As the sound of his singing, adorned with exquisite notes and melodies, drifted through the city, the women—captivated by its beauty—abandoned their household duties and hurried toward him. Enchanted by his appearance and overwhelmed by desire, they found themselves powerless to resist; hearing his song in person, they lost all self-control. This was the very one who tempted Brahmā’s mind toward Sarasvatī, and who inspired Śiva to grant half his body to Pārvatī. Apart from those two divine beings, no one else in the world—no matter how disciplined or wise—can conquer Kāmadeva, for women, by nature, are fickle. Even these women, though they tried to resist, could not withstand the onslaught of desire. What more can be said? In this world, Kāmadeva is truly difficult to overcome. Wherever he wandered, singing and playing his vīṇā with an enchanting voice, the women followed him. Their husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers came, rebuked them, and led each woman back to her home. Yet, after searching for him, the women would again return to him, and whenever this occurred, the townspeople reported it to the king. The king summoned the brāhmaṇa in private and asked, “O brāhmaṇa, by what mantra have you enchanted the women of the city? Tell me this, best of brāhmaṇas, and I will give you much wealth; otherwise, without doubt, I will expel you from my kingdom.” Hearing these words, that foremost brāhmaṇa, an ocean of eloquence and virtue, spoke truthfully before the king: “O king, I am but a beggar and possess neither mantra nor medicine. In your city, all the women are without self-control. Seeing my form and hearing the sound of my singing, the women cannot endure the surge of passion. What am I to do, great King? What fault is mine? I have not transgressed any command previously established, O ruler of the earth.” As he spoke, all the citizens gathered together and addressed the king: “O King, by this brāhmaṇa our city’s women have been enchanted; they no longer remain in their homes, nor can we restrain them. If this enchanter of women stays in the city, O Lord, then today we will go to other lands; our divine bull, the source of sacrificial rites, has departed from us. Just as the goddess Gaurī departs from the field of the wicked, so too, without him as refuge, those bereft of prosperity have left, O King. Then, as cows follow their bull, the women, made fragrant, will follow him; how can prosperity remain in an empty house, however much one tries? Dharma, wealth, and the household—these three are under the power of women; since dharma and wealth depend on the beloved, when they are lost, nothing remains.” Meanwhile, the women of the city gathered together, sat before the king, and spoke among themselves: “O Lord of the day, upon seeing this brāhmaṇa of beautiful form, our minds blossom like lotuses in water. Without him, our hearts shrink like lotuses without the moon. Let us go together and seize him before the king. He cannot be harmed, nor can we; what will the king do?” Having spoken thus, those eager women seized that best of brāhmaṇas. In the sight of their own husbands and before the king, they addressed him: “O lord of our hearts, come to our homes and relieve our longing. Satisfy us quickly, for without you we cannot remain.” Hearing these words, the brāhmaṇa replied gently: “I am a son to you all, and you are mothers to me; why do you abandon your homes and wander about? Worship your own husbands, for thus both worlds are surely attained; when husbands are worshipped, Viṣṇu, lord of all gods, is pleased. When he is pleased, what is unattainable here? But a woman who abandons her husband and seeks the pleasure of another—she incurs blame and goes to a terrible fate; as long as she deceives her husband, she dwells there until the end of the age. Then, departing from there, she attains the state of immobile life; from that too, after many births, she obtains the condition of an animal. Afterwards, released from that, she becomes deformed in human birth. Knowing thus the course of sin, turn back from it, people. Otherwise, at the end of your bodies, you will go to a most terrible hell; if you wish for happiness from me, you will not obtain it here. Indeed, your only result is sin, which is the downfall of people.” Hearing these words and seeing the happiness of their husbands, the chief women bowed their heads in shame, like creepers struck by the wind. The fierce fire of passion in those former women was extinguished by the cool water of the sage's words. All of them rose up, condemning the god of love, whose power bewilders even Brahmā, Indra, and other gods. The women declared: “Shame on this wicked one, the axe that fells the tree of virtue, by whom the god of love, dear to those with beautiful eyes, was slain for their pleasure. What shall we say of Rukmiṇī, revered by the world, by whom that Rahu named Pradyumna, devourer of women's virtue, was borne in her womb? If that lowest of the gods comes within our sight, we shall again cast him into the fire of our gaze, O Lord of meditation. By whom this sinful one was begotten—by Viṣṇu, delighting in himself—who made him fond of sixteen thousand women; what more need be said of us?” Thus, the city was restored to order, and the wisdom of the brāhmaṇa prevailed over the enchantment of desire.