The first rays of sunlight touched the white marble spires of Hastinapur. The city was awakening, unaware of the two silver- and gold-hued infants who were about to walk within its royal halls small, fragile, yet carrying the weight of divine fate.
Radha cradled the twins close, her motherly heart overflowing. "Steady now, my little ones," she whispered, smoothing Vasu's silver-glimmering hair and brushing her hand across Karna's golden crown of light. "Today, the world will bless you… but remember, it will also watch you. Always watch you."
Adhiratha carried the basket with solemn reverence. Each step toward the palace was a silent prayer, the echo of the river Ganga's blessing still lingering on the twins' tiny bodies. Though the royal corridors glittered with gold and adorned with tapestries of past victories, a quiet tension hovered. Here, fate and politics intertwined, and these infants, cast away by birthright, would challenge both.
Inside the grand hall, the blind King Dhritarashtra sat upon his throne, regal even in disability. Despite the darkness of his eyes, his presence radiated authority — the kind that even seasoned warriors feared. Beside him, Queen Gandhari, veiled in her own self-imposed blindness, moved with a grace that hid both strength and sorrow.
Radha and Adhiratha approached, holding the basket between them. Vasu, still an infant in appearance, felt every thread of intent in the hall the slight curiosity of the courtiers, the caution of the king, the devoted yet restrained aura of Gandhari. His silver eyes flickered faintly, perceiving the subtle energy of every being in the room, though outwardly he remained quiet and fragile.
Adhiratha knelt, presenting the infants. "Your Majesty, your blessings, please. These children come not from our household but from destiny itself. May you grant them the grace of protection and prosperity."
Dhritarashtra's senses extended, perceiving the divine light emanating from the twins. A faint smile touched his lips. "Fate places heavy burdens on innocent shoulders," he murmured. "Yet, every blessing is a seed. Let it grow within them."
Gandhari leaned forward, her blindfold brushing the tips of her fingers over the basket. Vasu's tiny hand reached out instinctively, touching the fabric, and he pulled gently on her blindfold, sensing the energy behind her devotion. The moment her eyes — veiled for so long — connected with his touch, something extraordinary happened:
Karna's mortal shell and Vasu's semi demi god body resonated with divine energy. Vasu's Silver Superman Gene activated partially, creating a subtle vajra body, nearly indestructible, harmonizing perfectly with the blessing Gandhari channeled unknowingly.
As Radha cradled the twins and Adhiratha stood beside her, a few ambitious courtiers whispered among themselves, their eyes narrow with suspicion and jealousy.
"They are not of royal blood… Who knows what mischief these children might bring?" one muttered.
Another nodded. "Such infants in the palace… is this the king's wisdom? Or mere negligence?"
Before they could act, their hands reaching toward the infants, Dhritarashtra's commanding voice rang through the hall:
"Stop!"
Even without sight, his aura, that of a Maharathi, radiated power so intense that the courtiers froze mid-step. The weight of his authority pressed upon them like the edge of a sharpened sword.
"These children," Dhritarashtra continued, his voice calm but cutting like steel, "bear the blessings of heaven. Anyone who lays a finger upon them or dares insult the queen shall face consequences beyond mortal imagination."
He paused, letting the energy of his presence fill the room. The courtiers, trembling and ashamed, could barely breathe.
"Let their punishment be just and remembered," he decreed. "The Kingdom of Ang shall be granted to them. Let this land nurture them and serve as a testament to the folly of those who sought to harm the innocent."
Gasps filled the hall. Even Radha's eyes widened at the magnitude of the king's judgment. The decree was absolute the Ang kingdom, a prosperous and respected land, would now fall under the care of the twins.
Vasu, though still an infant, observed silently. Thoughts flickered through his mind:
So, the king's power is true even without sight. Strength is not always physical — it is command, will, and presence. I must learn this. For Karna. For destiny.
The courtiers bowed deeply, fear and awe overwhelming them. Not a word escaped their lips again regarding the children.
Radha, hugging Vasu and Karna closer, whispered softly: "See, my children? Love and justice protect you even before you take your first steps."
Adhiratha nodded beside her. "The world will try to test them. But under the king's guidance… and our care, they shall endure."
The twins, unaware of the intricacies of power and politics, cooed softly, their tiny bodies still shimmering with the divine aura left by Ganga and now stabilized by Dhritarashtra's judgment. Yet, Vasu's mind already plotted, observed, and learned — the first seeds of his strategic intellect sown even as an infant.
As the days passed in the royal palace, the twins began to settle under the loving care of Radha and Adhiratha. Their divine auras shimmered subtly, unnoticed by ordinary eyes, but the court and palace felt their presence as if a quiet gravity had descended.
One day, Dhritarashtra called Gandhari aside, his tone calm but filled with the weight of foresight.
"Gandhari," he said gently, "you need not cover your eyes forever. Let them see, for I cannot perceive the world as I wish without your sight. From now on, become my eyes in the palace, and in this kingdom. The world needs your vigilance."
Gandhari, who had blindfolded herself all these years to share the suffering of her husband, paused. She glanced at Dhritarashtra, her heart swelling with a quiet gratitude.
"Do you truly wish it, my lord?" she asked softly.
"I do," Dhritarashtra replied. "And there is another reason to be thankful… for the child." His gaze drifted toward Vasu, who, even as an infant, seemed to understand far more than his years allowed.
Gandhari followed his gaze. Her eyes softened. She had never expected that this child — this mysterious infant — would touch their hearts so profoundly.
"He…" she whispered, "he carries a light unlike any I have seen. Both he and Karna… they are gifts."
Dhritarashtra nodded. "Yes. Their presence is not by accident. We owe them our gratitude."
And so, with Gandhari's eyes uncovered, the palace gained a vigilant guardian in both sight and spirit. She watched over the children as if they were her own, and Vasu, though aware of her divine devotion, felt her warmth and protection like that of a mother.
Over the next year or two, the twins grew under Radha's overflowing motherly love and Gandhari's careful attention. Every thread of clothing, every morsel of food, every tender word was infused with care and devotion. Gandhari often smoothed Vasu's tiny garments, washed his hands, and watched him sleep, marveling at the quiet intensity of his silver eyes.
Vasu's days were spent quietly observing, learning, and refining.
So much is within me already… yet, the mortal world cannot see it. Strength is useless without understanding. Power is meaningless without control. I must grow, master every particle of my being, every ray of energy, every instinct.
Even as he nursed and played, the Silver Superman Gene within him gradually awakened. His body, infused with divine essence, adapted to every breath of sunlight, every taste of water, and every beat of his tiny heart.
This body… not mortal, not divine, yet beyond both. I can feel it responding, evolving. Soon… very soon, I will surpass all expectations.
Radha's maternal love overflowed as she carried him, fed him, and cradled him through the nights. Gandhari's watchful eyes ensured he was never in danger. Together, they forged an environment where the twins could thrive — where Vasu could nurture not just strength, but wisdom, strategy, and compassion.
Even Karna, radiant in his golden hue, mirrored this care, learning from his twin's calm observation and subtle cunning.
By the end of these formative years, Vasu had mastered his early powers, his Silver Superman Gene integrating with his Mahā-Kāl System. He could sense energy flows, understand languages intuitively, and his body had achieved a semi-divine, Vajra-like resilience. Yet outwardly, he still appeared as a child, his concealment intact, his presence hidden from all but the true Trimurti.
Gandhari often whispered to him as she combed his hair or adjusted his robes:
"You are more than a child, Vasu. But more than that, you are hope… hope for those who have been wronged. Never forget that."
Vasu's small hands would reach out instinctively, grasping hers, his silver eyes reflecting the faint starlight from outside.
I will not forget. I will protect him… and I will ensure justice prevails, no matter the cost.
And with that silent vow, a new chapter in their lives was quietly completed, laying the foundation for the trials, friendships, and battles that awaited them in Hastinapur.
The months passed like whispers of fate. The palace of Hastinapur was alive with divine anticipation — an energy so dense that even the silent corridors seemed to pulse with it. Queen Gandhari's pregnancy had lasted far longer than any woman's should, and yet no child had come forth. Her servants whispered in worry; even the palace physicians bowed their heads, unable to explain this unnatural stillness within her womb.
But Gandhari never complained.
She had faith — in her boon from Lord Shiva, in her husband's strength, and in the divine child who would fulfill her destiny.
One late evening, under the copper hue of dusk, a scream of pain and anguish echoed from the queen's chamber. Dritharashtra, led by his attendants, rushed to her side — guided by Gandhari's cries. But when the midwives stepped back, fear swept the entire court. For instead of a newborn, Gandhari had given birth to a lump of cold, lifeless flesh, unmoving and silent as stone.
The court fell into despair.
"Is this… the boon of Mahadeva?" whispered one of the courtiers in disbelief.
Tears streamed down Gandhari's face. She clutched the lifeless lump close to her chest. "Have I failed as a mother before I could even begin?" she sobbed.
Just as hopelessness began to fill the room, a voice like thunder yet gentle as rain echoed from the palace gates.
"Do not weep, O Queen of Kuru. No boon of Mahadeva goes unfulfilled."
A sage entered — cloaked in saffron robes, his eyes burning with divine light. The entire court bowed as if their souls recognized him before their minds could. The air thickened with power, and Gandhari's trembling eased at his presence.
"Who are you, O revered one?" Gandhari whispered.
"One who walks in the shadow of Shiva's will," he replied, his tone as calm as the Ganga. "You have been blessed, not cursed. Your children yet breathe in the rhythm of divine patience."
With that, he lifted his staff and struck the ground once. In a blinding shimmer of golden light, one hundred clay jars appeared, lined neatly as if born of the very earth. The sage's eyes glowed white as he sliced the lump of flesh carefully, his hands guided by divine wisdom, dividing it into one hundred and one small pieces.
The court gasped — a mistake, it seemed.
But the sage only smiled faintly. "No error lies in the hands guided by Mahadeva. You asked for a hundred sons, but your heart also wished — secretly, unknowingly — for a daughter to stand among them. Mahadeva has merely honored that truth."
From his satchel, he drew out a hundred and one jars, each etched with ancient mantras. The final jar — unlike the rest — shimmered with a silver glow, as if it held the essence of dawn itself.
"Place each piece of life in these jars," the sage commanded. "Pour them in ghee and herbs from Kailasa's foothills. Tend to them daily with love and music. In time, the jars shall break on their own — and your children shall be born."
As the last fragment of flesh was placed, the sage's gaze shifted — toward a distant corner of the hall. There, standing quietly, was Vasu, now ten years of age, his silver eyes reflecting both reverence and power hidden beneath calm obedience.
The sage stared at him for a long moment. Then, in a low voice that only Vasu could hear, he said:
"So… the Guardian walks among them already. The protector of Kuru's destiny. One born not of boon, but of balance."
Vasu felt a strange tremor within his chest — as if the sunlight in his blood resonated with the sage's words.
"Who are you speaking to, revered one?" Gandhari asked.
"To the boy who shall stand when kingdoms fall," he murmured. "To the one who will guide your sons when dharma and adharma blur."
And with that, the sage vanished in a burst of light.