In the ancient days, there lived the royal sage Kuśanābha, a king of great virtue and righteousness. With his wife Ghṛtācī, he was blessed with a hundred incomparable daughters, each radiant and unique. These princesses, blossoming in the prime of youth and beauty, adorned themselves splendidly and would often wander together into the palace gardens. Their presence was like a hundred mighty rivers swelling in the rainy season, filling the grounds with life and splendor. As they entered the gardens, the daughters of Kuśanābha delighted in singing, dancing, and playing melodious instruments. Decked in exquisite ornaments, they reveled in joy, their laughter and music echoing through the groves. So enchanting were they—each limb graceful, each face unmatched in all the earth—that they seemed like stars shining amidst the clouds as they moved through the blossoming grounds. It was then that the wind-god, Vāyu, lord of all beings, beheld these maidens. Struck by their beauty and virtues, he approached them and spoke: “I desire you all to be my wives. Abandon your mortal state, and I shall grant you long life. Human youth is fleeting, but with me, you shall have unfading youth and immortality.” Hearing the words of the wind-god, whose power is effortless and all-pervading, the hundred maidens laughed gently and replied with humility and wisdom: “O best among the gods, you move within all beings, and all know your might. Why do you disregard us now? We are the daughters of King Kuśanābha and have taken vows of austerity to remain in our rightful place. Let not such a time come, O divine one, when you would dishonor our truthful father. Our duty is to accept as husband only the one to whom our father gives us. He is our lord and highest deity; whomever he chooses for us, to him we shall belong.” But the wind-god, angered by their steadfastness, entered their bodies with his divine force and broke them, reducing their forms until each maiden was bent and misshapen, their beauty marred. Terrified and distressed, the princesses returned to their father’s palace, their eyes brimming with tears, their modesty and agitation plain to see. King Kuśanābha, seeing his beloved daughters so afflicted and sorrowful, was deeply troubled. He asked them, “What has happened, my daughters? Who has disregarded righteousness and caused you this harm? You move about but do not speak.” Sighing, he waited for their reply. Gathering themselves, the hundred maidens approached their father, bowed at his feet, and spoke: “O king, the wind-god, who pervades all, sought to violate us, disregarding the path of righteousness. We told him, ‘We are under our father’s authority and not free to choose. If our father gives us to you, then we are yours.’ But he did not heed our words and, bound to sin, struck us harshly, leaving us thus deformed.” Hearing their account, the wise and splendid king replied with gentle pride: “Patience is the highest virtue for those who endure, my daughters. You have acted together and preserved the honor of our lineage. Adornment is for women, but patience is for men—yet such forbearance is rare even among the gods. The patience you have shown is itself a form of charity, truth, and sacrifice. It brings fame and righteousness; indeed, the world itself rests upon patience.” Having thus comforted them, the king let his daughters go, his mind turning to their future. He then consulted with his ministers, considering carefully the time, place, and a worthy bridegroom for his hundred daughters. At that very time, a radiant sage named Cūlī, steadfast in celibacy and virtue, was performing austerities. Serving him was Somadā, a Gandharva maiden and daughter of Ūrmilā. She attended to the sage with devotion and, in time, won his favor. Pleased with her service, the sage said, “I am pleased with you. Tell me, what can I do for your good?” Somadā, delighted and respectful, replied, “O great ascetic, blessed with Brahmanical splendor, I desire a righteous son endowed with your penance. I am without a husband and not anyone’s wife; through Brahmanical means, you are fit to grant me a son.” Pleased, the sage granted her a son born of his mind, an excellent Brahmanical child named Brahmadatta. This Brahmadatta, endowed with great splendor, became king of Kāmpilya, ruling like Indra among the gods. King Kuśanābha, recognizing Brahmadatta’s virtue and glory, resolved to give his hundred daughters to him. Summoning the illustrious Brahmadatta, he joyfully bestowed all his daughters upon him. In due order, Brahmadatta accepted their hands in marriage, just as the lord of the gods unites with his consorts. At the very touch of Brahmadatta’s hand, the deformities and afflictions of the maidens vanished. They regained their supreme beauty, shining forth once more in radiance and grace, their suffering ended and their joy restored.