O King, it is for this very reason that marriage is cherished and approved: whatever a husband attains in this life or the next, his wife shares fully in his fortune and fate. Even in the heavenly realms, nourishment and sustenance are required for the body, and the wise declare that the son, born of oneself, is truly one’s own self. Therefore, a husband should honor his wife as he would his own mother and as the mother of his son, for the essence of all beings is manifest in the son. The movements, appearance, actions, tendencies, and distinguishing marks seen in the father are also found in the son. In character, virtue, and conduct—whether auspicious or otherwise—the son born of the wife reflects the father, just as one’s own face appears in a mirror. A father’s heart rejoices upon seeing his son, just as a virtuous man rejoices on attaining heaven. But if a woman, though appearing devoted, accepts another’s seed, she destroys her husband’s lineage and is destined for terrible suffering. Sons born of another in one’s own wife, though called ‘my sons,’ are in truth adversaries; they oppose, disobey, and harbor no affection for the man they call father. The father, too, cannot help but feel estranged from such sons, but this is never so with his own true offspring. There is a natural bond: a son does not hate his real father, nor does the father hate his true son. Thus, the son is regarded as one’s very self. Even when beset by mental anguish or severe illness, a person finds solace in his own wife, just as one scorched by the sun delights in cool water. Men who are worn by exile, misery, and poverty, even when clad in rags, still find joy with their wives; and even when spoken to harshly by them, the wise do not reply with harsh words. For pleasure, affection, and righteousness all depend on her. The scriptures teach that she is half of oneself, the guardian of wealth and children. Indeed, the body, the journey through life, righteousness, heaven, the sages and ancestors, and even the very field of one’s birth—all are sustained by virtuous women, eternal and pure. What power have even the sages to create offspring without women? What power have even the gods to bring about their own birth? Among the learned, too, creation is established through women; some sages are born of sages, and even from women of humble birth. Consider the child, covered in the dust of the earth, running to embrace his father—what could be dearer than that? So you, having obtained a son, intelligent and full of longing, who gazes at you with sidelong glances—why do you turn away from him? Even ants carry their own eggs and do not abandon them; should you not cherish your own son as well? How could you not support your own son born of me? Even the cuckoo and the crow raise their own eggs. Why then, O wise one, would you not accept a son such as this? They say that sandalwood from Malaya is supremely cool, but the embrace of a child surpasses even sandalwood; no garment, no woman, no water possesses such a touch. The embrace of a son brings happiness beyond compare—there is no touch in this world dearer than that of one’s own child. Let this beloved son embrace you. Among bipeds, the Brahmin is the best; among quadrupeds, the cow; among the heavy, the murur; and among those who give joy through touch, the son is foremost. This heroic child, born after three full years, now awaits your call, O tiger among kings, ready to remove your sorrow. This scion of the Puru line will one day perform a hundred horse sacrifices and other royal rites like the Rājasūya, bestowing boundless gifts. When I gave birth, a cow spoke to me from the sky: “Alas! Out of affection, I carried my calf on my lap to another village.” People greet their sons by smelling their heads; even in the Vedas, the twice-born recite this collection of mantras. You know well the rites for a son’s birth: from limb to limb you arise, from the heart you are born. You are truly called ‘son,’ the self; may you live a hundred autumns. Fathers smell their sons’ heads with this mantra: “Your nourishment depends on me, and my lineage is everlasting; therefore, live, my son, and be happy for a hundred autumns.” It is said, “Having become one, he became two.” This child was born from your own limbs—a person from a person, supreme. See your son as your second self, as the moon reflected in a clear lake; see yourself in him, as you see the moon in water. Just as the fire for sacrifice is led from the household fire, so too was he led forth from you; you are one, now made two. While hunting, drawn by the chase, I was found, O king, as a maiden in my father’s hermitage. Among the Apsarases, Urvaśī, Pūrvacitti, Sahajanyā, Menakā, Viśvācī, and Ghṛtācī are the foremost. Of these, Menakā, born from Brahma, is named the best; she descended from heaven to earth and gave birth to Viśvāmitra’s child. The illustrious sage, devoted to righteousness and known as Brahmayoni, was Kuśa, the grandfather of Viśvāmitra. Kuśa’s son was the mighty and righteous Kuśanābha; his son was Gādhi, and from Gādhi was born Viśvāmitra, O King.