Overcome by exhaustion, his body roughened and utterly still, King Harishchandra lay as if lifeless upon his bed. In that state, he was seized by a wondrous vision. Through the force of fate and his constant presence at the cremation ground, he found himself, in another body, performing the duties of a disciple—offering due respect and payment to his teacher. Thus began a long ordeal: for twelve years, he endured suffering, until at last he saw himself released, reborn from the womb of a low-caste woman. Even in that lowly birth, the king’s mind was restless with thoughts of virtue. He resolved, “When I am freed from here, I will devote myself to charity and righteousness.” But fate kept him bound. From the moment he was born, the boy—Harishchandra in this new form—was always occupied with preparing funeral rites at the cremation ground. When he reached his seventh year, a twice-born man died and was brought there by his relatives. The poor but virtuous boy witnessed this, and, seeking his due, demanded payment from the brahmins present. Insulted, the brahmins recalled the deeds of Viśvāmitra and spoke harshly to the boy. “Commit this most sinful and inauspicious act, you doer of evil!” they declared. “Long ago, King Harishchandra himself was made low-caste by Viśvāmitra. He lost his merit for taking away the property of brahmins, and, unable to endure their words, was cursed by them in anger. Go now to the terrible hell, you most wicked man!” At their words, Harishchandra found himself plunged into a dreamlike state. He saw the terrifying messengers of Yama, holding nooses, seizing him and dragging him away by force. In great distress, he cried out, “Alas, my mother, my father, today!” But his pleas were in vain—he was cast into hell, plunged into a cauldron of boiling oil. He was cut apart with saws and razor-sharp blades, tormented in utter darkness, forced to eat pus and blood. For seven years, he saw himself dead, existing as a low-caste, and each day in hell he was burned or cooked. Elsewhere, he was tormented, agitated, killed, and cut apart; in other places, scraped, burned, or struck by cold winds. Thus, a hundred years passed for him in hell, tormented day after day by the attendants of Yama. When that time was over, he was cast down to earth and born as a dog, forced to eat excrement and vomit, suffering from cold, and dying after only a month. His soul wandered through many births—he became a donkey, an elephant, a monkey, a beast, a goat, a cat, a heron, a cow, a bird, a worm, a fish, a tortoise, a boar, a hunting dog, a cock, a parrot, a mynah, even immobile beings, a snake, and many other creatures. Day after day, he endured the suffering of these various births for a hundred years. Amidst these endless cycles, he once saw someone from his own lineage in that realm of suffering. Even as he remained there, he saw his kingdom lost through gambling; his wife and son were taken away, and he was left alone, wandering into the forest. There, a lion with a terrifying, gaping mouth, accompanied by a wild ox, came to devour him. Again he was consumed, and, overcome by grief for his wife, he lamented, “O Shaivya, where have you gone now, leaving me in this misery?” Once more, he saw his wife and their son. She cried out to him, “Save us, Harishchandra! What has gambling done to you, my lord? Your son and I are in a pitiable state!” Desperate, he tried to reach them, but they vanished, no matter how often he ran after them. Then again, as if in heaven, he saw his wife—her hair disheveled, distressed, half-clothed—being dragged away by force. She cried out in anguish, “Save me!” And then, by the command of the Lord of Dharma, he beheld another vision. He heard voices wailing in the sky: “Come here, O king! Yama has been informed by Viśvāmitra for your sake.” With those words, he was seized and dragged away with serpent-nooses, as ordained by Shraddhadeva and brought about by Viśvāmitra. Yet, even in all these states, his condition—distorted by unrighteousness—did not improve. All these sufferings were shown to him in a dream. For twelve years, Harishchandra endured these torments. When the twelfth year had passed, the guards dragged him away by force. He was brought before Yama, who spoke to him: “This is the wrath of Viśvāmitra, the great soul, which cannot be resisted. That Kaushika will even bring about the death of your son. Go now to the world of humans and finish the remainder of your suffering; it will be for your good.” When the twelfth year ended, the king, his suffering complete, was cast down from Yama’s realm by the messengers of death. Falling from the sky, he awoke, trembling with fear. “Ah, what misery!” he thought, tending his wounds with alkaline substances. He had witnessed such great suffering in his dream that its end seemed impossible to find. He wondered, “What is this that I have seen? Have twelve years truly passed for me?” Anxiously, he questioned the outcastes around him, “Has it passed?” Some replied, “No,” while others said, “Yes, it has.” Hearing their answers, the king was filled with distress. He sought refuge in the gods, praying fervently, “May the gods grant well-being to me and to Shaivya’s child.” With deep reverence, he offered salutations: “Salutations to the great Dharma, to Krishna the creator, to the supreme and the lowest, to the pure, to the ancient and imperishable One.