As King Pururavas journeyed onward, his eyes fell upon the exceedingly charming river named Airavati. Born from the snowy heights of the great mountain, Airavati flowed with mighty currents, her waters as cool and pure as the rays descending from the snow-clad peaks. The king beheld the river’s radiant surface, shimmering with golden hues that rivaled the brilliance of the snowy mountain itself. As he drew nearer, Pururavas saw that this was no ordinary river, but the sacred and divine Haemavati. Its auspicious waters were ever frequented by the celestial Gandharvas and lovingly served by Indra himself. All around, the river sparkled, its banks sprinkled with the intoxicating presence of celestial elephants. In its midst, the colors of Indra’s rainbow always danced and shone. To the king’s eyes, Haemavati appeared as a sanctuary for ascetics, attended by eminent Brahmins, and glowing with a golden luster. Rows of white swans glided upon its surface, and Kashmiri fans adorned its banks, giving the impression that the river had been consecrated by the virtuous. The sight filled Pururavas with supreme delight. The river was sacred and pleasantly cool, a source of joy that grew in the heart of all who beheld her. Her beauty waxed and waned with the light, charming like another form of the divine Soma. Her waters, cool and swift, were served by groups of twice-born Brahmins, and as the best daughter of Himavat, she was splendid with her dancing waves. The water tasted like nectar, sanctified by the presence of ascetics, a true stairway to heaven that destroyed all sins. Queen among rivers and foremost of the ocean’s consorts, she was served by hosts of great sages and enchanted all the worlds, stirring curiosity in every being. Beneficial to all, Haemavati granted the path to heaven. Her banks teemed with herds of cows, lovely and free from the coarse Shaivala grass. The air was alive with the calls of swans and cranes, the water adorned with blooming flowers, swirling eddies, and broad banks as graceful as an island’s hips. The river’s beauty was further enhanced by Chakravaka birds, blue-eyed cranes, and fish whose movements traced arched brows upon the water. Faces like blooming lotuses and snowy foam clothed the river, while the swelling temples of elephants, born from her own waters, rose like her breasts. The jingling of swan anklets resounded, and garlands of lotus-stalks adorned her. Here, hosts of Apsarases, intoxicated by their own beauty and accompanied by Gandharvas, played joyfully at midday. The river carried away pure saffron washed from the bodies of these celestial maidens, filling the air with the fragrance of many flowers growing along her banks. Waves crowded her surface, making the sun’s disc difficult to see, while the tumult of the gods’ festive gatherings added to her splendor. Her waters mingled with the sandal paste from the breasts of divine women and with droplets from Indra’s own cheeks, attracting swarms of bees. Along the shore, fragrant-blossomed trees grew, and the air was filled with the restless buzzing of bees, excited and disturbed by the abundance of nectar. On her banks, desire compelled not only animals and ascetics from forest hermitages but even gods and Apsarases to find delight. Women of pure and radiant bodies, honored even by the gods, and celestial maidens with faces like lotuses and the moon, were found here in abundance. Haemavati’s waters were pressed and enjoyed by hosts of gods, Pulindas, groups of kings, and bands of tigers alike. Her waters, pure as the star-studded sky and fit for the gods to drink, were beheld by the king—she who grants the wishes of the virtuous. Her banks shone with tall kāśa grass, bright as moonbeams, and with great trees of many forms. Her lovely shores were always frequented by sages and gods. Swiftly, she destroyed the troubles of her devoted people, followed by flocks of rivers and ever attended by great sages. She protected humans as a mother does her own children, was always joined by bands of snow, and accompanied by hosts of gods, sought by all for their welfare. Lions and elephants enjoyed her waters, which teemed with life and were adorned with gold, cooled and warmed by the sun’s rays. Her fame, as seen by the king, was as great as the moon’s. Beholding this sacred river, Pururavas felt all fatigue swept away by her gentle breeze. As he continued his journey, the great mountain Himavat rose before him. Himavat stood majestic, its pale peaks scratching the very sky, so high and forbidding that even birds could not easily cross, and the auspicious paths of the Siddhas were absent. All around, the thunderous sound of river currents filled the air, leaving no room for any other sound in that cool and delightful place. The king saw the mountain clothed in blue forests of celestial deodar trees. Its slopes were washed clean, draped with clouds like an upper garment. In some places, a white cloud sat upon its summit like a turban; elsewhere, the mountain wore the sun and moon as its crown. Some slopes were smeared with snow, others streaked with minerals of many colors. In certain spots, the mountain’s surface was anointed with sandalwood, as if a five-fingered hand had applied it, bringing coolness even in the heat. The steep, rocky paths bore the red-lacquered footprints of Apsarases. Sunlight touched some places, while others lay shrouded in darkness; fierce mountain streams with gaping mouths seemed to drink up vast quantities of water. Elsewhere, groups of Vidyādharas played, and the chief bands of Kinnaras sang their praises. On its slopes, divine flowers fallen from Gandharvas and Apsarases, especially those from celestial trees like the Santānaka, added beauty. The lovely beds of Gandharvas, scattered with crushed flowers, could be seen where they had just risen. In regions where the wind was stilled, the ground was adorned with dark green grass; elsewhere, the slopes were splendidly beautiful, covered with flowers. This mountain was a refuge for ascetics, exceedingly difficult for lovers to attain, traversed by wild animals, and with great trees broken by elephants. Thus did King Pururavas behold the sacred river and the mighty mountain, their divine beauty filling his heart with wonder and joy.