After many long years had passed, Indra, the king of the gods, residing in his celestial abode, noticed that Urvashi had still not returned from the mortal world. Troubled by her absence, he summoned the Gandharvas and commanded them, “O Gandharvas, all of you must bring Urvashi back! She was taken from the king’s house at the appointed time. My abode does not shine without her presence; by any means, bring back that desirous one.” Obeying Indra’s command, the Gandharvas, led by Vishvavasu, set out. When deep darkness had fallen, they arrived at the place where Urvashi and her children dwelled. There, in the forest, they found the two divine sons enjoying themselves and suddenly seized them. As the Gandharvas carried the children away through the sky, the boys cried out in distress. Hearing the cries—so like those of her own children—Urvashi was seized by anger. She turned to her husband, the king, and spoke with deep sorrow: “This was the agreement I made. I am lost to you, having trusted you, for thieves have stolen my children from the forest. O king, you remain united with a woman while your sons are gone. I am destroyed by this ignoble, impotent one who boasts of valor; today my two beloved sons have been taken from the forest.” Seeing Urvashi lament so bitterly, the king was thrown into confusion. Naked, he raced after her, desperate and bewildered. In the palace, illuminated by flashes of lightning conjured by the Gandharvas, Urvashi saw the king, unclothed, as she prepared to depart. Having left the forest, the Gandharvas departed as well, and the king—exhausted and still naked—managed to seize his two sons and made his way back home. But when he realized Urvashi was truly gone, he was overcome with grief and lamented bitterly. The noble lady, having seen her husband naked, departed from him. The king himself wandered from place to place, crying out in his anguish, his mind disturbed, helpless, and overwhelmed by longing for Urvashi. He wandered across the whole earth in his search, and finally, at Kurukshetra, he saw her. Overjoyed, the best of kings called out to her, “Ah, wife, stay, stay! In this terrible place, do not abandon me—your beloved, devoted and innocent. If you leave me, my body will fall here, O goddess, and wolves and crows will devour it, for you, O fair one, have abandoned me.” As he lamented in this way, Urvashi addressed the king, who was miserable, exhausted, tormented by desire, and utterly helpless. She said, “You are a fool, O tiger among kings! Where has your wisdom gone? There is no true friendship with women, O king, just as there is none with wolves. One should not place trust in women, thieves, or kings. Go home, enjoy yourself in comfort, and do not let your mind fall into despair.” Though thus instructed, the king, utterly deluded by his attachment, could not understand. Bound by his affection for a wanton woman, he fell into the greatest sorrow. Thus ends the great tale of Urvashi, Sūta explained, as elaborated in the Vedas, now told in brief. At another time, Vyāsa beheld a divine maiden—an apsaras with dark, intoxicating eyes—and became lost in thought: “What should I do? This celestial nymph is not suitable for me.” As Vyāsa pondered thus, the apsaras, fearing that he might utter a curse, became anxious. Trembling, she took the form of a female parrot and swiftly departed. Kṛṣṇa, who was present, was astonished to see her transformed into a bird. Yet, merely by seeing her, desire arose in Vyāsa’s body. His mind was overwhelmed, and he marveled at the power of his senses. The sage, with great self-control, strove to restrain his mind, but he could not subdue it, for it had become unsteady. Though he tried again and again to master his thoughts, deluded by Ghṛtācī’s beauty and compelled by destiny, Vyāsa—though possessed of boundless energy—could not restrain himself. At that time, while Vyāsa was kindling a sacred fire by rubbing the fire-sticks together, his semen suddenly fell upon the ground in the forest. Unperturbed, he continued to churn the fire-sticks, not thinking of the emission. From that union, a son was born, possessing Vyāsa’s captivating form—a child named Śuka. This wondrous child emerged from the fire-sticks, shining brightly like the sacred fire at a sacrifice fed with offerings. Vyāsa, seeing his son, was filled with amazement and recalled the boon granted to him by Śiva. Śuka, though born from fire-sticks, was the very embodiment of brilliance, blazing like a second fire with his own radiance. Vyāsa regarded his joyful son, endowed with divine splendor, as if he were a second household fire. Coming down from the mountain, Vyāsa bathed the boy in the waters of the Gaṅgā. As he did so, a shower of flowers rained down from the sky, and ascetics gathered to witness the wonder. Vyāsa performed all the sacred birth rites for the great-souled child. Divine drums resounded, and the hosts of apsarases danced in celebration. The lords of the Gandharvas—Viśvāvasu, Nārada, and Tumburu—sang joyfully at the birth of Śuka. All the gods and Vidyādharas, delighted, offered praise upon seeing Vyāsa’s divine son, born from the womb of a fire-stick. From the heavens descended a staff, a beautiful black antelope skin, and a divine water pot, all for Śuka. The boy, radiant and just born, immediately grew. Vyāsa, well-versed in the rites of learning, performed his son’s initiation. As soon as Śuka was born, the Vedas, with all their secrets and collections, approached him, just as they had come to his father.