The maiden Dukmo and her servant often gathered roots there as well.  One day the two girls could find only one dry root each.  But the street-child had found a root the size of a yak’s head and made a loaf for himself to eat.  The servant called to him, “Joru, Joru, give our Lady Dukmo a piece of your bread!”  So the street-boy shared his loaf.  But as much as he ate, he restored the loaf with magic.  “Lady Dukmo,” he commanded, “you must do the same.”  But try as she would, no magic words restored the half-loaf she had eaten.  “Thief! Thief!” he teased in a haughty voice.  Dukmo was soon in tears, but secretly she loved him.

Now all this time Akhu Trotung had searched for a way to be rid of the street-child.  He could not abide the boy’s quick wit and growing popularity among the people.  He would have him banished.  “What a thought!” he sighed in relief.  Perhaps lack of food would accomplish what he could not.  So, after many days’ march, Luza, her ten animals, and her son were abandoned to the wilderness.  And while she pleaded with Gesar to travel on toward China or India, he steadfastly refused to go any farther.  So there they lived for three long years.

The king of Ling, long absent on pilgrimage, was by now presumed dead.  Akhu Trotung had the throne in sight.  And perhaps the lovely Dukmo as well, he thought.  As steward of Ling, he called the chieftains to council and suggested a horse race to determine the new king.  And perhaps the winner should also receive Dukmo as his bride?  The suggestions were readily agreed upon, and Akhu Trotung was quite pleased with himself.  His wealth, he had reasoned, could buy him the fastest horse.  But he had reasoned without considering Maneney Gyalmo.

The day fixed for the race saw a crowd of competitors at the starting post.  Every horse was finely attired, its tail interwoven with multi-colored ribbons.  And there in the center of the crowd was the overconfident Akhu Trotung on a fine bay horse.  The race was minutes away.  Then, seemingly from nowhere, Joru rode up to the starting post.  He rode bareback on the foal of his mother’s mare.  And while many bystanders laughed, the steward was seized with panic.  Then the signal came.  Joru’s mount seemed to fly while the others galloped in slow motion.  In the end, there was no one to contest the victory.

The stunned crowd finally erupted in cheers.  “Hurrah for Love!  Our street-boy has got Dukmo for his bride.  Hurrah for Love!”  And Dukmo’s voice rose above the rest, “Gesar!” she cried, “Gesar, king of Ling!” And so the two were escorted to the Ling castle, where they lived very happily.  And Akhu Trotung applied himself quite earnestly to regaining his new king’s good graces.