Honored by the king, he brought them to his own house and welcomed them with great respect. The bond of affection between them remained firm and unbroken, as constant as that between Rohini and the Moon. Whether they wandered in the forest or strolled through the gardens, all around them seemed as delightful as the celestial Nandana grove. Yet, the illustrious princess sometimes felt herself lost, overwhelmed by the depth of her feelings. Even the earth, out of affection, seemed to feel herself nearly lost. So close were these two virtuous souls that none could perceive any difference between them. The Kaliṅga prince won the hearts of the citizens and the people throughout the land, and all were satisfied by their noble character and virtues. Dwelling together, they delighted in each other’s company, like Śacī and Indra in heaven. In time, the illustrious princess, moved by friendship, revealed her heart to the prince. Out of affection, she urged, “For my sake, and because it is dear to me, you ought to speak of it.” The prince, whose eyes were like lotus petals, replied with gentle and sweet words, “O beautiful one, I will tell you everything; I swear by truth. The root of all this, O queen, is austerity—indeed, the kingdom is established in truth. Never before have I spoken falsely. Tell me, what shall I do for you? Or, if you wish, I will perform for you the supreme and excellent coronation.” He reminded her, “One who is asleep must not be seen; this vow lasts but a moment.” In time, having made the kingdom free from thorns and handed it over, he departed to the fifth state, renouncing worldly life. This dharma, established by Manu himself, is not seen otherwise. As he once contemplated, desiring to see his beloved, he remembered: a vow performed unjustly becomes entirely corrupted. “What is there to conceal in this matter, that you are troubled?” he asked. He spoke further: “You consume flesh, cooked food, as well as garments and ornaments. You go ceaselessly, O king; what remains when I am not with you?” When the king spoke of righteousness, the prince replied with loving words. Together with his queen, the king sipped water and rested for a moment. The best of fathers then spoke sweet words to his son, and, having heard his father’s words, the illustrious prince listened with care. As time passed, the two of them remained together, O Earth. Then, with gentle urging, came the words: “Come, come, Lord, let us go; see the secret intent.” There, in that very place, they attained death, free from all attachments. Abandoning all ties, one becomes my devotee. Then they reached Śvetadvīpa, O Earth, a place of supreme purity. Having performed the meritorious and supremely difficult act of the Boar incarnation, I am pleased, O blessed one, with the greatly radiant Sun. Thus ends the one hundred thirty-seventh chapter, entitled “The Granting of the Sun’s Boon and the Story of the Vulture and the Jackal,” in the holy Varāha Purāṇa, in the section on the greatness of the holy places, in the discourse of the Boar. Now begins the tale of the Khañjarīṭa bird. In the beautiful Saukarava region, at that time, this most sacred story was heard. Then the lotus-eyed lady, foremost among those who know all dharma, questioned that god once again, her mind filled with wonder. And the Lord replied: without desire, at the time of death, one attains human birth.