Then, in that moment, from my mouth issued the voices of all the assembled celestials, their throats united as one: “Let not the flesh of the brahmin be reduced to ashes.” As this resolve filled the heavens, the divine Fire—seven-flamed and resplendent—took on a visible form before me, radiant as the very lord of speech. With a brilliance that outshone all else, he addressed me, saying, “O noble one, accept the boon you desire. It stands ready for you, as a precious jewel awaits in its casket.” Thus spoken to by the Fire, who was adorned with offerings of flowers and water, I, the young brahmin, worshipped him with praise and reverence. Then I replied, “O Lord, though this earth, filled with living beings, is sacred, I am unable to dwell upon it. Therefore, may my home be upon the trees.” Hearing my words, Śikhī—the Fire, lord whose face is all the gods—granted my wish, saying, “So be it,” and then vanished from my sight. When that divine being disappeared, I, the boy whose desires had been fulfilled, shone with joy like the full moon emerging as the evening clouds fade away. Having attained my cherished wish, my face glowed with happiness; I laughed contentedly, radiant as the full moon encircled by its digits, a blossoming white lotus, and a smile bright with shining teeth. In the heart of the forest, where the circle of clouds brushed the treetops and the weary horses of the midday sun found respite beneath the leafy canopy, a wondrous scene unfolded. The trees, their long branch-like arms stretching outward as if to measure the very womb of the directions, gazed upon every quarter with eyes of blossoming flowers. Their crowns were tousled by the wind and alive with swarming bees, so that they seemed to wipe the face of the sky with their leafy hands. Their hair—thick clusters of long, yellowish flower sprays—resembled mouths adorned with fresh betel, laughing as bees swarmed about. Circles formed by the dust of stamens from playful blossoms shone with a radiance like the full moon. The dense rows of branches echoed with the cooing of partridges and the songs of kinnara, rising like the celestial path trod by perfected beings. Clusters of peacocks hung below, perched upon leafy seats, beautifying the sky as if with Indra’s bows and drifting clouds. Every slope was illuminated by white chowries, raised and lowered, and by full moons followed by partridges, as if the year itself brimmed with moons. The air was alive with the chatter of francolins, the sweet calls of cuckoos, and the resonant cries of jīvajīva birds, so that the forest seemed to sing in full voice. Flocks of kadamba birds played at their nests, while siddhas rested in the hollows of heaven, encircling the world itself. Here and there, clusters of blossoms with coral-red stems and bee-like eyes embraced the trees, like heaven attended by apsarases. Restless pollen from heaps of flowers, bearing Indra’s bow, made the dark masses of blossoms resemble rainclouds streaked with lightning. Branches—thousand-armed—filled the sky’s expanse, as if the cosmic form itself danced, adorned with the moon and sun as earrings. At the base sat a mighty king of mountains; above, the sky was crowded with stars; and in the midst, the forest seemed like another earth, woven of flowering vines. Like the grandsire of all trees and forests, it was a single repository on earth for fruits, tender shoots, and blossoms. Buds, concealed by the dust of flowers, were like the sky on the riverbanks veiled by the sun’s rays and a network of stars. Branches swayed with restless birds and nests, making the earth appear as if filled with lively villages. Adorned with banners of blossoming sprays and festooned with bowers of vines, the trees shone white with masses of flowers, overflowing with heaps of blossoms. The calls of partridges, antelopes, parrots, cuckoos, and starlings filled the air, while hollowed branches formed hidden windows beneath dense clusters of flowers. Within the hollows, birds moved languidly, intoxicated, as if they were the finest inner chambers of woodland goddesses. Swarms of bees and waves of fragrance, with heaps of flower-pollen, made the forest shine like mountain streams cascading down a slope. Encircled by drifting showers of petals playing gently in the breeze, it grew like a mountain surrounded by shining white clouds. The base of the trees was pressed by the knees and broad backs of elephants rubbing against them, so they stood firm, like great mountains held fast by their own slopes. Flocks of birds with many-colored wings moved through the hollows of branches, like a horned mountain crowded with various beings. The restless network of clustered twigs seemed to gesture, as if the forest winds made the dancing vines perform. Only one free from desire departs content, and the forest itself appeared to dance, with garlands of flowers swaying like circling vines. Beloved of the vines alone, it overflowed with the flavor of love, as if singing melodiously with the calls of intoxicated bees. From afar, its newly blossomed flowers welcomed the sky-traveling siddhas, greeting them with the cries of cuckoos and swarms of bees. The trees, rich with fruits and blossoming flowers, seemed to rejoice in their abundance, laughing with the bright radiance of buds and blooms. Like a pārijāta tree striving to ascend, with branches and clusters reaching upward, it appeared to rush into the sky, its trunk boldly rising high. Swarms of bees hummed in its midst, and dense clusters of thick-petaled flowers made it seem poised to rival even Indra with its thousand-eyed splendor. Adorned with clusters of shining flowers like the jeweled hoods of serpents, the forest rose from the earth like the serpent Śeṣa himself, eager to behold the sky.