Rama gazed upon the ornament before him, his heart brimming with delight. Never before had he seen such remarkable gems anywhere. Their brilliance, the way they were set, the sheer value—they were as splendid as the earth itself. Not even in Vibhishana’s famed Lanka had he come across jewels of this kind. As he turned these thoughts over in his mind, Raghava approached the sage once more, eager to learn the origin of this divine ornament. “O Brahman,” Rama asked reverently, “this is wondrous indeed, unattainable even for kings. How did you come by it? From where did it arise, and who fashioned it?” His curiosity deepened as he continued, “O wise one, I am compelled to ask: the jewel resting in your palm shines radiantly at the center of your hand. In all the scriptures, that which is lowest is condemned, while that which shines toward the directions is considered middling. But that which rises upward in three rays is called the highest—these are praised by the sages. Of all wondrous and divine treasures, the Lord is the true repository.” As Rama spoke, the sage Agastya listened with a gentle smile and began his reply. “Hear, Rama, of an ancient event from long ago in the great Treta age, and of what I witnessed in the forest as Dvapara approached. Listen, O mighty-armed descendant of Raghu, to this marvel. In the Treta age, there was a vast, uninhabited forest, stretching for a hundred yojanas on every side—devoid of deer and tigers. Within that solitude, I resolved to perform supreme austerity. I entered the forest, determined to traverse its depths. At its center, the land was always rich with roots and fruits, and vegetables of many shapes grew in delightful groves. In the midst of that forest was a stretch five yojanas long, filled with swans and cranes, adorned by chakravaka birds—a wondrous lake of supreme beauty. One day, I approached that lake, which teemed with turtles and crocodiles and was lined with rows of cranes, to perform my austerities. Having reached that holy place, free from all violence, I spent a summer night there. At dawn, rising early, I returned to the lake. There, to my astonishment, I saw a corpse—untouched by decay—lying not far from the water’s edge, possessed of extraordinary beauty. I paused to ponder its purpose. In this lonely place, who could this be? Was it a sage, a king, or perhaps the son of a king who had met his end during the night or that very morning? I was determined to understand the circumstances of this mysterious lake. As I stood thus, lost in thought, a wondrous, divine vision appeared before me: a splendid celestial chariot, swift as thought and yoked with swans, descended from the heavens. In front of it, O king, were a thousand celestial nymphs, and with them an equal number of Gandharvas, all delighting an excellent man within the chariot. Some sang divine songs, others played enchanting instruments. Then, I saw a man descend from that chariot. He approached the corpse, and, after bathing, began to eat its flesh—taking his fill of that abundant, rich meat as he wished. When he had finished, he quickly descended into the lake, and then, radiant with supreme splendor, ascended once more to the heavens. I called out to him, “O blessed one of heaven! How is it that your food is so repugnant, yet your destination so exalted? If this is not a secret, please tell me today; I am eager to hear the truth of this supreme matter. Who are you? Why do you eat such detestable food? For what reason, and where do you dwell? Whose is this divine state, fashioned in the form of a corpse? And why is your food so blameworthy?” Hearing my words, O Rama, that heavenly being, with joined palms, replied to me. “Listen now to the true account of my joys and sorrows. For when desire is pursued wrongly, misfortune follows. Hear what you ask, O twice-born one. Long ago, my father was the illustrious king of Vidarbha, known as Vāsudeva, righteous among the three worlds. He had two sons, born of two wives: I am called Śveta, and my younger brother was Suratha. When my father passed away, the citizens anointed me as king. But in my rule, I became proud and lost my steadfastness in righteousness. Many thousands of years passed as I governed the kingdom and protected the people. Then, at some point, moved by detachment, I fixed my mind on death and went to the forest of ascetics. I entered this delightful forest, free from birds, to undertake austerity beside this very lake, having installed my brother Suratha as king. Here, I performed severe austerity for ten thousand years in the great forest. As a result, I attained a splendid abode—the flawless world of Brahmā.