Nine Daughters

Then Devahūti bore nine daughters at once, all lovely in every limb and fragrant as the red lotus.

When she saw that her husband was about to leave his home, as he had said he would, she smiled and looked bright, but her heart was burning. She scratched the ground with her foot, her face bent down, held back her tears, and slowly said: My lord, you have done everything you promised me. But I come to you for refuge; give me freedom from fear. Husbands must be found for your daughters who are worthy of them. And who will take away my grief when you have gone to the forest?

Enough, she said, of the time I have spent clinging to what the senses want, with the supreme Self left aside. I clung to you for the sake of the senses, not knowing who you truly are. Even so, let that clinging bring me to fearlessness. Clinging to what is unreal is the cause of the round of birth; but the same clinging, set on the good, leads to freedom from clinging. Surely the Lord's māyā, his power to bewilder, has cheated me badly, that I had you, who can give release, and did not ask to be released.