During the festival of love, I found myself surrounded by all my friends—some of whom had children, while others did not. Seeing them, and realizing I was still without a child, a deep sorrow took hold of my heart. In my distress, I turned to you, O Lord, the great wish-fulfilling tree for all who seek blessings, and wondered how, with your presence before me, I could remain childless and helpless. With a heart full of longing, I implored you: “Grant me a son, O blessed one; if not, I will offer my body to the fire here, making an oblation to relieve the burning sorrow of childlessness.” Hearing my plea, the eminent sage smiled gently at me, slender as I was, and with compassion, placed a flower from his hand into mine. He said, “Go, slender-limbed one; within a month you will bear a son worthy of worship, with beautiful eyes, just as a creeper produces a lovely flower.” Yet, he spoke further: “But know this—he will be touched by the taint of death, for you have asked with great difficulty; therefore, he will be hard to obtain and lacking in knowledge.” Having thus spoken, the sage dismissed me, his slender maiden, my face bright with hope and happiness as I expressed my wish to serve him. I returned to my home, while the sage remained in his solitude. Time passed, marked by the turning of seasons and the passing of years. After twelve years, that lotus-eyed woman whom I had become brought her son to the sage. Bowing before him, I seated myself, my face radiant like the moon, and addressed him with gentle words, as a bee might speak to a mango tree: “Revered one, this noble boy is our son, whom I have lovingly raised; he is said to be skilled in all the arts. Yet, Lord, only knowledge has not been imparted to him—the auspicious wisdom by which one is freed from the torments of worldly existence. Master, please now graciously teach him this wisdom; for who would allow a son born in a good family to remain in ignorance?” To my earnest request, the sage replied, “Leave your son, gentle one, as my disciple here with me,” and then he dismissed me. With my departure, the boy remained there, disciplined and wise, devoted to the sage as a pupil to his father, like Aruṇa before the Sun. Then, using varied and striking words, the sage instructed the boy for a long time, imparting knowledge that is rarely attained. He taught with hundreds of stories and narratives, with examples both seen and imagined, drawing from history and the profound conclusions of the Vedas and Vedānta. Always calm, with elaborate and ordered discourse, he imparted realization—firmly establishing it in the mind of his wise disciple. By the strength of his own experience, and with words full of deep meaning, the great sage enlightened his son, who stood before him as a peacock receiving the rain from a cloud. Once, as I traveled along that path—myself unseen, moving along the skyway—I came to the river that flows from Kailāsa to bathe. Emerging from the hollow sphere of the Seven Sages in the sky, I arrived at night, O wise one, at the open space atop a Dāśūra tree. As I listened, I heard from the hollow of a tree in the forest a voice, faint and soft as the hum of a bee enclosed in a lotus bud. “Listen, O son of great wisdom,” the voice began, “I shall tell you a remarkable story concerning this matter, a tale of wondrous marvels. There is a king of immense valor, renowned throughout the three worlds, named Svottha—prosperous and capable of conquering the universe. All the leaders in every realm uphold his commands with reverence, as if bearing the finest crest jewel upon their heads. He delights in daring exploits and wondrous adventures, and in all three worlds, no one has ever subdued this great soul. The thousands of undertakings he initiates, bringing both joy and sorrow, are countless, like the waves of the ocean. His strength surpasses even the strongest; he has never been overcome by weapons, missiles, or fire, just as the sky cannot be grasped with a fist. Even Indra, Upendra, and Hara do not attempt to imitate his expansive, radiant play of creation, not even in the slightest. Three bodies of his, mighty-armed and capable of bearing the directions, stand drawing in the worlds, distinguished as superior, inferior, and intermediate. He was born in the vast expanse of the sky, possessing three bodies; and there itself he remained, like sound, wind, and wings. In that limitless sky, he constructed a city, adorned with fourteen grand avenues and embellished with threefold divisions. The city was rich with garlands of forests and gardens, beautiful with playful peaks, entwined with strings of pearls, and decorated with seven pools. It was radiant with twin lamps of coolness and warmth, teeming with paths moving upward and downward, and bustling with merchants. In that exceedingly vast city, the ruler created groups of inhabitants, charming and sheltered. Some were placed above, some below, some in the middle; some perished slowly, others vanished quickly. The city was covered by dark coverings, adorned with nine gates, constantly swept by strong winds, and furnished with many windows. Illuminated by five lamps, supported by three pillars of white wood, smooth and soft with polished surfaces, and crowded with bustling streets. By means of illusion, that king, O wise one, created mighty yakshas as guardians among them, always terrifying in appearance. Then, as the waves of enclosure move, that ruler engages in various amusements within the nests, like a bird.” Thus, the story unfolds, full of wonder and deep meaning.