Though Pashupati himself worshipped the eight-armed goddess, yet for the daily rituals, a Brahmin named Durgadas had been appointed. The day after the upheaval in the city, Durgadas heard that Pashupati’s house had been reduced to ashes and leveled to the ground. Then the Brahmin resolved to rescue the idol of the eight-armed goddess from the ashes and install it in his own home. When the Yavanas had finished plundering the city to their satisfaction, Bakhtiyar Khilji forbade any further harassment of the townspeople. Thus, the Bengalis, emboldened at last... They were proceeding along the royal road. Observing this, Durgadas set out in the afternoon towards Pashupati’s residence to rescue the image of Ashtabhuja. Arriving at Pashupati’s house, he went to the area where the temple of the goddess was situated. There he saw that unless the heaps of bricks were removed layer by layer, the idol of the goddess could not be retrieved. Seeing this, Durgadas called for his son.

The bricks, half-melted, were fused together and still retained their heat. Father and son together fetched water from a nearby pond and cooled the heated bricks, and with much effort began searching for the Ashtabhuja among them. When the piles of bricks were shifted, the image of the goddess was discovered within. But at the foot of the idol—what was this? In fear, father and son beheld that a human corpse lay there!

They then lifted the corpse and saw that it was the body of Pashupati. After an exclamation of astonishment, Durgadas said, “However our lord has come to such a state, it is our bounden duty as Brahmins and as those nurtured by him to perform the proper rites. Let us carry our lord’s body to the banks of the Ganges and perform his funeral.”

Saying this, the two of them bore their lord’s body to the banks of the Ganges. There, assigning his son to guard the body, Durgadas went into the city in search of wood and other materials suitable for the funeral rites, and gathering as much fragrant wood and other necessary items as he could, he returned to the riverbank.

Then, with his son’s assistance, Durgadas completed all the preliminary rituals according to the scriptures, constructed a pyre of fragrant wood, and, placing Pashupati’s body upon it, prepared to set it alight.

But suddenly—who had appeared in the cremation ground? The two Brahmins, with astonished eyes, saw a woman approaching: clad in soiled garments, her hair disheveled and matted, her tresses loose and wild, her body pale from the touch of ashes and dust, a madwoman descending into the cremation ground. The woman drew near to the Brahmins. Durgadas asked with a fearful heart, “Who are you?”

The woman replied, “Whom are you performing the last rites for?”

Durgadas said, “For the deceased Dharmadhikari Pashupati.”

The woman asked, “How did Pashupati die?”

Durgadas answered, “This morning, I heard rumors in the city that he had been imprisoned by the Yavanas and, by some chance, escaped at night. Today, seeing his mansion reduced to ashes, I went amidst the ruins to recover the image of the Eight-armed Goddess. There, I found my lord’s lifeless body.”

The woman gave no reply. She sat down by the banks of the Ganges, upon the sands. After a long silence, she asked, “Who are you?”

Durgadas replied, “We are Brahmins; we were sustained by the Dharmadhikari’s charity. And you—who are you?”

The young woman said, “I am his wife.”

Durgadas said, “His wife has been missing for many years. How can you claim to be his wife?”

The maiden answered, “I am that lost daughter of Keshav. Fearing the rite of widow-burning, my father kept me hidden all these years. Now, as the appointed time has come, I have come to fulfill the decree of fate.”

Hearing this, father and son shuddered. Seeing them speechless, the widow began to speak, “Now I shall perform the duty of a wife. Prepare what is necessary.”

Durgadas understood the young woman’s intent; looking at his son’s face, he asked, “What do you say?”

The son gave no answer. Durgadas then said to the maiden, “Mother, you are but a girl—why do you prepare for such a harsh deed?”

The maiden frowned and said, “Being a Brahmin, why do you incline toward unrighteousness?—Make the preparations.” Then the Brahmin once again set out for the city to make arrangements. As he departed, the widow said to Durgadas, “You are going to the city. At the edge of the city, in the royal pleasure garden, dwells a foreign prince named Hemchandra. Tell him that Manoroma is ascending the funeral pyre on the banks of the Ganges—let him come and meet her once before she departs. This is Manoroma’s only request of him in this world.”

When Hemchandra heard from the Brahmin that Manoroma, under the guise of Pashupati’s wife, was about to embrace death, he could not comprehend anything. Accompanied by Durgadas, he came to the banks of the Ganges. There he beheld Manoroma’s exceedingly disheveled, maddened form, yet her calm, grave, and still incomparably beautiful face moved him to tears. He said, “Manorama! Sister! What is this?”

Then Manoroma, composed and radiant as a moonlit lake, spoke in a soft, grave voice, “Brother, the purpose for which I lived has now reached its final limit. Today I shall depart with my husband.”

In a voice barely audible to others, Manoroma briefly recounted the past to Hemchandra and said, “My husband amassed an immense fortune before he died. I am now the rightful owner of that wealth. I bestow it upon you. Accept it; otherwise, the sinful Yavanas will seize it. Spend a small portion to settle Janardana Sharma in Kashi. Do not give Janardana too much wealth, or the Yavanas will snatch it away. After my cremation, go to my husband’s house and seek out the treasure. Dig at the spot I indicate, and you will find it. No one but I knows