Far from the silent heights of Kailasa, beyond the realms where snow met sky, rose the ancient kingdom of the Himalayas — a living land of stone and wind, rivers and light. Here ruled Himavan, lord of mountains, whose peaks were said to hold the sky itself, and his queen Maina, whose heart was as vast as the valleys below.
They were not alone in their palace.
For they already had a daughter.
Ganga.
She did not dwell within walls or halls, for her nature could not be bound. She flowed through the kingdom as a shining river of crystal light, descending from high glaciers, singing through forests and plains, nourishing every land she touched.
Yet she was no mere river.
She was their child.
And she knew it.
Often, at dawn and dusk, Ganga would rise in gentle form beside her parents, appearing as a radiant maiden woven of flowing light and water, her eyes deep as oceans, her smile calm as moonlit waves.
"Mother," she would say, resting her luminous hand upon Maina's brow, "the mountains breathe peacefully today."
"And they do so because you flow through them," Maina would reply, her heart full.
Himavan would smile proudly. "You are the lifeblood of these peaks, my daughter. Without you, even stone would grow thirsty."
Ganga would bow lightly. "I am only following the path given to me, Father."
Yet within her gentle nature, Ganga carried ancient awareness — for she had flowed close to the realms of gods, to the edges of Kailasa itself, and had felt the presence of Mahadeva long before she ever saw him.
Still, despite Ganga's presence, a quiet longing lived in Maina's heart.
One night, as snow fell softly outside their chambers, Maina sat awake, gazing at the fire before her.
"Himavan," she said softly, "our halls are full of light because of Ganga… yet my heart still dreams of holding a child in my arms."
Himavan took her hand gently. "I know," he said. "The mountains are vast, but even they long to cradle new life."
Unseen, Ganga listened, her waters flowing more quietly that night, as if honoring her mother's unspoken wish.
Not many days later, Maina dreamed.
She saw herself standing upon a vast ocean of light, deeper than sky, calmer than any water Ganga had ever known. From that ocean rose a flame — not burning, but glowing with warmth beyond measure.
From the flame stepped a maiden, radiant yet humble, her presence both gentle and immense.
The maiden spoke:
"Daughter of the mountains, will you carry me?"
Maina awoke with a gasp, her heart pounding.
She rose and went at once to the river terrace where Ganga often rested at dawn.
There, Ganga appeared, rising from her flowing form into her luminous maiden shape.
"Mother," Ganga said softly, "your heart is restless. Tell me."
Maina took her daughter's hands, trembling. "Ganga… I saw a light beyond all lights. It asked me to carry it."
Ganga's eyes widened.
For she, too, had felt something stirring in the deep currents of existence.
"Yes," Ganga whispered. "I have felt her. A power gathering beyond form. A warmth even my waters cannot cool."
Himavan joined them then, having followed Maina.
"Who is this presence?" he asked.
Ganga closed her eyes, sensing beyond worlds.
"She is not a being alone," Ganga said slowly. "She is becoming. The same power that once walked as Sati… now choosing to return."
Maina's breath caught. "Adi Shakti…"
Ganga nodded. "Yes, Mother. Para Brahman as power. She is seeking a home."
That evening, as sacred fire burned in their hall, a gentle radiance filled the chamber.
Not blinding.
Not fierce.
But vast.
Himavan and Maina fell to their knees as the light shaped itself like a veil of golden mist.
From it came a voice, soft yet boundless:
"Daughter of the mountains… will you carry me?"
Maina bowed her head, tears flowing freely.
"I am unworthy," she whispered. "How can I carry what feels like the heart of all worlds?"
The voice replied:
"You are worthy because you do not seek to own me.
You will love me… not command me."
Himavan spoke, his voice steady despite the awe in his heart.
"If you choose our house," he said, "we will give you not only shelter… but our lives."
The radiance shimmered warmly.
"I do not need thrones.
I need love."
The light then flowed gently toward Maina, surrounding her like a warm embrace before sinking into her heart.
The chamber returned to quiet.
But nothing was the same.
Maina placed a hand over her heart, her breath shaking.
"She has come," she whispered. "Not yet in form… but within."
Himavan held her close. "Our daughter," he said softly.
Ganga knelt before Maina, her luminous form glowing brighter than ever.
"Sister," she whispered, tears like silver streams falling into the fire, "welcome home."
On Kailasa, far above, Ganesh felt the shift instantly.
He had been sitting near Shiva in quiet presence when a warm surge brushed through his inner fire.
He opened his eyes.
"Aneet…"
She looked up at once. "You feel it too."
"Yes," Ganesh said. "Power has chosen a womb."
Aneet closed her eyes, sensing beyond stillness.
"It flows like a river of light," she said. "Strong… yet gentle."
Ganesh smiled faintly. "Ganga will feel her first."
They both turned toward Shiva.
Mahadeva remained unmoving in deep tapasya.
Yet for the briefest moment, a single tear shimmered at the corner of his closed eye — not falling, but shining like a star held between worlds.
"He knows," Aneet whispered.
Ganesh nodded. "Because Para Brahman never truly loses itself."
Back in the Himalayan realm, Maina's days changed.
She carried not weight, but warmth — a presence that filled her dreams with light and strength.
Flowers bloomed where she walked.
Snow melted gently beneath her feet.
Even the winds curved around her, as if unwilling to disturb what they now guarded.
Ganga flowed closer to the palace, her waters circling it like a living shield.
She would often appear beside Maina, resting her glowing hand upon her mother's womb.
"I will guide her," Ganga said softly. "When she walks this world, my waters will clear her path."
Maina smiled. "You will be her sister… and her river."
Himavan placed his hand upon both their shoulders.
"The mountains will be her home," he said. "And you, Ganga, will be her song."
Far above, Vishnu sensed the gathering power.
"So it begins," he murmured.
Beside him, Narada smiled, plucking a gentle note on his veena.
"The world always hums differently when she returns," Narada said.
Vishnu nodded. "Yes. And this time, she will not come only to love… but to awaken destiny."
Narada bowed. "Then songs of Parvati will one day rise from every corner of creation."
On Kailasa, Ganesh spoke softly to the silent peaks.
"She will be born to the mountains," he said. "And the river will call her sister."
Aneet smiled. "And stillness will one day open its eyes… and see her again."
Shiva remained unmoving.
But deep within that silence, a new rhythm had begun.
Not of grief.
Of waiting.
For power that had once walked as Sati was now gathering itself again — not lost, not diminished, but preparing to rise as Parvati, daughter of Himavan, sister of Ganga, and the return of Adi Shakti, Para Brahman in living form.