He attained the highest form, blessed with a rare lordly power, and gained incomparable health and unending progeny. Casting off all deformity, he was graced with beauty and prosperity. O ascetic, this tale took place at the beginning of the Treta age, long ago. In those days, there was a city named Shakala, renowned as an excellent place. Within its walls lived a wealthy, virtuous, and pleasure-loving man, skilled in various scriptures. He was accompanied by a great caravan and possessed all manner of market goods. One night, however, a robber, exceedingly fierce, attacked him. Alone in that desert, the merchant wandered—controlled, yet as if mad, lost in his distress. As he wandered, he found a Shami tree, auspicious, standing in the desert like his own self. Then, before him, he saw a departed spirit approaching, surrounded by hundreds of other spirits. In front of him rushed spirits with harsh forms, eating lumps of food. Near the base of the Shami tree, he saw the merchant’s son, seated comfortably in the shade. The spirit asked after his welfare, and received a reply. “Tell me,” said the spirit, “from where have you come, and where do you intend to go, O good man? You have arrived safely; you should tell me everything.” The brahmin told everything—his loss of homeland and wealth. Then the lord of the spirits spoke to the merchant’s son as if to his own kinsman, “You will again gain wealth, if fortune’s power is with you. For one whose body is weakened, there is no rise from anxiety. Today, this guest is to be honored—he is always my own kinsman. With his arrival, an incomparable joy has arisen in me among the spirits.” As he wished, the merchant’s son came with a vessel full of curd-rice. A water jar also arrived, placed before the spirits. The lord of spirits said, “Rise, merchant’s son, perform your daily rites.” Both—the merchant and the lord of spirits—performed their daily rites. Then, he gave to all those spirits, distributing to each. Afterwards, the lord of spirits ate the excellent food. O Brahmin, before his very eyes, the merchant’s son vanished from sight. With a mind full of curiosity, Vaśī questioned the guardian of the dead: “And from where is this vessel, filled to the brim with excellent water? You too are radiant, possessing a somewhat nourished and auspicious form. Tell me all of this: who are you, and who is this Shami here?” The guardian recounted everything from the beginning, as it happened in ancient times. “He is known as Somaśarman, born from Bahulā’s womb. But his name was Somaśravā, a devotee of Viṣṇu, renowned and illustrious. I did not give to the twice-born, nor did I eat the finest food. Therefore, at night, my body is beaten by terrifying men. And not a single relative remains near me there. Thus, being such a sinner, I dwell here, exceedingly pitiless.