Markandeya spoke: When the Apsarases heard these words, their necks trembled with fear, and among themselves they whispered, “This is beyond our power; it cannot be done.” But among them was Vapu, an Apsaras proud of her ability to disturb even the most steadfast sages. With confidence, she declared, “Today, I will go to where that sage resides. With the help of the god of love, whose arrows drip with the essence of passion, I will make that sage—renowned for conquering his senses—yield to desire. In fact, even Brahma, Janardana, or the blue-throated Shiva himself would not escape the arrows of love if I so wished.” With these boastful words, Vapu made her way to the snowy mountain, to the hermitage of the sage—a place so sanctified by his austerity that even the wild beasts dwelled there in peace. Standing a little apart from the sage’s dwelling, Vapu, beautiful and skilled, began to sing, her voice as sweet as the song of a male cuckoo. The sage, hearing this melodious sound, was astonished and went out to see who sang so sweetly. There he saw her, lovely in every feature. But the sage, wise and self-controlled, recognized her intent. He restrained his mind, knowing she had come to disturb his penance, and was filled with righteous anger. With eyes blazing, the great sage addressed her: “O sky-roaming one, you have come here, intoxicated by pride, to hinder my hard-won austerity and cause me suffering. Therefore, tainted by my wrath, you shall be born among the race of birds, O foolish one, for sixteen years. Renouncing your celestial form, you will take the shape of a bird and have four sons, O lowest of Apsarases. Yet, you will find no joy among them. Purified by this ordeal, you will again attain your place in heaven—but during this time, you must not utter a single word in reply.” Having pronounced this unbearable curse, his eyes red with anger, the sage departed, leaving Vapu trembling and agitated, her mind as restless as the waves of a river. Thus, Vapu was born among the birds, famed for their virtues. In the Treta age, there lived a royal sage named Harishchandra, whose noble fame shone across the earth. He was steadfast in righteousness, and during his reign, there was neither famine nor disease, nor did untimely death trouble his people. None were swayed by wealth, strength, or ascetic pride, and every woman born in his realm attained the fullness of youth. One day, this mighty-armed king was pursuing a deer in the forest when he heard the desperate cries of women: “Save us!” Abandoning the chase, the king called out, “Do not fear! Who, under my rule, would dare commit such wickedness and injustice?” Following the sound, he came upon the cause of their distress—a fierce being, the very embodiment of obstacles. This being pondered, “This is Vishvamitra, whose ascetic power and strength are unmatched, striving to realize the knowledge once attained by the gods. As he perseveres with patience, silence, and control, these women are terrified and cry out—what am I to do?” The being considered, “Vishvamitra is protected by his horses, and I am weak. The cries of these frightened ones seem impossible to silence. But perhaps this king, who keeps assuring them, ‘Do not fear,’ has arrived. I will quickly enter him and achieve my desire.” Thus resolved, the fierce lord of obstacles possessed the king. Driven by anger, the king declared, “Who is this wicked man, burning like fire at the edge of his garment, blazing with strength and energy, while I, the master, am present? Today, pierced by arrows from my bow, which illuminate all directions, he will enter a long sleep, his body shattered.” Hearing these words, Vishvamitra became angry, and as his wrath grew, the knowledge he had gained vanished in an instant. The king, seeing Vishvamitra—the very treasure of asceticism—was suddenly seized by fear and trembled like the leaves of an ashvattha tree. When the sage accused him, saying, “You are wicked,” and stood before him, the king, humbled, bowed and replied, “Respected one, this is my duty, not a fault. You should not be angry with me, for I am devoted to my own dharma. A king who knows righteousness must give and protect, and must fight with his bow according to the rules of dharma.” Vishvamitra then asked, “To whom should gifts be given? Whom should be protected? By whom should battles be fought, O king? Tell me quickly, if you fear unrighteousness.” Harishchandra answered, “Gifts should be given to eminent Brahmins and also to those who are poor. Those in fear must always be protected, and battles must be fought against robbers.” Vishvamitra replied, “If you are a king who rightly observes royal duty, and I, a Brahmin, desire to perform a rite, then let the appropriate offering be given.” Hearing these words, the birds rejoiced, and the king, his heart filled with joy as if reborn, spoke again to Kauśika (Vishvamitra): “Speak, O revered one, whatever you wish to be given. Do not hesitate. Know that it is already granted, even if it is exceedingly difficult to obtain—be it gold, jewels, my son, wife, body, life, kingdom, city, or wealth—whatever you desire.” Vishvamitra said, “O king, I accept the offering you have promised. First, grant me the royal sacrificial gift.” The king replied, “O Brahmin, I will indeed give you that sacrificial gift. Choose, O best of twice-born, whatever offering you desire.