Hastinapur 528 BCE

A young Bhishma, sat on his bed, recently awakened by the high pitch sound of the canaries outside. He looked around. His room wasn't any different from the previous night. That was unusual. Generally, a legion of servants would sneak into his room and serve milk and tea. They would open the windows, letting the first light of the day inside. It was accompanied by a fresh cold breeze from the mountains in the west or the refreshing scent of plants after the night's rain. The servants would then ready the prince's breakfast outfit. Typically, a crimson dhoti matched with a cotton angvastram. And that was when they'd finally wake him up.

Bhishma opened his bedside window and realized that the day had started more than an hour ago. Still, the grounds outside were deserted as if it was the middle of the night. There were no Brahmin kids, with their white silk robes and shaved heads, going to the library for their morning lessons. Soldiers who usually paraded the grounds, either practicing or patrolling, sat huddled in a corner. Everything was oddly quiet.

Even though he was much smarter than most kids his age, a thirteen-year-old Bhishma did not know what to make of it. He simply slid into his soft satin footwear and headed out of the room to find a familiar face.

He visited the dining hall first, a gigantic area where Bhishma ate every day. It had enough room to seat a small army and was filled with mouthwatering aromas from the kitchen on the other side of the wall. There was a colorful fur carpet that covered the floor, made from stitching the skins of several animals together. A dozen silver thalis were organized on top of it and large pots of food rested on a platform in the middle. Bhishma expected to see people sitting on the carpeted floor, or at least his mother because she finished last. It was part of the tradition for married women to wait for their husbands to finish eating before they were allowed to take the first bite. But both the dining area and the kitchen were empty. The food lay untouched in the thalis, getting cold.

Next, Bhishma went to the courtroom, there might have been an urgent matter for the council that needed the king's presence. He expected to see his father sitting on the throne, surrounded by an array of councilmen and servants. Hastinapur was the capital city of the Kuru kingdom and the king's throne was believed to be a reflection of its prosperity. Everything about it, apart from its seat, was made of pure gold, studded with precious rubies and topaz. They were peace offerings from all over the continent and the king flaunted them openly during events involving representatives from foreign lands. But the throne and all the councilmen seats were empty, in fact, the room seemed in more disarray than usual. As if everyone had left in a rush.

Looking around the corridor, Bhishma saw his mother's Dasi running upstairs, with a large bowl of water in her hands, she went into the royal quarters. That's where the king and the queen slept. Bhishma had never seen his parents room before, even though his own room was in the same section of the building. He followed the Dasi who rushed into a large crowd gathered around one of the rooms. Bhishma could recognize many faces among the group. There was the chief councilman, the general of their army, many servants he remembered from his morning rituals, courtroom workers, and in the corner, standing against the wall was his mother. Ganga. Yes, she was named after the river Ganges.

Ganga saw Bhishma running towards her. He saw her mother's wet face and immediately knew that something was wrong. He did not say anything but wrapped his arms around her neck as she sat down to his height.

"My son!" Ganga cried.

Bhishma could not speak as everyone turned their attention to him. An expression of pity and sadness filled their gaze. Nobody else spoke either as Ganga started to audibly sob on Bhishma's shoulder.

Bhishma did not know what had happened until he heard his father's voice coming from inside the room. It was the scream of a man who was in a lot of pain. Bhishma looked puzzled at his mother's face as she smeared the Kaajal in her eyes, attempting to wipe her tears. She took a moment to clear her throat and started talking.

"Honey, Papa is hurt and needs a lot of rest. He..."

Another loud screech echoed from the room. It was followed by voices, debating to inject more anesthesia.

A Dasi jumped forward and pulled Bhishma out of Ganga's arms. She firmly grasped his hand and started walking towards the stairs at the end of the corridor. Bhishma could do nothing, he just stared at his mother's face as she buried it in her hands, sobbing even harder.

Bhishma was taken to an empty room on the opposite side of the building. And was served food by the same lady who brought him there. She brought a steaming plate decorated with a variety of cuisines and set it on the table before leaving the room with a promise to be back soon. Although nobody had mentioned it to the young prince, he realized that everyone wanted him to stay away while the king got better. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he wasn't old enough to help, or maybe that's what his mother wanted. No matter the case, Bhishma wanted to see his father badly, yet he did not try to leave the room. He slowly ate the food on his plate when his stomach began to grumble, hoping to see his family soon.

"Prince? Prince Bhishma?"

It was almost dark and Bhishma was still in the room. He jumped up from the bed he rested upon to see a different dasi enter the room.

"The queen wishes to see you now. It is good news, your father will survive his wounds."

The death of his father was not a thought that had crossed Bhishma's mind. He could never imagine how his father, a skilled warrior surrounded by the best guards in the kingdom could be mortally wounded.

Hearing the dasi's words, Bhishma jolted past the door and gunned straight to the room in the royal quarters.

The doors were already unlocked and the man standing guard greeted Bhishma with a slight bow as he rushed through. There was very little light inside, only a few candles illuminated the space. The air was filled with incense from scented sticks that were burning in the corner, and a large fan hung from the ceiling, attached to a rope that was operated by a servant. Ganga sat on the bedside of King Shantanu, holding his hand.

Bhishma carefully stepped in, looking at his mother for instructions. Ganga waved for him to come closer and he quietly walked up to his father's pale face.

"Bhishma...Are you here now?" muttered Shantanu.

"Yes, I am here."

Shantanu opened his eyes and turned his neck. He did it incredibly slowly.

"Don't push yourself, your body is still paralyzed," said Ganga.

"It is very good to see you, son."

Shantanu smiled at Bhishma. A big red spot of blood was visible through the bandages on his chest. It looked like a deadly wound, one made from a sword or an arrow. The spot of blood was big enough to suggest that the wound was deep as well, perhaps enough to have passed the ribs and punctured the lungs. And what of the blood loss?

"Papa! How did this... Who did..."

Bhishma struggled to find words. His eyes fixed upon his father's wrapped torso. 

Shantanu tried to respond before choking on air and coughing, causing the muscles around his wound to painfully contract. 

"I think we should let papa rest, yes honey?" said Ganga.

"Come back soon, you hear?"

Shantanu managed to speak before closing his eyes with a face of anguish. Ganga waited for Bhishma as he just stood there staring at Shantanu. After a few more seconds, she held him from his shoulder and exited the room, closing the door behind them.

"I am sorry, we will come back tomorrow morning, okay?" said Ganga. 

"Maa, how did he get hurt? Who attacked him?"

"Nobody attacked him. It was a bizarre training accident. Papa will go back to normal very soon. The healers will make sure of it. For now, we must let him rest."

A month later.

"Bhishma? Come in!" yelled Shantanu at the top of his lungs.

Bhishma snatched the door handle from a guard who stopped him from entering, telling him that it was the king's naptime. He ran up to Shantanu's bedside and gave his father a big hug.

"Did you attend your lessons today?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what did you learn?"

"I learned of extinct creatures, the first weapons and plant species."

"Oh man! That's quite a lot, I am sure that someday you will put that knowledge to good use when you are king." chuckled Shantanu.

"Papa, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes, of course. Ask away."

"How did you survive such injury to your chest? I overheard the general talking about it. He said that only you could have survived such a fatal blow."

As an astute student of science, Bhishma thought that his father's recovery was no less than a miracle. This had left him puzzled for the last couple of weeks. But Bhishma was only young, not naive. He realized that the answer to his question was no less than a national secret. Perhaps, something that could be used for an attempt on the king's life. He knew that it was essential for him to wait for his father's recovery and only ask him if the right opportunity presented itself.

Shantanu's smile disappeared as he was caught off-guard by Bhishma's query.

"I was not expecting you to ask me this so early, but since you did, I must tell you the truth."

Bhishma got closer, curious, ready to absorb every word that his father was about to say. Shantanu, on the other hand, looked serious. He spoke softly, looking directly into Bhishma's wide eyes.

"The injury to my chest was extreme, and I had started to lose a lot of blood. There was damage to my organs and I was in a lot of pain. When the medics struggled to stop the bleeding, I was left with no choice but to do something that paralyzed my entire body without killing me. This caused the bleeding to stop and gave the medics enough time to patch me up."

"What did you do to paralyze yourself like that?" asked Bhishma.