As the fierce wind swept through, it tore the trees from their roots, and a raging fire consumed what remained. In this way, devastation befell the forests, leaving only a few branches standing amidst the ruin. Witnessing this destruction, King Soma, lord of all beings, approached the assembled parties. With compassion, he addressed them, saying, “Restrain your anger, O noble kings, and listen to my words. I will bring peace between you and the trees.” He continued, “Behold this radiant maiden, a jewel among the daughters of the trees. Raised by me alongside the cows, I nurtured her, foreseeing what was to come. She is known as Māriṣā, born from the very trees themselves. Let this illustrious woman become your wife; through her, your lineage shall flourish.” Soma then revealed, “By the union of your power and half of mine, a wise son named Dakṣa, lord of creatures, will be born from her. Endowed with a portion of myself and formed from your energy, he will shine with the brilliance of fire and will nurture all beings.” Turning to the past, Soma spoke of a sage named Kaṇḍu, foremost among those learned in the Vedas, who practiced intense austerities on the serene banks of the river Gomati. Desiring to disturb his penance, Indra, king of the gods, sent the celestial nymph Pramlocā, whose smile was pure and enchanting. She sought to agitate the sage. Under her influence, Sage Kaṇḍu spent more than a hundred years with her in the valley of Mandara, his mind lost in sensual pleasures. Eventually, Pramlocā said to him, “O blessed one, I wish to return to heaven. Gracious sage, grant me your permission.” Though she asked, the sage, deeply attached to her, pleaded, “Stay just a few more days, gentle one.” So she remained, and together they enjoyed another full hundred years in pleasure. Again she requested, “Grant me leave, revered one, that I may return to the abode of the gods.” He agreed, but once more urged her, “Stay a little longer.” After yet another hundred years had passed, the beautiful Pramlocā smiled lovingly and said, “O sage, I wish to return to heaven.” The sage, embracing her, replied, “Stay just a moment more, lovely one, for you will be gone a long time.” Thus, playing with the sage, the slender-waisted Pramlocā lingered with him for nearly two hundred more years. Whenever she asked to depart for the realm of Indra, the sage always begged her to stay a little longer. Fearing his curse and moved by kindness, Pramlocā, though knowing the pain of separation, did not leave the sage. Day and night, the great sage delighted in her company, his mind seized by love and ever-fresh pleasure. One day, compelled by urgency, the sage left his hut. As he was about to depart, the auspicious lady asked, “Where are you going?” He replied, “The day has ended, O auspicious one. I must perform my evening worship, lest my rites be neglected.” Smiling sweetly, Pramlocā said, “O knower of dharma, has your day truly ended already today? Many years have passed, O best of Brahmins, since your day began. This is not surprising—let it be known whose wonder this is.” The sage, puzzled, said, “You arrived here at morning, slender-waisted one, on this auspicious riverbank. I saw you enter my hermitage, and now evening has come. The day has passed. Tell me, is this a jest, or do you truly mean it?” Pramlocā replied, “O Brahmin, I did come at dawn—this is true. But for you, many hundreds of years have passed in that time.” At this, Soma continued, the sage, filled with fear, asked her, “Tell me, gentle one, how much time has passed while I was with you?” Pramlocā answered, “Seven hundred and nine years have passed for you, along with six months and three days.” The sage, astonished, said, “Speak truly, gentle one—is this a jest, or is it so? I believed I had spent only a single day here with you.” She replied, “How could I speak falsehood before you, O Brahmin? Especially when you, a seeker of truth, have asked me so earnestly.” Soma then said: Hearing these truthful words, the sage was overcome with shame and reproached himself again and again, crying, “Shame on me!” He lamented, “My austerities are lost, the wealth of the knowers of Brahman is destroyed; discernment is ruined, all because of a force created for the delusion of women. Brahman, which transcends the six waves, is to be realized through self-mastery, but my mind has been swept away by this overpowering desire. All my vows and actions leading to Vedic knowledge have been lost through this association, leading me toward the multitude of hells.” Thus reproaching himself, the sage, knower of dharma, addressed the apsaras seated before him: “Go, sinner, wherever you wish. What needed to be done by you has been done—you have disturbed my mind with your gestures, as commanded by the king of the gods.” He continued, “I will not reduce you to ashes with the fire of my anger, for I have shared seven steps of friendship with you, as is the way of the virtuous. And what fault is yours, or why should I be angry with you? The fault is entirely mine, for I have not mastered my senses. To please Indra, you caused the loss of my austerities. You, who are to be censured, have fallen into great delusion, and are truly to be despised.” Thus unfolded the story, as told by Soma, of the sage’s long entanglement and the consequences that followed.