Jaratkāru, the twice-born sage, was born into the world and dedicated himself to severe austerities. At the proper time, it was decreed that he should be given Jaratkāru, the sister of the serpents, as his wife. The serpent Elāpatra had spoken words meant for the welfare of all serpents, and the gods agreed: let things be as Elāpatra said, for the good of the serpents. Hearing the command of the Grandsire, the lord of serpents, Vāsuki, who was troubled by a curse, gathered all the serpents and instructed them accordingly. He raised his sister Jaratkāru for the sage and assigned many serpents to attend upon him, ensuring he would always be cared for. They resolved: when the sage wishes to choose a wife, they would quickly inform him, for this would be to their benefit. At this point, Śaunaka, the righteous sage, asked Sūtanandana to tell him about Jaratkāru, desiring to know more about this renowned sage. He questioned the origin of the name Jaratkāru and requested its true meaning. Sūtanandana explained: “Decay (jara) means destruction, and kāru means body. His body was kāru, and through intense austerity, the wise one gradually diminished it. He reduced his body through severe penance, and thus he is called Jaratkāru, O brāhmaṇa—and so too is Vāsuki’s sister.” Śaunaka smiled and acknowledged the explanation, then asked to hear how Āstīka was born. Sauti, the storyteller, responded, recounting the tradition: Vāsuki summoned all the serpents and earnestly raised his sister, presenting her to the sage Jaratkāru. Yet, even after a long time, the sage, steadfast in his vows and devoted to austerities, did not desire a wife. He, whose seed was held upward, absorbed in ascetic practice, learned in the scriptures, fearless and self-controlled, wandered across the earth without even the thought of seeking a wife. Meanwhile, in another time, King Parikṣit, a descendant of the Kauravas, became exhausted. Like his ancestor Pāṇḍu, the mighty archer who loved to hunt, Parikṣit too was renowned for roaming the earth, striking deer, boars, tigers, buffaloes, and other wild creatures. One day, after striking a deer with a barbless arrow, he took up his bow and chased it deep into the forest. Just as the revered Rudra once pursued the sacrificial beast in heaven, so did Parikṣit search for the deer, bow in hand. But the deer, though struck, did not die; its form quickly moved toward heaven. The deer escaped, carrying the king’s bow far away, and Parikṣit was led on by the animal. Weary and tormented by thirst, the king came upon a sage in the forest, seated among grazing cows with calves sucking at their mothers. The sage was mostly drinking the froth from the milk, and as the king, steadfast in his vows, rushed toward him, he raised his bow and questioned the sage, afflicted by hunger and fatigue: “O Brāhmaṇa, I am King Parikṣit, son of Abhimanyu. A deer struck by me has escaped—perhaps you have seen it?” The sage, observing a vow of silence, did not reply. Angered, the king placed a dead snake upon the sage’s shoulder, lifting it with the tip of his bow, and watched him. The sage spoke nothing to him, neither auspicious nor inauspicious. The king, releasing his anger and disturbed by what had happened, departed for the city, while the sage remained as before. The great sage, patient by nature, did not retaliate against the king, devoted as he was to his own duty, even though insulted. The king, not recognizing the sage’s devotion to righteousness, thus insulted him. The sage’s son was young, fierce in energy, great in austerity, named Śṛṅgī. He possessed immense wrath, was difficult to approach, and steadfast in his vows. At various times, he would approach the supreme god Brahmā, who was seated for the welfare of all beings, seeking his favor. Having been permitted by Brahmā, Śṛṅgī returned home, as instructed by his friend who was playing and laughing there. When Śṛṅgī heard from the best of the twice-born, Kṛśa, a jest about his father, he became enraged. Kṛśa said, “Your father, powerful and ascetic, carries a corpse on his shoulder; do not be proud, Śṛṅgī. Do not utter any words among the sage’s sons, among those accomplished, learned in Brahman, and ascetic like us. Where is your manliness, and where are such words born of arrogance, seeing your father carrying a corpse? And your father’s act is not fitting for himself, O best among sages; by which I am greatly distressed.” Thus addressed, Śṛṅgī, radiant and filled with anger, upon hearing that his revered father was carrying a dead thing, was consumed by wrath. He looked at the thin one, uttering truthful words, and asked: “How is it, father, that one devoted to the welfare of all beings—always single-minded, pleasing Viṣṇu through austerity, subsisting on forest food, always observing silence—such a radiant one, yet today bears a dead thing?