Shabala, the wish-fulfilling cow, felt a deep sorrow as she was seized by the king’s men. With a heart heavy with grief, she wondered aloud, “What wrong have I done to that great-souled sage, that he, seeing me innocent and devoted, abandons me, though he is righteous?” Troubled by these thoughts and sighing again and again, she hastened to the powerful sage Vasiṣṭha. Shaking off the king’s men by the hundreds, she rushed with the swiftness of the wind to Vasiṣṭha’s feet, her spirit unbroken. Standing before the great sage, Shabala wept and cried out, her voice thundering like storm clouds. “O venerable one, son of Brahmā, why have you abandoned me, that the king’s soldiers are taking me away from your presence?” Vasiṣṭha, the Brahmarshi, looked upon her as one might look upon a grieving sister, her heart scorched by sorrow. He spoke gently, “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 the king’s, especially today; the king is powerful, a Kshatriya, and lord of the earth. His full army, crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, bristling with banners, makes him even stronger.” Hearing these words, Shabala, 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; Vishvamitra, though mighty, is not stronger than you—your energy is unassailable. Command me, O great-splendored one, endowed with Brahmanic power; I shall destroy the pride, strength, and effort of that wicked one.” Thus addressed, the renowned Vasiṣṭha said, “Release your power, destroyer of enemy forces.” At his command, Surabhi, the divine cow, bellowed mightily and produced hundreds of fierce Pahlavas. These warriors fell upon Vishvamitra’s army and destroyed it before his very eyes. Enraged, Vishvamitra’s eyes blazed with fury as he struck down the Pahlavas with his weapons, great and small. But as the Pahlavas fell, Shabala produced yet more—this time fierce Shakas mixed with Yavanas, who covered the earth like a vast tide. These warriors shone with radiance, armed with sharp swords and spears, clad in golden garments, resembling golden filaments. They consumed the king’s entire army as if it were engulfed in blazing fires. In response, the mighty Vishvamitra unleashed his weapons, throwing the Yavanas, Kambojas, and Barbaras into confusion. At this moment, Vasiṣṭha urged Shabala to create even more by her yogic power. From her bellowing sprang forth Kambojas, radiant as the sun; from her udder emerged Barbaras, armed with weapons. From her womb came the Yavanas, from the land of her excrement the Śakas arose, and in her hair follicles dwelled the Mlecchas, Hāritas, and Kirātas. These multitudes, fierce and swift, destroyed all of Vishvamitra’s forces in an instant—elephants, horses, and chariots alike. Seeing his entire army destroyed by the great-souled Vasiṣṭha, Vishvamitra’s hundred sons, armed with various weapons, advanced in fury. But the sage Vasiṣṭha, foremost among reciters of mantras, advanced upon them, and with a mere roar, burned them all to ashes—horses, chariots, foot soldiers, and sons alike, consumed in a moment by his Brahmanic power. Bereft of his army and sons, the illustrious Vishvamitra was seized by shame and deep thought. Like the ocean without its surge, a serpent with broken fangs, the sun eclipsed, he was suddenly bereft of brilliance. Deprived of sons and strength, dejected like a bird with clipped wings, all his power and enthusiasm gone, he fell into despair. In his grief, Vishvamitra appointed one son to rule the kingdom, instructing him to govern the earth according to the duty of a Kshatriya. Then, leaving behind his royal life, he departed for the forest. He journeyed to the slopes of the Himalayas, where Kinnaras and serpents roamed, and there he undertook severe austerities to win the favor of Mahādeva. After some time, the lord of the gods, the bull-bannered Mahādeva, appeared before Vishvamitra, ready to grant him a boon. “For what purpose do you practice austerities, O king? Speak your desire. I am the giver of boons—let the boon you seek be declared.” Vishvamitra, bowing to Mahādeva, replied, “If you are pleased, O sinless Mahādeva, grant me the knowledge of the science of archery, with all its branches, sub-branches, Upaniṣads, and secrets. May all the weapons known among the gods, the Dānavas, the great sages, the Gandharvas, Yakṣas, and Rākṣasas become manifest to me, O sinless one. By your grace, O god of gods, may my wish be fulfilled.” Mahādeva, the lord of the gods, granted his request, saying, “So be it,” and departed. Having obtained these powerful weapons and the knowledge of their use, the mighty Vishvamitra became filled with great pride, transformed by the grace of Mahādeva.