The axe hovered in midair, caught not by hand or weapon, but by water.
A hand of the Ganga—shimmering, translucent, and vast—had risen from the river's surface and stopped the divine strike inches from Dhira's broken body.
The forest fell silent.
The wind held its breath.
Even Parashurama's eyes narrowed.
Something ancient had awakened.
The Mother Beneath the Waters
Most knew her as Ganga.
A sacred river.
A place to bathe, to pray, to scatter ashes.
But they had forgotten.
She was not just a river.
She was Maa Ganga, the Mother of Rivers, the one who flowed through the veins of the land and the memory of the world.
She saw through the eyes of her sisters—Cauvery, Mahanadi, Periyar, Godavari—and through them, she had watched the boy.
The Journey of Dhira
She had seen him leap across the stones of Cauvery, laughing as he balanced on one foot, arms outstretched like a bird.
She had heard his voice echo through Mahanadi's banks, where he taught children to skip stones and told stories of mangoes that could fly.
She had watched him in Periyar, where he shared his last meal with a thief who once tried to rob him.
And through Godavari, she had seen him fight—not for glory, not for vengeance, but to protect.
To protect the weak.
To protect his friends.
To protect the idea that kindness was not weakness.
The Boy Who Changed the Current
She had seen the thieves change.
They now guarded villages.
She had seen Bhairava smile.
He who once walked like a blade now laughed like a brother.
She had seen the way Dhira brought joy where he walked—like a ripple that turned into a wave.
And now, this boy—this child of the rivers—stood broken, unconscious, still upright, still shielding his brothers.
And Parashurama, the axe-bearer, the warrior-sage, had tried to strike him down.
For what?
For pulling him from the river?
For saving him from drowning in her depths?
Because he had entered meditation mid-bath?
The Descent Remembered
They had forgotten her story.
But she had not.
Long ago, the Earth had suffered a drought so vast that even the gods turned their faces away.
The rivers dried.
The crops withered.
The people cried out.
And one king—Bhagiratha—prayed for a thousand years.
He begged the gods to send Ganga down from the heavens to cleanse the ashes of his ancestors and restore life to the land.
She agreed.
But the gods warned him:
"Her force is too great. If she descends unchecked, she will shatter the Earth."
So Bhagiratha prayed again.
This time to Mahadev.
And Shiva, the Lord of Stillness, caught her in his matted locks.
He let her flow gently, strand by strand, so that the world would not break.
That was her power.
That was her mercy.
That was her truth.
The Name That Shook the Sky
Now, she rose again.
And she did something she had never done.
She spoke.
"Parashurama!"
The name thundered across the forest.
Across the river.
Across the sky.
It echoed through the clouds, through the mountains, through the heavens.
In Swarg, the gods froze.
The water in their basins stilled.
The ponds dried.
The Tri-Devs turned.
Shocked.
For never before had Maa Ganga called an avatar by name.
Not Vishnu, Not Shiva, Not Brahma.
But now she had.
And her voice was not a whisper.
It was a storm.
The Ripples of Rage
Far away, in Hastinapur, Bhishma stirred.
He felt it, the pulse, the ache.
The fury in the river.
"Mother?" he whispered, standing at the palace balcony.
But he did not know to whom her wrath was pointed.
Only that it was vast.
And righteous.
The Witnesses
Karna stood frozen.
His bow lowered.
His breath caught.
He had seen divine weapons.
He had heard of gods.
But never had he seen a river rise in judgment.
And Dhira—
Dhira was still standing.
Unconscious, Bleeding, But upright.
Held together by will alone.
His body broken.
His spirit burning.
The Verdict of the Waters
The hand of water held the axe.
It did not return it.
It did not drop it.
It held it.
Firm.
Unyielding.
And the river whispered—not in words, but in memory.
"This child is mine."
"He walks with purity."
"He fights for others."
"He is not yours to punish."
Parashurama lowered his hand.
But the river did not calm.
The Sky Remembers
The clouds gathered - Dark, Heavy.
The wind howled.
The trees bent low.
The river surged higher.
The basin of Swarg cracked.
The ponds of heaven dried.
The gods looked down.
And remembered.
The Forgotten Force
They had forgotten her power.
Forgotten the day she descended.
Forgotten the force that once threatened to shatter BhuLok.
Forgotten that it took Mahadev himself to hold her in his matted locks.
To contain her fury.
To protect the world.
Now she rose again.
Unbound, Unheld, Unforgiving.
The Storm Awakens
Lightning split the sky.
Rain fell sideways.
The river roared.
The earth trembled.
The birds fled.
The animals hid.
The divine hand still held the axe.
And the voice of the river rose again.
"You have forgotten me."
"You have forgotten what I am."
"Let the world remember."