Amba, once a princess, found herself caught in a web of sorrow and rejection. Bhishma, the mighty son of Shantanu, questioned her, “Why did you declare yourself for another before, being attached elsewhere? One should not house a bride or maiden who is devoted to another.” With these words, he refused to marry her or give her to his younger brother, Vichitravirya, saying, “O auspicious one, go wherever you wish.” Determined to return to her beloved, Amba approached King Salva, pleading, “O king, accept me.” But Salva, too, rejected her, declaring, “I do not accept one won by another.” Thus, Amba found herself turned away by both men—Bhishma, who had vowed celibacy, and Salva, who would not take her. She went again and again between them, seeking acceptance, but neither relented. For six years, Amba wandered, her heart heavy with grief, shedding tears upon the earth. She was noble-minded and beautiful, with full, high breasts, broad hips, wide eyes, and a face shining like the full moon. Her hair trembled like the kadamba tree in the rain, restless with sorrow. Yet, her suffering did not end there. For twelve more years, she undertook severe austerities by the river near the Himalayas, restraining her actions and steadfast in her vows. She stood on her big toe, so determined that even the gods trembled at her resolve. Witnessing her devotion, one among the gods, amazed and delighted, resolved to grant her favor. Anantasena, the blessed Kumara, lord and granter of boons, honored Amba 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.” Still bereft of hope, 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.” For five more years, she wandered, seeking refuge among the Kshatriyas, but all feared Bhishma and none would accept her. Eventually, Amba went to the renowned Somaka among the Panchalas, arriving at the assembly doorway guarded by the Panchalas, where stood the steadfast, great-armed, ever-truthful devotee of righteousness. There, she cried out, “The king of the Panchalas grasped me with his 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, with their roots and fruits, have been seized; thus, I find no kshatriya protector anywhere. Is the world now without kshatriyas, where the helpless are abandoned?” She addressed the assembled kings, “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.” King 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. I am not the master over Shantanu's son, 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. Her renown for austerity and firm vows spread through all worlds, and Drupada followed her, offering words of consolation, “Take the garland, O blessed one, do not incite enmity with us.” He hoped she would relent, but her mind was firm—this was fate, not human doing. Amba declared, “Whoever takes up this garland and himself puts it on, he will slay Bhishma in battle, the destroyer of my righteousness.” King Drupada kept the garland for some time, but eventually grew indifferent and neglected it. Then, Shikhandini, as a child, took up the garland, disregarding her father. Drupada, fearing Bhishma’s wrath, quickly abandoned her. Frightened, Shikhandini sought refuge with a Brahmin ascetic performing austerities at the waters of the Ganga. The sage, pleased by her service, said, “At the ford of the Ganga, a division will soon take place. There, strive to propitiate Tumburu, the king of the Gandharvas, who is pleasing to behold; serve him well. I too, O beautiful one, will assist you in this matter; do as I say, for he will bring you benefit.” Then, at that place, a division occurred among the Gandharvas, and two Gandharvas of equal splendor remained. One of them, desiring to become a woman, looked at Shikhandini and said, “Take this male form; I choose your female form for myself.” Thus, Amba’s sorrow and steadfastness set into motion the destiny that would one day bring about Bhishma’s end.