Once Amba, chosen for Salva, approached him with noble intent, having left behind Devavrata—Bhishma—and his younger brother, the mighty Bharata. She spoke to Salva, “Accept me, O king, for I come to you lawfully, may good be yours.” But Salva, hearing her words, laughed and replied, “You were conquered by Bhishma, who defeated me among all the kings. O beautiful one, having been won by another and released, I cannot accept you—return to him.” Rejected, Amba returned to the unrivaled kingdom of the Kurus and addressed Bhishma: “You seized me by force. Consider the duty of a kshatriya: by law, you are my husband. Whoever wins a maiden at her svayamvara by valor must marry her. Thus, having defeated all the kings, you alone are my husband. Marry me, Bhishma, for you have conquered me in the assembly.” But Bhishma, steadfast in his vow, replied again and again: “I am vowed to celibacy.” Amba pleaded, “Do as you have promised.” Thus, for six years, the lotus-eyed woman followed Bhishma, seeking fulfillment of her fate. Bhishma told her, “I have become one who maintains celibacy, O gentle lady, and have turned away from marriage. Go to Salva, whom you had previously chosen in your heart. Why did you declare yourself for another before, being attached elsewhere? One should not house a bride who is devoted to another. I will not marry you, nor will I give you to my younger brother, Vichitravirya. Go wherever you wish, O auspicious one.” Amba again approached Salva, saying, “O king, accept me.” But Salva rejected her, repeating, “I do not accept one won by another.” Thus, Amba was rejected by both Bhishma and Salva, and she went again and again between them, seeking refuge. For six years, Amba wandered in distress, shedding tears upon the ground, grieving deeply. She, noble-minded, possessed full, high breasts, broad hips, wide eyes, and a radiant face like the full moon. Her hair trembled like the kadamba tree in the rain. Then, for twelve years, she undertook severe austerities by the river near the beautiful Himalayas, restraining her actions, steadfast in vows, standing on her big toe. Her penance was so intense that even the gods trembled. Seeing her austerity, which disturbed the heavens, Kumara Anantasena, the blessed lord and granter of boons, resolved to grant her favor. He honored the princess and gave her a beautiful garland, saying, “This divine lotus pond has appeared as it should. Amba, this garland will be on earth to relieve your sorrow. Whoever wears this garland, which I have given, will be the cause of Bhishma’s death.” Amba lamented, “Salva, foolish, does not accept me because of my prior attachment to another. I am bereft of righteousness and desire, bearing sorrow. Without a husband, I cry out to all the Kshatriyas everywhere. This garland of yours, O Kshatriyas, will slay Bhishma. I will be the wife of the one who kills Bhishma.” Five more years passed as she wandered, seeking a champion. Yet, no Kshatriya gave her refuge, fearing Bhishma. Amba went to the renowned Somaka, King Drupada of the Panchalas. She came to the assembly doorway, guarded by the Panchalas, where stood the steadfast, great-armed, ever-truthful devotee of righteousness. Amba cried out, “The king of the Panchalas grasped me with strong arms, as Bhishma struck me down, as if I were sinking in a deep pool. Yajnasena, come here, take my hand and lift me up; by this, all my duties and pleasures alone are preserved. Both worlds, and my fame, have been seized; thus, I find no kshatriya protector anywhere. Is the world now without kshatriyas, where the helpless are abandoned? Yet, the assembled kings, the foremost among rulers, I addressed: Let all the kings, the best among rulers, hear what I say—the elders of the Ikshvakus and the foremost of the Panchalas. By your favor in this marriage, may righteousness not be defeated; be gracious, Yajnasena, let my course be with you, O Somaka.” Drupada replied, “I know you, princess, and I especially instruct you: to the best of my ability and according to righteousness, I maintain my strength. If you fear any other king, O princess, I have the power to remove the cause of that fear. Yet, I am not the master over Shantanu’s son, the wielder of mighty weapons; for among kshatriyas, strength follows righteousness. So go, O blessed one, for Bhishma will not burn me by force; I did not accept you—all of them know, but I do not know why.” Thus addressed, Amba placed the garland and fled from the king’s doorway. Renowned in all worlds for her austerity and firm vows, Drupada followed her, repeatedly offering words of consolation: “Take the garland, O blessed one, do not incite enmity with us.” Thus Amba, rejected by all, wandered the earth, her heart burdened with sorrow and her destiny entwined with the fate of Bhishma.