Saubhari, the sage, addressed King Māndhātā with calm assurance, saying, “O king, why do you sink into such deep anxiety? I have spoken nothing out of place. If you wish to give a daughter in marriage, let her fulfill my desire; if not, what harm is there in my seeking a bride elsewhere?” Śrī Parāśara narrates that the king, fearing the possibility of a sage’s curse and humbled by the situation, spoke to Saubhari with great respect. “O revered sage,” the king said, “in our family, it is tradition that a daughter chooses her own worthy husband. Your request is beyond our own will; I do not know how to resolve this. I am at a loss, not knowing what to do or say.” Hearing the king’s words, Saubhari reflected, “There is another way to avoid refusal. Being old and unattractive, how will these maidens choose me? Still, let it be as custom dictates.” He turned to Māndhātā and said, “If this is your tradition, then let me enter the women’s quarters. If any maiden desires me, I will marry her; if not, let us end this matter and not pursue what is past its time.” With these words, he fell silent. At Māndhātā’s command, and still wary of the sage’s power, the attendant of the women’s quarters was instructed accordingly. The attendant brought Saubhari into the women’s quarters. There, by his yogic power, Saubhari transformed himself, becoming so exceedingly handsome that he surpassed even the charm of the Gandharvas. After escorting the sage inside, the attendant addressed the king’s daughters: “Your father, the great king, has commanded thus. This brahmin sage has come seeking a bride. He has my promise: whichever of you chooses this venerable one, I will not oppose her choice.” Hearing this, all the princesses, filled with affection and excitement—like female elephants drawn to the leader of their herd—clamored eagerly to choose the sage. They cried out, “Enough, sister, I choose him, I choose him! He is not for you—he is my husband by destiny, and I am created for him. Go, find peace.” Another said, “I have chosen him first; why do you hinder me as he enters my home? He is mine, because of me!” Thus, a great quarrel arose among the king’s daughters, each claiming the sage as her own. When Saubhari, flawless in reputation, was chosen with such affection by the maidens, he, now empowered by their choice, respectfully informed the king. Māndhātā, bewildered and distressed—“What is this? How has it happened? What should I do or say?”—reluctantly gave his consent. Saubhari then married all the king’s daughters according to proper rites and led them to his hermitage. There, he summoned Viśvakarman, the divine master of arts, and commanded, “Build splendid palaces for each of my wives, furnished with soft beds, delightful lotus ponds teeming with singing swans and cranes, beautiful gardens, and every pleasant amenity.” So it was done: Tvaṣṭā, the master craftsman, displayed his wondrous skill. By Saubhari’s command, an inexhaustible treasure of joy and pleasure was established in those palaces. Day and night, the king’s daughters and their attendants were served with abundant food, delicacies, sweets, and every enjoyment in those resplendent homes. One day, drawn by affection for his daughters, King Māndhātā wondered about their happiness and decided to visit the sage’s hermitage. Approaching, he beheld a radiant row of crystal palaces, adorned with shining garlands, beautiful gardens, and lotus ponds. Entering one palace, he embraced his daughter, took a seat, and, his eyes brimming with tears of love, asked, “My dear, are you happy here, or is there any discomfort? Is the sage affectionate? Or do you miss your life in our house?” His daughter replied, “Father, this palace is enchanting, the gardens delightful, the birds sing sweetly, the lotus ponds bloom, and all comforts—food, ointments, garments, ornaments, soft beds and seats—are here. My household life is complete in every way. Still, who does not remember her birthplace? All this splendor is due to your favor. Yet there is one sorrow: my husband, the great sage, stays with me alone out of special affection, and does not visit my sisters, his other wives.” She continued, “My co-wife is exceedingly distressed,” and explained this as the cause of her sorrow. The king then went to a second palace, embraced his daughter there, sat, and asked the same questions. She too described the many pleasures and comforts she enjoyed, and said, “Out of special affection, he stays only with me, not with my sisters.” In this way, the king visited each palace, and each daughter told him the same story. Amazed and satisfied, the king approached the venerable Saubhari, who was alone. After offering him worship, Māndhātā said, “O venerable one, I have witnessed your immense power and accomplishment. Never have I seen such prosperity. I understand this is the fruit of your austerity.” Honoring the sage, the king remained for some time, enjoying the pleasures of the hermitage, and then returned to his own city. As time passed, Saubhari fathered a hundred sons with the royal daughters. Day by day, his affection grew deeper, and his heart became ever more attached by love. Thoughts filled his mind: “Will these sons of mine, who now babble like calves, ever walk on their own feet? Will they reach youth? Will I see them married? Will they have sons? Will I see my sons surrounded by their own sons?” As these thoughts multiplied, he began to neglect all else. Alas, he reflected, “How vast is the expanse of my delusion! There is no end to desires—not in ten thousand years, nor a hundred thousand. Even when some are fulfilled, new ones arise again and again. Even when my sons walk, reach youth, marry, and have children, my heart would still long to see the birth of their sons. If I think, ‘I will see their children,’ another desire will arise; even if that is fulfilled, yet another will be born. By whom can the arising of desires be prevented?” He realized, “Desires do not end even with death; the mind attached to desires does not attain true reality. My meditation, gained through the company of water-dwelling fish, was suddenly lost; this attachment I have created, and from this attachment, my excessive craving has arisen.” Thus, Saubhari came to understand the endless nature of worldly desire and the delusion that springs from attachment.