In that sacred gathering, renowned women had already assembled—Arundhati, the virtuous wife of Vasishtha, along with the wives of the seven sages. There too was Anasuya, the devoted wife of Atri, and other noble women. Yet, many others had not yet arrived: brides, daughters, friends, and sisters were still absent. The one who waited there admitted, “I have been here a long time, but I will not go alone until all these women have come. Go and inform Brahma, and wait just a while longer. I will come quickly with them, surrounded in splendor by all the gods, O wise one. Both you and I will surely attain the highest.” With these words, the officiating priest left Brahma and returned. Meanwhile, Savitri, distressed and absorbed in her household duties, said, “Until my friends arrive, I cannot come.” Thus, she explained her delay, aware that time was passing, and addressed Brahma respectfully: “O Grandfather, do as you see fit today.” Hearing this, a touch of anger arose in Brahma. He commanded, “Indra, bring another wife here for me at once. Just as a sacrifice cannot proceed without the proper moment, so too must you act quickly and bring some woman. Until the completion of the sacrifice, do not let your thoughts dwell on her. Once the rite is finished, I will release her.” Thus instructed, Indra traversed the whole earth in search of an eligible woman, but everywhere he looked, all the women were already married or betrothed. At last, he beheld an Abhira maiden of extraordinary beauty, with a graceful nose and lovely eyes. She was neither a goddess, nor a gandharvi, nor an asuri, nor a serpent-woman. There was no maiden like her in all the worlds—she shone with a radiance as if she were another goddess of fortune herself. Her mind was focused, her beauty unparalleled; whatever charm or grace existed anywhere seemed gathered in her person. She was the best among slender-waisted women, and Indra thought, “If only she were a maiden!” He reflected, “No other god but I could have earned such merit to behold this jewel among women—she is fit for the blessed ancestor.” If she proved receptive, his efforts would be fulfilled. She was striking, with a complexion like a blue cloud, golden lotus, and coral. Her limbs radiated light; her hair, cheeks, and lips were as fresh as budding flowers on the tree of longing. Her heart seemed scorched by desire, and her eyes glowed with fiery glances. Indra wondered at the Creator’s skill, for he had never seen her equal. He mused, “If she is the handiwork of the Creator, then artistry has reached its pinnacle. Those two prominent peaks delight me as I gaze upon them. Her breasts, her lips marked by passion—who would not be stirred? Yet, for one who serves her, she brings peace. Even the slight crookedness of her locks gives pleasure. In her, even a flaw appears as a virtue, adorned by the fullness of her beauty. Her decorated eyes reach toward her ears, and those who know say that consciousness arises from cause; the eyes are ornaments for the ears, and the ears for the eyes. Here, there is no place for earrings or collyrium; her sidelong glances are undivided in the heart.” He marveled further, “How can those connected to you bear sorrow? Every transformation is beautiful by nature’s own qualities. In my old age, after so many moments, I have found this treasure. This is the boundary of Kauśalya, revealed by the Creator in the manifestation of beauty. She stirs the hearts of men with affection and playful gestures. As I reflect, even the brilliance of the gods is outshone by her beauty.” Indra’s body shivered with goosebumps as he gazed upon her, radiant like new gold, with eyes elongated like lotus petals. Among gods, yakṣas, gandharvas, serpents, and demons, he had seen many women, but none with such perfection. Whatever was foremost in the three worlds, the Creator had gathered and established in her form. Approaching her, Indra asked, “Who are you, whose daughter are you, and from where have you come, beautiful-browed one? Why do you stand alone in the middle of the street? The ornaments you wear are not for your adornment—you are the adornment for them. No goddess, nor gandharvi, nor asuri, nor serpent-woman, nor kinnari I have seen before has eyes as beautiful as yours. I have asked you many times; why do you not answer?” At last, the maiden, trembling and modest, replied to Śakra, “O hero, I am a cowherd girl, selling here cow’s milk, pure butter, curd, and whey. With curd, buttermilk, and milk, O scorcher of foes, tell me what you desire—take whatever you wish.” Thus addressed, Śakra took her firmly by the hand and led the wide-eyed maiden to where Brahma was present. As she was being led away, she cried out to her father and mother, “O father, O mother, O brother, this man is taking me away by force! If you have any business with me, speak to my father—he will surely give me to you. This is the truth.