King Parikṣit, while out hunting, struck a deer with his arrow. The wounded animal, however, managed to escape, carrying the king’s bow far into the forest. Driven by the chase, Parikṣit was led deep into the wilderness by the fleeing deer. Exhausted and tormented by thirst, Parikṣit wandered until he came upon a tranquil forest scene: a sage sat quietly among grazing cows, their calves suckling at their mothers. The sage, absorbed in his own practice, was subsisting mostly on the froth of milk, observing deep silence. The king, steadfast in his duties but desperate from hunger and fatigue, rushed toward the sage. Raising his bow, Parikṣit called out, “O Brāhmaṇa, I am Parikṣit, son of Abhimanyu. A deer that I struck has escaped—have you seen it?” But the sage, who was observing a vow of silence, did not reply or even acknowledge him. Frustrated and angered by the sage’s silence, Parikṣit, in a moment of rashness, picked up a dead snake with the tip of his bow and draped it across the sage’s shoulder, watching for any reaction. Yet the sage remained unmoved, neither blessing nor cursing the king, but continuing in his silent meditation. Realizing what he had done, Parikṣit’s anger faded, and disturbed by his own actions, he left for his city, while the sage remained as before—patient and steadfast, enduring the insult without retaliation. This sage, devoted to his own duty and naturally forgiving, did not seek to harm Parikṣit, the king who had insulted him, for he recognized that forgiveness was the higher path. Parikṣit, however, in his weariness and confusion, failed to recognize the sage’s righteousness and so had wronged him. The sage’s son was Śṛṅgī, a young ascetic of fierce energy, great austerity, and immense wrath. Śṛṅgī, steadfast in his vows, was known for his spiritual power and sometimes approached Brahmā, the supreme god, seeking his favor. After one such visit, he returned home, led by his friend Kṛśa, who was playing and laughing. Upon his return, Śṛṅgī heard from Kṛśa, the best of the twice-born, a mocking jest about his father: “Your father, powerful and ascetic, now carries a corpse on his shoulder; do not be proud, Śṛṅgī. Do not speak boastfully among us, who are accomplished ascetics. Where is your manliness now, seeing your father in such a state? This act does not befit your father, O best among sages; it distresses me greatly.” Hearing this, Śṛṅgī, glowing with anger, questioned Kṛśa: “How is it that my father, always devoted to the welfare of all beings, single-minded in his austerities, pleasing Viṣṇu through his penance and silence, is now bearing a dead snake?” Kṛśa explained: “King Parikṣit, son of Abhimanyu, was hunting when he struck a deer and lost track of it. Wandering in the forest, he came upon your father and questioned him, but received no answer. Afflicted by hunger and thirst, the king asked repeatedly, but your father, observing silence, did not reply. In anger, the king placed a dead snake on his shoulder with the tip of his bow. Your father remains there, steadfast in his vows, while the king has returned to Hastināpura.” Hearing this, Śṛṅgī’s anger blazed forth. His eyes reddened; he was consumed by wrath. Overcome, he purified himself with water and, compelled by his anger, pronounced a curse upon the king: “That sinful king, who placed a dead serpent upon the shoulder of my aged father—he shall be struck down by Takṣaka, the lord of serpents, whose venom is fierce, driven by the power of my words. After seven days, he will be taken to the abode of Yama, the god of death. Thus shall fall the king who insulted the twice-born and brought disgrace upon the Kurus.” Having uttered this curse in great anger, Śṛṅgī approached his father, who was still seated in the cow-pen, the dead serpent draped across his shoulder. Seeing his father in this state, Śṛṅgī’s anger grew even more intense. With tears in his eyes, he spoke sorrowfully: “O father, having heard of this outrage committed against you by that wicked king, I have cursed him as he deserves. On the seventh day, Takṣaka, the foremost of serpents, will strike down Parikṣit, the sinner.” Hearing his son’s words, the sage addressed him gently: “My son, what you have done does not please me. This is not the way of righteousness or ascetics. We dwell within the domain of that king, who has always protected us justly. I do not approve of bringing harm upon him. One must always forgive the king who conducts himself properly towards people like us. Forgiveness is our duty, for when righteousness is destroyed, it destroys in return—there is no doubt. If the king does not protect us, we would suffer greatly.” Thus, the sage counseled his son, reminding him of the true path of forgiveness and the importance of righteousness, even in the face of insult.