Accompanied by his ministers, adorned with royal emblems, and with his priest by his side, King Duṣyanta set out toward the revered hermitage, eager to behold the great sage. As they approached, the king gazed upon the hermitage—a place that seemed to mirror the very world of Brahma. The air was alive with the gentle hum of bees, and the grounds were filled with assemblies of learned twice-born sages. Duṣyanta’s eyes widened in wonder and delight. He listened as the foremost Bahvricha recited the Rig Veda in proper order, their voices ringing out as sacred rituals were performed. All around, the hermitage was graced by those skilled in sacrificial rites and the branches of Vedic knowledge: sages well-versed in the Yajurveda, others who sang the sweet hymns of the Sama Veda, and those of disciplined vows intoning the Bharunda Sama and Atharva hymns. The place shone with the presence of self-controlled, well-disciplined ascetics, their voices blending in harmonious chant. The chanting of the Atharva Veda, the Puga and Yajniya Samans, and the Samhitas—each recited with precise sequence and intonation—reverberated throughout, making the hermitage seem like another realm of Brahma. Learned men, accomplished in the sacrificial bedding and the order of rituals, possessed deep knowledge of logic, the self, and the Vedas. There were those adept in assembling arguments, those who understood the intricacies of action, and those devoted to the doctrines of liberation and righteousness. Within this assembly were scholars who had attained ultimate truth through debate and discussion, experts in grammar, metrics, etymology, and the science of time. Some understood the nature of substances, actions, and qualities, discerning causes and effects, even interpreting the cries of birds and monkeys, all relying on the treatises of Vyāsa. Amid these learned discourses, Duṣyanta heard his own fame celebrated in the principal scriptures, his name echoed by the foremost materialist philosophers. Here and there, he saw eminent Brāhmaṇas, steadfast in their vows, devoted to recitation and offering. The king marveled at the wondrous, beautifully arranged seats and the meticulous order of the hermitage. Observing the twice-born worship the gods at their shrines, he felt as though he dwelled in Brahmā’s own world. Yet, for all his gazing, he could not be satisfied; the excellence and auspiciousness of that hermitage, protected by Kāśyapa’s austerities and the virtues of penance, captivated him. With his ministers and priests, Duṣyanta entered Kāśyapa’s abode, a secluded, exceedingly charming, and auspicious place, surrounded by great sages rich in austerity. But as the king, mighty-armed and noble, advanced further, he sent his ministers away and found the hermitage empty—he did not see the sage anywhere. Perplexed, Duṣyanta called out loudly, his voice echoing through the forest, “Who is here?” At the sound, a maiden emerged from the hermitage, radiant as the goddess of fortune, dressed in the simple garb of an ascetic. Seeing King Duṣyanta, the dark-eyed maiden was filled with joy, recognizing a worthy and venerable guest. She was youthful, virtuous, and beautiful, with lotus-wide eyes, a broad chest, and mighty arms. With lion-like shoulders and long arms, graced with all auspicious marks, she approached him and addressed him with sweet words. Quickly, she welcomed him, offered him a seat, and brought water for his feet and for hospitality. After honoring him properly and asking after his well-being, she inquired about his health. With a gentle smile, she asked, “What business brings you here? What purpose do you seek to fulfill in this hermitage?” The king, charmed by her presence and manner, replied with sweet words, asking, “Who are you, who has now come to this auspicious hermitage of the great sage?” The maiden, flawless in every limb and having honored him, listened as the king continued, “I am the son of the royal sage Ilina, of great soul. My name is Duṣyanta, O lotus-eyed one, and I have come to pay respects to the illustrious sage Kaṇva.” She replied, “My revered father has gone out to gather fruits. Please wait a moment; you will see him when he returns.” Not finding the sage and having heard her words, the king beheld the noble maiden—radiant, lovely, and smiling. Shining with beauty, self-restraint, and youth, she captured his heart. He asked her, “Who are you, O fair-hipped one? Whose daughter are you? For what purpose have you come to the forest? From where do you come, adorned with such beauty and virtue?” He confessed, “At the very sight of you, O auspicious one, my heart has been carried away. I wish to know you—tell me, O beautiful one. I stand here, desiring to speak; listen to my words, O one with serpent-shaped thighs, shining like an intoxicated elephant.” He continued, “Born in the line of royal sages, I am of the race of Puru. Today, O fair-hipped and radiant one, Duṣyanta chooses you. My heart does not incline toward any other Kṣatriya woman, nor toward any other sage’s daughter, whether inferior or superior. Therefore, know me as one whose mind is fixed upon you, O sweet-voiced one, in whom I have this feeling. You are a Kṣatriya—tell me, who are you?” He added, “Indeed, O timid one, my heart does not move toward a Brāhmaṇa maiden. I seek you, O wide-eyed one; you should accept one who is devoted. Enjoy the kingdom, O large-eyed one, and do not think otherwise.” Thus addressed by the king in that sacred hermitage, the maiden replied with a gentle smile, her words sweet and kind.