Seeing King Hariścandra deeply troubled by the harsh words of the townspeople, Viśvāmitra approached him, his eyes blazing with anger and indignation. The sage rebuked him fiercely, “Shame on you! Your conduct is wicked, your words false and twisted. You granted me your kingdom—why now do you seek to reclaim it?” Struck by these harsh words, Hariścandra trembled. Without protest, he said only, “I will go,” and, taking his beloved wife by the hand, quickly departed. As he led his delicate, exhausted wife away, Kauśika—another name for Viśvāmitra—suddenly struck her with a stick. Witnessing his wife being struck, Hariścandra was overcome with grief. He uttered only, “I will go,” unable to say more. At that moment, five compassionate gods observed these events and spoke among themselves, “What worlds will Viśvāmitra, so sinful in his actions, attain? He has cast down the best among sacrificers from his own kingdom. By whose faith shall we now drink the purified soma at the great sacrifice, and depart joyfully, led by the mantras?” Hearing these words, Kauśika, filled with rage, cursed the gods, declaring, “All of you shall be born as humans!” The gods, seeking to appease the great sage, pleaded with him, and Viśvāmitra relented somewhat, saying, “Even in your human birth, you shall have no offspring. You will not take wives, nor will envy or desire or anger trouble you. Freed from such bonds, you will become gods again.” Thus, the five gods descended to earth, each manifesting a portion of themselves into the house of Kuru. From Draupadī’s womb, the five sons of Pāṇḍu were born. Because of the sage’s curse, these mighty sons of Pāṇḍu did not take wives, and this is the reason for their unique birth and ways. Having recounted this, the narrator concluded, “Thus I have told you everything—the basis of the story of the sons of Pāṇḍu, and have answered the fourfold question. What else would you wish to hear?” Jaimini, the questioner, replied, “You have narrated all this in order, according to my questions. But I am filled with curiosity about the story of Hariścandra. That great-souled king endured the utmost hardship. Did he, at last, attain happiness, O best of twice-born?” The story continued: After hearing Viśvāmitra’s words, King Hariścandra slowly departed, followed by his sorrowful wife Śaivya and his son Rohita. The king journeyed to the divine city of Varanasi, a place not meant for human enjoyment, for it is under the protection of the wielder of the trident—Lord Shiva. Afflicted by sorrow, Hariścandra traveled there on foot with his devoted wife. Upon entering the city, he saw Viśvāmitra already present. Seeing the sage, the king became humble and respectful, and with joined palms, he addressed Viśvāmitra, “O sage, here are my life, my son, and my wife. Whatever you require, accept it at once as the highest offering. Or, if there is any other task for us, please permit it.” Viśvāmitra responded, “The month is now complete, O royal sage. Give me my fee, as you promised for the Rājasūya sacrifice, if you remember your word.” Hariścandra replied, “O Brahmin, the month is indeed complete today, O possessor of unfading austerity. Please wait a little for the remaining half of the gift.” Viśvāmitra answered, “So be it, great king. I will come again. But if you do not give it today, I will pronounce a curse upon you.” Having said this, the sage departed. The king was left in deep distress, pondering, “How shall I give the promised fee to him? Where are my prosperous friends now, and where is my wealth? Accepting gifts is forbidden to me; how could I allow myself to be ruined? Should I abandon my life? To which direction shall I go, destitute as I am? If I perish without fulfilling my promise, I will become the lowest of the low, a sinner, a worm in the heart of Brahman. Or else, let me be sold as a servant—better to sell myself.” Seeing her husband so troubled, dejected, and lost in thought, his wife approached him, her words choked with tears. She said, “Abandon your anxiety, great king, and uphold your truth. A man who abandons truth should be shunned like a cremation ground. O tiger among men, there is no higher duty for a person than the preservation of his own truth. Whether one has performed the Agnihotra or all acts of charity, all these become fruitless for one whose word is unfulfilled. Truth is declared supreme in the scriptures of the wise; for crossing over, untruth is like a raft, but for the unsteady, it leads to downfall. Even a king who has performed seven Ashvamedha sacrifices and a Rājasūya falls from heaven by a single false word.” Overcome with emotion, she cried, “My child is born,” her eyes brimming with tears. The king gently tried to console her, saying, “Compose yourself, good lady, do not grieve; the child is alive. Speak, O elephant-gaited one, if you wish to say something.” His wife replied, “O King, my child is born; for virtuous women, sons are their reward. Therefore, give me away with wealth as a gift to the Brahmin.” Hearing these words, the king fainted from sorrow. When he regained consciousness, he lamented, overwhelmed by his grief, “This is a great sorrow, dear one, that you speak to me in this way. Have you forgotten the smiles and gentle words you once shared with this sinful man? Alas, alas! How could you, pure-smiled one, utter such words? How can I, too, bring myself to say such unspeakable things?