Once, there lived a sage named Dashura, a soul of profound ascetic discipline, who made his dwelling upon the branch of a great kadamba tree. He was free from passion, blessed with keen intellect, and lived a life of serene detachment in the depths of the forest. But why, one might wonder, did this noble ascetic choose such a life in the forest, and how did he come to reside upon the branch of that mighty kadamba tree? Dashura was the only son of Sharaloma, a sage renowned for his virtue and wisdom—a man likened to Brahma himself—who also dwelt upon that very mountain. Just as Kacha was the cherished son of the preceptor of the gods, so too was Dashura the beloved and only child of Sharaloma, and together, father and son spent their days in the peaceful solitude of the forest. As the ages passed, Sharaloma eventually left his mortal body and journeyed to the abode of the gods, much like a bird leaving its nest. Alone in the forest, Dashura was overcome with grief at the loss of his father. He wept bitterly, his sorrow echoing through the woods like the plaintive cry of a kurara bird bereft of its parent. The pain of losing his father weighed heavily on his heart, and he withered in spirit, just as a lotus fades and shrivels in the cold of winter. Seeing his suffering, a deity of the forest—unseen, yet compassionate—approached Dashura and spoke words of comfort. "O son of a sage, wise and noble, why do you grieve so deeply, like one ignorant of the ways of the world? Do you not know the restless, ever-changing nature of worldly existence? All beings are subject to the cycle of birth and death; none can escape it. Whether it is Brahma himself or any other, all things seen by the eyes are destined to pass away—of this, there is no doubt. Therefore, do not surrender to useless sorrow at your father’s death. What is born must surely set, just as the sun must set at the end of the day." Hearing these words—"He is bodiless now"—Dashura, though his eyes were still reddened with grief, began to regain his composure, as if calmed by a sudden clap of thunder. Rising from his sorrow, he performed the proper rites for his father with reverence and resolve. Then, with a steadfast heart, he determined to devote himself to the highest austerities. Through his Brahmanical discipline and actions, Dashura practiced intense austerities in the forest. In time, he attained the state of a learned sage, unwavering in his resolve. Yet, despite all his noble learning and knowledge of the seen and unseen, his mind found no rest, even on the pure earth itself. He saw the earth as tainted and found no delight anywhere. Thus, by his own determination, Dashura resolved: "Let my dwelling be only upon the purified treetop. I shall undertake austerities so that, through penance, I may attain the state of a bird, abiding on branches and leaves." With this in mind, he kindled a blazing sacrificial fire and, in a supreme act of self-sacrifice, cut flesh from his own shoulder to offer into the sacred flames. At that moment, the voices of all the celestials resounded from the sacrificial fire: "Let not the flesh of this brahmin be reduced to ashes." The divine Fire himself, radiant and seven-tongued, took form before Dashura, shining like the lord of speech. The Fire-god spoke: "O noble one, accept the boon you desire, established and ready, as one takes a jewel from a casket." With flowers and water offered in worship, Dashura bowed and replied, "O Lord, the earth, filled with beings, is sacred; yet I cannot find rest upon it. May my dwelling, therefore, be among the trees." The Fire-god, Śikhī, whose face is all the gods, replied, "So be it," and then vanished from sight. With his wish fulfilled, Dashura shone with joy, his face bright like the full moon emerging from behind evening clouds. His heart overflowed with contentment, and he laughed in delight, radiant as the moon surrounded by its digits, as a white lotus in bloom, as a smile aglow with shining teeth. Now, in the midst of the forest, where the circle of clouds touched the sky and the weary horses of the midday sun found rest beneath the leafy pavilion, the trees stretched their long, branch-like arms as if measuring the very womb of the directions. Their blossoming flowers gazed upon all quarters, crowns tousled by the wind and teeming with bees, as if wiping the face of the sky with their leafy hands. The trees wore garlands of yellowish flower sprays, like mouths adorned with fresh betel, and seemed to laugh with the joyful buzzing of bees. Circles of pollen dust from the playful blossoms of the vines shimmered, making the forest shine with the radiance of a full moon. Rows of branches stood dense, echoing with the cooing of partridges and the songs of kinnara, rising like the celestial path of the perfected beings. Clusters of peacocks adorned the lower branches, sitting upon leafy seats, beautifying the sky as if with Indra’s bows and clouds. White chowries waved at every slope, rising and falling, while the full moons were followed by partridges, as if the year itself were filled with moons. The forest resounded with the chatter of francolins, the sweet calls of cuckoos, and the resonant cries of jīvajīva birds, all singing in full voice. Flocks of kadamba birds played in their nests, while siddhas rested in the hollows of heaven, as if the world itself were encircled and protected. Clusters of blossoms with coral-red stems and bee-like eyes embraced the trees here and there, like heaven attended by apsarases. The restless pollen from heaps of flowers, glimmering like Indra’s bow, made the dark mass of blossoms appear like a raincloud streaked with lightning. Thus, in that wondrous forest, Dashura, the ascetic sage, found his unique dwelling among the treetops, his spirit at last at peace amidst the beauty and harmony of nature’s embrace.