Amidst the gathering, a wise voice spoke of the deepest pain in the three worlds: to serve the blazing fortune of a rival while oneself lacking prosperity. For such a person, the wise say, death is preferable, for gradually, through association with the lowly, one suffers humiliation. Harsh words, once spoken, cannot be recalled; wounded by them, a person grieves day and night, for they strike at the vital points of another. Thus, the wise never let harsh speech loose upon others. Wounds cut by weapons or burns from fire may heal, but the wound inflicted by words does not heal in the bodies of living beings. Even wounds pierced by arrows or cut by an axe may heal, but a terrible, harsh word leaves a wound that does not close. Then, Kavi, the foremost among the Bhṛgus, approached Vṛṣaparvan, who was seated, his heart filled with anger but his words thoughtful. He said, “O King, unrighteousness does not bear fruit immediately, like a cow; rather, as it is turned over slowly, it cuts at the roots of the doer. If not in one’s sons or grandsons, then surely in oneself, the fruit of sin is seen—just as food eaten by a teacher surely bears fruit in the belly. O King, why did you have the Brahmin Kacha, son of Angiras, killed? He was devoted to study, self-controlled, patient, sinless, learned in dharma, eager to serve, and attached to my household. O lord, Devayānī was cruelly insulted by Śarmiṣṭhā with many harsh words, and, in anger, the high-minded girl was thrown into a well. She is not fit to dwell with her; how can I, deprived of her, remain here? Therefore, O King, I renounce your realm. Because of the undeserved killing of Kacha, and the harm done to my daughter, know this, Vṛṣaparvan: I will abandon you and your kin. I cannot remain in your realm, nor can I stay with you. Do not grieve, Vṛṣaparvan, nor be angry, lord of men. I cannot remain in your realm without her. Her fate is my fate; what is dear to her is dear to me. Whether I kill a Brahmin or cry out in grief, if Śarmiṣṭhā has wronged Devayānī, by that act I go to a bad end. Alas, you think me, O Daitya, a speaker of falsehoods, since you do not restrain or correct this fault of yours, but disregard it.” Vṛṣaparvan replied humbly, “O Bhārgava, I know in you neither unrighteousness nor falsehood. In you are both righteousness and truth; may you be gracious to us. If you, O Bhārgava, leave us and go from here, I will enter the ocean first, together with my kin. Or I will enter the underworld or fire; there is no other refuge. If you, lord of planets, go to the gods, abandoning me, then, having renounced everything, I will enter the blazing fire. Enter the ocean, or flee to the directions, O Asuras! I am not able to bear any harm to my daughter, for she is dear to me. Let Devayānī be appeased, for my life depends on her. I am your protector of welfare, as Bṛhaspati is for Indra. Whatever wealth of the lords of the Asuras exists on earth—be it elephants, cows, or horses—O Bhārgava, you and I are its masters. Whatever riches belong to the mighty Daitya kings, O great Asura, I am the lord of it, if only Devayānī may be appeased.” Thus addressed, Vrishaparvan replied, “So be it,” to the great sage. Then, approaching Devayānī, Bhārgava spoke to her of this matter. Devayānī replied, “If you are truly the lord, O Bhārgava, of the king’s wealth, I do not know of it; let the king himself declare it.” Hearing Shukra’s words, Vrishaparvan, together with his kin, fell at Devayānī’s feet, saying, “Let Devayānī be appeased. You are always to be praised and honored by me, and you are like a father, O auspicious one. Whatever desire you cherish, O Devayānī of pure smile, even if it is difficult to obtain, I shall grant it to you.” Devayānī said, “I desire Śarmiṣṭhā as a maid, together with a thousand maidens; let her follow me wherever my father may give me.” Vrishaparvan commanded, “Rise, nurse, go quickly and bring Śarmiṣṭhā; let Devayānī do whatever she desires. One should abandon one for the sake of the family, a family for the sake of the village; a village for the sake of the country, and the earth for the sake of oneself.” The nurse went to Śarmiṣṭhā and said, “Rise, gentle Śarmiṣṭhā, bring happiness to your kin. The Brahmin, urged by Devayānī, is abandoning his disciples; whatever desire she has this evening, O blameless one, you must fulfill today.” Śarmiṣṭhā replied, “Whatever she desires, I shall do that today; if Shukra summons me for Devayānī’s sake, let not Shukra nor Devayānī be blamed on my account.” Then, chosen with a thousand maidens, Śarmiṣṭhā swiftly departed from the splendid palace in a palanquin, by her father’s command. She said, “With a thousand maidservants, I shall be your attendant; I will follow you wherever your father gives you. I am the daughter of one who praises, who asks, who receives; how can the daughter of one who is praised become a maidservant? Whoever brings happiness to afflicted kin in any way, for that reason I shall follow you wherever your father gives you.” When the servitude was promised by the daughter of Vrishaparvan, Devayānī spoke to her father, “I shall enter the city, father; I am satisfied, O best of Brahmins. Your knowledge is unfailing, and your power of learning is great.” Thus addressed by his daughter, that illustrious best of twice-born men entered the city, delighted and honored with every kind of gift. Then, after a long time, Devayānī, that splendid maiden, went out to that very forest to play.