As the deep darkness of night gradually faded, taking with it the stars and the moon, I felt my own face grow pale and weary from the long vigil. The wild howls of jackals subsided, and the chattering of teeth from those suffering the cold grew silent. With the coming of dawn, the eastern sky glowed red, as if flushed by wine, and seemed almost to laugh at me as I sat sunken within myself. In a moment, I beheld the sun rising at the gateway of the sky, emerging as knowledge appears to the ignorant, or as gold appears to the poor. Stirred by this sight, I rose and struck my shield, much like one enchanted by the dance of twilight, beating upon elephant hide with a stick. Thus, I set out to wander the vast wilderness, moving through it as time itself moves through the world, consuming all beings like the fire at the end of an age. In that ancient, desolate jungle, no living creature was to be seen—just as in the body of a fool, only a trace of virtue is found. Only the birds, fearless and restless, wandered about, uttering their cīcī and kūcī cries. As the sun climbed an eighth part of the sky, I saw the vines, freshly bathed, with only faint traces of withered dew remaining. As I wandered further, I saw a maiden carrying rice, holding a golden pot of nectar. She reminded me of Mādhavī, seized by a demon. I approached her, this dark-skinned girl with three stars for eyes, draped in pale garments, as the moon approaches the night. I pleaded with her, “O girl, bring me some food quickly in this dire distress; by relieving the suffering of the afflicted, prosperity grows.” I told her that hunger burned within me like a black serpent coiled in the hollow of an old tree. Yet, though I begged her, she gave me nothing, just as wealth, though earnestly sought, is granted by fortune only to the wicked. Only after I followed her persistently for a long time did a little fall to me, as a shadow falls before one who stands. She then spoke: “Know me as a chandala woman adorned with necklaces and armlets, fierce as a demoness, with the faces of men, horses, and elephants. O king, by mere asking you will not obtain food from me, just as true nobility is not found in one born outside the village.” Having said this, she departed, stumbling at every step, vanishing into the thickets, her words trailing off playfully. She called back, “I offer this food if you become my husband; the world does not grant benefit without mutual affection. Here, my father, a pukkasa, drives the docile ones for slaughter, hungry and dust-covered like a ghoul in the cremation ground. This food is given to him when he is established as husband; beloved men are to be honored even with one's life.” I replied, “I will become your husband, O virtuous one; for in adversity, distinctions of caste, duty, and family are considered.” Then she offered me half of the rice, just as half the nectar from Mādhavī was once given to Indra and Agni. Having drunk the juice of the jambu fruit, I ate the pukkasa’s rice, and there I rested, my mind overcome by delusion. She, dark as the monsoon, filled me like a lake, and, taking my hand, drew out my life as if it were outside myself. She then led me to my father-in-law, a dreadful and terrifying figure, corpulent like Avīci, the hell of punishment. To him, she who was attached to me offered her own interest, just as a silent, clinging bee offers itself to the elephant. He replied, “Certainly,” and when the day drew to its close, he released us, as if we were two servants of Death bound by his teeth. At day’s end, we departed from that forest like ghosts, scattered in all directions as mist and clouds are swept away. In a moment, as twilight fell, we reached the village from the vast jungle, as if ghosts from a cremation ground had arrived at another great cremation ground. There, crowds of flies swarmed over blood-soaked earth, and the remains of boars, horses, monkeys, fowl, and crows were scattered about. Birds hovered over nets of moist intestines laid out to dry, and the legs of dogs clung to clusters of lemons set in the alleys. Birds perched on heaps of dried, heavy lumps of fat, their eyes fixed on skins soaked in blood, dripping with flesh and gore. Children held pieces of raw flesh in their hands, attracting buzzing flies, while the elder outcastes, ragged and fierce, shouted at the crying infants. We entered that place, its floor strewn with scattered skulls and entrails—a dreadful, foul-smelling abode, as if we were attendants of Death in a world at the end of an age. In the new house of my father-in-law, I sat anxiously on a small seat made of banana leaves. My mother-in-law, her eyes moist with tears, addressed me, her son-in-law, and welcomed me with kind words. After resting on a deerskin seat, I consumed the food of outcastes that had been gathered there, as if partaking of accumulated misdeeds in abundance. Even the affectionate words spoken there, though seemingly pleasant, were seeds of endless sorrow and, in truth, entirely inauspicious. Then, on a certain day when the sky was clear and adorned with stars, various ceremonies were performed, with bustling activities and offerings of garments and wealth.