In the desolate cremation ground, haunted by beings of the night who delighted in tasting corpses, the sorrow-stricken king wandered restlessly, tormented by grief. Amidst this scene of impurity and despair, his daughter, overwhelmed by a hundred streams of sorrow, threw her arms around his neck and wailed, her voice trembling with unbearable pain. The queen, her heart shattered, cried out to the king, “O King, is this a dream or is it real? Please tell me, blessed one, for my mind is lost in confusion.” Her anguish deepened as she lamented, “If this is truly happening, O knower of dharma, then what support remains in righteousness? What purpose is there in worship, in protecting Brahmins, gods, or the earth? Where is righteousness, truth, honesty, or compassion, when even you, steadfast in dharma, have been cast out of your own kingdom?” Hearing her words, the king sighed deeply. With a trembling voice, he recounted to his slender wife the path that had led him to this state among outcastes. She, too, wept for a long time, sighing in distress, and with fear in her heart, she described to him the painful death of their son, just as it had happened. The king, his spirit broken, said, “Beloved, I cannot bear to endure this suffering any longer. My fate is not in my hands, slender one—witness my misfortune. If I enter the fire without the outcaste’s permission, I will again become his slave in another birth. In hell, I will suffer, devoured by worms, in the dreadful Vaitarani river, thick with pus, blood, and fat, slippery with sinews. In the forest of sword-leaves, I will be terribly mutilated, or tormented in the great hells of Raurava and Maharaurava.” He continued, “For one drowning in the ocean of sorrow, only death offers a shore. Now, our only son, the hope of our lineage, is gone. Even I, though once strong, am swept away by fate like water. How can I give up my life when I am so helpless and afflicted? Sometimes, tormented by suffering, a man contemplates sinful acts; yet the pain of this loss is greater than that of the animal state, or even the forest of sword-leaves. Such is the torment of Vaitarani with its hooks—so is the grief of losing a son. Here I am, my son’s body burning in the sacrificial fire.” He turned to his wife and said, “I am falling, slender one; forgive my faults. With my permission, you may go, lovely-smiling one, to the brahmin’s house. Listen to me with devotion: if ever I have given, or offered, or pleased our elders, may there be reunion in the next world with my son and with you—for in this world, how could such a wish come true? It is better for me to go with you, seeking our son; and if I have ever spoken anything improper, even in jest or in secret, let all those words be forgiven, as I ask you now. Do not, out of pride as a queen, disregard the brahmin; by every effort, please him as you would your lord and deity, O auspicious one.” The queen, her resolve firm, replied, “I too, O royal sage, unable to bear the weight of sorrow, will go with you today into the blazing fire.” The birds who watched all this spoke: The king, having prepared the funeral pyre, placed his son’s body upon it. Together with his wife, he stood there, hands joined in reverence. His mind turned inward, contemplating the Supreme Self—Lord Narayana, Hari, who dwells in the cave of the heart, Vasudeva, Lord of the gods, the beginningless and endless Brahman, Krishna, clad in yellow robes, the most auspicious one. As the king meditated thus, all the gods, led by Indra and with Dharma at their head, swiftly descended from the heavens. They announced, “O king, listen! Here is the Grandfather himself, and Dharma, the Blessed One, in person.” Alongside them came the Sadhyas, the Visvedevas, the Maruts, the guardians of the worlds with their vehicles, the Nagas, Siddhas, Gandharvas, Rudras, the Ashvins, and many others. Among them was Vishvamitra, who once could not make friendship with the threefold universe, but now wished to befriend the king. Then Dharma, Indra, and the son of Gadhi approached. Dharma spoke: “Do not act rashly, O king! I, Dharma, have come to you, pleased by your virtues of forbearance, self-control, truth, and more.” Indra addressed him: “O Harishchandra, greatly fortunate one! I, Shakra, have come to you; with your wife and son, you have conquered the eternal worlds. Ascend to heaven, O King, together with your wife and son—by your own deeds you have attained that which is exceedingly difficult for others to reach.” Then Indra, seated among the gods, released a rain of nectar from the sky, destroying death itself. Divine flowers showered down, drums resounded in the heavens, and the entire assembly of gods rejoiced. In that moment, the king’s son rose—his body delicate and healthy, his senses and mind clear and serene. King Harishchandra, adorned with celestial garlands and garments, embraced his son and wife, radiant with splendor. His heart, completely fulfilled and overflowing with supreme joy, was restored in that very instant. Then Indra spoke again: “With your wife and son, you shall attain the highest blessed state; ascend, O greatly fortunate one, by the fruits of your own deeds.” But Harishchandra replied, “Though permitted by you, O Lord of the gods, I will not ascend to the abode of the gods without first fulfilling my obligation to my master, the outcaste.” Dharma then revealed, “Foreseeing your future hardship, I myself led you to the state of an outcaste, and showed you this fickleness, by my own power.” Indra concluded, “Ascend, O Harishchandra, to that supreme place which is sought by all men on earth—the realm attained by the righteous.” Thus, surrounded by the gods and uplifted by their blessings, Harishchandra’s steadfast virtue and suffering were crowned with divine reward.