At the appointed time, the gods themselves descended by their own divine portions into the house of Kuru, and thus Draupadī gave birth to the five sons of Pāṇḍu. Because of the curse of a great sage, these five mighty brothers did not take wives for themselves. In this way, the foundation of the story of the sons of Pāṇḍu has been revealed, and I have answered the fourfold question. Tell me, what more would you wish to know? Jaimini then spoke: “You have narrated everything in order, just as I asked. My heart is now filled with curiosity about the story of Hariścandra. That noble soul endured the greatest suffering—did he, at last, find happiness, O best of the twice-born?” The tale continues: When Hariścandra heard the words of Viśvāmitra, the king departed slowly, his sorrowful wife Śaivya and his son Rohita following him. The lord of the earth journeyed to the divine city of Varanasi, a place not meant for mere human enjoyment, for it is under the protection of the wielder of the trident, Lord Shiva. Afflicted by grief, Hariścandra and his devoted wife went there on foot; as they entered the city, they beheld Viśvāmitra already present. Upon seeing the sage, Hariścandra became humble and respectful. With hands joined in reverence, he spoke: “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 command it.” Viśvāmitra replied, “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 answered, “O Brahmin, the month is indeed complete today, O possessor of unfading austerity. Please wait a little longer for the remaining half of the gift.” Viśvāmitra agreed, “So be it, great king. I will return. But if you do not give it today, I will pronounce a curse upon you.” With these words, the sage departed. Left alone, the king pondered anxiously, “How shall I give the promised fee? Where are my prosperous friends now, and where is my wealth? Accepting gifts is forbidden to me—how can I face ruin? Should I abandon my life? To which direction shall I go, destitute? If I perish without fulfilling my promise, I will become the lowest of the low, a sinner, a worm in the heart of Brahman. Perhaps it is better that I sell myself as a servant.” Seeing her husband troubled, dejected, and bowed down in thought, his wife addressed him, her words choked with tears: “Abandon your anxiety, great king, and uphold your truth. A man who forsakes truth is to be shunned like a cremation ground. O tiger among men, there is no higher duty for a person than preserving his own truth. Whether one performs Agnihotra or all acts of charity, all become fruitless for one whose word is unfulfilled. Truth is declared supreme in the scriptures of the wise; for one seeking to cross over, untruth is like a raft, but for the unsteady, it leads only to downfall. Having performed seven Ashvamedha sacrifices and a Rājasūya, even a king falls from heaven by a single false word.” At this, the queen, her eyes brimming with tears, cried, “My child is born!” The king, seeing her distress, spoke gently: “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 grief; when he regained consciousness, he lamented, overwhelmed by sorrow: “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?” Crying out in anguish, the king fell to the ground, overcome by faintness. Seeing her husband lying there, the queen, deeply distressed, spoke through her tears: “Alas, great king, what misfortune has come upon you, that you now lie fallen on the ground, who once rested upon royal couches? He who possessed wealth surpassing tens of millions of cows, untainted by Brahmins—this lord of the earth, my husband, now sleeps on the bare ground. Alas, what harm have you done, O king, that you, equal to Indra and Upendra, have been brought to this pitiable state?” With these words, the lovely-hipped queen too fainted and fell, crushed by the unbearable weight of her husband’s sorrow. Their child, seeing both parents helpless on the ground and tormented by hunger, cried out in distress, “Father, father! Give me food! Mother, mother! Give me something to eat! My hunger is intense, my tongue is parched.” At that moment, the great sage Viśvāmitra arrived. Seeing Harishchandra lying on the ground in a faint, he sprinkled water upon him and said, “Rise, rise, O king of kings! Give now the desired gift.