Śukra, the sage, ascended from the netherworld, returning to his skyward hermitage. His presence in the heavens was like a streak of cloud tinged with the soft glow of twilight. Yet, beneath this tranquil scene, a storm of anger brewed—an emotion as dangerous to play with as a venomous serpent. In the midst of these events, a voice of wisdom declared: “He who destroys one who is pure in conduct is truly a doer of evil.” These words hung in the air while a woman, overcome with weeping and shame, spoke in a slow and gentle tone. “Helpless, I am being taken away by force, weeping, to be claimed by another,” she lamented. Śukra, having purified himself with sacred water, cleansed his mind and body before he spoke. There was no longer any regard for respect or righteousness—she who was once honored as queen had now fallen from the path of dharma. A prophecy was uttered: “After seven nights, there will be nothing left but ashes from a rain of stones.” With compassion, Śukra counseled, “Remain here, daughter, practicing austerity for the sake of liberation from sin, O blessed one.” Then, gathering his disciples, he journeyed once more to the netherworld, the domain of the demons. Seven nights passed, and then, as foretold, a great shower of stones descended. The abode of the rakshasas, which had been fashioned by the god Shambhu himself, was battered by this divine storm. The ordinary ones were reduced to ashes, and a great defeat befell them. “If even an ordinary woman can burn in such a calamity, how much more so the daughter of the mountain?” someone reflected. The power behind these events was immense—of immeasurable strength, difficult even to behold, let alone face in battle. In the aftermath, the mighty demon Andhaka spoke to Prahlada, his words heavy with meaning. Alone, devoid of righteousness, his body reddened with ashes, Andhaka wondered, “How does he, with eyes like a bull’s leaf, fear the gaze of a woman’s face?” But Prahlada objected, “What you have said is not correct; it is contrary to dharma and meaning. The difference between you and Hara is as great as that between an elephant and a mosquito, or gold and stone.” He urged Andhaka to listen to the words of the great-souled sage, Devarṣi Asita: “He who delights in his own wife and avoids the wives of others—such a person has nothing to fear in this world. But one who covets another’s wife, even if he is of noble caste, finds no happiness here or hereafter.” He recounted the examples of Manu, son of the Sun, who was devoted to dharma, and Agastya, who was content with his own wife. All such men became radiant, patient with both curses and boons, and worthy of worship by gods and siddhas alike. In contrast, Namuci, the wicked one who harmed others, and King Nahusha, who coveted another’s strength, met their downfall. Yadu and Utkamaujā, who consorted with women of other castes, were destroyed in ancient times by their unrighteousness. Those devoid of dharma fall into the great hell called Raurava; such adharma leads only to ruin in this world and the next. “This is the unchanging dharma for all castes, O Andhaka,” he declared. “He who breaks it goes to the terrible hell Raurava for many ages.” This law of dharma had been declared before Garuḍa and Aruṇa as well. “Another’s wife brings ruin to the deceitful and cunning,” he warned. Andhaka admitted, “You alone are devoted to dharma; I do not practice dharma.” Then he commanded, “Go, Śambara, to the lord of mountains, Mandara; speak to Śaṅkara. Tell me, by whom was this given to you, which you now enjoy? Why do you reside here, disregarding me, O Mandara? This woman who is your wife—let her be given to me at once.” Thus, the tale unfolded—of virtue and vice, of fate and folly, and the timeless law that upholds righteousness above all.