Empowered by the energy of Viṣṇu and surrounded by his twenty-one thousand sons, the mighty king set forth and slew the asura named Duṃdhu, who had been an enemy of the great sage Uḍaka. For this heroic deed, he gained the name Duṃdumāra. Yet, in the fierce battle, all his sons perished, scorched by the raging fire of Duṃdhu’s breath. Only three survived this devastation: Dṛḍhāśva, Candra, and Kapilāśva. From Vṛḍhāśva, the lineage continued with the birth of Haryaśva. Haryaśva’s son was Nikuṃbha, and Nikuṃbha’s son was Amitāśva. From Amitāśva came Kṛśāśva, and in turn, Kṛśāśva’s son was Prasenajit. Prasenajit’s son was Yuvanāśva. Yuvanāśva, however, was troubled, for he remained without a son and grew deeply dejected. Seeking solace and a solution, he took refuge among the hermitages of the sages. There, the compassionate sages, moved by his plight, prepared a sacrifice to invoke the birth of a child. When the midnight hour arrived and the rite was complete, the sages placed a vessel filled with water purified by sacred mantras at the center of the altar and then retired to sleep. That night, tormented by intense thirst, King Yuvanāśva entered the hermitage. Not wishing to disturb the sleeping sages, he quietly drank from the vessel—the very one whose water had been purified by powerful mantras, its potency immeasurable. When the sages awoke, they asked in astonishment, “Who has drunk this water, sanctified by our mantras?” At this moment, a prophecy was uttered: “Here, the wife of King Yuvanāśva will give birth to a son of great strength and valor.” Hearing this, the king confessed, “I drank it unknowingly.” Astonishingly, a fetus began to develop within Yuvanāśva’s own belly, growing gradually over time. When the time for birth arrived, the child broke forth from the king’s abdomen with his right thumb and emerged into the world. With this, King Yuvanāśva’s life came to an end. The sages gathered and wondered, “What name shall we give this extraordinary child?” At that moment, the king of the gods, Indra, appeared and declared, “He will sustain me.” Thus, the child was named Māndhātṛ. Indra placed his own finger, flowing with nectar, at the child’s mouth and let him drink. Nourished by this divine nectar, Māndhātṛ grew with miraculous speed, reaching maturity in a single day. Māndhātṛ rose to become a universal emperor, enjoying sovereignty over the entire earth with its seven continents. Of him it is said: “As long as the sun rises and sets, and as long as it endures, all that is called the domain of Yuvanāśva’s Māndhātṛ.” Māndhātṛ married Bindumatī, the daughter of Shatabindu, and from her he begot three sons: Purukutsa, Ambarīsha, and Muchukunda. From Bindumatī as well, the king had fifty daughters. At this time, the great sage Saubhari, well-versed in the sacred hymns, dwelt for twelve years in the waters. There, in those depths, lived Sammada, a fish lord of extraordinary size and fertility. Sammada was always surrounded by his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons, who swam behind him, before him, at his sides, above his wings, tail, and head, delighting in ceaseless play both day and night. As Sammada’s joy overflowed from the company of his progeny, the sage Saubhari, observing this, found himself ever more pleased. Day by day, he delighted in witnessing the happiness of Sammada and his descendants. But as Saubhari continued his meditation in the water, he began to ponder deeply. Each day, seeing Sammada’s supreme happiness with his sons and grandsons, Saubhari thought, “Ah! How fortunate is this being, who, even without desiring another birth, enjoys the company of his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons, stirring in me a longing for such joy.” Filled with this desire for progeny, Saubhari emerged from the water, resolved to establish a family of his own, and went to King Māndhātā to seek a bride. Upon hearing of the sage’s arrival, King Māndhātā immediately rose, honoring him with arghya and other offerings, and seated him with due respect. Saubhari then addressed the king, saying, “O King, I wish to establish a household; grant me a daughter. Do not reject my request. For your lineage, the Kakutsthas, are renowned for never sending away those who come seeking. Many kings on earth have daughters, but your family’s tradition of generosity is most praiseworthy. You have a hundred and fifty daughters, O King; give me one of them. I fear the pain of rejection and am anxious about the distress that refusal from a king may bring.” Hearing these words, the king looked upon the sage’s aged and decrepit body. Fearing both the consequences of refusal and the possibility of a curse, he lowered his face and pondered for a long time, uncertain how to respond to the sage’s earnest request.