After defeating the assembled monarchs, Bhishma set out with the three maidens for Hastinapur, the capital city of the Kurus. As they journeyed through lush forests, crossed scintillating rivers, and traversed rolling hills, Bhishma's thoughts turned to his brother, Vichitravirya, who would soon be wed to the daughters of the King of Kasi.

Upon their arrival, the city of Hastinapur erupted in joyous celebrations. Vichitravirya, the virtuous Kuru prince, was overjoyed at the prospect of marrying the maidens. With his characteristic nobility, Bhishma presented the maidens to his brother, and the preparations for the wedding began in earnest.

However, amidst the festivities, a subtle yet palpable tension hung. The eldest princess, Amba, seemed distant, her eyes clouded by sadness and determination. As the wedding preparations climaxed, Amba approached Bhishma, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I was surprised when you, Bhishma, spoke about a woman's voice being the spark that ignites the flame of revolution," Amba said, her words laced with a hint of irony. "Yet, you didn't give us a moment to answer your question and, instead, thought our silence was our consent."

Bhishma's eyes widened in realization, his face etched with surprise and regret. He had spoken about the importance of a woman's voice, yet he had failed to heed his words.

Bhishma humbled himself and apologized for his mistake, acknowledging that he had overlooked Amba's thoughts and feelings. Amba's response poignantly reminded him of the importance of listening and respecting the autonomy of others.

"I had chosen the king of Saubha as my husband," Amba revealed, her voice steady. "He had accepted me as his wife, and my father had approved our union. I would have chosen him at the Swayamvar, but fate had other plans."

Bhishma's heart swelled with compassion as he listened to Amba's words. He realized that he had inadvertently disrupted her life and that it was his duty to make amends.

After consulting with the wise Brahmanas, Bhishma made a noble decision. He permitted Amba to follow her heart and reunite with the King of Saubha. However, he ensured that the two younger princesses, Ambika and Ambalika, were bestowed upon Vichitravirya with due rites.

A Heart Left Shattered

The sun had long since set over the province, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape. But for Rajkumari Amba, the beauty of the surroundings was lost amidst the turmoil that ravaged her heart.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself and approached King Salwa's palace, her footsteps echoing through the deserted corridors.

Amba's eyes locked onto King Salwa's as she entered the palace, her heart racing with anticipation. She bowed her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have come to take shelter of your mighty arms, O brave King. Please accept me as your queen."

The words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of her desperation. Amba's eyes pleaded with King Salwa; her heart laid bare before him.

But instead of the compassion she had hoped for, King Salwa's response was a cruel blow. "I no longer desire you for my queen, for another has touched you," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "It is Bhishma only who can marry you. When Bhishma abducted you, you followed him willingly enough. How can a King like myself, who is acquainted with Vedic knowledge and is supposed to guide others accordingly, accept into his palace a woman who intends to marry another?"

The words cut through Amba like a knife, leaving her shattered and broken. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of despair, with no lifeline in sight.

Amba's words poured out like a prayer, a desperate plea to the man she loved. "O lord of earth, it is not as you say. Bhishma took me away by force. I did not go with him willingly. I did not give my consent." Her voice trembled, her eyes brimming with tears as she begged King Salwa to understand.

But the King's face remained a mask of indifference, his eyes cold and unyielding. "I will not accept you," he declared, his voice a dagger to Amba's heart. "Another has touched you. Leave my kingdom."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, crushing Amba's spirit and shattering her soul. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of despair, unable to find a lifeline to cling to. The rejection was a brutal reminder that she was nothing more than a pawn in a game controlled by men.

As Amba turned to leave, her heart heavy with sorrow, she felt the weight of her fate bearing down upon her. She was a woman wronged by society, a victim of circumstance and cruelty. The pain and humiliation would stay with her forever, a constant reminder of the injustice that had been done to her.

Meanwhile, Bhishma's conscience was stirring, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he had done. He remembered his words and proclaimed ideals but failed to live up to them. The pain he had inflicted upon Amba would not go unpunished, and he could feel the weight of his karma bearing down upon him.

A Glimmer of Hope in the Wilderness

Amba's feet carried her through the dense forest, her heart heavy with the weight of her sorrow. She had abandoned all hope, resigning herself to solitude and penance. The trees seemed to close around her, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to snuff out the last flicker of her spirit.

But fate had other plans. Amba stumbled upon an ashrama as she wandered through the forest, its tranquil atmosphere a balm to her battered soul. The great rishis who dwelled within listened with compassion as she poured out her story, their eyes filled with empathy.

Among them was a figure Amba had never expected to see—her maternal grandfather, Hotravahana. The royal sage's eyes were clouded with sorrow as he listened to his granddaughter's tale, his heart heavy with the weight of her suffering.

But even amid despair, Hotravahana offered Amba a glimmer of hope. "Tomorrow, Parashurama, Bhishma's teacher, will come to our ashrama," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "I am sure he will influence Bhishma to accept your hand in marriage."

Amba's heart skipped a beat as she clung to the fragile thread of hope. Could it be true? Could Parashurama, the legendary warrior-sage, really persuade Bhishma to marry her? The possibility sent a shiver down her spine, and for the first time in months, Amba felt a spark of joy ignite within her.

Unleashing the Power Within

The forest, bathed in the moon's soft glow, was a sanctuary for Amba's weary soul. She sat amidst the trees, her eyes gazing up at the starry sky, her heart heavy with the weight of her sorrow. The gentle rustle of leaves and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers seemed to whisper words of comfort, calming the turbulent waters of her mind.

As she sat lost in thought, a young lady appeared before her, her shoulders bearing the weight of an unseen burden. Amba's instincts, honed by her struggles, prompted her to rise and approach the stranger. "O my friend, let me bear some of your weight," she said, her voice soft and empathic. "Please take a rest for tonight and start your journey tomorrow."

The young lady's smile was a ray of sunshine, illuminating the darkness that had shrouded Amba's heart. "I don't have much time, my friend," she replied, "but please give me some water?" Amba handed her a glass of water, her eyes filled with concern. "What are you doing late at night? Being a woman travelling at night is not good. Society always questions the character of the woman."

The young lady's gaze was piercing, her eyes seeing beyond the veil of Amba's sorrow. "My dear friend, I sense so much pain in your heart," she said, her voice a gentle breeze that soothed Amba's soul. "Would you like to share your burden with me?" Amba's tears flowed like a river as she shared her story, the young lady listening with compassion and understanding.

As Amba finished speaking, the young lady's words were a clarion call to her soul. "Rise, dear Amba! Rise from the ashes of your sorrow! You are a woman of strength and courage, and it's time you claimed your rightful place in this world."

Amba's eyes widened as the young lady continued, her words dripping with the wisdom of the ages. "Bhishma may have wronged you, but it's not just him who needs to be held accountable. Salwa, the king who promised to love and protect you, must also face the consequences of his actions."

The young lady's voice was a gentle reminder of the power that lay within Amba. "You are not just a victim, Amba. You are a warrior, a woman who has faced the darkness and emerged stronger. Don't let the injustices of the past define you. Instead, use them to ignite the fire of justice within you."

Amba felt a sense of purpose and direction as the young lady's words faded. She was no longer just a victim but a warrior, ready to face the challenges ahead. The young lady's final act was a gentle embrace, symbolizing solidarity and sisterhood. As the dawn broke, she vanished into the forest, leaving Amba transformed forever.

Celestial Frustration

Chandra Dev's voice echoed through the heavens, his frustration palpable. "Why is she taking these mortal forms and not disguising? Does she not know she is touching them with her divinity every second she uses another human form? And when will she be born?"

The celestial court fell silent, awaiting Narada's response. The sage's patience was a beacon of calm amid Chandra Dev's turmoil. "Narayan, Narayan, the boon is to change the course of life, which is doing. Her ask is – she will do her work, but if the lives she touches won't change, they must be soulless until eternity."

Narada's words were a gentle reprimand, a reminder of the unfolding divine plan. "Now, Chandra Dev, why are you being worried? She is fulfilling her duty. Also, the matter of her birth is something on her. We cannot provoke Mata. Remember, disobedience will cost us a lot."

The weight of Narada's words settled upon the celestial court, a sombre reminder of the power that lay beyond their understanding. "Most important, when Tridev is not worried, why are you?" Narada's question hung in the air, challenging Chandra Dev's frustration.

As the silence deepened, Narada's final words were a testament to the mystery that surrounded Devi Niyati. "Finally, the mortal bodies she is taking up, she knows their stories, their pain, and if she is part of their life, that says they deserve it. Now, any questions?"

The celestial court remained silent, their anxiety and anticipation palpable. For the first time, the birth of Narayan's avatar was not the focus of their attention. Instead, all eyes were on Devi Niyati, the mysterious and powerful force about to enter the mortal realm.

A Clash of Egos, A Test of Dharma

As Parashurama, the legendary warrior-sage, arrived at the ashrama, Amba's eyes met with tears. She poured out her heart-wrenching story to him, her words a poignant reminder of the injustices she had suffered. The pain and humiliation still lingered, a raw wound that refused to heal.

Parashurama's expression was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed a deep sense of sorrow. He felt the weight of Amba's pain, and his heart went out to her. "O, daughter of Kasi, I will not take up weapons except to protect those who follow the Vedas," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Tell me, therefore, what I can do for you. Both Bhishma and Salwa are obedient to me. Do not lament. I will fulfil your desire."

With those words, Parashurama set out for Hastinapur, determined to confront Bhishma and bring him to justice. As he arrived, Bhishma came out to greet him, his eyes filled with respect and trepidation.

Parashurama's words were a scathing indictment of Bhishma's actions. "In what mood did you abduct the princess of Kasi and then send her away? Contaminated by the touch of your hands, no one will marry her. Salwa has rejected her because you have forcibly placed her on your chariot. O Kuru Prince, it is not proper for her to be humiliated this way. Therefore, at my command, take her yourself and marry her according to Vedic rites."

Bhishma's response was a masterclass in arrogance, his words dripping with self-righteousness: "I could not bestow this maiden upon my brother because of my desire to accept Salwa as her husband. As for myself, I have taken a vow of perpetual celibacy, and I will not break that vow under any circumstances."

Parashurama's anger was palpable, his eyes blazing with fierce intensity. "If you do not follow my commands, then I shall slay you this very day, along with your counsellors!" he thundered, his voice shaking the very foundations of Hastinapur.

Bhishma's reply was a studied insult, and his words were designed to provoke Parashurama into a fight. "I cannot follow this instruction, O best of the rishis," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "O son of Jamadagni, all your attempts to secure this marriage will be in vain. What warrior would accept into his abode a woman whose heart was wedded to another?"

O Brahmana, Bhishma continued, his voice unwavering, "I will not forsake justice even from fear of Indra. One can reject the order of the preceptor if he is filled with vanity, destitute of knowledge concerning right and wrong, and follows a devious path. You are my preceptor in battle. However, it is a well-known truth that one is not guilty of slaying a Brahmana who takes up arms like a Kshatriya."

Bhishma's words were challenging, and a gauntlet was thrown at Parashurama's feet. "Because you are acting unrighteous, I will fight with you," he declared, his voice ringing with defiance. "O Parashurama, equip yourself with proper weapons and position yourself on the Kurukshetra field. Subdued by my arrows, you will obtain the higher regions. The Brahmanas have spoken of the power you exhibited against the kingly dynasties long ago. However, there were no Bhishma or warrior kings like Bhishma in those days. Kshatriya was endowed with power and took birth later on. The person who will quell your pride has not taken birth, and this is none other than myself."

As the two warriors clashed, their words hanging in the air like a challenge, Niyati smiled, sealing Bhishma's fate. The consequences of his actions would be dire, a testament to the enduring power of karma. Bhishma's failure to show compassion and mercy had set him on a path from which there was no return.

A Mother's Agony

The celestial realm was abuzz with shock and dismay, but none felt the pain more intensely than Devi Ganga. Her son, Bhishma, had repeated the same mistake, his arrogance and rigid adherence to his interpretation of Dharma leading him down a perilous path. The agony that wracked her heart was a palpable force, one that even Brahma Dev could not ignore.

Brahma Dev's words were a gentle attempt to soothe Devi Ganga's pain. "My dear daughter Ganga, do not let sorrow consume you. Devi Niyati will soon take birth, and perhaps, at that time, you can implore her to grant Bhishma another chance. Maybe she will shower her blessings upon him, and his destiny will be rewritten. A single choice can alter one's life, my dear."

Devi Ganga's response was a heart-wrenching expression of her fears, her words dripping with the pain of a mother and a fellow deity. "Oh, Brahma Dev, I tremble at the thought of what is to come. If Bhishma continues down this path, refusing to heed the wisdom of Dharma, then Prabhasa – the Vasu – will be forever bound to the mortal realm. His chance at redemption will be lost, and I fear that I shall never see my son free from the cycles of karma." Her voice trembled with the weight of her concerns, her eyes brimming with tears that seemed to hold the very fate of her son.

At that moment, the celestial realm held its breath, aware that Bhishma's actions would have far-reaching and devastating consequences. Prabhasa's fate and Vasu's fate hung in the balance, a poignant reminder of the intricate web of karma that bound them all.

The Fierce Duel of Kurukshetra

The skies above Kurukshetra darkened as if the gods themselves were gathering to witness the epic clash between Bhishma and Parashurama. The air was excitedly electric, and the ground trembled beneath the two warriors' feet.

Bhishma, astride his chariot drawn by majestic white horses, seemed to embody the unyielding Kshatriya spirit. His eyes blazing with a fierce inner light, Parashurama stood tall on his mystically conjured chariot, its horses capable of instantly traversing the vast expanse of the mind.

The battle commenced with a deafening roar as Parashurama unleashed a hail of arrows upon his disciple. Bhishma countered with a ferocity that matched his preceptor's, the two warriors exchanging blows that shook the very foundations of the earth. The clash of steel on steel, the thunder of hooves, and the cries of the warriors created a cacophony that echoed across the skies.

As the day drew close, neither warrior had gained the upper hand. The battlefield lay scarred and battered, a testament to the unyielding ferocity of the two combatants. Bhishma's charioteer carefully extracted the arrows from his master's body and those from the horses before the son of Ganga retired to his tent for a well-deserved rest.

The next day, the battle resumed with renewed intensity. Bhishma obeyed his preceptor before unleashing a maelstrom of celestial weapons. Parashurama countered each attack with ease, his mastery over the ancient arts of war unmatched.

The duel raged on, with neither warrior willing to yield. Under the pressure of their clash, the very fabric of reality seemed to bend and warp. Bhishma's Agneya weapon summoned great tongues of flame, only to be extinguished by Parashurama's Varuna weapon, which called forth the soothing waters of the celestial realms.

As the battle reached its climax, Parashurama unleashed a flaming arrow that struck Bhishma with the force of a thunderbolt. The son of Ganga fell unconscious, and his charioteer hastened to bear him away from the battlefield. Parashurama's followers, including the princess Amba, rejoiced at the victory.

But his spirit was unbroken, and Bhishma regained consciousness and returned to the fray. With a mighty cry, he struck Parashurama with a powerful arrow, sending the warrior-sage crashing to the ground. Amba and the others rushed to Parashurama's aid as the duel continued unabated.

Thus, the battle raged for twenty-three days, and neither warrior could gain a decisive advantage. Bhishma's and the entire realm's fate hung precariously in the balance as the two warriors clashed in a struggle that would be etched into the annals of history forever.

A Divine Intervention

As the night of the 23rd day descended upon Kurukshetra, Bhishma retired to his tent, his mind consumed by the weight of his unyielding duel with Parashurama. Lying down on his bed, he began to reason, his thoughts a jumble of frustration and desperation.

"This fighting has been going on for many days, and I still have not defeated him," he thought. "I am unable to vanquish the son of Jamadagni. If I am to succeed in subduing this foremost Brahmana, then the gods must assist me."

As Bhishma drifted to sleep, his mind remained troubled, his spirit seeking a way to break the stalemate. And it was then, in the realm of dreams, that the divine intervention occurred.

Eight Brahmanas, their forms radiant and effulgent, appeared before Bhishma, their voices chanting in unison. "Rise, O son of Ganga, do not fear. We will protect you from Parashurama. We will help you conquer Parashurama in battle."

Bhishma's dream self-listened intently, his heart filled with wonder and awe. "During tomorrow's encounter, the mantras for the Praswapa astra will come to your mind," the Brahmanas continued. Neither Parashurama nor any other person is acquainted with it. With this weapon, you will defeat your preceptor."

The brahmanas' words were a balm to Bhishma's troubled soul, offering him a glimmer of hope in his seemingly endless duel. "O Prince, it will not slay Parashurama outright; therefore, no sin will be incurred in using it," they assured him. "After he has been defeated, you can awaken him with Samvodhana astra."

As the eight Brahmanas vanished into the ether, Bhishma's dream self-felt a sense of clarity and purpose. He knew that the tide of the battle was about to shift and that the gods intervened on his behalf.