Once, a male insect, his body burning with the torment of love’s arrows, followed an ant everywhere. Overcome by longing, he spoke with faltering words, praising her: “Nowhere in the world is there a lover like you—slender at the waist, broad-hipped and chested, golden-hued, adorned with beautiful garlands, smiling enchantingly, with striking eyes and tongue, fond of sweet things like sugar and molasses. You eat when I eat, you bathe when I bathe; when I am away, you grieve, and even when I am angry, you grow fearful and restless.” He pleaded, “Tell me, O beautiful one, why do you stand with an angry face?” The ant replied, her voice sharp with wrath, “Why do you speak to me, O deceitful one? You gave me modaka powder, then abandoned me, spending your day with another, inflamed by passion.” The male insect explained, “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, the ant became pleased, and she offered herself for enchantment. Witnessing this exchange, Brahmadatta, who understood the speech of all creatures by the grace of the wielder of the discus, was amazed. How did Brahmadatta gain this extraordinary ability? And what was the lineage of the four chakravaka birds? In that very city, the birds known as ‘chakra’ were born, heirs of an aged twice-born, ancient brahmins who remembered their past lives. Steadfast and perceiving truth, learned in the Vedas, eager for austerity, they were sons of a very poor man. Among these twice-born, the desire for austerity arose: “We shall attain the highest perfection,” they declared. Their father, Sudaridra, a great ascetic, spoke in a pitiable voice, “What is this, my children? This is unrighteousness,” he said, forbidding them. Yet, abandoning their aged father, the poor ones went to dwell in the forest. They questioned him, “What indeed is righteousness here? Is there any path from abandoning the living? Tell us, father, what livelihood you have devised.” Their father replied, “This wealth before you belongs to the king; he will grant you abundant riches, thousands of villages, when you recite in the morning.” Those foremost Brahmins in Kurujāṅgala, the servants in Dāśapura, the deer in Kālañjara, and the seven chakravāka birds in Mānasā—here we are accomplished. After saying this to their father, they again went to the forest for austerity, while the old man went to the royal palace to achieve his own purpose. Once, there was a king named Anagha Vaibhraja, lord of the Pāñcālas, who, desiring a son, worshipped Hari, Nārāyaṇa, the lord of gods. He devoted himself to severe vows, and after a long time, Janārdana was pleased with him. “Choose a boon, good king, whatever your heart desires,” said the god. The king requested the highest boon: “Give me a son, lord of gods, of great strength and valor, accomplished in all scriptures, righteous, and supreme among yogis. Give me a son who understands the speech of all beings, a yogi as his own child.” “So be it,” said the Supreme Lord. Before all the gods, the Lord vanished, and soon after, the king’s son was born—Brahmadatta, full of splendor. Brahmadatta was compassionate to all beings, superior in strength, understanding the speech of all creatures, and lord of all beings. One day, that yogic soul entered the form of an ant, where a pair of insects were found enjoying themselves. Observing them, Brahmadatta laughed, and the ant, astonished, questioned him: “O king, why did this laughter arise suddenly? I do not know the cause, nor why you did this at such a time.” The prince replied, “This laughter arose, O beautiful one, from the speech of the ant, which was produced by words of passion. There was no other reason at all for the laughter, O pure-smiling one; it was not ordinary.” The queen then spoke these false words, “Today I alone have laughed; now, because of you, I will not live. How could a mortal know the speech of ants without the gods? Therefore, it is only by you that I have been laughed at here—what more is there to say?” The king, left without an answer, wished to inquire of Hari. He observed a vow, remaining pure for seven nights. In a dream, Hṛṣīkeśa spoke to him, and in the morning, he wandered through the city. The aged brāhmaṇa, who by that instruction would know everything completely—having said this, Viṣṇu disappeared; then, in the morning, the king left the city. With his ministers and wife, the king saw ahead an aged brāhmaṇa approaching, speaking as he came. “We are those foremost brāhmaṇas among the Kurus in Jāṅgala, the servants in Dāśapura, the deer in Kālañjara, and the seven cakravāka birds in Mānasasaras; here we have attained perfection.” Hearing these words from them, he fell down in grief; then both chief ministers attained remembrance of their past births. And Bābhravya, the author of the science of love, known among people as the learned Pañcāla, was skilled in all the sciences, though still a youth.