child destined for greatness.

The Cosmic Awaiting

The celestial court of Indra was abuzz with anticipation. Whispers filled the air, and an unspoken tension bound the gods together. It had been nine years since Krishna, the incarnation of Narayana, was born. Mahadev, like Karna, had walked the earth for nearly eleven years. Yet, the one they awaited—the enigmatic Devi Niyati—had not yet descended.

Unable to contain their unease, Indra and the other deities ascended to Brahma Lok. Brahma Dev, the serene Creator, sat in meditative calmness, his gaze unwavering. The deities bowed low, but their restlessness betrayed their composure.

Indra stepped forward, his voice betraying the urgency in his heart. "Brahma Dev, Narayana as Krishna, has walked the earth for nine years, spreading his divine influence. Mahadev, as Karna, is nearing eleven years of age. Where is Devi Niyati? Why has her presence eluded us?"

Yama, the stern lord of death, added gravely, "We sense no trace of her, Brahma Dev. Who will be her family? Which lineage will she grace? My vision fails to see her anywhere."

Brahma Dev's silence lingered for a moment longer. Then, his voice, calm and deep as the ocean, broke through the tension. "She will be born only after Kamsa's death. Devi Niyati will emerge into the Vrishini lineage, the same as her brother Narayana. Her presence will be undeniable, but her path will remain veiled to even the most powerful among you."

Chandra Dev frowned, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Vrishini lineage? Then, as whose daughter, Brahma Dev? Vasudeva has many wives besides Devaki and Rohini—Pauravi, Madira, Vaishakhi, Bhadra, Sunama, Sahadeva, Shanti Deva, Shrideva, Devarakshita, Vrikadevi, Upadevi, and Badarva. Will she be born to one of them?"

Brahma Dev smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps none, or perhaps all, Chandra Dev. Devi Niyati is no ordinary soul to take birth from any womb. She will decide the manner of her arrival."

Devi Saraswati, her voice soothing and wise, intervened with a serene smile. "You have waited for countless ages. What are a few more years? The wheel of time spins perfectly. Devi Niyati will arrive as destined. Let her birth remain untouched by interference."

As the deities prepared to leave, Shani Dev lingered, his stern gaze fixed on Brahma Dev. "Brahma Dev," he said, his voice deliberating. "What of Mahadev? Yuyutsu, his mortal form, has been taken by Devi Ganga along with Ved Vyasa. When will he return to his destined place?"

Brahma Dev's eyes gleamed with a knowing light. "Shani Dev, Yuyutsu is not idle. He is in Kailash, learning from none other than himself—Mahadev. Para Shiva's incarnation requires no other teacher but his proper form. In Kailash, he absorbs wisdom from Mahadev, Mata Parvati, Kartikeya, Ganesha, Nandi, and the Shiv Ganas. He will emerge in Hastinapur when the time is ripe, equipped with everything needed to fulfil his purpose."

The Creator's tone grew sombre as he delivered his final words. "This unique age has never occurred in any kalpa or universe. The three Para Shaktis—Krishna, Yuyutsu, and Devi Niyati—are part of the Yug. Their divine essence binds them, aware of their truth even in mortal form. Their cosmic play will unfold as destined. Do not attempt to disrupt it."

Brahma Dev's words resonated like thunder, leaving an unspoken warning. The gods, now subdued and contemplative, bowed and departed his abode. The wait for Devi Niyati's birth continued, their hearts brimming with anticipation and reverence.