Faith, it is said, is like a flower, blossoming at the heart of spiritual life, while union with Brahman is its sweet fruit. From these, all blessings flow—long life, sons, wealth, knowledge, the joys of heaven, liberation itself, and happiness beyond measure. The ancestors, when satisfied by their descendants’ offerings, are known to grant even kingship to mortals. In ancient times, it is recounted, the sons of Kauśika attained liberation and reached the supreme abode of Viṣṇu, all through the mysterious workings of fivefold birth connections. How, then, did these descendants of Kauśika achieve the highest yoga? And by what means, through these fivefold births, did their karma come to be exhausted? There was once a great sage named Kauśika, a man of righteousness, who lived in Kurukṣetra. Listen now to the tale of his seven sons and their deeds: Śvasṛpa, Krodhana, Hiṃsra, Piśuna, Kavi, Vāgduṣṭa, and Pitṛvartin. These seven became disciples of the wise Garga. After their father’s passing, a terrible famine struck them—a drought so severe that it filled all the worlds with fear. Following Garga’s advice, these ascetic brothers tended a milch cow in the forest. But as hunger gnawed at them, they considered a desperate thought: “Let us eat this tawny cow.” As they contemplated this sinful act, the youngest among them spoke: “If she must be killed, let it be done as a śrāddha offering to our ancestors.” When the time came to appoint someone for the śrāddha, the cow herself refused, saying, “I will not do it, for it is sinful.” Yet, permitted by those devoted to their father, she was compelled to participate. With a focused mind, the youngest performed the śrāddha. After offering the ritual to the cow, he designated two of his brothers as divine guests, and in turn, all three honored their father in this way. Each time, one was appointed as guest, and the performer conducted the rite with mantras, remembering their father with deep devotion. When the cow was later killed by a tiger, and they had no cow to offer, even a calf was presented to their teacher. “Let this calf be accepted,” they said. Thus, the cow was ultimately consumed. Yet these seven ascetics, relying on the power of the Vedas, remained fearless even in such a cruel act. Drawn by the force of time, the brothers were reborn as hunters in Daśapura. Remarkably, they retained the memory of their past births, their minds still shaped by devotion to their father. Because of the cruel act performed in the guise of a śrāddha, they were born among hunters, living lives of violence. Yet, through the greatness of their father, they retained the memory of their previous lives. Through dispassion and yoga, they again took up fasting. In their next birth, these seven were born as deer on Mount Kālanjara, near the sacred presence of Nīlakaṇṭha, still influenced by devotion to their father. There, through knowledge and renunciation, they righteously gave up their lives at the end of a pilgrimage, fasting unto death, witnessed by the people. Their journey continued: in the Mānasa lake, the seven became cakravāka birds—yogis in name and in deed. Their names were Sumanā, Kumuda, Śuddha, Chidradarśī, Sunetraka, Sunetra, and Aṃśumān. All seven excelled in yoga. Of these, three fell from the path of yoga and wandered with little awareness. They saw one among them shining forth in a garden, surrounded by women, playing in many ways, displaying great strength and valor. This one was born among the Pāñcālas, blessed with power and many vehicles. Among these aquatic beings, one desired kingship. The brāhmaṇa among them, devoted to his father and the performer of the śrāddha, was as loving as a son. The other two, seeing the one with such power, chose to become ministers among mortals. Of the seven, those who were free from desire became the best of brāhmaṇas. One, the son of Vibhrāja, became known as Brahmadatta. The two sons of ministers were Kaṇḍarīka and Subālaka. Brahmadatta was anointed king, with a learned priest as his advisor. This king of Panchala was valiant, expert in all scriptures, knowledgeable in yoga, and skilled in understanding the languages of all creatures. His wife was the auspicious daughter of Devala, renowned as Samnati, who was once called Kapila. Because she was devoted to ancestral rites, she became a speaker of Brahman; together with her, the king’s son ruled the kingdom. One day, while the king was in the garden with his queen, he noticed a pair of insects—an ant and her mate—agitated in the throes of love’s quarrel. The male, following the ant everywhere, his body burning with the five arrows of love, spoke with faltering words: “Nowhere in the world is there a lover like you. Slender-waisted, broad-hipped, golden-hued, adorned with garlands, and ever-smiling—you are beautiful, your eyes and tongue well-marked, fond of sweet things like sugar and molasses. You eat when I eat, bathe when I bathe; when I am away, you are sorrowful, and even when I am angry, you are fearful and restless. Tell me, O beautiful one, why do you stand with an angry face?” She replied with wrath: “Why do you speak to me, O deceitful one? You gave me modaka powder, then abandoned me, and spent the day with another, inflamed by passion.” He pleaded, “Because she resembled you, O beautiful one, I gave it to another. Forgive me this one offense, O radiant lady. I will not do this again anywhere, O virtuous one; I touch your feet in truth—be gracious to me as I bow before you.” Hearing his words, she was pleased, and the ant offered herself for enchantment. Brahmadatta, who understood the languages of all beings by the grace of Viṣṇu, wielder of the discus, witnessed this exchange and marveled at the wonders of creation and the mysteries of love and life that pervade all forms.