In the realm beyond this world, Nanda found himself serving others, yet he was not respected, and no affection arose among those who lived together with him. He became indifferent to his former friends and formed new bonds of affection with others. This was the way of a great treasure, composed of the qualities of sattva and rajas, which acted in such fashion. This treasure was known as Nīla. Whoever was associated with it became imbued with its nature, acquiring textiles, cotton, grains, fruits, and flowers. He gained pearls, coral, conch shells, mother-of-pearl, and other similar things, as well as wood and whatever else is produced from water. His life revolved around buying and selling these items, and his mind found delight in nothing else. He constructed ponds, reservoirs, and gardens, built dams for rivers, and planted trees. After enjoying unguents, flowers, and the like, he was born again. There was also a treasure called Nola, which lasted for three generations, and another treasure, composed of rajas and tamas, known as Śaṅkha. By the influence of Śaṅkha, a man was led and endowed with its qualities, but this treasure belonged to only one person and would not transfer to another. The man whose treasure was the conch—O Krauṣṭuki, listen to its nature—ate the best food and wore the finest clothing, but only for himself. His attendants ate inferior food and did not wear fine garments. He was not generous to his wife, brothers, sons, daughters-in-law, or others; the man with the conch treasure always sought only his own maintenance. Thus, these treasures were known as the wealth-giving deities of men. When treasures were mixed, their results matched their combined natures, and as described, the outcome reflected the nature of the treasure observed. Returning to the story, Mārkaṇḍeya narrated: When the king had reached his own city, he saw the brāhmaṇa together with his virtuous wife, both filled with joy. The brāhmaṇa said, “O best of kings, I am fulfilled, for righteousness has been protected. By your knowledge of dharma, you have brought back my wife.” The king replied, “You are fulfilled, O best of brāhmaṇas, by your adherence to your own duty. But we are in distress, O brāhmaṇa, whose wives are not at home.” The brāhmaṇa asked, “O king, if your wife had been eaten by wild beasts in the forest, why did you not take another wife? Overcome by anger, you did not protect righteousness.” The king responded, “My beloved was not eaten by wild beasts. She is alive, and her conduct is unblemished—how could I do such a thing?” The brāhmaṇa pressed further, “If your wife is alive and not unfaithful, then by making her as if not your wife, what sin have you committed?” The king explained, “Even though she has been brought back, O brāhmaṇa, she is always unfriendly to me. She brings sorrow, not happiness, and has no affection for me. Therefore, please make an effort so that she becomes devoted to me.” The brāhmaṇa assured him, “For your satisfaction, a beneficial rite will be performed by those desiring friendship. I will make her friendly to you. She is indeed the supreme cause of affection between husband and wife, O king of men. I will perform the tāntaveṣṭi rite for the wife and child. Wherever your wife with beautiful brows resides, O king, from there she shall be brought to you, and she will attain the highest affection for you.” Mārkaṇḍeya continued: Thus addressed, the king brought all the necessary materials, and that best of brāhmaṇas performed the rite. Then, seven times, the brāhmaṇa performed the rite again and again for the king, in order to bring about the union with his wife. When the great sage perceived that friendship had arisen in her toward her husband, the brāhmaṇa then spoke to the king: “Bring here, O best of men, the one whom the rite has drawn to you. Enjoy pleasures with her and perform sacrifices with devotion.” The king, astonished, remembered that mighty, truthful night-wanderer. When remembered, he immediately approached the king and, bowing to the great sage, asked, “What shall I do?” After the king had explained everything in detail, the night-wanderer went to the underworld, brought back the queen, and presented her. She, brought there with great affection, saw her husband and, filled with joy, repeatedly said, “Be gracious.” The king, eagerly embracing his proud wife, said, “Beloved, I am already pleased—why do you say this again?” The wife replied, “O king, if your mind is truly inclined toward favor for me, then I ask you for this—please grant me what I deserve.” The king said, “Speak without hesitation whatever you desire from me. There is nothing unattainable for you, O timid one! I am at your disposal, in every way.” She said, “For my sake, my friend was cursed by that serpent’s daughter to become mute, and so she has become mute. If you are able, out of affection for me, to remedy her condition and remove her speech impediment, why would you not do this for me?” Markandeya narrated: Then the king asked that Brahmin, “What should be done here to remove her muteness?” And the Brahmin explained it to the king: “O king, at your command I will perform a Sarasvati sacrifice. Let your wife be freed from her debt, and let her speech be restored.” That excellent Brahmin performed the Sarasvati sacrifice for her sake and, with concentration, recited the Sarasvati hymns. Then Garga, now able to speak, said in the underworld, “This great and difficult favor has been done for my friend by her husband.” Having regained her speech, Nanda quickly returned to the city, and there, embracing the queen, her friend, the serpent maiden, rejoiced. Praising the king again and again with auspicious words, the serpent maiden, having taken her seat, spoke sweetly.