Viśvāmitra, his heart set upon acquiring the wondrous cow, approached the venerable sage Vasiṣṭha with enticing offers. “I will give you a crore of cows,” he declared, “of every color and age you desire—only let the spotted one, Kāmadhenu, be given to me.” When Vasiṣṭha remained unmoved, Viśvāmitra pressed further, promising, “As many jewels or as much gold as you can wish for, O best of the twice-born, I will grant you all that—only let the spotted cow be mine.” But wise Vasiṣṭha, steadfast and serene, replied to Viśvāmitra, “Under no circumstance, O king, will I give you the spotted one. She alone is my treasure, my wealth, my everything—she is my very life. The new and full moon sacrifices, all the rites I perform—these are mine, O king, as are the various other rituals. All my sacred duties depend upon her, and there is no doubt about it. Why speak further? I shall not relinquish the wish-fulfilling cow.” Viśvāmitra, unheeding, decided to take Kāmadhenu by force. When Vasiṣṭha would not yield, the king began to drag away the spotted cow. As she was being led away by the king’s men, the gentle cow, distressed and weeping, pondered her sorrow: “Abandoned by the supremely noble Vasiṣṭha, why am I, so miserable, being led away by the king’s men? What wrong have I done to that great-souled sage, that he, seeing me innocent and devoted, abandons me, though he is righteous?” Tormented by these thoughts and sighing again and again, Kāmadhenu swiftly broke free from the king’s men, shaking them off by the hundreds. With the speed of the wind, she rushed to the feet of great-souled Vasiṣṭha. Weeping and her cries resounding like thunder, she stood before him and pleaded, “O venerable one, son of Brahmā, why have you abandoned me, that the king’s soldiers are taking me away from your presence?” Vasiṣṭha, his heart touched by her grief, spoke gently as one would to a sorrowing sister: “I do not abandon you, Shabala, nor have you done me any wrong. But this mighty king is taking you from me by force. My strength is not equal to his today; the king is powerful, a Kshatriya, lord of the earth. His entire army, crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, bristling with banners, makes him even stronger.” Kāmadhenu, skilled in speech, humbly replied, “They do not say that the strength of a Kshatriya is greater, O Brahman. The divine power of Brahmanic strength surpasses that of Kshatriyas. Your strength is immeasurable; Viśvāmitra, though of great might, is not stronger than you—your energy is unassailable. Command me, O great-splendored one, endowed with Brahmanic power, and I shall destroy the pride, strength, and effort of that wicked one.” Hearing these words, the renowned Vasiṣṭha said, “Release your power, destroyer of enemy forces.” At his command, Kāmadhenu bellowed, and from her cries hundreds of Pahlavas sprang forth. These fierce warriors fell upon Viśvāmitra’s army, destroying it before his very eyes. Consumed with rage, Viśvāmitra retaliated, his eyes blazing, and destroyed the Pahlavas with his weapons. But Kāmadhenu was not deterred. Seeing the Pahlavas afflicted, she produced again, this time fierce Shakas mixed with Yavanas, who covered the earth. Radiant, mighty, armed with sharp swords and spears, and clad in golden garments, they swept over the battlefield like blazing fires, consuming Viśvāmitra’s army. The king, desperate, unleashed his weapons, throwing the Yavanas, Kambojas, and Barbaras into confusion. Witnessing his forces bewildered and routed, Vasiṣṭha urged Kāmadhenu to create by her yogic power. From her bellowing appeared Kambojas, radiant as the sun; from her udder emerged Barbaras, armed for battle. From her womb came the Yavanas, from her excrement the Śakas, and in her hair follicles dwelled the Mlecchas, Hāritas, and Kirātas. These multitudes fell upon Viśvāmitra’s army, utterly destroying it—elephants, horses, chariots, and all. Seeing his army struck down by the great-souled Vasiṣṭha, Viśvāmitra’s hundred sons, bearing various weapons, charged forth in fury. Then Vasiṣṭha, exceedingly enraged and foremost among reciters of mantras, advanced. With a mere roar, he burned them all to ashes—Viśvāmitra’s sons, their horses, chariots, and foot soldiers, all perished in a moment. Bereft of his forces, the illustrious Viśvāmitra was seized by shame and deep reflection. Like the ocean deprived of its surge, like a serpent with broken fangs, like the sun eclipsed, he was suddenly bereft of all brilliance.