I am Time.
And today, I shall recite a great epic.
This is not merely the story of a war born from the lineage of the Bharatas. This is the story of a far greater conflict—the eternal war between truth and falsehood, between light and darkness. It is a tale that has shaped the past and continues to shape the future.
No one other than me can recite this epic.
For I have watched it unfold.
I have seen its characters walk, fall, rise, and perish. I have witnessed every incident with my own unblinking eyes. While kingdoms crumbled and generations faded into dust, I remained—unchanged, eternal.
It is necessary that every soul of the present listens to this epic. Only then can they prepare themselves for what is yet to come.
"All hail the King!"
The voice echoed through the grand hall.
An old man with a long, flowing beard sat below the elevated throne, his posture humble yet dignified. His eyes held the calm of someone who had seen countless kings rise and fall.
He spoke again, his voice steady and clear.
"Today, the borders of Hastinapur stretch from the Himalayas to the vast Indian Ocean. Aryavarta is no longer merely Aryavarta—it is now known as Bharatavarsha. Your Majesty, the time has come to declare the prince."
Upon the throne sat King Bharata.
A golden crown adorned with diamonds rested upon his head, its weight unnoticed by the man who bore the weight of an empire. Heavy golden ornaments hung around his neck, shimmering under the torchlight. His thick moustache framed a stern face, softened slightly by a short beard. His eyes were deep, carrying both authority and restraint.
King Bharata spoke in a low, commanding voice.
"The declaration shall be made during the Chandravarshi full moon ceremony."
Without another word, he rose and left the hall.
As he walked through the palace corridors, he encountered his mother, Shakuntala.
Her presence was calm, her smile gentle, unchanged by time or power.
"I have heard that you are leaving," she said softly.
"Yes, Mother," Bharata replied. "I have returned from war, and I wish to visit my maternal grandfather."
After bowing respectfully, the king departed.
His grandfather lived far from the noise of the palace.
The old sage sat beneath a tree, silent and unmoving—like a part of nature itself.
"Come, Shakuntala's son," the sage said, without opening his eyes.
Bharata bowed deeply. "Greetings, Grandfather."
"May you live long," the sage replied. "How is Shakuntala?"
"She is well."
The sage paused, then spoke again.
"Now ask what you have truly come to ask."
"I am the father of nine sons," Bharata said. "Whom should I make the prince of this kingdom?"
"This question shows that the king who has conquered the earth has not yet conquered himself," the sage replied calmly. "Go. Conquer yourself. The answer will reveal itself."
He placed his hand upon Bharata's head.
"My blessings are with you, my son."
The night of the Chandravarshi full moon ceremony arrived.
The moon hung complete in the sky, bathing Hastinapur in pale silver light.
"Attention! Attention!"
A soldier's voice rang through the palace halls.
"The great King of Hastinapur, Emperor of Emperors—King Bharata—is arriving!"
The massive doors of the royal hall opened.
King Bharata entered.
After paying his respects to his mother, he ascended the throne and seated himself upon it. The hall fell silent.
He summoned the Prime Minister and handed him a sealed scroll.
"Read this aloud," the king commanded.
The minister bowed, carefully unrolled the scroll, and began to read.