The evening sun rested softly upon the Ganga's waters. The sky was neither gold nor crimson — it was that quiet hour between ambition and surrender.
Devavrata sat beside his father on the stone steps of the palace courtyard. His posture was straight, but his eyes were curious — hungry.
Shantanu looked at his son for a long moment before speaking.
"Devavrata," he said gently, "a king must know not only his own kingdom… but the souls of other dynasties."
Devavrata nodded. "You have told me of the Panchalas. Of Magadh. Of the Yadavas."
Shantanu's gaze shifted westward, toward lands hidden beyond imagination.
"But there is one," he continued, voice lowering slightly, "that does not seek attention… yet commands it."
Devavrata's brows narrowed. "Who, father?"
"Bidharv."
The word did not roll loudly. It settled heavily.
"Vikraal Vansh," Shantanu added.
Devavrata's eyes sharpened. "The Sheron ka Vansh?"
A faint smile touched Shantanu's lips.
"Yes."
Silence lingered before the king spoke again.
"They are not like us, my son."
"In what way?" Devavrata asked.
Shantanu clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk slowly.
"We, the Kurus, descend from kings… emperors… men who built kingdoms through conquest. Our blood carries ambition. Expansion. Order."
He paused.
"But the Vikraals descend from warrior sages."
Devavrata looked up sharply.
"Rishis?" he asked.
"Yes," Shantanu replied. "Men who meditated at dawn… and slew adharma by night. Men who conversed with gods — and challenged them when necessary."
The wind shifted.
"They did not build Bidharv for glory," Shantanu continued. "They built it as a sanctuary. As a boundary."
Devavrata absorbed every word.
"They do not attend sabhas often," Shantanu said softly. "They do not flatter. They do not bargain."
"And yet," Devavrata murmured, "no king provokes them."
Shantanu's eyes darkened slightly.
"Because when a Vikraal unsheathes his sword… it is never for spectacle."
A moment passed.
"They do not conquer," the king added. "But if their land… their women… their dharma is threatened…"
His voice grew firm.
"They do not stop."
Devavrata felt something stir within him — not fear, but recognition.
"And their men?" he asked quietly.
Shantanu's expression softened.
"They marry once."
Devavrata blinked.
"Once?"
"Yes," Shantanu said. "And that bond is not political. It is sacred. A Vikraal king may lose a kingdom… but he will never abandon the woman he chose."
Something flickered in Devavrata's eyes — something that would one day become his terrible vow.
"And their people?" he asked.
Shantanu smiled faintly.
"They eat with their king. Walk with him. Argue with him. Bidharv is small… but its pride is vast."
The sun dipped lower.
Devavrata stood.
"I would like to see this land one day."
Shantanu looked at his son — tall, radiant, unstoppable.
"You will," he said quietly.
"But remember, Devavrata… not all power seeks a throne."
The river flowed.
And somewhere, beyond mountains and forests, Bidharv stood — silent, watching.