The Song Of Bharta |

The night sky burned crimson. A blood-red moon hung above the holy river Ganga, casting its eerie glow upon a quiet village. Children cried, elders whispered, and priests trembled, for such an omen had not been seen since the age of the epics.

On this night, a child was born.

The midwife gasped as thunder rolled across the horizon without rain. The boy's cries echoed like the strike of a conch shell, sending shivers through the villagers. His eyes, barely open, reflected the same red glow of the moon. The people murmured words they feared to speak aloud - a prophecy fulfilled.

Far away, in the Vindhya mountains, an ancient gate groaned open. Shadows crawled out, clawed hands and fanged smiles slipping into the world once more. The Rakshasa tribes had felt it: the spark of a reincarnated soul, the one destined to tip the balance of dharma.

By dawn, the riverside was silent, yet the omen remained etched in the hearts of those who witnessed it. Somewhere beyond the horizon, unseen eyes watched the newborn child, their whispers carried on the night wind:

"He carries fragments of Rama's courage... and Krishna's cunning. But will he rise as protector of dharma... or herald of its end?"

Thus began the song of Bharata.