At the sacred hour of midnight, after their ritual was completed, the sages carefully placed a pot filled with water purified by potent mantras at the center of their altar. With their task done, they retired for the night and drifted into sleep. During those silent hours, King Yuvanashva, tormented by an intense and unrelenting thirst, wandered into the hermitage. Out of respect, he did not disturb the sleeping sages. Instead, drawn by the sight of the vessel, whose greatness was immeasurable and whose waters had been sanctified by mantra, he drank deeply from it. When dawn broke and the sages awoke, they immediately noticed the vessel and asked one another, “Who has drunk this water, purified by mantra?” At that moment, a prophecy arose among them: “Here, the wife of King Yuvanashva will give birth to a son of great strength and valor.” Hearing this, the king confessed with humility, “I drank it unknowingly.” A remarkable event then unfolded: a fetus began to develop within Yuvanashva’s own belly, growing steadily with each passing day. When the time of birth arrived, the child broke through the king’s abdomen with his right thumb and emerged into the world. With this, King Yuvanashva’s life came to an end. The sages, witnessing this wonder, pondered, “What name should 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 infant’s mouth and let him drink. Nourished by this divine nectar, Māndhātṛ grew rapidly, reaching full vigor and strength in a single day. Māndhātṛ went on to become a universal emperor, ruling and enjoying the earth with its seven continents. It is said in praise: as long as the sun rises and sets, and as long as it endures, all that is called the domain of Yuvanashva belongs to Māndhātṛ. Māndhātṛ married Bindumatī, the daughter of Shatabindu, and from their union were born three sons—Purukutsa, Ambarīsha, and Muchukunda—as well as fifty daughters. At this time, the great sage Saubhari, deeply versed in sacred hymns, was engaged in meditation, dwelling in the waters for twelve years. Within those waters lived Sammada, a fish lord of extraordinary size and fertility. Sammada was surrounded day and night by his sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons, who played joyfully around him—behind, before, at his sides, above his wings, tail, and head. The sage Saubhari, observing the fish’s ever-increasing happiness in the company of his offspring, found himself delighted by their joy and play. Each day, as he beheld Sammada’s supreme happiness with his sons and grandsons, Saubhari’s heart was stirred. He thought, “How fortunate is this being! Though he did not desire another birth, he enjoys himself with sons and grandsons, awakening in me a longing for such joy.” Inspired by this yearning, Saubhari resolved, “We too shall delight in playful enjoyment with sons and others.” So, desiring progeny, he emerged from the water and went to King Māndhātṛ, seeking a bride. When news of the sage’s arrival reached the king, Māndhātṛ immediately rose and honored Saubhari with the traditional offerings of welcome. After seating him respectfully, the sage spoke: “O king, I wish to establish a household. Grant me a daughter. Do not reject my request. Your lineage is famed for never sending away those who seek your aid.” He continued, “There are indeed many kings whose daughters have been born, but your family’s vow to give to those who ask is celebrated. You have a hundred and fifty daughters; O king, give me one of them. I fear the pain of rejection and the distress it would cause me if refused.” Hearing these words, the king looked upon the sage, whose body was aged and decrepit. Fearing the consequences of refusal and the possibility of a curse, Māndhātṛ lowered his face and pondered for a long time. Seeing the king’s anxiety, Saubhari said, “O king, why do you fall into such unbearable worry? I have said nothing unreasonable. If any daughter is to be given, let her fulfill my wish; if not, why should I not obtain her?” With humility and concern for the sage’s anger, the king replied, “O sage, in our family, it is the custom that whichever daughter desires a worthy suitor is given to him. Your request, O revered one, is beyond our wishes. How this situation has arisen, I do not know what to do.” Thus the king spoke, and the sage pondered. Saubhari thought, “There is another way to avoid refusal: being old and unattractive to women, how will the maidens choose me?” Deciding on a course of action, he said, “So be it, I shall act accordingly,” and addressed Māndhātṛ: “If so, then let me be admitted to the women’s quarters. If any maiden desires me, I will take her as my wife; otherwise, let this matter end, and let us not pursue what is past its time.” At the king’s command, and with concern for the sage’s possible curse, the attendant of the women’s quarters was instructed. Entering with Saubhari, the sage transformed his appearance, making himself exceedingly beautiful, surpassing even the Gandharvas in charm. The attendant then addressed the maidens, saying, “The great king, your father, commands thus: This brahmin sage has come to us seeking a bride.