AMBA

AMBA

**I am Amba...**

I was never like other women.

My dreams were larger, my aspirations deeper, my sense of self stronger. I was the daughter of the King of Kashi, a princess, and the elder sister of two younger princesses. These identities had shaped my world. Blessed with beauty, privilege, and royal status, I had every reason to believe that life would unfold exactly as I desired.

And then I saw him.

Salva.

*My* Salva.

He was the one who awakened love within my heart. He gave me his promise, placed trust in my future, and painted my world with the colours of affection. Long before anyone knew, our hearts had already chosen each other. The bond between us grew silently, beyond the knowledge of even my father. I would speak endlessly to my sisters about him, unable to contain my joy. So deeply was I immersed in thoughts of Salva that I could see nothing else beyond him.

Then came the day my father announced a **Swayamvara**.

My sisters were anxious, wondering who would arrive and who would become their husbands. But I was filled with excitement. Who else could possibly marry me except Salva? He was brave, powerful, and unmatched in valour. Who would dare stand against him? My heart had already decided that he would emerge victorious.

Why should I fear?

The moment of becoming Salva's wife seemed only a breath away.

That day, countless princes gathered in the royal court. Looking at them, I felt a certain pride. Were we truly so beautiful that so many kings desired our hands? Yet none of them appeared worthy when compared to Salva. I was certain they would all fall before him.

And then...

Bhishma arrived.

I had heard of the prince of Hastinapura—the mighty warrior whose prowess was celebrated throughout Aryavarta. The very moment he entered the assembly, the faces of the assembled princes reflected defeat.

He was magnificent.

There was a solemn dignity in his bearing, a majesty in his presence. His valour only enhanced the nobility of his appearance. Yet my heart belonged to Salva. How could I ever choose Bhishma?

But fate had other plans.

Bhishma defeated them all.

The challenge established by my father was won by him alone. The assembly erupted in celebration. Voices cheered. Conches sounded.

But I...

I felt my world collapse.

While Salva sat somewhere, wounded by defeat, I found myself being led away in Bhishma's chariot as the princess he had won. My heart ached, yet I could not ignore the admiration his courage inspired. Perhaps reality had to be accepted. I tried to console myself. I struggled to replace Salva's image in my heart with that of Bhishma.

By the time our chariot approached Hastinapura, my mind had begun to surrender to destiny. I had even accepted the possibility of Bhishma as my husband.

The palace was magnificent—far grander than the one I had left behind. Queen Mother Satyavati stood waiting to welcome us. As I gazed upon Bhishma, I began to imagine a new future.

Perhaps I would become his queen.

Perhaps happiness still awaited me.

But what awaited me instead was humiliation.

Bhishma, the man who had won us, had taken a vow of lifelong celibacy. He would never marry.

As I listened to the conversation between Satyavati and Bhishma, every word struck my heart like a weapon.

He had won us.

Yet we were to be married to Satyavati's sons, Chitrangada and Vichitravirya.

My sisters, Ambika and Ambalika, quietly accepted the arrangement. To me, they seemed willing to obey whoever stood before them—first our father, now Bhishma. They never questioned anything.

But I could not.

Why should I marry simply because Bhishma and Satyavati commanded it?

Was not the purpose of a Swayamvara to find a worthy husband? Had not my father declared that the victorious warrior would receive his daughters in marriage?

Bhishma had fought.

Bhishma had won.

Then was he not the rightful husband?

How could he hand us over to another man? And how could I accept as husband someone who had not even participated in the contest?

I refused.

I demanded that Bhishma himself marry me.

He explained patiently. He spoke of his terrible vow, his commitment to celibacy, his inability to marry.

Everything he said was true.

Yet one question tormented me.

If he never intended to marry, why had he come to the Swayamvara at all?

Why had he fought?

Why had he carried us away?

Why had he separated me from Salva and allowed my heart to turn toward him?

If his intention was to marry us to another, why had he not declared it openly in Kashi itself?

Why bring me all the way to Hastinapura only to dishonour me?

Broken and desperate, I finally spoke Salva's name.

Immediately, Bhishma agreed to send me to him.

The darkness surrounding me suddenly lifted. Hope returned. I climbed into a chariot and journeyed toward the man I loved.

Toward Salva.

I imagined his joy upon seeing me. Surely he had grieved after losing me at the Swayamvara. Surely he had suffered. Surely my arrival would heal everything.

Thousands of dreams accompanied me on that journey.

But destiny had prepared yet another wound.

Salva rejected me.

Defeat had shattered his pride. Since Bhishma had won me, he now saw me as another man's woman. He believed that accepting me would be accepting his own humiliation.

I pleaded.

I begged.

I reminded him of our love.

Nothing moved him.

The man who had once filled my life with affection cast me aside.

Everything was because of Bhishma.

Had he never come to the Swayamvara, none of this would have happened. Had he openly declared his intentions after winning, none of this would have happened. Had he married me himself, my youth would not have been wasted.

But now?

Bhishma would not accept me.

Salva had rejected me.

Where was I to go?

I was not a woman who accepted fate without resistance. Life had to be lived on my own terms.

Salva was right in one respect.

Bhishma had won me.

Bhishma alone must marry me.

And if he refused willingly, I would compel him.

I would fight for justice.

Alone.

No one dared oppose Bhishma. His fame, his strength, and his reputation silenced everyone. His parents could not help me, for it was for their sake that he had taken his vow. They would never stand against him.

Then my thoughts turned toward one man.

Parashurama.

Bhishma's revered guru.

I set out immediately.

Across forests, mountains, and unknown paths I travelled, carrying a single determination within my heart:

**Bhishma must marry me.**

At last I found Parashurama.

He listened to my sorrow. He understood my anguish. He stood beside me, and for a moment I believed justice was near. He personally commanded Bhishma to accept me.

But Bhishma refused.

And thus began the terrible battle between guru and disciple.

Even there, I lost.

Parashurama's defeat was my defeat.

He too could do nothing for me.

What remained of my life now?

To marry some stranger and live without love held no meaning for me.

It was Bhishma who had turned my youth into a wasteland.

It was Bhishma who had plunged my future into darkness.

It was Bhishma who had destroyed my love.

It was Bhishma who had reduced my life to ashes.

Yet I was powerless.

I could not kill the mighty warrior.

What was left for me?

I could no longer continue living.

I walked toward him.

My heart burned with rage. Fire raged within my soul. Looking into his eyes, my hatred only deepened.

And so I leapt into the flames.

Before death claimed me, I made a vow.

**In my next birth, I shall become the cause of Bhishma's death.**

I cursed him.

I cursed his lineage.

Consumed by anger, grief, despair, and vengeance, I surrendered my life.

I am Amba.

The woman who burned her blossoming youth in the fire of wrath.

The woman who returned in another birth as Bhishma's doom.

I am Amba.