O gentle Krauñcī, tell me—who are you truly? Where is your home, and by what path have you come to this place? I long to hear your story in detail. And tell me, how long will my merit endure before it is spent? Śacī, queen of the gods, replied: “In ages past, you were Krauñcī, a bird graced with the fragrance of lotuses. On earth you dwelt, feeding on impure flesh and insects, making your home in a nest you built upon a solitary banyan tree that stood on the beautiful banks of the Gaṅgā. One day, a black serpent entered that banyan tree and, finding your nest, bit you suddenly. Death claimed you, and in its fury, the serpent devoured all your flesh, leaving only your bare bones behind. Later, a great wind cast down that serpent, roots and all, into the Gaṅgā, and when the banyan fell into the river, your bones were washed by her sacred waters. So long as your bones remain in the Gaṅgā, they are purified by her flow. For that same length of time, you remain ever dear to your lord. Thus, O Padmagandhā, I have told you everything. By the merit you have gained, even mighty Śakra is under your sway. Blessed indeed is the goddess Jāhnavī, by whose grace, O Krauñcī, you remain untouched by impurity, even among Indra’s own hosts. Yet, once, Pulomajā, the virtuous queen, was insulted by him. Her lotus face grew pale, and she departed as she had come, while Padmagandhā, the lovely one, remained in Indra’s abode. The words spoken to her lingered in her heart, always present, never fading. Then, one day, O twice-born sage, the lord of the gods, pleased by her virtues, said to her, ‘Choose a boon, O beautiful-hipped one, whatever you desire.’ Padmagandhā replied, ‘You are lord of all the gods, master of countless women, yet you are under my power, O lord; what need have I for other boons? Still, if you wish to grant me a boon, O best of gods, then vow before me, by deed, thought, and word.’ Indra answered, ‘Life, wealth, kingdom, and retinue—command me, O beautiful one, and I will give you all. 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, grant me this boon: Let me be born in the womb of an elephant once more.’ Indra replied, ‘I have promised, O lovely-hipped one, and I grant you this boon. Yet, many sorrows have troubled my heart; not seeing you, O beautiful one, I find no joy, not even for a moment. How shall I bear such a long separation from you? When you, with full breasts, show me compassion, then, O fair-limbed one, stay with me for a while. Afterwards, speak of the great prosperity of the king of the gods.’ And so, she remained in the abode of the gods for ten thousand years. Then Padmagandhā said, ‘Give me leave, O lord of the gods, to fulfill my cherished desire. I shall go to the realm of action; I bow to your feet.’ Indra replied, ‘Because of your boundless love for me, O moon-faced one, stay for a few more days, then go as you wish.’ In the house of amusements, day and night, Padmagandhā played with Indra, remaining there for three periods of ten thousand years. At last, she joyfully addressed him, ‘Give me instructions; I am now going to the earth.’ Indra pleaded, ‘Cast off your hesitation, O lovely-hipped one, and stay here with me. I cannot part from 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. Your separation from me will be long; yet, when separated, O lord, I wish to return to earth, and again to heaven, to earn further merit. Having gone to the realm of action, by whatever means, O Vasava, I shall do what is needed; if separation comes, let it not be by your will.’ Indra said, ‘O blessed one, whenever you truly wish to perform this action, then go; you will return quickly, O beautiful one.’ With tears streaming from her eyes, her body wet, Indra embraced her and said, ‘Go, dear one.’ By his command, the virtuous Padmagandhā went to the realm of action. She was born in the womb of an elephant, yet became a twice-born, remembering all her previous story. Soon after, recalling her past, she went to the bank of the sacred Jāhnavī, having been born among elephants. She bathed in the Gaṅgā, adorning herself with her sacred mud, and uttered, ‘Ganga, Ganga!’ as she entered the deep pool. Within the waters, the elephant, mountain-like, entered the pool, and Padmagandhā, recalling her own birth, passed again into death. Seeing her courage, all the gods joyfully showered her with divine flowers such as pārijāta. Then Śakra, surrounded by the hosts of gods, swiftly brought her forth; after their long separation, Sumana returned to the dark-skinned Puṣpaketā. Beholding her divine form, the lord of the gods spoke of his own sorrows and returned to his abode; and with him were Pulomajā, Rambhā, Pramlocā, and Urvaśī.