King Māndhāta, having promised the sage Saubhari that whichever of his daughters chose the venerable one, he would not oppose her choice, watched as all his daughters, filled with affection and excitement, eagerly vied for the sage’s hand. Like she-elephants drawn to their leader, each daughter spoke out, claiming Saubhari for herself. “Enough, sister, I choose him, I choose him! He is not suited for you—he is my husband, destined for me, and I for him. Find peace elsewhere,” one insisted. Another replied, “I have chosen him first! Why do you hinder me as he enters my house? Because of me, because of me!” Thus, a great quarrel broke out among the king’s daughters over the sage. When Saubhari, whose reputation was flawless, saw himself chosen with such affection by the maidens, he approached the king and respectfully informed him of the situation. The king, distressed and reluctant, wondered in his heart, “What is this? How has it happened? What should I do? What should I say?” Yet, bound by his word, he gave his consent. Thereupon, the great sage Saubhari married all the daughters in accordance with proper custom and led them to his hermitage. There, he summoned Viśvakarman, the divine architect, and instructed him: “Let there be splendid palaces for each daughter, furnished with soft bedding, delightful lotus ponds with singing swans, cranes, and other birds, and all manner of pleasant surroundings and amenities.” Viśvakarman, the master of special arts, fulfilled the sage’s wish, demonstrating his extraordinary skill. By the sage’s command, an inexhaustible treasure of joy was established in those houses. Day and night, the king’s daughters and their attendants were served with a constant supply of food, delicacies, sweets, and every enjoyment in those splendid homes. One day, the king, longing to know whether his daughters were happy or discontent, came to Saubhari’s hermitage. There he saw a radiant row of crystal palaces, adorned with shining garlands, surrounded by delightful gardens and blooming lotus ponds. Entering one palace, he embraced his daughter and, his eyes brimming with tears of affection, asked, “My dear, are you happy here, or is there any discomfort? Is the sage affectionate, or do you still remember our home?” His daughter replied, “Father, this palace is enchanting, the gardens are delightful, the birds sing sweetly, the lotus ponds are in bloom. Food, delicacies, ointments, garments, ornaments, and all comforts are pleasing. The beds and seats are soft. My household life is complete in every way. Still, who does not remember their birthplace? All this splendor is due to your favor. Yet, one sorrow remains: my husband, the great sage, stays with me out of special affection and does not visit my sisters, his other wives.” Moved, the king went to a second palace, embraced another daughter, and asked the same questions. She too described the pleasures of her palace, but lamented that the sage, out of special affection for her, stayed with her alone and not with her sisters. In this way, the king visited each daughter, and all spoke similarly. Amazed and deeply satisfied, the king approached Saubhari, worshipped him, and said, “O venerable one, I have witnessed your immense power of accomplishment—never have I seen such prosperity. This, I understand, is the fruit of your austerity.” The king stayed for some time, enjoying the sage’s hospitality, before returning to his city. As time passed, Saubhari had a hundred sons with the king’s daughters. His affection for his family grew deeper each day, and his heart became intensely attached by love. He began to ponder, “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?” Such thoughts grew daily, consuming his mind. He reflected, “Alas, how vast is my delusion! There is no end to desires—not in ten thousand or a hundred thousand years. Even when some are fulfilled, new ones arise. Even when my sons walk, reach youth, marry, and have children, my mind will still long to see their sons. If I think, ‘I will see their children,’ then another desire will arise. Who can prevent the arising of desires?” Saubhari realized, “Desires do not end even with death; the mind attached to desires does not attain true reality. My meditation, gained in the company of water-dwelling fish, was suddenly lost. This attachment I have created, and from it, excessive craving has arisen. The suffering that began with a single body has now, through a hundred sons, been multiplied by attachment to wives and children. Through sons, grandsons, and further descendants, this possessiveness will only expand and bring sorrow. The austerity I practiced in the water is only half completed; this attachment has become an obstacle. From association with the fish, my passion for sons and the like arose, and by that I have been robbed of my peace.” He understood, “For renunciants, freedom from attachment is the path to liberation; from attachment, all faults arise. Even one established in yoga falls by attachment—what then of one with little understanding? I will act for the sake of the Self, freed from attachment to possession and acquisition. When a person is no longer afflicted by faults, he will not be made miserable by sorrows.” Resolving thus, Saubhari declared, “I shall worship Viṣṇu, the creator of all, whose form is inconceivable, subtler than the subtlest, immeasurable, both white and black, the Lord of lords, by means of austerity alone. May my mind, free from faults, always remain steadfast in Viṣṇu—who is all-radiant, of every form, whose unmanifest and manifest body is infinite—so that I may attain liberation again. I seek refuge in Viṣṇu, the supreme teacher of teachers, apart from whom nothing exists—who is pure, infinite, lord of all, without beginning or middle.” Having thus resolved, Saubhari abandoned all his possessions—sons, home, seat, and everything else—together with all his wives, and entered the forest. There, daily performing the duties prescribed for a hermit, he destroyed all his sins. With his mind matured, he established the sacred fires within himself and became a mendicant, seeking only the highest truth.