In my journey, I came upon a woman of striking appearance: her skin was dark, her eyes shone with the light of three stars, and she was draped in pale garments. She stood before me as the night receives the moon—mysterious and alluring. In my dire distress, I pleaded with her, “O girl, bring me some food quickly; for when one relieves the suffering of the afflicted, prosperity grows.” Hunger gnawed at me from within, burning like a black serpent coiled in the hollow of an old tree. Yet even as I begged, she gave me nothing, just as fortune often bestows wealth upon the wicked and not upon those who earnestly seek it. Only after I followed her for a long time did a little sustenance fall to me—no more than a shadow cast before a standing man. Then she spoke, revealing her true nature: “Know me as a chandala woman, adorned with necklaces and armlets, fierce as a demoness, with the faces of men, horses, and elephants.” She warned, “O king, mere asking will not bring you food from me, just as true nobility cannot be found in one born outside the village.” With these words, she departed, stumbling with every step, her words trailing off playfully as she vanished into the thickets. She returned and made an offer: “I will give you this food if you become my husband; for the world grants no benefit without mutual affection.” She spoke of her father, a pukkasa, who drove docile creatures to 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 must be honored, even at the cost of one’s life,” she said. Weighed down by adversity, I replied, “I will become your husband, O virtuous one; for in hardship, distinctions of caste, duty, and family are reconsidered.” She then offered me half of the rice, just as half the nectar from Mādhavī was once given to Indra and Agni. After drinking the juice of the jambu fruit, I ate the pukkasa’s rice, and there I rested, my mind clouded by delusion. She, dark as the monsoon, seemed to fill me like a great lake, and, taking my hand, drew out my life as if it were outside myself. Soon after, she encountered my father, a terrifying and corpulent man, dreadful in form and deed—like Avīci, the hell of punishment. She, who was now attached to me, offered her own interest to him, just as a silent, clinging bee offers itself to an elephant. He replied, “Certainly,” and as the day ended, he released us, as if we were two servants of Death freed from his grasp. At twilight, we left that forest, moving like ghosts scattered by the wind, until we reached the village—a place as grim as a cremation ground. There, swarms of flies clustered over blood-soaked earth; the remains of boars, horses, monkeys, fowl, and crows lay scattered about. Birds hovered over nets of moist intestines left out to dry, while dogs’ legs dangled from clusters of lemons in the alleys. Birds perched upon heaps of dried, heavy lumps of fat, their eyes fixed on blood-soaked skins dripping with flesh. Children clutched pieces of raw meat, drawing swarms of flies, while elder outcastes, ragged and fierce, shouted at the crying infants. We entered that dreadful, foul-smelling place, its floor strewn with skulls and entrails—a home fit for the attendants of Death at the world’s end. In my father-in-law’s new house, I sat anxiously on a small seat made of banana leaves. My mother-in-law, her eyes moist with tears, greeted me, her son-in-law, with welcoming words. After resting on a deerskin seat, I partook of the food of outcastes gathered there, as though consuming the fruits of accumulated misdeeds. Even the affectionate words spoken seemed pleasant, but in truth, they were seeds of endless sorrow—entirely inauspicious. Then, on a clear night adorned with stars, amidst ceremonies, bustling activities, and offerings of garments and wealth, my father-in-law gave me his daughter as my wife—a maiden so fearsome and dark it seemed as if she were the embodiment of punishment for evil deeds. The outcastes, drunk on strong liquor, roared and reveled all around, delighting in the beating of drums and wild festivities, appearing as the very embodiments of accumulated misdeeds. What more need be said? From that moment, my mind bereft of joy, I became a wretched and emaciated outcaste. After the seven-day festival ended, eight months passed, and my wife became pregnant. She bore a daughter who brought suffering, like a painful misfortune; the girl grew quickly, stout as foolish anxiety. Three years later, my wife bore a son—unattractive, like misfortune itself, dull-witted and bound by the cords of hope. Again she bore a daughter, and then another child. Thus I became a husband in the forest, aged and decrepit among outcastes. With her, many years slipped by, my days consumed by worry, as though I were perishing with the guilt of killing a Brahmin in hell. Afflicted by the torments of cold, wind, and heat in the depths of the forest, I was tossed about for a long time, like an old turtle trapped in a marsh. Anxious for my wife, my mind burning within, I looked in all directions and saw only a world ablaze, filled with suffering and painful undertakings.