Devayānī and Śarmiṣṭhā, daughters of two powerful men, found themselves embroiled in a bitter exchange. Devayānī recalled how Śarmiṣṭhā’s father, Vṛṣaparvan, always behaved with humility and propriety, often praising and questioning her own father, the sage Śukra. She pointed out the difference between them: “You are the daughter of one who begs, praises, and accepts; I am the daughter of one who is praised and gives, but does not accept.” The divide between their families became more pronounced, and Devayānī questioned why Śarmiṣṭhā, unarmed and a beggar, would be angry with her, who was armed and not inclined to regard her at all. As tensions flared, Śarmiṣṭhā, seeing Devayānī astonished and clinging to her garment, seized her in anger and threw her into a well before returning to her city. Convinced that Devayānī was slain, Śarmiṣṭhā departed without looking back, her heart hardened by rage. Soon after, King Yayāti, the son of Nahusha, arrived at the scene. Weary from hunting and thirsty, he approached the watering place and noticed the water had receded. There, he saw Devayānī, radiant and beautiful like a blazing flame, trapped in the well. Moved by her celestial beauty, Yayāti gently questioned and consoled her with kindness: “Who are you, lovely-faced maiden, adorned with jeweled earrings? Why do you sigh so deeply and meditate in this place? How have you fallen into this well covered with grass and creepers? Whose daughter are you?” Devayānī replied, “I am the daughter of Śukra, who revives the Daityas slain by the gods through his knowledge. Surely you do not recognize me. Here is my right hand, O king, with copper-colored nails; lift me out, for I consider you noble.” She added, “I know you to be calm, powerful, and renowned; therefore, you ought to lift me out of this well where I have fallen.” Recognizing her as a Brahmin woman, Yayāti took her by the right hand and lifted her out of the pit. After addressing her, he swiftly returned to his own city. Left behind, Devayānī, scorned and tormented by grief, spoke to her companion Ghūrṇikā, who had returned: “Quickly go, Ghūrṇikā, and tell my father everything; I will not now enter the city of Vṛṣaparvan.” Ghūrṇikā hurried to the asura’s palace and, trembling and distraught, reported to Śukra: “Devayānī has been killed in the forest by Śarmiṣṭhā, the wise daughter of Vṛṣaparvan.” Hearing this, Śukra rushed out, stricken with grief, searching for his daughter in the forest. When he found Devayānī in the hermitage, he embraced her and spoke sorrowfully: “All people experience happiness and sorrow due to their own faults; I think you have committed a misdeed, and this is the expiation for it.” Devayānī replied, “Whether there is expiation or not, listen carefully to what Śarmiṣṭhā, the daughter of Vṛṣaparvan, told me. She said, ‘I am the singer of the Daityas.’ With eyes reddened by anger, she spoke harsh and cutting words: ‘You are the daughter of one who praises, of one who begs and receives. I am the daughter of one who is praised, who gives but does not receive.’ Thus Śarmiṣṭhā spoke to me, her face full of pride and anger. If I am the daughter of one who is praised, and you are the daughter of one who receives, then I will appease Śarmiṣṭhā. Thus my friend spoke to me.” Śukra, his heart burning from the harsh words spoken by Vṛṣaparvan’s daughter, reflected on his own divine power, which was beyond duality and inconceivable like Brahman. He reminded Devayānī of the virtue of patience: “O Devayānī, know that the man who always endures the harsh words of others conquers all this world. He who restrains rising anger as a horse is held by the reins is called a charioteer by the wise, not one who merely holds the reins. He who subdues rising anger with non-anger conquers all this world. He who dispels rising wrath with forgiveness, just as a serpent sheds its worn-out skin, is truly called a man.” He continued, “He who contemplates righteousness, endures beyond measure, and though afflicted does not greatly suffer—he is a vessel for prosperity. One who performs a hundred horse sacrifices every month for years, and one who never becomes angry with anyone—the one free from anger is superior between the two. Boys and girls who are thoughtless may harbor enmity; but the wise should not do so, for they understand strength and weakness. I know, dear one, even as a child, the coming and going of actions, and in anger or excessive speech, the strength and weakness of action.” Śukra advised, “A disciple’s undisciplined conduct should not be tolerated by one who seeks virtue; nor do I find pleasure in dwelling among those of bad and mixed behavior. Those who do not honor a man for his conduct or lineage—the wise, seeking what is good, should not dwell among such wicked-minded people. Where people recognize a man for his conduct and lineage, there among the virtuous one should dwell; that dwelling is said to be the best.” Yet, despite his wisdom, Śukra admitted, “That harsh and terrible speech of Vṛṣaparvan’s daughter burns my heart, as fire kindled in wood.” Thus, the story unfolds with Devayānī’s suffering, the intervention of King Yayāti, and the sage’s wise counsel, all amidst the deep wounds caused by pride, anger, and harsh words.