Time passed. Shantanu and Satyavati ruled Hastinapura. Their sons, Chitrangada and Vichitravirya, were heirs to the Kuru throne. But Chitrangada died young in battle, and Vichitravirya remained too young to rule.
The throne stood vulnerable.
Satyavati turned to Bhishma, the ever-loyal son who had renounced all claim. "The kingdom needs queens for your brother," she said. "Find him worthy brides."
Bhishma rode out—not as a suitor, but as a warrior.
He reached Kashi, where the king was holding a swayamvara—a ceremony where his three daughters would choose their husbands. Kings from every corner of Aryavarta had gathered, but no invitation had been sent to Hastinapura.
Bhishma stood among them unshaken.
"I come not to plead," he declared, "but to claim. These daughters of Kashi shall be brides to the Kuru prince, Vichitravirya."
The assembly erupted. Words turned to outrage.
But Bhishma drew his bow.
In one swift motion, he defeated every king who dared stand against him, seized the three princesses—Amba, Ambika, and Ambalika—and returned to Hastinapura.
The people watched in silence. No one challenged Bhishma.
Satyavati received them with satisfaction. "Vichitravirya shall marry the two younger sisters. The eldest, Amba, may wed a man of her choosing."
But Amba stepped forward. "I have already chosen," she said. "My heart belongs to Shalva, king of Saubha. I was to choose him at the swayamvara before Bhishma interrupted."
Bhishma listened, nodded, and let her go.
But Shalva, shamed and defeated in battle, refused to accept her.
"You were taken by another man," he spat. "You are no longer mine."
Rejected and humiliated, Amba returned to Hastinapura and faced Bhishma.
"You are the cause of this," she said. "You must marry me."
Bhishma stood still. "I cannot. I have taken a vow."
Amba's eyes burned. "Then your vow shall be your doom. I swear, Bhishma—one day, I will be the cause of your death."
He said nothing.
She left the palace—not as a princess, but as a woman consumed by vengeance.
Meanwhile, Ambika and Ambalika were wed to Vichitravirya. But joy did not last. Within a few years, the young king fell ill and died without children.
The Kuru throne was once again without an heir.
And in the silence that followed, Satyavati remembered the son she had once sent away—the one born of the river crossing, the one who lived in the forest.
Vyasa.
And the storm moved closer.