In the illustrious lineage of Ikshvaku, there once lived a king named Kundaratha, whose eyes were as radiant as lotuses. Yet, despite his noble descent, his realm was shadowed by the presence of faults. Kundaratha had a son whose face shone like the moon; he was called Bhadraratha. Bhadraratha’s son was Vishvaratha, followed by Brihadratha, then Sindhuratha, Shailaratha, Kamaratha, and Maharatha, each succeeding the other as father and son. Maharatha’s son was Vishnuratha, who was succeeded by Kalaratha, then Suryaratha, and finally Nabhoratha. The present lord, the subject of this tale, was born to Nabhoratha. He was a being of spotless purity, his presence as refreshing as the moon floating upon the ocean of milk, and his chariot seemed to overflow with nectar. This king is known as Viduratha, a name he earned through the accumulation of great merit. He was born to his mother Sumitra, whose beauty rivaled that of the goddess Gauri, just as Guha was born from another. When Viduratha was merely ten years old, his father entrusted him with the kingdom and retired to the forest. From that day, Viduratha ruled the land with righteousness and wisdom. Now, a wondrous moment had arrived—a time when the fruits of good deeds blossomed. Two queens, who had long endured the hardships of severe austerities, finally appeared before him, their presence shining like a reward for their devotion. Thus, Viduratha, lord of the earth, attained the highest purity, all by their gracious favor. Having spoken these words, the king and his minister sat in silent reverence. With hands joined, heads bowed, and seated in the lotus posture upon the ground, they awaited what was to unfold. Then, the goddess Sarasvati, with gentle compassion, touched the king’s head and said, “O King, recall with discernment your previous birth yourself.” At her touch, the darkness of ignorance within Viduratha’s heart dissolved, and knowledge blossomed within him like a lotus opening to the sun. Suddenly, memories of his past life stirred within him. He recalled his former sovereignty in another body, the playful acts and experiences that had filled his days. As the story of his previous existence unfolded through the interplay of knowledge and effort, he felt as though he were swept away in the vast ocean of his own history. He spoke with wonder, “Alas! This world of endless wandering is indeed woven by illusion. By the grace of the goddesses, I now see it clearly. O goddesses, what is this mystery? Has only a single day passed since my death? Yet here, seventy years of my life have gone by. I remember so many things—my great-grandfather, my childhood, my youth, and the company of friends and family.” The goddess replied, “O King, immediately after the great delusion and fainting of death, all that transpired in that other world occurred in but an instant. Whether you know it or not, I shall tell you: the inner space of that house is said to be right here. Within the house of a brahmin in a mountain village, there is the king’s hall; within it, this world appears, and within each, the house of the world itself.” She continued, “By my boon, your soul remains within that brahmin’s house; there is your royal seat, and within that, your own hall. Within that very house is this entire circle of worldly existence; there stands your own house, slow to begin. In the pure mind, as clear as the open sky, this appearance of worldly confusion is spread out.” Viduratha reflected, “Just as this is said to be my birth, so too is the Ikshvaku lineage mine; these are my names, and these were my ancestors in times past. I was born, became a child, and when I was ten years old, my father, having become a renunciant, went to the forest after installing me on the throne. Then, having conquered all directions and removed obstacles, I ruled the earth with my ministers and citizens. While performing sacrifices and upholding righteousness, protecting my subjects, seventy years of my life have passed. Now, a fierce enemy has arrived; after fighting them, I have returned home as before.” “These two goddesses I worship upon my return, for when worshipped, deities indeed grant the boons one desires. Of these two, one is mine—she grants knowledge and the memory of past births; here, the goddess has caused the lotus of my heart to blossom. Now I have accomplished my purpose. I am born anew, free from doubt, at peace, completely extinguished, and I rest in pure contentment.” The goddess explained further, “This delusion of yours, so greatly agitated, filled with various pursuits and pleasures, wandering through different worlds, has been extended. At the very moment in the past when you approached death, this insight spontaneously arose in your heart. Just as a current of water, leaving one whirlpool, quickly enters another, so too does the stream of consciousness swiftly assume another cycle after abandoning one. As a whirlpool, mingled with other eddies, continues to revolve, so does the glory of creation, sometimes mixed and sometimes distinct, increase in this way.” “At the moment of your death, insight arose for you; this web, though unreal in nature, appears to abide in the portion of consciousness as if it were real. Just as, in a dream, a hundred years may pass in a single moment; just as, in the creations of imagination, life and death occur again and again; just as, in the city of the Gandharvas, there are walls, halls, and chambers; just as, in the commotion of a boat journey, trees and mountains seem to appear; just as, when the bodily humors are disturbed, the city and mountains seem to dance; just as, in a dream, one may see oneself cutting off one’s own head—” “In this way, this powerful delusion, taking many forms, is entirely false. In truth, you have never been born, nor have you ever died.” Thus, through the grace of the goddesses and the blossoming of knowledge, the king realized the illusory nature of worldly existence, attaining peace and contentment beyond the reach of birth and death.