Bhadra, bereft of a son and overwhelmed by grief, lamented deeply, her heart heavy with sorrow. O ruler of people, listen to her tale. Though she was a woman of the highest virtue, she felt incomplete without her husband. For a wife, life without her spouse is no true life—it is only suffering. She cried out to her departed husband, “O foremost of Kshatriyas, it is better for me to die than to live without you. I wish to follow your path; be gracious, and take me with you. Even for a moment, I cannot bear to live without you. Grant me your favor, O king, and swiftly take me from this world. I will follow behind you, whether the path is smooth or rough. O tiger among men, I will not turn back as you go. Like a shadow, I will always follow you, obedient and ever devoted to your pleasure and welfare. From this day forward, O King, sorrows that dry up the heart will overwhelm me, lotus-eyed one, in your absence. Surely, because of my misfortune, my companions have been separated from me, and now this separation from you has come upon me. A woman who, separated from her husband, lives even for a moment, O King, lives in misery—she is wretched, as if dwelling in hell. Unions and separations with husbands were made by me in previous lives; this suffering now is the result of sinful deeds accumulated in former births. This sorrow has come upon me, O King, from separation from you. From today, I shall lie on a bed of kusa grass, afflicted by unhappiness, devoted only to the thought of seeing you. Show yourself, tiger among men, command me, though I am wretched and filled with sorrow, O lord of men, as I lament in misery and distress.” As she lamented in many ways, again and again, embracing the lifeless body of her husband, her voice choked with emotion, she spoke these words. Then, a divine voice responded: “Rise, O gentle one, go now—I grant you a boon here. I shall give you children, O one with a lovely smile, through you. O beautiful one, on your own bed, on the fourteenth or the eighth day, after your ritual bath, you may unite with me.” Thus instructed, the devoted lady did exactly as she was told, desiring a son and following those words precisely. Through her union with that corpse, she bore three sons of the Shalva line and four sons of the Madra line, O best of the Bharatas. In the same way, O best of the Bharatas, you too are able to beget sons in me by the power of asceticism and yoga. Having heard this, the king spoke again to the lady, uttering words grounded in righteousness and knowledge of duty. “Just so, O Kunti, in ancient times Vyushitashva did as you have said, O auspicious one; he was indeed like a god. Now I shall tell you the true principle of righteousness—listen to me. It was seen by ancient sages, knowers of dharma, great souls. In ancient times, O lovely-smiling one, women were unconfined, free to go where they wished, independent. For those women, O beautiful one, taking husbands after reaching youth was not unrighteous; that was the dharma in ancient times. Even now, creatures born in animal forms, free from desire and anger, follow that ancient dharma. This dharma, established by authority, is honored by the great sages; even today, O slender-waisted one, it is revered among the northern Kurus. This eternal law brings favor to women. Fire is never sated with wood, nor the vast ocean with rivers; Death is never satisfied with all beings, nor are women with men. In this way, the desire of women is directed toward every man; for women, O smiling one, there is no such thing as forbidden union. Whether it is a son, a grandson, or even a brother—when a woman sees a man in private, her womb is stirred. This is natural for women, O auspicious one, not caused by any external reason; but in this world, O smiling one, this custom did not last long. Hear from me in detail by whom and how this custom was established. There was a great sage named Uddālaka, as we have heard. His son was the sage known as Śvetaketu; it was he, Śvetaketu, who established this righteous custom. Listen to me, lotus-eyed one, for what reason, out of anger, he did this. Śvetaketu’s father, O goddess, undertook severe austerities; in the summer, he practiced the five-fire vow, and in the rainy season, he remained under the open sky. In winter, he stood in water together with his wife, that great ascetic Uddālaka, engaged in strict penance with discipline and concentration. His son Śvetaketu served him. Then, a certain brahmin, aged and gray-haired, arrived. Seeing him, the sage was pleased and honored him according to the scriptures—with words of welcome, water for washing feet, and gentle speech, O Bhārata. He also honored him with wild greens, roots, fruits, and other forest fare; the guest, weary from hunger, thirst, and hardship, was thus received by the great sage. After resting, the brahmin approached the sage and asked: ‘O great sage Uddālaka, tell me the truth, do not speak falsely. This boy, son of a sage, is especially handsome; I think he is your son—tell me, have you accomplished your purpose?’ Uddālaka replied, ‘My wife, O wise one, is the daughter of Kuśika; she is devoted to me alone, always faithful to me.