Everything in this world, O tiger among men, unfolds according to destiny. Recognizing that all is ordained by fate, do not let your mind be troubled. Before me now stands a man in royal form and dress, yet your speech carries the voice of a Brāhmin. Tell me, I pray, your name, your lineage, and whose son you are. By my steadfast celibacy, I have mastered the entire Veda. I am a king and prince, renowned as Yayāti. But for what purpose, O king, have you come to this place? Is it to draw water, or perhaps in search of game? Desiring game, gentle one, I have come here for water. Though you question me in many ways, I ask that you grant me leave. With two thousand maidens and the noble Śarmiṣṭhā, I am now under your authority. Blessings to you, O friend—be my husband. Know, auspicious lady, that I am not worthy, O beautiful one; kings are not to be married, Devayānī, by your father. The Kshatriya and the Brāhmin orders are joined together by Brahmā; the Kshatriya is established in the Brāhmin, and the Brāhmin in the Kshatriya. O son of Nahusha, neither sage nor sage’s son should you choose me. The four classes, O lovely-faced one, are born from one body, each with its own duties and purity; among them, the Brāhmin is the highest. The taking of the hand by Nahusha’s son was not practiced by men before; you took my hand first, therefore I choose you. How could another man touch the hand of one whose mind is steadfast, when it has already been taken by a sage’s son, or by a sage himself, or by you? A Brāhmin, when angered, is more difficult to withstand than a serpent filled with deadly poison or fire with mouths on every side, especially for a man of understanding. How, you ask, is a Brāhmin more difficult to withstand than a serpent or fire? Hear this, O best of men. A serpent with deadly poison bites only one; a weapon kills only one; but an angered Brāhmin destroys entire kingdoms, even those ancient and mighty. Therefore, I consider a Brāhmin more difficult to withstand, O timid one. For this reason, your father did not give you to me, and so I do not marry you. Bear me as given by your father; you, O king, have been chosen by me. There is no fear for one who receives a maiden given, nor for the one who accepts her. At Devayānī’s command, her nurse quickly went and reported everything, just as it happened, to her father. Hearing this, Bhārgava came to see the king; and as the Brāhmin arrived, Yayāti, lord of the earth, beheld him. With joined palms, Yayāti stood bowed and saluted the Brāhmin Kavi, who then addressed him with gentle and pleasing words. “This king, O father, son of Nahusha, has taken my daughter’s hand in a difficult situation. I salute you—give me to him; I choose no other husband in the world.” “You, O hero, have been chosen as husband by this daughter of mine, whom I desire. Accept her, given by me, as your queen, O son of Nahusha.” “If I were to act otherwise, O Bhārgava, sin would touch both me and her, O Brāhmin, due to the mixing of classes; therefore, I choose you.” “From unrighteousness I release you; choose whatever boon you desire. In this marriage you are to be praised, and I remove your secret sin.” “Take Devayānī, pure-smiling, as your wife in righteousness; with her, attain incomparable happiness.” “And this maiden, Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of Vṛṣaparvan, must always be honored by you, O King; but do not summon her to your bed.” Thus addressed, Yayāti, having circumambulated Śukra, departed joyfully to his own city, having been permitted by the great-souled one. Yayāti, upon reaching his city, splendid as the city of Indra, entered his inner chambers and settled Devayānī there. With Devayānī’s consent, he built a house for Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of Vṛṣaparvan, near the Aśoka grove and settled her there. Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of the Asura, attended by a thousand maidservants, was well provided with garments, food, and drink, and was well cared for. Then the king, son of Nahusha, together with Devayānī, spent many years joyfully, as if in the gardens of the gods. When the proper season arrived, Devayānī, the lovely woman, first conceived, and a son was born. After a thousand years had passed, Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of Vṛṣaparvan, reached her youth and, lotus-eyed, attained her season. The virtuous and radiant Śarmiṣṭhā reflected, “My season has come, but I have no husband.” “What has come to pass? What should be done? How can I find happiness? Devayānī has given birth, while I have reached youth in vain.” “As she chose a husband, so too will I choose him. The king should grant me the fruit of a son—this is my firm resolve. Perhaps now that righteous one will come to me in private.” Then, as the king happened to go out at that time, he came upon Śarmiṣṭhā near the Aśoka grove and was astonished. Seeing the king alone in private, Śarmiṣṭhā, with a lovely smile, approached him, made reverence with joined palms, and spoke these words: “O son of Nahusha, who in your house—be it Soma, Indra, Vāyu, Yama, or Varuṇa—has the right to look upon a woman?” “O king, you have always known me by my beauty, lineage, and character. Therefore, I beseech you, be gracious and unite with me here, O lord of men.” Yayāti replied, “I know you to be a virtuous daughter of the Daityas, blameless in conduct. I do not see even a needle-point’s fault in your beauty.