The kingdom of Mathura glimmered under the moonlight, but the palace walls held no peace. The air itself seemed heavy, as though time was waiting to reveal a destiny that would shake heaven and earth alike.
King Kansa, proud ruler of the Yadavas, sat upon his jeweled throne. His laughter boomed through the court as he watched his beloved sister, Devaki, being wed to the noble prince Vasudeva. The city celebrated, drums thundered, and flowers showered the newlyweds as they rode their golden chariot.
Yet, amidst the joy, an unseen presence stirred. Clouds gathered suddenly, and the music faltered. A divine voice echoed from the heavens, each word a blade piercing Kansa's heart:
"O foolish Kansa! Rejoice not. The very sister you adore shall give birth to your destroyer. Her eighth son shall be the end of your life and your tyranny."
The voice vanished, but its weight remained. The court fell silent. The laughter in Kansa's throat turned to ice. His hands trembled upon his sword as he glared at Devaki, her innocent face glowing with happiness.
Fear—sharp, consuming, merciless—took root in his heart. With a sudden madness, he leapt from his throne, seizing his sister's hair, dragging her from the chariot. The festive cries turned into horrified gasps.
"Traitorous sister!" he roared, his eyes burning red. "You carry death in your womb. Shall I allow my doom to walk freely? No! I shall kill you this instant!"
Devaki cried out in terror, and Vasudeva rushed forward, falling to his knees before the tyrant king.
"Stop, mighty Kansa!" Vasudeva pleaded, his voice steady despite the storm. "She is your sister—would you stain your hands with her blood on the day of her wedding? If death is destined for you, no sword, no prison can prevent it. Spare her, and I give you my word: each child born of Devaki shall be delivered into your hands."
The words struck Kansa like chains binding his rage. His sword froze midair. He stared into Vasudeva's unflinching eyes, then slowly withdrew the blade.
The city sighed in relief, but fear lingered. The prophecy had been spoken. Destiny had begun its march.
And in the heavens, unseen by mortal eyes, the gods whispered:
"The time has come. The protector of dharma shall descend. The world awaits Krishna."