Jaratkaru, the ascetic, was shown a vision of his ancestors—his pitrs—hanging helplessly over a dark abyss, their faces marked by sorrow and despair. Their support was gone, and they dangled precariously, as if suspended by a single thread, their consciousness fading like those who have no refuge. Seeing their plight, the ancestors pleaded, “You have witnessed our suffering, our helplessness. Go and tell him—our only hope—of our desperate state.” They continued, “We, your ancestors, depend entirely on you now. We hang over the pit, dejected and downcast. O noble one, we entreat you: take a wife and beget children. Only this can save us. Our lineage is reduced to a single, solitary ascetic—one thread remains, and that is you, Jaratkaru, whom you see clinging to a slender blade of grass. You are the pillar of our family, the one who can increase our line. The roots you see are our family’s foundation, and you are its only shoot.” They pointed to the roots, half-eaten and withered. “These, O father, are our lineages, consumed by the relentless passage of time. The root you see is all that remains, and even that is being devoured. Where we hang over the pit, that one root—yourself—is engaged in austerity. The mouse gnawing at it is none other than mighty Time itself. Slowly, Time erodes the last support, even as you, Jaratkaru, pursue penance, consumed by your desire for asceticism, heedless of the consequences.” Their voices trembled with urgency: “Your austerity, O best of beings, will not save us. Uprooted and fallen, our minds are afflicted by the power of Time. See us here, fallen into the depths as wrongdoers—when we are lost, all our kin will fall with us. And when you too are cut off by Time, you will descend to hell, despite your penance, sacrifices, or any other great acts of purification. None of these, dear one, is considered equal by the virtuous to the continuation of the lineage. Therefore, speak to that ascetic Jaratkaru—yourself—so that he may take a wife and produce offspring as is proper.” They implored, “As you have seen all this, you must tell him fully, so that he may act for the welfare of his ancestors and his own family. Or, O Brahmin, speak to him on our behalf, as our protector. Tell him it is for the good of his kin and himself. But who are you, O best of beings, who grieves for us as if you were our own kinsman? We wish to know—who stands here before us?” Hearing these anguished words, Jaratkaru was overwhelmed with sorrow. Tears choked his voice as he addressed his ancestors: “You are truly my ancestors and forefathers, 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 replied, “Son, by good fortune you have come here. But why, O Brahmin, have you not taken a wife?” Jaratkaru confessed, “This concern for my ancestors has always weighed upon my heart. I had resolved to remain celibate, to send my body to the next world. It was firmly set in my mind never to marry. Yet, seeing you hanging like birds, my heart is moved.” He continued, “My mind was turned away from marriage by my devotion to celibacy, but now I will do your will, without doubt. If ever I should obtain a maiden bearing my name, who comes to me freely, like alms, then I will accept her. But I will not maintain her; if such a situation arises, I will marry—otherwise, I will not. This is the truth, O forefathers. From that union, a being will be born for your deliverance. May my ancestors remain eternal and undiminished.” Having thus promised, Jaratkaru wandered the earth, seeking a wife as he had vowed. But he was old, and could not find one. Disheartened, yet urged on by his ancestors, he entered the forest and cried out in great distress. There, with a heart full of longing for his ancestors’ welfare, he called aloud three times, “I ask for a maiden!” so that all beings—moving and unmoving, hidden and manifest—might hear his plea. He declared, “While I engaged in severe austerities, my ancestors, suffering and longing for the continuation of our line, urged me to enter household life. For their sake, I wander the earth, seeking a maiden as alms, poor and afflicted. Whoever among you possesses such a maiden, let her be given to me, who wanders in every direction. If there is a maiden named as mine, offered to me like alms, and whom I am able to support, let her be given to me.” Hearing his call, the serpents devoted to Jaratkaru took the matter to Vasuki, their lord. Vasuki, the king of serpents, brought his adorned sister—named Jaratkaru—to the forest and offered her to the sage as alms. Yet Jaratkaru hesitated, thinking, “She is not to be supported,” and, intent on renunciation, was reluctant to accept her. He asked her name and told Vasuki, “I will not undertake her maintenance.” Then Vasuki spoke to the sage, “This maiden, named after you, is my sister, endowed with austerity. I will support your wife—accept her, O best of twice-born. I will protect her with all my power, O treasure of austerity. For your sake, O best of sages, she will be cared for by me.” Jaratkaru replied, “I will not support her; this is my vow. Nor should anything unpleasant be done—if it is, I will abandon her.” Thus, the arrangement was made. The sage’s vow and the serpents’ promise set the stage for the fulfillment of the ancestors’ wish, and the continuation of the lineage.