On another auspicious day, King Bhoja approached the wonderful throne again. At once the second statuette came alive and spoke. "Not so fast, O King! First hear what Vikramaditya once did for a weeping stranger — then decide if this seat is yours."
And she told this tale. One evening an old Brahmin stumbled into Vikramaditya's court, his clothes torn from travel, his eyes red with tears. "Justice, great king!" he cried. "A demon who lives on the black mountain has carried away my only son. I am too old and too weak to fight, and no one dares to help me. My boy is all I have in this world." Some courtiers whispered that nothing could be done — the mountain was far, the demon fierce, and the boy only a poor man's son. But Vikramaditya rose at once. "Every child of my kingdom is my own," he said. "Rest here, good Brahmin. I will bring your son home myself."
The king rode alone for three days, climbed the black mountain, and called the demon out. The demon towered like a storm cloud and roared, "Who dares disturb me? The boy is mine!" Vikramaditya did not draw his sword. Instead he said calmly, "The boy is young, and his old father cannot live without him. If you must keep a captive, keep me. I am a king — a far greater prize — and I offer myself in his place, of my own free will."
The demon stared. In all his long life, warriors had come with weapons and traps, but never had anyone offered his own life for a stranger's child. His fierce heart melted like snow in the sun. "O king," he said, bowing low, "courage I have often seen, but never such kindness. Take the boy — and take my word that this mountain will never trouble your people again." Vikramaditya returned the boy to his father, and the old Brahmin's blessings followed the king all his days.
The statuette then asked, "He walked alone into a demon's shadow for the son of a poor stranger, O Bhoja. Could you do the same? If so, ascend the throne." And King Bhoja, sighing, stepped back once more.