O venerable one, I have witnessed your immense power—never before have I seen such prosperity displayed by anyone else. Truly, I understand that all this is the fruit of your great austerity. Thus honoring the sage, the king remained for some time in his company, enjoying every pleasure he desired along with that best of sages. When the time was right, he took his leave and returned to his own city. As the days and months passed, he had a hundred sons by those royal daughters. With each passing day, his affection for them deepened; his heart, bound by love, became ever more attached. Thoughts would arise in his mind: “Will these sons of mine, who now babble like little calves, ever walk on their own feet? Will they reach youth? Will I see them married? Will they have sons of their own? Will I live to see my sons surrounded by their own children?” Such thoughts grew stronger with time, filling his mind and distracting him from all else. Then, a realization dawned upon him: “Alas, how vast is the expanse of my delusion! There is no end to desires—not in ten thousand years, not in a hundred thousand. Even when some wishes are fulfilled, new desires arise again and again. Even if my sons grow up, marry, and have children, I will still long to see the birth of their sons. And if I think, ‘Let me see their children,’ yet another desire will arise. Even if that is granted, a new longing will be born. Who can prevent the arising of desire?” He came to understand: “Desires do not end, even with death. The mind attached to desire never attains true reality. The meditation I gained through the company of the water-dwelling fish was suddenly lost. It is this attachment I have created, and from this attachment, my excessive craving has arisen. The suffering that began with a single body has now multiplied a hundredfold through my attachment to the daughters of kings and my many sons. Through sons, grandsons, and their sons, and the further attachments to them, this possessiveness only expands, becoming a great cause of sorrow. The austerity I practiced in the water has only been half completed; this attachment has become an obstacle to my asceticism. From my association with the fish, my passion for sons and such arose, and by that, I have been robbed. “For renunciants, freedom from attachment is the path to liberation. From attachment, all faults arise. Even one established in yoga can fall due to attachment—what then of one with little understanding? Therefore, I will act for the sake of the Self, with understanding freed from attachment to possession and acquisition. When a person is no longer afflicted by faults, he will not be made miserable by sorrows. 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, freed 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, from whom nothing else exists apart—who is pure, infinite, lord of all, without beginning or middle.” Having thus spoken to himself, Saubhari abandoned entirely all his possessions—his sons, home, seat, and everything else—along with all his wives, and entered the forest. There, daily performing all the duties prescribed for a hermit, having destroyed all his sins, and with his mind matured, he established the sacred fires within himself and became a mendicant. Renouncing all actions and their branches, attaching himself to the Blessed One—who is pure, unborn, without beginning or end, unchanging, and beyond death—he attained the supreme, endless, immutable state of Acyuta. Thus has the account related to Māndhātṛ’s daughter been told. Whoever remembers, recites, teaches, listens to, causes to be heard, holds in mind, understands, writes, causes to be written, studies, teaches, or instructs this story of Saubhari—for six births, such a one will not have bad offspring, will not stray from true dharma, nor be attached to unworthy causes, nor will his speech or mind depart from the right path. Now, the lineage of Māndhātu’s sons is described. Yuvanāśva was the son of Ambarīṣa, Māndhātu’s son. From him came Hārīta; from Hārīta descended the Hāritas of the Aṅgiras lineage. In the netherworld, there existed Gandharvas called the Mauneyas, numbering sixty crores. These Gandharvas seized the sovereignty and chief jewels of all the Nāga clans. Beset by these powerful Gandharvas, the serpent kings approached the Lord of all gods, who reclined upon the waters, his lotus eyes half-open in sleep and awakening. With great reverence, they said, “Lord, we are afflicted by fear of these Gandharvas—how will it be pacified?” The Blessed One, the supreme and eternal Person, replied, “I will enter Purukutsa, son of Yuvanāśva, Māndhātu’s descendant, and through him I will bring about the destruction of all those wicked Gandharvas.” Hearing this, the serpent kings, after paying homage to the Lord reclining on the waters, returned to the realm of the Nāgas and urged the river Narmadā to bring Purukutsa. She led him to the netherworld. There, empowered by the Lord’s energy, Purukutsa destroyed all the Gandharvas. Afterwards, he returned to his own city. In gratitude, all the lords of serpents granted a boon to Narmadā: whoever, united in remembrance, utters her name shall have no fear of snake venom. Thus is this verse given: “Salutations to Narmadā in the morning, salutations to Narmadā at night; salutations to you, Narmadā—protect me from venomous serpents.” By reciting this day and night, or when entering darkness, one is not bitten by serpents; nor does poison harm those who have performed this remembrance. Furthermore, the lords of serpents granted a boon that Purukutsa’s lineage would never be broken. Purukutsa begot Trasaddasyu on Narmadā. From Trasaddasyu was born Anaraṇya, whom Rāvaṇa killed during his conquest of the directions.