In days of old, a Brahmin and a merchant found themselves locked in a dispute over the true nature of righteousness and wealth. The Brahmin, flush with pride, declared, “I have won the wealth, O merchant; why do you shamelessly speak? By me alone, righteousness has been conquered, as I have acted as I wished.” Unshaken, the merchant smiled at these words and replied with gentle wisdom, “Just as husks are found among grains, and mites among birds, so too, my friend, do I regard those who are without righteousness. Of the four aims of human life, righteousness is said to be the first; only afterwards come wealth and desire. How can you say, O best of twice-born, that I have conquered, when righteousness abides with me?” The Brahmin, eager to settle the matter, said, “Let the wager be settled by our hands.” The merchant agreed, and together they went once more among the worldly people to declare their contest. The Brahmin proclaimed his victory, and, in a cruel act, cut off his own hands, then challenged the merchant, “How do you regard righteousness now?” The merchant, steadfast even in pain, answered, “I consider righteousness to be supreme, even when life itself is at the throat. For mother, father, friend, and kin—righteousness alone is the true companion of embodied beings.” Thus, as they disputed, the Brahmin gained wealth and the merchant was left destitute, having lost both his arms and his fortune. Wandering together, they came at last to the sacred Ganges, to the presence of Hari, the Lord of Yoga. There, by chance, they spoke again. The merchant praised only righteousness before the holy river and the Lord, while the Brahmin, growing angry, rebuked him, “Your wealth is gone, your hands are severed, and you remain only with your virtues. If you say otherwise, I will cut off your head with my sword.” The merchant laughed, replying plainly to Gautama, “I consider righteousness to be supreme; do as you wish. The Brahmins, teachers, gods, Vedas, righteousness, and Janardana—all these I revere. But he who reviles them is sinful; such a wrongdoer should not be touched. The wicked, the evil-minded, the corrupter of righteousness—he is to be shunned.” Enraged, the Brahmin challenged, “If you praise righteousness, let the wager between us be for our very lives, O sage.” The merchant calmly agreed, and once again they made their case before the people, who responded as before. Before the Lord of Yoga, on the southern bank of the Ganges, Gautama struck down the merchant, gouging out his eye, and spoke, “O merchant, by your constant praise of righteousness you have reached this state: your wealth is gone, your eye is lost, your tender hands are severed. You have been questioned, friend; I am leaving. Do not speak thus in another tale.” When the Brahmin departed, the merchant, overwhelmed by sorrow, pondered, “Alas, what misery has befallen me, O Hari, who am devoted solely to righteousness?” Armless, blind, and poor, he was overcome with grief, yet his mind clung only to thoughts of righteousness. Thus, motionless and dispirited, he remained upon the earth, fallen into an ocean of sorrow. As night fell and the moon rose on the eleventh day of the bright fortnight, Vibhīṣaṇa, lord of Laṅkā, arrived there, having worshipped the Lord of Yoga and bathed in the sacred Gautamī Gaṅgā. He came with his son, Vaibhīṣaṇi—another Vibhīṣaṇa in form—and was surrounded by Rākṣasas. Vaibhīṣaṇi, seeing the merchant and hearing his words, reported everything to his father. The great-souled Vibhīṣaṇa, pleased, spoke to his virtuous son, “The illustrious Rāma is my teacher, and Hanumān, renowned and honored by us both, once brought the great mountain, the refuge of all herbs, when the need arose. He brought the Viśalyakaraṇī and the Mṛtasaṃjīvanī for Rāma, whose actions are tireless. Having accomplished his task, Hanumān returned the mountain to its place. Bring that herb and place it in the merchant’s heart, remembering Hari; then this noble-minded one will obtain all that he desires.” As Vaibhīṣaṇi went swiftly, the Viśalyakaraṇī herb again fell on the bank of the Gautamī, near Hari, the Lord of Yoga. “Show that herb quickly to my father, do not delay,” said Vibhīṣaṇa. “Apart from relieving another’s suffering, there is no greater good in the three worlds.” Vibhīṣaṇa agreed, showing the herb to his son, who cut a branch from the miraculous tree out of affection for the merchant, devoted as he was to the welfare of others. Taking the branch, he placed it in the merchant’s heart as instructed. By merely touching it, the merchant would regain his own form. Vaibhīṣaṇi, noble-minded, did exactly as his father directed. Instantly, the merchant’s sight was restored and his body made whole again, for the potency of gems, mantras, and herbs is not easily understood by anyone. Grateful, the merchant took the piece of wood, remembered only righteousness, bathed in the sacred Gautamī Gaṅgā, and worshipped Hari, the Lord of Yoga. Having bowed in reverence, he departed once more, carrying the sacred wood, and wandered to the great city known as Nṛpapura. There, a mighty king named Mahārāja ruled, who had no son but only a daughter who was blind.