As the king beheld her, he was utterly captivated—just as his father had foretold, O lovely-faced one. Drawn to her enchanting presence, the king found himself unsatisfied, even as he drank the cool water that touched her lotus-like lips. She, too, gazed upon him and, recognizing in him the soul of Mahābhiṣa, was filled with love. Her eyes, dark at the corners, enchanted the king, and his heart overflowed with joy at the sight of her. “O slender-thighed one,” he addressed her with reverence and longing, “whether you are goddess or mortal, O beautiful-faced lady, whoever you may be, become my wife, O lovely-hipped one.” Gāṅgā, wise and radiant, recognized the king as Mahābhiṣa reborn, and she remembered their bond from a former life. Hearing his heartfelt words, her love was rekindled. She replied, “What beautiful woman, having reflected on it, would not wish for a worthy husband? By a bond of words, O best of kings, I will indeed become your wife. Yet, whatever I do—be it auspicious or inauspicious—and whenever, O best of kings, you do not follow my word, remember the birth of the Vasus.” She kept the Vasus’ request close to her heart. The king agreed, saying, “So be it.” Thus, that divine lady became his wife. The fortunate and radiant Gāṅgā entered the king’s palace, and she, knowing the depths of his heart, delighted him deeply. With her gentle, fawn-like eyes, she became to him as Śacī is to Indra, and together they enjoyed the splendors of the palace, like Lakṣmī and Nārāyaṇa in their celestial abode. In time, Gāṅgā, with her beautiful eyes, gave birth to a son, the child of the Vasus. In the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth years, the same pattern continued. The king was tormented by doubt and sorrow: “What shall I do today? How will my lineage remain secure on earth? If I restrain her, she will surely leave me. If I do not, she will cast this one too into the water. Even if a child is born, she may not protect it. For the sake of preserving my lineage, I must make every possible effort.” He remembered how the sage’s cow Nandini was taken by Strijit, and, with humility, he pleaded, “I am your servant, O slender-waisted one. I beseech you, O pure-smiling lady. O beautiful one with thighs like elephant trunks, my seven sons have been harmed by you. Ask for something else today; I will grant even what is difficult to obtain. The learned say that a man without a son has no path to heaven.” Though he pleaded thus, when Gāṅgā took the child and prepared to depart, the king’s anguish deepened. “O most sinful one, what shall I do today? Do you not fear the hells? Go or stay as you wish, but let my son remain here.” As the king spoke, she took the infant son, saying, “Desiring a son, I will raise this child of yours, having gone to the forest.” Then, revealing her true identity, she said, “Know me as Ganga, come here for the sake of the gods’ work. Let me, troubled in mind, go and dwell in a human womb. Having granted them a boon, O best of kings, I was born as your wife. Your seven sons, O Vasava, have been released from the curse of the sage. Take this son, given by Ganga, for yourself, O Shantanu.” With these words, Gāṅgā entrusted the king with their son, fulfilling both the will of the gods and the yearning of his heart.