The story unfolds with a king, who, addressing a gentle companion, entrusts a special leaf to a swift hawk. He urges the hawk to carry it quickly to his house and deliver it to Girikā, for it is her fertile time—a moment of great significance. Responding to the king’s words, the hawk, swift and eager, takes the leaf and soars high into the sky. As it flies, holding the precious leaf in its beak, another hawk spots it from afar and recognizes the meat it carries. Driven by desire, this second hawk rushes toward the first, and in the open sky, the two birds engage in a fierce beak-fight. In the heat of their struggle, the leaf slips from their grasp and falls into the waters of the Yamunā below. The two hawks, their battle unresolved, fly away as the leaf drops into the river. At that very moment, an apsaras named Adrikā, radiant and devoted to her twilight prayers, approaches a brahmin who is absorbed in meditation. While playing in the water, she swims beneath the surface and, in her playful mood, seizes the brahmin’s foot. Disturbed from his breath-control and meditation, the brahmin sees the lustful apsaras and, angered, curses her: “Since you have disturbed my meditation, become a fish!” Adrikā, the celestial nymph, thus transformed by the sage’s curse, becomes a splendid fish in the waters of the Yamunā. As the seed-bearing leaf falls from the hawk’s beak, Adrikā—now in her fish form—swiftly seizes it. Time passes, and when the tenth month arrives, a fisherman catches this remarkable fish. Upon opening her belly, he finds not only fish flesh, but a miraculous pair in human form: a handsome boy and a beautiful girl. Amazed by this wonder, the fisherman reports the birth of these children to the king. The king, Matsya—righteous and mighty, son of Vasu, and equal in valor to his father—is astonished and takes the auspicious boy for himself. The girl, Kālikā, is given by Vasu to the fisherman; she becomes known as Kāli and Matsyodarī. Among the people, she is called Matsyagandhā, for she bears the scent of fish. This auspicious Vāsavī grows up in the fisherman’s household. The sages recount: Adrikā, cursed by the sage, became a fish, was caught by the fisherman, split open, died, and was eaten. The curious sages then ask, “What became of the apsaras? How did the curse end, O Sūta, and how did she attain heaven?” Sūta replies: When Adrikā was cursed, she was astonished and, distressed, praised the sage. The compassionate brahmin comforted her, saying, “Do not grieve, O blessed one; I will tell you the end of your curse. By the power of my angry words, you have entered the womb of a fish. After giving birth to two humans, you will be freed from the curse.” Thus reassured, Adrikā took the body of a fish in the river. After giving birth to the two children, she died and was released from the curse. She abandoned her fish form, regained her divine appearance, and, her curse ended, walked the path of the immortals. Matsyagandhā, the excellent daughter, grew up in the fisherman’s house, radiant and beautiful-faced. Known as Vāsavī, she performed tasks with great brightness. The story then turns to the birth of Vyāsa. Once, during a pilgrimage, the great sage Parāśara, full of energy, arrived at the excellent bank of the Kālindī river. As he approached, he addressed the fisherman, who was preparing food: “Take me across to the far shore of the Kālindī by boat.” Hearing the sage’s request, the fisherman called his charming young daughter, Matsyagandhā. “Child, take the sage across to the far shore by boat; this ascetic, pure-smiling one, wishes to go.” Obedient to her father’s instruction, Matsyagandhā—also called Vāsavī—seated the sage in her boat and began to ferry him across the river. As they journeyed over the waters, fate intervened. The sage, seeing her lovely eyes and youthful beauty, became filled with desire. Moved by her presence, he reached out and touched her right hand with his own. Matsyagandhā, dark-eyed and smiling, questioned him: “Is this conduct fitting for your family, for your learning, and for your austerity?” She reminded him of his noble lineage, his wisdom, and his duty, wondering why he, afflicted by desire, would act thus toward a woman with the scent of fish. She spoke of the rarity of human birth, and especially Brāhmaṇahood, and questioned what auspicious quality he saw in her that would move him so. She lamented that the sage’s mind, pierced by the arrows of Kāma, was agitated, and that none could oppose him. Gathering herself, the maiden then said to the great sage, “Compose yourself, O highly fortunate one; I will indeed bring you to the far shore.” Thus, the tale continues, weaving together the destinies of gods, sages, and mortals, all shaped by the mysterious play of fate and dharma.