Romasa, in his tranquil voice, spoke to the sons of Dharma about the fire clouds and the sacred hermitages that adorned the ancient world. He said that upon the northern mountains stood the hermitage of the sage Rishabha, whose nature was fierce and untamed. His anger, once provoked by even a word, burst forth like fire-stones from the clouds that guarded his abode. Therefore, those untrained in restraint, unpurified by penance or charity, and unendowed with inner peace dared not approach his dwelling. Only gods, celestial beings, and accomplished sages could come into his presence, for the place itself was sanctified by divine rites and ancient yajnas. Around that hermitage, the sacred kusa grass spread like a green sea, and trees grew upright and tall like sacrificial pillars, forming a living altar beneath the sky. Hearing this, Dharmaja bathed in those holy waters and bowed in reverence. Then Romasa pointed afar and said, “Behold, this is the hermitage of Visvamitra, and this flowing river is the Kausiki. Yonder lies the sacred lake that belongs to the sage Rishyasringa.” Dharmaja, eager in mind, said, “Tell us, O revered one, who was this, Rishyasringa?” Romasa, smiling, began his narration.
“In the ancient days,” he said, “there lived a sage named Vibhandaka, son of Kasyapa, who devoted himself to severe austerities and strict celibacy. Once, while bathing in a forest pond, his eyes fell upon the celestial nymph Urvasi, whose beauty outshone the grace of the three worlds. Though bound by righteousness, his heart was stirred, and his seed, falling into the waters, was drunk by a spotted doe who had once been cursed. She conceived and gave birth to a radiant boy, and her curse was lifted. That child was Rishyasringa. Vibhandaka took him to his hermitage, nurtured him with affection, and taught him the Vedas, the Sastras, and the sacred codes of conduct. The boy grew wise and pure but knew nothing beyond his father, his rituals, and the sacred fire. He had never seen a woman nor knew such beings existed, for his father never spoke of them, deeming the knowledge unfit for one in austerity.
At that time, in the Anga kingdom, ruled the mighty King Romapada. Though powerful, he offended his priests through arrogance and pride, and they abandoned him. Without the sacred rites, the gods were deprived of their offerings, and in wrath they withheld the rains. The earth cracked, rivers dried, and famine spread across the land. In despair, the king sought the forgiveness of the Brahmins and begged for a remedy. They said, ‘O King, you severed the bond between heaven and earth by scorning the pious. Yet, if the pure and peaceful ascetic Rishyasringa sets his foot upon your soil, Indra will release the rains, and prosperity will return, for wherever that sage dwells, fertility and abundance follow as a divine boon.’
Hearing this, Romapada consulted his ministers. They advised that the boy must be brought gently, without frightening his father. Therefore, he sent skilled court maidens—singers and dancers—disguised as forest ascetics. They sailed in a beautifully adorned boat, carrying silken robes, sweet foods, and fragrant perfumes.
One day, when Vibhandaka had gone deep into the woods to gather fruits and sacred grass, the maidens approached the hermitage. Rishyasringa, innocent as a child, saw one of them and believed her to be a young sage from another order of penance. He greeted her with courtesy and said, ‘O gentle one, from what hermitage do you come? I have never seen a hermit of such radiant form. Pray, stay in my ashram, that I may honour you as a guest.’
The maiden, skilled in charm, replied softly, ‘O noble ascetic, our hermitage lies not far from here. Come visit us, and we shall share in friendly company and sacred exchange. Accept these simple gifts as tokens of goodwill.’ She offered fine silks, sweet fruits, and drinks made of rare blossoms. She sang and danced before him, her movements graceful as the swan upon a lake, her laughter gentle as falling water. The young sage, whose heart had never known such sensations, felt within him an unknown delight. His breath trembled, his thoughts wandered, and his austerity wavered. At last, as the sun slanted westward, she said her ritual hour had come and departed.
When Vibhandaka returned, he found his son distracted and uneasy. ‘Why are you not attending to your fire, my son?’ he asked. Rishyasringa replied innocently, ‘Father, today a radiant young ascetic came to visit me. His hair was shining like silk, and his form glowed with golden light. Two graceful curves rose upon his chest, and around his neck hung a necklace of beads. His words were sweet as the song of the koel, his fragrance rare and delightful. I played with him and tasted fruits and drinks that were sweeter than any known in the forest. I wish to perform penance with that sage boy again.’ Vibhandaka, startled by the description, understood the truth. ‘My son,’ he said gravely, ‘the tempters of the world take many forms to disturb the penance of sages. Avoid their touch and their gifts, for such sweetness hides the snare of delusion.’
Yet soon after, when the father again departed to the forest, the maidens returned. This time, Rishyasringa, drawn by longing, followed them willingly. They led him across the river and brought him to the city of Romapada, where he was received in a garden palace adorned with flowers and lights. The moment his foot touched the soil of Anga, the heavens darkened, clouds gathered, and rain poured down in joyous torrents. Rivers swelled, fields flourished, and the kingdom revived. The gods were appeased, and the king, in gratitude, offered his daughter Santha in marriage to the sage. The union was blessed, and happiness returned to Anga.
Meanwhile, Vibhandaka, searching for his son, came upon herds of white, black, and red cows tended by herdsmen. They bowed and said, ‘These herds belong to your son, O sage, who now sustains many Brahmins with milk and ghee.’ Pleased by this, he went to the city, where he found Rishyasringa and Santha living in virtue and devotion, their union as harmonious as that of Arundhati and Vasishtha, of Agastya and Lopamudra. Vibhandaka blessed them both, his heart at peace.
Thus ended the tale Romasa told. After bathing in the Kausiki, the travelers continued their journey along the sacred Ganga, whose waters gathered the offerings of five hundred rivers and flowed toward the sea. Passing through Kalinga, they reached the mighty Vaitarani. There Romasa said, ‘Behold, O sons of Dharma, how delicacy joined with wisdom, humility with strength, and understanding with compassion, can heal the wounds of pride and restore the order of the world. This story stands as a lesson for rulers—that gentle conduct, purity of mind, and reverence for the pious bring prosperity both to the realm and to the soul.’
