In ancient times, Savitṛ, the radiant Sun, had a daughter named Viṣṭi—a sister of formidable and fearsome appearance. When Savitṛ considered her marriage, he pondered deeply, searching for a suitable husband. Yet, when others learned of Viṣṭi’s terrifying form, they recoiled, asking, “What shall we do with such a wife?” As her father’s indecision lingered, Viṣṭi herself, troubled and sorrowful, approached him. She spoke with earnestness, reminding her father that fulfillment in this world comes to a father who gives his young daughter to a worthy man; if not, he is regarded as sinful. She explained that after the fourth year and before the tenth, a father should diligently arrange his daughter’s marriage, ensuring she is given to a prosperous, learned, youthful suitor—someone noble, renowned, and protected by guardians. Otherwise, the father is condemned to hell; even the learned know that giving a maiden in marriage is a path of righteousness. For those whose minds are clouded by desire, hell awaits. On one side lies the entire earth with its mountains and forests, and on the other, a well-adorned, unblemished maiden. Whoever sells a maiden, or even a horse, cow, or sesame seeds, finds no atonement in Raurava or other hells. Such transgressions in marriage must never be committed. The sin that accrues to a father in such cases is indescribable. As long as a maiden is innocent, playing with dust and unaware of modesty, she should be given in marriage; otherwise, her parents descend to a lower state. The son is the very form of the father; father and son are one. Who would not wish happiness for their own child? Whatever a father does for his daughter—whether giving, honoring, or caring—is imperishable. Gifts to maidens lead to endless merit. Who would not bring joy to sons and grandsons? Whoever brings happiness to maidens receives prosperity. Thus, Bhāskara, the Sun, spoke to Viṣṭi, who had argued her case. He said, “What can I do? No one accepts you, for you have a terrifying appearance. Lineage, beauty, age, wealth, learning, conduct, and good character—these qualities are present in us, but not in you, O auspicious one. What can I do? Where shall I give you? Your reproach is in vain.” Having spoken thus, Bhāskara addressed Viṣṭi again: “To whomever you are to be given, if you consent, I shall give you today, O Viṣṭi. Approve me for that.” Viṣṭi replied to her father, “A husband, sons, wealth, happiness, lifespan, beauty, and affection arise according to one’s previous actions. Whatever deeds were performed before, whether good or bad, their results are obtained accordingly, even in another existence. The father must carefully avoid his own fault, for the fruit will be as previous conduct was. Therefore, the act of giving is established according to the father’s lineage; the rest is determined by fate—whatever is destined will occur.” Hearing his daughter’s words, Tvaṣṭṛ gave the terrifying Viṣṭi, who instilled fear in the world, to his son Viśvarūpa. Viśvarūpa, too, was frightening in appearance. As husband and wife, their characters and forms were alike. Sometimes affection blossomed between them; at other times, discord arose. They had sons: one named Gaṇḍa, another Ati-gaṇḍa. Among them, the youngest was Dharṣaṇa—red-eyed, wrathful, wasteful, and ill-tempered, yet a recipient of merit. One virtuous, fortunate, peaceful, pure-minded, and clean son once journeyed to visit his maternal uncle in Yama’s abode. There, he saw many creatures—some suffering, some as if in heaven. After bowing, he questioned his maternal uncle about the eternal law: “Father, who are those happy ones, and who are those being cooked in hell?” Dharmarāja, the king of dharma, explained everything truthfully, revealing the entire course of actions without omission. He said, “Those who never transgress what is ordained never see hell, not even once. Those who disrespect scripture, proper conduct, or the learned, and commit forbidden acts, are destined for hell.” Having heard these words of dharma, Harṣaṇa, the virtuous son, spoke joyfully: “My father is Tvaṣṭṛ, fierce; my mother is Viṣṭi, formidable; my brothers are great-souled, by whom your mind has been pacified. They will become beautiful, faultless, and bestowers of auspiciousness. Tell me now that action, O best of gods, for I will perform it. Otherwise, I would not reach them.” Thus addressed, the king of dharma spoke: “Harṣaṇa, your mind is pure; you are indeed Harṣaṇa, without doubt. There may be many sons, but not all continue the family line; it is only one son by whom the family is sustained. He who is the foundation of the family, who acts lovingly toward his parents, who uplifts his ancestors, is a son; the other is merely a disease. Because you have spoken appropriately and pleasingly to me, O maternal grandfather, therefore, go to Gautamī after bathing, with a disciplined mind.” And so, the story unfolds—a tale of duty, destiny, and the eternal law, where the actions of parents and children ripple across generations, guided by dharma and the workings of fate.