The valley of Bharmour, nestled among deodar forests and apple orchards, had always lived in harmony with the Satluj River. The people called her Maa Satluj — a goddess who gave them water, fertile soil, and life. Yet they also feared her, for when angered, she would swell into floods and swallow homes whole.
Among the villagers lived a young girl named Meera. She was sixteen, slender as a pine, with eyes that held the calm of the mountains. She sang while tending goats, her voice floating across fields like a folk song carried by the wind. But at night, she heard something no one else did.
The river spoke to her.
It began as a whisper. On moonlit nights, when the valley slept, Meera would hear a woman's song rising from the current — soft, sorrowful, and strangely tender. One night, drawn by curiosity, she walked to the riverbank. The silver moon rippled on the surface, and a voice murmured:
"Daughter of the hills, you are mine. When the time comes, you will walk into my embrace."
Meera trembled. She told no one. For in Himachal, people believed the river could choose its bride — a human maiden destined to belong to the goddess forever.