Sūta began his narration, describing how the king of the Gandharvas spent his remaining days in the company of his loved ones, dwelling together in the peaceful solitude of the forest. The king found great joy, surrounded by his sons, wives, and attendants, his reign flourishing and splendid—so much so that it resembled the opulent abode of Kubera, the lord of wealth. In due time, the king of the Gandharvas found himself on the enchanting banks of the sacred Gaṅgā river. He was a devoted worshiper of Śiva, and through the grace of Śiva, as well as his son’s service to Viṣṇu, he prospered. The Gandharva Upabarhaṇa, honoring his parents faithfully, lived wisely. Yet, as fate would have it, due to a curse from Brahmā, Upabarhaṇa eventually surrendered his life. After his passing, Mālāvatī, his wife, entered the fire-pit at Puṣkara, on the land of Bhārata, following the ancient custom. And then, in the wife of Sṛñjaya, who hailed from the noble lineage of Manu, the Gandharva Upabarhaṇa was reborn—he became her husband. At this point, the sage Śaunaka inquired, “By what means was he born? Please tell us, Sūta.” Sūta continued: Kalāvatī, Upabarhaṇa’s wife, was childless, yet she remained steadfastly devoted to her husband. Her barrenness was due to a fault of her husband, and, following his command, she sought a remedy. She meditated deeply upon Śrī Kṛṣṇa, whose radiance shone like the blazing Brahman, brilliant as the midday sun at the height of summer. At the conclusion of her meditation, the sage—who was wholly devoted to Kṛṣṇa and renowned for his wisdom—beheld a woman before him. She possessed a complexion as lovely as champaka flowers, her eyes reminiscent of autumn lotuses. Her broad hips, full thighs, and breasts gave her a striking presence. She was enchanted, taking on the form of a sage, yet tormented by the arrows of desire. Adorned with a dot of vermilion and shining with beautiful, bright kohl, she appeared before him. The sage, surprised to see her in such a lonely place, asked, “Who are you, O passionate one?” Hearing the sage’s words, Kalāvatī trembled and replied, “I have come seeking a son, at your feet, as my husband commanded. Grant me your seed; a woman who has come seeking this should not be disregarded.” The sage, hearing these words from a woman of low caste, grew angry. Kashyapa declared, “She abandons him, and he is deluded; this is certainly the teaching of the Veda. You shall never again be worthy of enjoying the pleasures of Drumila. A Brahmin who, lacking wisdom, takes a Shudra wife—at ancestral offerings, at sacrifices, by touching stone, or in worship of the gods—he himself goes to Kumbhipaka hell, after causing others to fall there. That offering becomes urine, the rice-ball instantly becomes excrement. The chosen deity accepts that, but not the food offering nor that water. He is cooked in the Kumbhipaka hell for as long as Indra's reign lasts. Whoever eats food left by his wife is the lowest among Brahmins, like a Shudra. If a Shudra, weak in knowledge, takes a Brahmin woman, he is confined for eighteen Indra-periods in the realm of Kālāsūtra. Then, after that, the Brahmin woman is born in the lineage of Chandalas.” Having spoken thus, the foremost sage, Śaunaka, fell silent. Meanwhile, Menaka proceeded along that path, and the outcaste woman, purified by her period, drank there with delight for a moment.