The Lord of the Universe, filled with compassion, approached the sage and gently spoke: “Arise, son of Vāsavī. An auspicious son will be born to you. He will shine with all brilliance, be wise, and bring you lasting fame, O sinless one. Your son will ever be beloved by all people here. Endowed with every virtue, pure in nature, and truly valiant, he will be a blessing to the world.” Hearing these gracious words, Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana, his heart uplifted, bowed deeply to the trident-bearing Lord and departed for his hermitage. Having journeyed swiftly home, weary from the many years of his rigorous austerities, the sage took up his sacred fire-sticks, intent on producing the ritual fire. As he churned, however, his mind was troubled with anxious thoughts: “Just as fire arises from these sticks, how will a son be born to me? The putrāraṇi, the special stick for generating a son, is said to exist, but I do not possess it today. A young woman, beautiful and noble, devoted to her husband—how can I, an ascetic, create such a beloved, adorned with anklets at her feet?” He reflected further, “She who is skilled in bearing children, steadfast in fidelity, whether devoted, skilled, beautiful, or passionate, is always a source of bondage—even though she bestows pleasure at will. Even Shiva himself is bound by the snare of a passionate woman. How, then, shall I undertake this difficult life of a householder?” While thus pondering, the celestial apsara Ghritachi, radiant and divine, appeared before his eyes, standing gracefully in the sky. Her enchanting gaze fell upon him, and at once, though firm in his vows, the sage’s body was overcome by the five arrows of love. Disturbed, he thought, “What should I do in this peril? When, in the presence of Dharma, desire—so hard to overcome—arises, if I accept this one who has come to deceive me, great souls and ascetics will mock me, seeing me agitated after a hundred years of severe austerity. How has this great ascetic become helpless at the sight of an apsara? Still, let there be reproach if only there is incomparable pleasure. The householder’s life brings happiness, grants sons, leads to heaven, and, for the wise, even liberation. But such will not come from this celestial maiden. I have already heard from Nārada how King Pururavas was defeated and enslaved by Urvashi.” At this point, the sages who were listening to Sūta’s narration interrupted with eager curiosity: “Who is this King Pururavas? Who is Urvashi, the celestial maiden? What hardship did that great-souled king encounter? Tell us the whole story, O son of Lomaharshana! We long to hear the nectar of your words, which are sweeter than ambrosia, ever delightful and never tiresome.” Sūta, honored by their request, replied warmly, “Listen, O sages, to this divine and delightful tale, as I have heard it from the noble Vyasa, to the best of my understanding. There was once Tara, the beloved wife of the guru, famed for her beauty and youth, graceful and intoxicated with passion. One day, this radiant lady visited the abode of the Moon, the great sacrificer. The Moon, resplendent and youthful, saw Tara and was instantly overcome with desire for her. She, too, seeing the Moon, was similarly afflicted by love. The two, filled with longing and tormented by passion, spent several days together, delighting in each other’s company. Bṛhaspati, Tara’s husband, was deeply afflicted with sorrow. He sent his disciple to bring Tara home, but she, enchanted by love, did not return. When the disciple returned repeatedly without her, Bṛhaspati, angered and distressed, went himself to the house of Soma, the Moon. Arriving, the noble-minded Bṛhaspati, his heart burning with anger and grief, confronted the smiling, intoxicated Moon. ‘O Moon, what is this deed you have done, so condemned by righteousness? For what reason have you taken my wife, whom I was protecting? I am your guru, and you are always the sacrificer. How, O fool, could you enjoy your teacher’s wife, or was she protected by you? The slayer of a Brāhmaṇa, a thief of gold, a drinker of liquor, and one who violates the teacher’s bed—these are great sinners, and one who associates with them is the fifth. You are engaged in a great sin, of wicked conduct, utterly condemned. You are not fit for the abode of the gods if you have enjoyed this woman. Release this dark-eyed woman and let me take her home; otherwise, I will declare you a thief of your guru’s wife.’ As Bṛhaspati spoke thus, the Moon, lord of Rohiṇī, replied calmly, though the guru was filled with anger and sorrow. ‘Because of your anger, O Brāhmaṇa, you are difficult to please. Brāhmaṇas are worthy of worship, versed in law, and must be avoided if otherwise. This beautiful woman will return to your house as she wishes; she is merely staying here, still a girl—what harm is there to you, O sinless one? She remains here of her own will, desiring pleasure. After staying a few days, she will return as she wishes. You yourself have previously taught that a woman is not defiled by wandering, nor a Brāhmaṇa by Vedic rites.’” Thus, Sūta began to unfold the story, as the eager sages listened, their hearts absorbed in the nectar of ancient wisdom.