In the celestial realm, Padmagandhā spoke with a heart full of concern, noting that the blemish on the moon is visible only to those who cherish virtue. She declared that one who speaks harm, acts cruelly, and possesses a wicked form is devoid of true virtue. Then, with conviction, she said, "If I am not virtuous, let your husband worship you instead." Vyāsa narrates that, having said this, Padmagandhā—her eyes radiant like lotuses—rose from her golden couch in anger, lamenting loudly. Indra, the king of gods, was distressed and cried out, "Beloved, mistress of my life, best among women, where are you going, leaving me behind?" He pleaded, "What wrong have I done to you? Tell me, beautiful one. I am surely your servant, and I perform all duties for you." He continued, "The wife of a servant becomes a servant herself, yet you do not heed my words." Bewildered and deluded, Śakra (Indra) arose and gently placed the most beautiful Padmagandhā back upon his lap. Śacī, Indra’s wife, then spoke with a sigh, "The life of a Krauncha bird is blessed; surely my own life is wasted. You are always fortunate, O mistress, while I am unfortunate, O noble lady. As long as the merit of the Krauncha lasts, that merit will eventually be exhausted. Born in the Krauncha lineage, you will again experience sorrow. Until then, enjoy pleasure with the king of gods as you wish. How many days, O Krauncha, will you not be, O one without virtue?" Hearing these words, Padmagandhā was greatly astonished. She abandoned her state of conflict, bowed respectfully, and addressed Śacī, the virtuous lady, saying, "O daughter of Puloma, O exalted one, your words are indeed remarkable. O Krauñcī, tell me—who are you? Where do you dwell, and how did you come here? I wish to hear this from you in detail. How long will it take for my merit to be exhausted?" Śacī replied, "In the past, you were Krauñcī, born among birds, with the fragrance of lotuses. Dwelling on earth, you ate impure flesh and insects. There was a single banyan tree on the charming bank of the Gaṅgā. There, after building your nest, you made your home. One day, a black serpent entered that banyan tree. Entering your nest, it suddenly bit you, and you died. That serpent, enraged, devoured all your flesh, leaving only your bones behind. Later, a great wind cast the serpent down, breaking the tree and its roots, and it fell into the Gaṅgā. When the banyan fell, your excellent bones were washed by the waters of the Gaṅgā. As long as your bones remain in the Gaṅgā, so long do they stay there. For that same duration, you will always be dear to your lord. Thus, O Padmagandhā, I have now told you everything. By the power of whose merit even Śakra is under your control. Blessed indeed is the goddess Jāhnavī, by whose grace, O Krauñcī, you are untouched by outcastes, even among Indra’s hosts. By him, Pulomajā, the virtuous one, was also insulted. Her lotus face faded, and she departed as she had come. Padmagandhā, the lovely one, remained in Indra's abode, her heart ever awake to those words." Time passed, and one day, the lord of the gods, pleased by Padmagandhā’s virtues, said, "Choose a boon, O beautiful-hipped one, whatever you wish." Padmagandhā replied, "You are lord of all the gods, master of countless women—yet you are under my power, lord; what need have I of other boons? Still, if you wish to grant a boon, O best of gods—by deed, thought, and word, make a vow before me." Indra responded, "Life, wealth, kingdom, and retinue—command me, O beautiful one, and I will give it to you. Truly, truly, again truly—there is no doubt in this. Whatever you desire, O doe-eyed one, I will surely give you." Padmagandhā said, "If you, lord of the gods, are truly pleased, let my birth be in the womb of an elephant; grant me this boon once more." Indra agreed, "I have made a promise, O lovely-hipped one, and I surely grant you this boon. Yet many sorrows have passed through my heart; O beautiful one, not seeing you, I find no joy even for a moment. How can I endure such a long separation from you, which is unbearable? When you, with full breasts, show compassion toward me, then, O fair-limbed one, stay with me for a little while; afterward, speak of the great prosperity of the king of the gods." Thus, Padmagandhā remained in the abode of the gods for ten thousand years. She then said, "Give me permission, O lord of the gods, to fulfill my cherished desire. I shall go to the realm of action; I bow to your two feet." Indra, moved by her devotion, said, "Because of the greatness of your ocean of love for me, O moon-faced one—after staying for a few days, you may depart as you wish." Together, in the house of amusements, Padmagandhā played with Indra day and night, remaining for three ten-thousand-year periods. Finally, joyfully, she addressed Indra, "Give me instructions; I am now going to the earth." Indra pleaded, "Cast off your lethargy, O lovely-hipped one, and stay here with me. I cannot leave you, who are dearer to me than life itself." Padmagandhā replied, "O lord of the gods, when my merit is exhausted, then I shall go to earth. Then, your separation from me will be long; when separated, O lord, I wish to return to earth again. I wish to return to heaven again for the sake of earning merit; having gone to the realm of action, by whatever means, O Vasava—" Thus, the story unfolds, revealing Padmagandhā’s journey between heaven and earth, the workings of merit, and the deep affection between her and Indra, all under the watchful gaze of virtue and destiny.