The sage Śaunaka, filled with curiosity, inquired about the origins of certain professions and the fate that befell those who practiced them. “How is it,” he asked, “that the garland-maker, the conch-worker, the artisan, the potter, the thread-maker, the painter, and the goldsmith—all three—fell among the lowest of the Śūdras? What was the cause of Brahmā’s curse upon them?” In response, the wise Sūta began to recount an ancient tale. He told how Viśvakarmā, the divine architect, once beheld a radiant woman as she journeyed along the path to Puṣkara. The mere sight of her filled his heart with joy and longing. She was adorned with dazzling jewels, her limbs soft and delicate, her hips broad and graceful, captivating even the minds of great sages. As she walked, a gentle wind played with her garment, revealing her firm hips, while her enchanting smile and lovely face outshone even the autumn moon. A spot of vermilion and a mark of musk adorned her forehead, further enhancing her beauty. Viśvakarmā, well-versed in the arts of love, approached her and spoke with affection and yearning. “O beautiful one,” he pleaded, “my very life-breath is lost for you. Please, stay but a moment. I wander this earth searching only for you. I heard from Rambhā that you journey to the realm of Kāma. Ah, on the charming bank of the Sarasvatī, in a garden of blossoming flowers, I have delighted in your company as a youthful lover does with his beloved. Endowed with steadfast youth, you are long-lived, and by the boon of the conqueror of death, I too have overcome the maiden of death. Ratnamālā, the ornament of women, came from Varuṇa and Vāyu, and the Kāmaśāstra, which brings joy to women, came from Kāmadeva himself. I have placed a garland of jewels, a pair of garments, and all ornaments in the house, and now I have come in search of you.” Hearing these passionate words, Ghṛtācī, the celestial nymph, smiled gently. She replied with words suited to the moment, “O love-stricken one, let me speak what is fitting. I am on my way to the abode of Kāmadeva, adorned for that very purpose. Today, I am the wife of Kāma, and now also the wife of your teacher. The guru, the giver of knowledge and mantra, is a hundred thousand times greater than a father, and the scriptures declare that the guru’s wife is to be honored a hundred times more than the guru himself. The fault incurred by a son who unites with his own mother is well established in the scriptures, and similarly, a woman addressed as ‘mother’ by a man must never be approached in that way. Whoever violates this, his very thread of life is cut. Union with one’s mother brings a sin four times greater, resulting in a fall into the Kumbhīpāka hell for as many ages as there are of Brahmā. The torments there are as round as a potter’s wheel, as sharp-edged as a sword, infested with worms like a spear, molten and as hot as fire—such is the extent of the sin for a man who unites with his teacher’s wife. Today, I go to the abode of Kāma, to that lover’s beloved.” Upon hearing Ghṛtācī’s words, Viśvakarmā’s heart burned with anger. Unable to contain his wrath, he pronounced a terrible curse upon her, sealing her fate with the weight of his words.