O Janamejaya, listen to the wondrous tale that unfolded in the Khandava forest. When the fire blazed, all beings turned to the divine Agni, the lord who is both the food consumed by all creatures and the very force that dwells within them. Ever expanding, he cooks and digests, and in him all things find their foundation. Manifesting as the radiant sun, Agni, the knower of all births, draws up the waters and the sap from the earth with his rays. He takes all within himself, only to release them again at the proper time, nourishing the world with timely rains. Thus, through his brilliance, the green-leaved plants arise once more from the earth, as do the blooming lotus ponds and the vast, auspicious ocean. This world, O blazing one, is the very refuge of Varuṇa, and all beings implored Agni to be their protector, begging him not to destroy them that day. They prayed to the tawny-eyed, red-necked, dark-tracked consumer of offerings, asking him to pass over and spare them, just as one might be released from the depths of the ocean’s houses. Moved by these hymns, Agni, the knower of all births, was addressed by Droṇa, the speaker of Brahman. Pleased by Maṇḍapāla’s vow and Droṇa’s devotion, Agni replied, “You are indeed the sage Droṇa, and you have uttered Brahman. I will do as you wish. Maṇḍapāla himself came to me before, asking, ‘Spare my sons when you burn the forest.’ His words and yours both weigh heavily with me. Tell me, what shall I do for you? I am greatly pleased—blessings upon you, O best of Brahmins, for your hymn.” Droṇa then requested, “O radiant one, these cats trouble us constantly; burn them, O consumer of offerings, along with their kin.” Thus, with the permission of the Sharngakas, Agni acted accordingly, and his flames swept through the Khandava forest. Meanwhile, Maṇḍapāla, O descendant of Kuru, was seized by worry for his sons. Even after speaking to the radiant Agni, his heart found no peace. Tormented for their sake, he spoke anxiously to Lapita, “How will my sons, who are in your care, survive? As the fire grows and the wind blows fiercely, my sons will not be able to escape and will surely perish. How will their ascetic mother, distressed and powerless, protect them? How, in flight or in falling, will my sons escape as their mother cries out and runs? What will become of Jaritari, Sarisrikka, Stambamitra, Drona, and their devoted mother?” As Maṇḍapāla lamented thus, Lapita replied with a touch of resentment, “You show little concern for your sons, though you have spoken to the sages. They are powerful and brave, and have no fear of the fire. They have been protected by your words, and I am with them. The great blazing one himself has assured this. You should trust in your deed and let your mind be at ease. “You are troubled, thinking only of my enemies; surely, you do not love me as you once did. It is not right for one with wings to abandon a friend in distress. One who is able should never neglect the suffering. Go to Jarita, for whom you worry so; I too will live alone, as women rely on men. I do not act as you imagine—I wander for the sake of my children, and it is difficult for me. He who abandons what is present for what is yet to come is a fool, and the world will scorn him—do as you wish. This fire, blazing and licking the trees, brings distress and misfortune to my heart.” Hearing her husband’s words, Lapita grew sorrowful, but, devoted as she was, she sought to console him once more. Meanwhile, Jaritā, scorched by the flames but filled with longing for her sons, crossed beyond the burning region. In the forest, she found her sons unharmed and freed from the fire, though they cried out, they were healthy. Seeing them, tears of relief streamed down her face again and again, yet their repeated cries seemed almost unbelievable to her. Yearning for her children, Jaritā approached them alone, trembling with emotion, and out of maternal affection, she embraced and kissed her sons. At that very moment, Maṇḍapāla also arrived swiftly, and his sons rejoiced at his coming. Because of his seniority and asceticism, all the ascetics respectfully greeted Maṇḍapāla. Delighted, the great ascetic embraced and smelled his sons, and Gautama himself called his sons and spoke to them. As each child was fondled again and again, none spoke to the sage, neither good nor bad. Then he asked, “Which one is your eldest son, which is the younger, which is the middle one, and which among them is yours? Why do you not answer, though you are sorrowful and speak thus? I have performed the offerings and found peace.” Saying this, Maṇḍapāla touched Jaritā and asked, “What is there for you in the eldest, or in the next-born, or in the middle-born, or again in the youngest?” Thus, O Bharata, the story of Maṇḍapāla, his sons, and the burning of the Khandava forest unfolded—a tale of devotion, anxiety, and reunion amidst the consuming fire, all under the watchful gaze of the divine Agni.