Listen, O noble ones, to the tale of my past, as I wandered in the shadowed lands near the Vindhya mountains. There, I lived among those who, though unbroken in form, were shunned by all, as if they were living embodiments of misfortune—misfortune I myself bore for long, hidden in the deepest chasms of my heart. In corners where only dogs and crows gathered, in fields heavy with human suffering, seeds of evil deeds were sown, watered by the constant rains of delusion. I moved through these lands like a merciless hunter stalking his quarry in a mountain cave, casting my nets among the animals, just as Death moves silently among the living. Weary, I would rest my head against the mud walls of peasants’ huts, sleeping the sleep of ignorance, as a serpent coils upon the limbs of the sleeping Lord Vishnu. My body, wrapped in fluttering leaves and stained by the smoke of my arrows, dwelled in the cold caves along the Vindhya’s slopes. For many years, I wore a tattered black garment, thick with filth, as the earth bears the heavy wild boar in the heat of summer. Again and again, I became like the fire at the end of an age, burning up the creatures of the forest, imitating Time itself as it consumes the world. In that wilderness, wives and children came to me, yet they were as hard to manage as iron fetters or relentless misfortune, bringing only suffering. With but one child—a little boy—I spent sixty brief years, tormented by faults that could not be cured. Bound by the chains of bad habits, I endured much: harsh words and shouts, tears of misfortune, poor food, and restless nights in ruined huts. Thus passed my years, until time itself wore me down—my hair white as frost, my body frail like dew-laden grass, and my life nearly spent. As the winds of karma tossed my actions, clarity and confusion mingled like the waters of a lake, and my days fell away like clusters of dried leaves. Pleasures and pains, conflicts and duties, came and went ceaselessly, like arrows gathering on a battlefield. My mind, caught in the whirlpool of worldly illusion, wandered without rest, as the ocean swirls with endless waves. Worries and restless thoughts spun within me, tossing my confused self like a blade of grass in the stormy ocean of time. I was like an insect trapped in a wound on the Vindhya mountain, like a two-legged donkey, or one with only a single village for refuge—weak and alone. My kingship forgotten, I was as one dead with fever, an outcaste, or a bird with broken wings upon the mountain. My life was like the end of an age, a forest consumed by wildfire, a dry tree struck by lightning, or a wave dashed upon the shore. Then, calamity struck the Vindhya region. It became a desolate expanse, encircled by a fierce, unbroken ring of death, with no food, grass, leaves, or water to be found. The clouds gathered but gave no rain; they vanished from sight and did not return. The wind carried only ashes, mixed with glowing embers. The forests were filled with shriveled, rustling leaves, scorched by wildfire. The groves stood empty, as if abandoned since ages past. Without warning, a dreadful, uncontrolled blaze arose, drying up every thicket, leaving behind only ashes and the remnants of grass. All bodies were covered in dust, and every person suffered hunger. The land, lacking nourishment and water, was surrounded by wildfire. Buffaloes sank into mirages and sand, while the wind raised heaps of dust and the sky was shrouded with clouds. People, longing only to hear the sound of water, suffered terribly from the heat, which dried up all life. Driven mad by hunger, some lost their lives in a frenzy, devouring their own children; others, in desperation, gnawed at their own limbs, their teeth sinking deep as they writhed in pain. The ground was strewn with fragments of meat, bones, and splinters of khadira wood, with embers scattered about and stones gnawed by famished frogs. In this chaos, mothers, sons, and fathers, all mingled together, seized one another in desperation. Forest mynas were swallowed whole by vultures with roaring bellies. The ground was soaked with blood from severed limbs as creatures attacked each other, while maddened elephants, agitated by the frenzy of lions, were fiercely devoured. It was a terrifying scene: lions wandered, swallowing deer in a single gulp, and people slaughtered each other like wrestlers locked in deadly combat. The trees stood stripped of leaves, their trunks scorched and blackened, the air thick with ashes, and the ground smeared with remains licked by blood-drinking cats. The forest winds carried the tumult of dense, blazing flames; everywhere, the jungle glowed yellow from the leaping clusters of fire. From the burned dens of serpents, columns of smoky, fleshy clumps arose, and the sky was streaked with clouds colored by the wind-driven tongues of flame. The air was filled with whirling pillars of ash, tossed by wild winds; the cries of children with broken teeth echoed amidst the wailing of men. A great corpse, its teeth torn out by the tumult of men, had its flesh devoured by packs of blood-soaked hands. Its complexion was darkened by smoke, yellowed by the sound of rustling leaves and creepers, as fierce vultures circled and devoured its flesh, while meteors roamed the sky. Limbs were torn apart in panic, the place thrown into terror, its heart and belly split open by the crackling of blazing fire. The terrifying forest fire, roaring with the sound of rushing wind, leapt about; trees fell like burning coals at the hiss of frightened serpents. The region, now hollow and dry, had reached utter ruin, resembling a world scorched by the fire of twelve suns. The forest, with its blazing, flame-haired trees and winds sweeping all before them, became like the burning pleasure-houses of the sun’s own children. Such was the fate I endured, O noble ones, in that time of suffering and desolation.