At that very time, the great sage Jaratkaru, a wandering ascetic with no fixed abode, traveled across the whole earth. He was engaged in severe austerities—vows so difficult that the undisciplined could scarcely imagine them. Radiant with spiritual power, Jaratkaru journeyed from one holy place to another, bathing in sacred waters, living on nothing but air. Each day, his body grew thinner as he consumed no food, his strength waning from his relentless penance. One day, as he wandered thus, Jaratkaru beheld a startling vision: his ancestors, the Pitrs, were hanging head-down in a deep pit. They clung desperately to a single, fragile fiber of a reed stalk, and a rat, living in a nearby hole, was slowly gnawing away at that last thread. Emaciated and miserable, deprived of sustenance, his ancestors longed for deliverance. Approaching them, Jaratkaru—himself as worn and sorrowful as they—addressed them with compassion. “Who are you,” he asked, “clinging to this reed stalk, relying on a single weak root that is being eaten away by a rat in its hole? Even this last root is being slowly chewed by the rat’s sharp teeth. Soon, when it is completely severed, you will all fall headlong into the pit. Seeing you thus, hanging head-down in such distress, my heart is filled with sorrow. What can I do for you, my dear ones?” He continued, “Tell me quickly if you wish to be saved from this calamity by a fourth, a third, or even half of my ascetic merit. Or, if you prefer, let all of you be rescued by the entirety of my merit—let it be as you desire.” But his ancestors replied, “How is it that you, a celibate, wish to save us? Not even the highest asceticism of a foremost Brahmin can remedy this. Is there, or is there not, any fruit to austerity? Because our lineage is destroyed, O Brahmin, we are falling into an impure hell. Our grandsire has declared that progeny is the highest duty, but here we are, suspended, and no knowledge comes to us.” They lamented, “You, renowned for your manliness, are not recognized by your own kin. We, your ancestors, are to be pitied and are deeply afflicted. Out of compassion, I grieve, O twice-born. Listen: we are called the Yāyāvaras, sages devoted to strict vows. Cast down from the world due to the destruction of our lineage, our severe austerity is lost; we have no descendant.” “Today, only one descendant remains, and even he is as good as lost—unfortunate among the unfortunate, he alone has taken up austerity. He is known as Jaratkaru, accomplished in the Vedas, self-controlled, great-souled, firm in his vows, and possessed of immense ascetic power. Yet, because of his greed for austerity, we have come to this distress; he has neither wife, nor son, nor any relative. Therefore, we hang over the pit, our consciousness lost, like those without support. He must be told, for you have seen us in our helpless state.” They pleaded, “Your ancestors depend on you, hanging over the pit, dejected and downcast. O noble one, take a wife and beget children, we entreat you. Only one thread of our lineage remains, a single ascetic, whom you see clinging to the grass-stalk. He is our family’s pillar, the increaser of our line; these roots you see are his shoots. These are our lineages, consumed by time; and the root you see, O Brahman, is half-eaten.” They explained further, “Where we hang over the pit, even that one is engaged in austerity; the mouse you see is mighty Time itself. He slowly gnaws at that weak ascetic devoted to penance—Jaratkaru, greedy for austerity, dull-minded and senseless. For, O best of beings, his austerity will not save us—uprooted, fallen, our minds afflicted by Time.” “We who have entered below are wrongdoers; when we fall here, all our kin will fall with us. When that one too is cut off by Time, he will go to hell from here, regardless of austerity, sacrifice, or any great purification. All of that is not considered equal by the virtuous to the continuation of the lineage. Therefore, upon seeing him, you should speak to that ascetic Jaratkaru. As you have seen this, you must relate it fully, so that he may take a wife and produce offspring as is proper. Or, O Brahmin, tell him this on our behalf, as one who is our protector, for the welfare of his kin, just as for his own family.” Then, curious, they asked, “Who are you, O best of beings, that you grieve for us as if you were our kinsman? We wish to hear—who are you that stands here?” Hearing these words, Jaratkaru was overwhelmed with sorrow, his voice choked by tears as he replied to his ancestors, “You, my ancestors and forefathers, are truly my elders. Tell me, what must I do to fulfill your dearest wish? I alone am Jaratkaru, your sinful son; let me bear the punishment for my misdeeds and lack of self-control.” His ancestors responded, “Son, by good fortune you have arrived here by chance. O Brahmin, why have you not taken a wife?” Jaratkaru answered, “This matter concerning my ancestors always weighs upon my heart. Being celibate, I thought I would send my body to the next world. It was firmly resolved in my mind that I would not take a wife. Yet, seeing you hanging like birds, I am moved.