When the serpent king Vāsuki promised Jaratkāru, "I will support my sister," the sage accepted, and so Jaratkāru journeyed to the serpents’ abode. There, among the nāgas, the illustrious sage—renowned for his mastery of mantras, his great austerity, and steadfast vows—took the hand of Vāsuki’s sister in marriage, performing all the proper rites and sacred chants. Having thus given his sister as a wife, Vāsuki returned to his own delightful dwelling, a place approved by the lord of serpents and praised by the great sages. Within that blessed home, a splendid bed was prepared for the couple, adorned with fine coverings. Jaratkāru dwelled there with his new wife. Early in their union, the sage made an agreement with her: “You must never do anything, nor speak any word, that would displease me. If ever you do, or say such a thing, I will leave you and your house. Accept this, my vow.” Hearing this, Vāsuki’s sister was deeply distressed. Sorrow weighed upon her as she replied, “So be it.” Yet, despite her heavy heart, she devoted herself to her husband with gentle words and loving care, seeking always to please him, and became renowned for her virtue. In time, at the proper hour and after her ritual bath, Vāsuki’s sister approached her husband as was fitting for a wife. Within her, a pregnancy arose—brilliant and blazing like fire, radiant with the splendor of Vaiśvānara himself. Just as the moon waxes in the bright half of the month, so did the child within her grow, day by day. One day, after some time had passed, the sage Jaratkāru, weary, lay down with his head in his wife’s lap and fell asleep. As the eminent sage slept, the sun slipped behind the mountain and evening approached. Vāsuki’s sister grew anxious, torn between her duties. Fearful of violating righteousness, she pondered: “Should I wake him, or let him sleep? He is sorrowful and devoted to dharma—how can I avoid wrongdoing?” She reflected, “If I wake him, he may become angry; but if I do not, the twilight rites will be missed—a lapse in duty, which is graver than anger.” Thus resolved, she approached her husband, who radiated the heat of his austerities even in slumber, and spoke to him gently and sweetly: “Rise, O fortunate one, the sun is setting. Perform the twilight rites, O blessed one, for the time of the fire-offering has come, this beautiful, reddish moment. The twilight is beginning in the western sky, O lord.” Awakened by her words, the illustrious Jaratkāru, great in austerity, replied with trembling lips: “You have shown me disrespect, O serpent woman. I will not remain with you; I shall depart as I came. You had no power, O slender-thighed one, to prevent the sun from setting while I slept. It is in my heart to leave now, for none wish to dwell where they are disrespected—what, then, of one devoted to righteousness, or of me?” Hearing this, Vāsuki’s sister’s heart quaked. In the assembly of the nāgas she spoke, “O Brāhmaṇa, I did not awaken you out of disrespect. I only did this so that you would not incur a lapse in righteousness. I spoke to you as I was instructed by my husband, the great ascetic Jaratkāru.” But the sage, seized by anger and intent on abandoning her, declared, “My words are never false; I shall leave you, O serpent-woman. This was the agreement we made before. I have lived happily with you—now, O auspicious one, tell your brother. When I am gone, let him know that I have departed; and you, when I have left, should not grieve.” Thus addressed, the faultless woman, her mind overwhelmed by anxiety and sorrow, replied to Jaratkāru. Her words came choked with tears, her face parched, hands joined in reverence, eyes brimming. Steadying herself, though her body trembled, she pleaded, “O knower of righteousness, you should not abandon me, who am without fault. I have always been steadfast in righteousness, devoted to your good. The reason I was given to you, O best of Brāhmaṇas—if I, unfortunate as I am, have not fulfilled that, what will Vāsuki say of me? My relatives, afflicted by our mother’s curse, depend on this union. The offspring desired from you has not yet appeared; by obtaining a child from you, my kin would find well-being. Let this union not be in vain, O Brāhmaṇa; for the sake of my relatives’ welfare, I beseech you. Having placed this indistinct embryo within me, O noble one, how can you wish to abandon me and go to the serpents?” Hearing her, the sage, rich in austerity, replied, “If your words are true and proper, O Jaratkāru, know this: you do indeed bear a child in your womb, blazing like fire—a sage, supremely righteous, learned in the Vedas and their branches.” Having spoken thus, the righteous and resolute Jaratkāru, firm in his vows, departed once more to pursue severe austerities, leaving his wife behind.