The goddess asked gently, “Child, tell us: how did you first arrive in this place? What happened to you, what did you see along the way, and where?” With humility, the child replied, “O goddess, in that place I fell into a swoon, overcome like the waning crescent moon, engulfed by the flames marking the end of an age. In that state, I was unaware of anything—neither pleasant nor unpleasant. My eyes closed beneath trembling lashes, and I slipped into a deathly unconsciousness. But when that swoon ended, O supreme goddess, I suddenly arose and soared into the vast expanse of the sky. In the space of elements, I mounted a chariot of wind, carried as a streak of fragrance is borne along, and so I arrived at this abode. Here, I beheld a dwelling, adorned by its master, shining with lamps, secluded, and furnished with a splendid bed. I saw my husband, Viduratha, lying there, his body guarded by flowers, like honey in a garden of blossoms. Exhausted from the fervor of battle, he slept deeply; thus, O queen of gods, I did not disturb his slumber. When you, goddess, arrived in this place, I recounted all that I had experienced, O gracious one, for your favor. O you who move like swans, with playful and charming eyes, let us raise the king from this bed of corpses.” With these words, she released her vital breath like a lotus releasing its fragrance; it took the form of a breeze and entered his nostrils. Swiftly it entered the cavity of his nose, like wind passing through a hollow bamboo, carrying hundreds of its own impressions within, as the ocean holds gems. The radiance of life within him shone forth from his face, just as a lotus appears to be entered by another lotus in water when its reflection is seen. Gradually, all his limbs gleamed with beauty, like clusters of flowers on the earth or networks of vines upon a hill. Then he appeared, full of splendor, like the moon at its fullest, illuminating the dwelling with abundant rays from his moon-like face. His limbs expanded, soft and full of vitality, shining with golden brilliance like fresh shoots in spring. He opened his eyes, sources of pure light, charming in their beauty, like the moon and sun illuminating the world. Rising up, his body radiant like the mighty Vindhya mountain growing in stature, he spoke, “Who stands here, dwelling in this abode of shining brilliance?” Before him, the duality of play spoke, saying, “Let it be commanded.” He saw, standing humbly before him, the duality of play—equal in support, form, appearance, speech, effort, joy, and arising. Observing her, he asked, “Who are you? Who is this? Where has she come from?” Lila replied, “O lord, listen to what I am about to say. I am your wife, grown up with you from before, closely united, abiding with you like speech with its meaning. This is your second wife, Lila, whom I have lightly acquired for your sake; I shall tell you how this came to be. She who is seated at the head, upon the great golden throne here—she is the goddess Sarasvati, the auspicious mother of the three worlds. By the merit we have accumulated, she has appeared here directly; by her, O king, you have been brought here from another world.” Hearing this, the lotus-eyed king arose, adorned with hanging garlands and garments, and fell at the feet of the goddess of wisdom. He prayed, “O Sarasvati, I bow to you, bestower of benefit to all worlds; O giver of boons, grant me wisdom, long life, and wealth.” As he spoke, the goddess of wisdom touched him with her hand, saying, “May you be endowed with sons and all desired things. May all misfortunes and the sight of every evil deed depart; may endless joys come fully; may the people always be cheerful; may the nation be secure, and may prosperity ever shine forth.” When Sarasvati had spoken these words, she vanished right there. In the morning, all the people awoke together with the blooming lotuses. Lila embraced her beloved in play, and he embraced her in turn; again and again, the king, revived from death, experienced great joy. At that time, the royal palace was filled with people intoxicated by joy and love, resounding with the tumult of music and song. There was the deep, reverberating sound of victory, auspiciousness, and blessedness; the palace was crowded with delighted, well-nourished people, surrounded by the royal assembly and its women. The air was cooled by showers of flowers released by Siddhas and Vidyadharas; the sound of drums, mridangas, murajas, kahalas, conches, and dundubhis resounded. Great elephants raised their broad trunks high, thundering fiercely; the halls were filled with the loud sounds of vigorous tandava dances and the clapping of women’s hands. There was the commotion of people meeting, presenting various gifts, and the beauty of garlands and flower-crowns assembled together. The sky, strewn with torn linen by ministers, vassals, and citizens, became like a field of lotuses, reddened by the groups of dancers. The air was filled with the swinging earrings of intoxicated women, their necks arched in play, and the dust of flowers rose from the stamping feet of the dancers. The canopy of clouds, like a tent of woven cloth, was adorned by the faces of noble women, dancing and shining like the moon in the courtyards of palaces. People in distant lands sang ballads of how the king and his very soul, his beloved, had been brought back from the other world.