In the sky, the moon drifted slowly through the clouds. Far below, the river mingled its murmur with the wind, as it danced along on its course; and the earth looked bathed in beauty in the half-light of the moon. All around were forest retreats of the Rishis, each charming enough to put the Elysian Fields to shame: every hermitage was a perfect picture of sylvan loveliness with its trees and flowers and foliage.

On this moon-enraptured night, said Brahmarshi Vasişţha to his spouse Arundhati Devi, "Devi, go and beg some salt of the Rishi Vishvamitra, and bring it here soon."

Taken aback, she replied, "My lord, what is this you are asking me to do? I cannot understand you! He who has robbed me of my hundred sons..."

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