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The king, accompanied by the beautiful Marudevi, followed by the lovely Yashovati and Sunanda, who resembled the newly blossomed lotus petals, ran through the palace. Their beauty was such that it seemed as if Kamadeva had released two arrows. Grief for his beloved, his eyes smeared with kohl, his fine waist-band falling, his body damp with sweat, he ran quickly, stumbling, breathing heavily, his hair disheveled, his hands resting on his full breasts, his feet making the anklets jingle, his steps shaking the earth. He had been carried by the gods, bathed, and brought to the palace. He would return in the same way, and King Rishabha would remain in this city.
The citizens thought to themselves, "It will be difficult for him to return. How can the earth, who is like a woman, dressed in coarse, dirty clothes, survive without her Lord?"
Ninety-nine sons, who were like Bharata and Bahubali, their eyes filled with tears, who had driven elephants and horses, followed him. Jineshwara Rishabha reached the forest, dense with mango and nalaka trees, adorned with beautiful Lakshmi trees, where the sun's rays were blocked by the thick vines. It was a forest fit for great sages, a destroyer of sin, where the sound of monkeys falling from the trees could be heard, a forest that pierced the hearts of lovers separated from their beloveds, where humans were attracted to the Kinnaris who lived in the vine-covered houses, a forest that looked new with the beautiful flowers of the Ashoka and Champa trees, a forest that was soft with the shoots of newly sprouted balakandas, where water flowed mixed with the pollen of flowers, a forest that was fragrant with the musk of elephants who were playing in the different directions. It was a forest where the Naga kings, the demons, and the enemies played.