"It were far better if a thousand thunderbolts had fallen on my head. Oh my dear queen! Never even in a dream did I think that such a misfortune would befall you. You mistook a poisonous tree for a sandal-tree. Oh, how hard is my heart! It does not melt at the sight of my wife sold away as a slave. Even iron is melted by fire. Oh Providence! I can no longer bear up my sorrows. Oh Indra I break my head in pieces by thy thunderbolts."
At this lamentation of the king, all present become sorry and express their regrets. After a little while, the sage arrives again, his body emitting sparks of fire. Seeing him at a distance, the king begins to tremble.
As the sage comes up, the king bows to him and says,
"My lord Kausika! I have procured only a half of your fee by the sale of my wife. Accept it. I shall presently pay the remaining half by the sale of my own person."
The sage whirls his eyes and exclaims, "Is it a joke? Am I a fit object for a joke? What shall I do with only half the money? Just pay down the whole amount. See the sun is setting."
The king replies, "O God! if this does not satisfy you, I pray you wait a little. If a Chandal is available, I will sell my person to him and pay your fee." The sage remarks:—
"Then I will stand here and wait. Collect the money without delay."
The king then hawks himself about, "Will any one buy me with half a lakh of gold coins, and deliver me from an ocean of sorrows." No one responds to his offer. No buyer appears. The sun is about to set. Death stares him in the face. Not that he fears death. Why should he fear it? He has given away his kingdom. His queen has been sold. Life has no further attraction for him. Death has been stripped of its terrors. But death by the fire of a Brahmin's anger leads to everlasting hell. He sees the vision of hell, falls down on the ground like a plantain tree blown by a tempest, and faints.
Virtue preserves him who practises virtue. Virtue assumes the form of a Chandal and accompanied by an attendant, makes his appearance, with a half-burnt bamboo on his shoulders and a chain of skeletons round his neck. He is ready to buy the king, who now weeps bitterly, and holding the feet of the sage, entreats him thus:—
"Oh lord Kausika! Do me a favour I pray you. Do not sell me to a Chandal. Do you rather buy me. I shall be your slave for ever."