In gardens blooming with fragrance, along gentle riverbanks, beneath the shade of trees, on winding forest paths, and within the secluded chambers of grand mansions—everywhere, in all these places and in countless ways, a young woman lived, cherished and beloved. Raised in comfort, she was the devoted wife of her husband, a man she adored more than life itself, radiant with the vigor of youth and the splendor of a king. One day, her heart turned toward auspicious thoughts. She pondered deeply: “My husband, lord of the world, is dearer to me than my own breath. He is in the prime of his youth—how might he become ageless and immortal? How might I, his beloved, delight with him in these flower-filled houses for hundreds of years, embraced by him who fills me with joy?” She reflected further: “Surely, by gradual effort—through ascetic practices, recitation of sacred verses, and earnest striving—one can become, like the moon among kings, ageless and deathless. I must ask the twice-born, those Brahmins advanced in wisdom, asceticism, and learning: how is it that death does not come to people?” Having thus resolved, she approached the wise Brahmins. With great respect, she honored them and asked again and again, “O venerable ones, how can immortality be attained?” The Brahmins replied, “O goddess, through all forms of asceticism and recitation, both the accomplished and the unaccomplished gain various results, but immortality is never obtained.” Hearing these words, the young woman’s mind raced with anxious thoughts. Fearful of being parted from her beloved, she considered swiftly, “If fate decrees that my husband dies before me, then, freed from all sorrow, I will abide in my own self, at peace. But if, after a thousand years, he should die first, I will act so that his soul does not leave our home.” She resolved further: “When my husband’s soul departs and is present in my own pure inner chamber, I will remain there, always visible to him, dwelling as I please. Today, I begin this endeavor: I will worship the goddess Sarasvati, embodiment of knowledge, with recitation, fasting, and discipline, seeking her satisfaction.” With this firm determination, the noble lady began her severe austerities, keeping her purpose hidden from her husband. According to the scriptures, she undertook rigorous discipline. At the end of every three-night period, having completed her fast, she devoted herself to the worship of gods, Brahmins, teachers, wise men, and scholars. Constantly she bathed, gave in charity, practiced austerity, and studied the sacred texts. Her body was ever diligent, performing all duties of faith and good conduct, enduring great hardship. According to the proper time, with effort and in the prescribed order, she continued to serve her husband, though he remained unaware of her true state. For a hundred cycles of three nights, the young woman maintained her discipline, steadfast in her practices, striving with unwavering effort. At the end of these hundred cycles, having worshipped the sacred image, the blessed goddess Gauri, mistress of speech, became pleased and spoke to her. The goddess said, “Through your uninterrupted austerity and surpassing devotion to your husband, I am fully satisfied with you, child. Ask for the boon you desire.” The young woman replied with reverence, “Victory to you, O goddess, whose radiance is like the moon, dispelling the burning afflictions of birth, old age, and death! Victory to you, whose brilliance is like the sun, removing the dense darkness of the heart. O mother of the three worlds, protect this wretched one; grant me these two boons that I now request. First, let the soul of my departed husband not leave his own inner palace from here. Second, O great goddess, grant that whenever I wish to see you for a boon, you will appear before me.” Hearing her prayer, the Mother of the world replied, “So be it,” and in an instant vanished, rising like a wave in the ocean. The royal queen, knowing her cherished deity was satisfied, was filled with joy, like a gentle doe delighted by a sweet song. Yet, even as the fierce wheel of time—its sharp edges marking days, years, and moments—turns inexorably, it carries all within its ever-pulsing center. In time, the consciousness of her husband entered her, becoming visible at once, just as sap appears in a dry leaf. When his body was shattered in battle and lay dead in the inner chamber, the one who had dwelled there, like a waterless lotus, withered utterly. Her lips, once soft as petals, became stiff from the heat and poison of her breath; she herself entered the state of death, like the slopes of Mount Malaya scorched dry. With death’s arrival, darkness and blindness seized her, her radiance fading like the glow of a house when the lamp’s flame is spent. In a moment, she grew thin; the young girl lost her luster, like a river running dry, left pale and dust-laden as its stream disappears. Swiftly she became one who cried out, then quickly fell into silent withdrawal, separated and proud, like a female chakravaka bird facing death. Overwhelmed with distress, the goddess Sarasvati, born of the sky, was moved with compassion for her, just as the first rain pities a fish tormented by the drying of the lake. Sarasvati spoke: “O child, cover this husband, now a corpse, with flowered blankets and lay him here; you will have him again. The flowers will wither, but he will not perish; soon, your husband will be yours once more. His soul, clear as space, will not quickly depart from the inner hall.” Her relatives, hearing the sound of her footsteps—like a line of bees—came to comfort her, as a lotus is revived by water. Leaving her husband there, covered with a heap of flowers, she stood for a moment, somewhat consoled, like a poor woman who has laid down her treasure. On that very day, in that pure inner hall, as midnight fell and all the attendants had been seized by sleep, the story paused, awaiting the unfolding of destiny.