O King, you have asked how Purūravas, the lord of Madra, came to possess both his royal station and his famed beauty. Hear now the story of his deeds in former births, as they unfolded across the cycles of time. In a village inhabited by twice-born men, there once lived a foremost Brāhmaṇa named Purūravas. Yet, this was not his first existence. In a previous life, he had been a great king, ruling from the banks of a sacred river. In that earlier birth, as the king of Madra, he was known as Purūravas; but in this life, he took birth as a Brāhmaṇa, observing the twelfth day rites with care. Yearning once more for sovereignty, Purūravas undertook a vow of fasting, worshipping Janārdana with devotion. He performed the prescribed rituals, bathing and anointing himself as was customary. From the merit of his fasting, he was granted a kingdom in Madra, free of obstacles. Yet, because he had bathed with anointing oils while fasting, a subtle flaw crept into his new birth: he was not endowed with beauty. Therefore, O King, it is said that one who fasts must avoid bathing with anointing, for such an act diminishes beauty. Thus has the story of Purūravas, lord of Madra, been recounted to you—his deeds in a former life and their fruits. Though he ruled with all royal virtues, Purūravas did not win the affection of his people, for he lacked physical beauty. Desiring handsome form, he resolved to undertake austerities. Entrusting his kingdom to his ministers, he set out for the snowy mountains, determined to seek divine favor. With unwavering resolve and famed for his greatness, Purūravas journeyed on foot to the sacred border of his realm, where his own river flowed. There, he beheld the Airavati, a river of surpassing charm, born of the snowy mountains. Its powerful currents ran cool as the icy peaks themselves, and its waters shone with golden hues, reflecting the brilliance of the snow-clad heights. He gazed upon this sacred, auspicious river—Haemavati—divine and ever pure, frequented by Gandharvas and served by Indra himself. All around it glimmered with celestial splendor, the air thick with the intoxication of divine elephants, and the river’s surface ever radiant with the colors of Indra’s rainbow. Purūravas saw that this river was a refuge for ascetics, attended by eminent Brahmins, and gleaming like molten gold. Its banks were lined with rows of white swans and adorned with Kashmiri fans, as though consecrated by the virtuous. The sight filled his heart with supreme delight. The river was sacred, cool, and delightful, swelling joy in the mind. Its beauty waxed and waned like the moon, and it was as charming as another form of Soma. Swift, cool waters flowed, attended by groups of the twice-born, and the river—best daughter of Himavat—sparkled with dancing waves. Its waters tasted like nectar, sanctified by the presence of ascetics, a stairway to heaven, destroying all sins. She was foremost, queen of rivers, served by hosts of great sages, enchanting and stirring wonder throughout the worlds. She was beneficial to all beings, granting the path to heaven, her banks crowded with herds of cows and free from the taint of Shaivala grass. The river resounded with flocks of swans and cranes, was adorned with water flowers, and deep with swirling eddies. Its broad banks spread wide, reminiscent of an island’s ample hips. The river’s beauty was further enhanced by the Chakravaka birds and lined with cranes, its darting fish forming arched brows; its snowy foam clothed the water, and faces like blooming lotuses peered from its surface. Along the river, the swelling temples of elephants—born of its own waters—formed its breasts, while the jingling of swan anklets and garlands of lotus-stalk bangles adorned its flow. There, intoxicated by their own beauty, hosts of Apsarases played at midday, accompanied by Gandharvas. The river carried away pure saffron washed from the bodies of Apsarases, and its waters were fragrant with the many scents of flowers growing along its banks. The surface, crowded with waves, sometimes obscured the sun’s disc, and was adorned by the tumult of the gods’ festive gatherings. Its waters mingled with the sandal paste from the breasts of divine women and the water from Indra’s cheeks, attracting swarms of bees. On its banks, trees bloomed with fragrant flowers, and the air was alive with the buzzing of bees, restless and excited. Along this shore, driven by desire, animals, ascetics from forest hermitages, and even gods with Apsarases found delight. There, women of pure bodies—honored even by the gods—and celestial maidens with faces like lotuses and the moon, gathered in abundance. The river always bore water pressed by hosts of gods, as well as Pulindas, groups of kings, and bands of tigers. Her waters, fit for the drinking of gods and pure as a star-studded sky, granted wishes to the virtuous. Her banks shone with tall kāśa grass, bright as moonbeams, and with great trees of many shapes. Her lovely shore was ever frequented by sages and gods of many kinds. She swiftly destroyed the troubles of her devoted people, followed by flocks of rivers and great sages. She protected humans as her own children, always joined by bands of snow and accompanied by hosts of gods, sought by all for their welfare. Enjoyed by lions and elephants, her waters teemed with life, adorned with gold, and were alternately cooled and warmed by the sun’s rays. Her fame, as the king beheld, rivaled the brilliance of the moon. As Purūravas gazed upon that sacred river, the gentle breeze swept away his fatigue. Continuing onward, he beheld the great mountain Himavat itself, its many pale peaks seeming to scratch the sky, so high and forbidding that even birds could not move freely there, for it lacked the blessed paths of the Siddhas. Thus did Purūravas, seeking beauty and grace, journey through sacred places and behold the wonders of the earth and heavens, his heart filled with awe and longing.