Jaratkaru, the sage renowned for his devotion to celibacy, stood before his ancestors and spoke with humility and resolve. “O forefathers,” he said, “my mind was once turned away from marriage, drawn instead to the path of renunciation. Yet, I shall now fulfill your wishes without doubt.” He made a solemn vow: “If ever I find a maiden bearing my name, who approaches me freely, as one might receive alms, then—only then—I will accept her. But I will not be responsible for her maintenance; if such circumstances arise, I will enter into marriage. Otherwise, I shall not. This is the truth, O forefathers.” Jaratkaru promised that from such a union, a child would be born for the deliverance of his ancestors, ensuring their eternal and undiminished existence. Having declared this before his ancestors, the sage wandered the earth in search of a wife. But, O Shaunaka, he could not find one, for he was aged and his quest proved fruitless. Disheartened by repeated failure and urged on by his ancestors, he retreated into the forest. Overcome with distress, he cried out loudly, his voice echoing through the trees. Intent on his ancestors’ welfare, wise and steadfast, Jaratkaru entered the forest and called out, “I ask for a maiden,” repeating these words three times with measured solemnity. He invoked all beings—stationary and moving, hidden and visible—to hear his plea. He explained his plight: “While I was absorbed in severe austerities, my ancestors, suffering and longing for the continuation of our lineage, urged me to embrace household life. For the sake of settling down, I wander the earth, seeking a maiden as alms. Poor and afflicted, I have been instructed by my ancestors.” He appealed to all present: “Whoever among you possesses a maiden, let them give her to me, who wanders in every direction. Whichever maiden, named as mine, is offered to me like alms, and whom I am able to support—let them give me that maiden.” Hearing his earnest call, the serpents devoted to Jaratkaru took the matter to Vasuki, the lord of serpents. Vasuki listened, and, taking his adorned sister—who bore the name Jaratkaru—he went to the forest to meet the sage. There, Vasuki offered his sister to Jaratkaru as alms. Yet, the sage hesitated; his mind, fixed on renunciation, was unwilling to accept her, thinking, “She is not to be supported.” Without considering her maintenance, he remained disinclined. Jaratkaru then asked the maiden’s name and told Vasuki, “I will not undertake her maintenance.” Vasuki replied, “This maiden, named after you, is my sister. She is endowed with austerity. I will support your wife; accept her, 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 protected by me.” Jaratkaru reaffirmed his vow: “I will not support her. Nor should anything unpleasant be done; if it is, I will abandon her.” When Vasuki promised to care for his sister, Jaratkaru agreed and proceeded to the serpent’s abode. There, in the company of the wise and the great in austerity and vows, Jaratkaru took the maiden’s hand, performing the proper rites and mantras. Vasuki, having given his sister, led them to a delightful dwelling, praised by the great sages and approved by the lord of serpents. A splendid bed was prepared, and there Jaratkaru dwelled with his wife. He made an agreement with her: “You must never do anything displeasing to me, nor ever speak such words. If you do, or say such words, I will leave you and your house. Accept this statement I have made.” The serpent maiden, deeply distressed and weighed down by sorrow, replied, “So be it.” She attended to her husband, who was often inclined to sorrow, with gentle means and affection, always desiring his favor. At the proper time, after bathing, Vasuki’s sister approached her husband, the great sage, as was fitting. Within her, a pregnancy arose—radiant and blazing like fire, shining with the brilliance of Vaiśvānara. Just as the moon waxes in the bright fortnight, so did the child grow within her. After a few days, the illustrious Jaratkaru rested his head in her lap and slept, exhausted. As he slept, the sun set behind the mountain. The serpent maiden, fearful of violating duty, reflected anxiously: “Should I do what is right and awaken my husband, or not? He is sorrowful and righteous—how can I avoid wrongdoing toward him?” She considered that anger might arise in one devoted to righteousness, or a lapse in duty. Weighing these possibilities, she saw that a lapse in duty was weightier. “If I awaken him, he will surely become angry. But if I do not, a lapse in duty will occur, for the twilight rites will be missed.” Resolving thus, Jaratkaru’s serpent wife approached the sage as he lay, radiant in austerity. Speaking gently and sweetly, she said, “Rise, O fortunate one, the sun is setting. Perform the twilight rites, O blessed one, having touched water, steadfast in vows. The time for the fire-offering has come—this beautiful, reddish moment. The twilight is beginning in the western direction, O lord.” Thus addressed, the illustrious Jaratkaru, great in austerity, stirred from his rest.