With her face drawn and parched, tears streaming from her eyes, and her hands folded in reverence, the noble lady Jaratkaru struggled to speak, her voice choked with emotion. Though her body trembled—her left thigh quivering with distress—she steadied herself and addressed her husband, the sage Jaratkaru: “O knower of righteousness, do not abandon me, who am blameless. I have always remained steadfast in righteousness, devoted to what is dear and good for you. Was this not the very reason I was given to you, O best of Brāhmaṇas? “If, despite all this, I—so unfortunate and unsuccessful—have not obtained what I hoped for, what will Vāsuki say of me? I am already among relatives afflicted by our mother’s curse, O best of men. The child we hoped for from you has not yet come; if I were to bear your child, my family would find relief and well-being. Let not this union with you, O Brāhmaṇa, be fruitless for me. I beg you, for the sake of my relatives’ welfare. “O noble one, you have placed this indistinct seed within me. How can you, great-souled one, wish to leave me now and return to the serpents?” Hearing her words, the sage, steadfast in his austerities, replied gently to his wife: “O Jaratkaru, if your words are true and fitting, know this: you do indeed bear a child in your womb, blazing like fire—a sage, supremely righteous, learned in the Vedas and all their branches.” Having spoken thus, the great sage Jaratkaru, resolute in his purpose, departed once more to pursue his severe austerities. As soon as her husband had left, Jaratkaru went to her brother Vāsuki and told him everything exactly as it had happened. Upon hearing of this great misfortune, the foremost of serpents grew even more dejected and spoke to his sorrowful sister: “You know, gentle lady, what must be done and the reason you were given in marriage. If it is for the welfare of the serpents, let your son serve that purpose. He, endowed with immense energy, will surely deliver us from the snake-sacrifice; this was foretold by the Grandsire and the gods. “O fortunate one, is there truly a child in your womb from that best of sages? I would not wish the efforts of that wise one to be in vain. Indeed, it is not proper for me to ask you such a question, but the matter is so grave that I must. Knowing the great austerity and difficult nature of your husband, I will never pursue him, lest he curse me. Tell me, gentle one, all that your husband has done and ease the deep sorrow that has long troubled my heart.” Thus addressed, Jaratkaru comforted her distressed brother, Vāsuki, lord of the serpents. She replied, “That great-souled and austere one was questioned by me for the sake of offspring; he answered, ‘There is,’ and then departed from me. Even among his own, I have never known him to speak falsely; what he has once spoken, O king, he will surely fulfill in due time. Do not be troubled, O serpent; a son will be born to you, radiant as fire and the sun. Having said this, my husband, rich in austerity, departed, O brother. Let this great sorrow that burdens your heart be dispelled.” Hearing these words, Vāsuki, king of the serpents, was filled with joy and accepted his sister’s assurance, saying, “So be it.” He honored his lovely sister with soothing words, gifts, and reverence. Meanwhile, the embryo within Jaratkaru, radiant and full of energy, grew steadily, like the waxing moon in the bright fortnight. In due time, she gave birth to a boy who resembled a divine child, dispelling the fears of both his father and mother. The child grew up in the house of the serpent king, and learned the Vedas and their branches from the sage Chyavana, son of Bhrigu. Even as a boy, he undertook vows and was endowed with intelligence, virtue, and good qualities. His name became known throughout the world as Astika, for when his father departed while he was still in the womb, he had declared, “He exists”—thus, he was called Astika. Protected in the house of the serpent king, Astika moved about with unfathomable intelligence even as a child. As he grew, he delighted all the serpents, shining with a brilliance like that of the blessed Lord of the gods, the golden trident-bearer. At this time, King Janamejaya inquired of his ministers about his father’s passing to heaven. “Tell me again in detail about my father’s journey,” he asked. The king questioned his ministers, and they described to him the death of Parikshit. “You all know what befell my father, how that illustrious one met his end in due time. Having heard from you in full about my father’s deeds, I shall act rightly and never in a contrary manner,” Janamejaya declared. Then, questioned by their noble king, all the wise and righteous ministers spoke to Janamejaya: “Hear, O king, what you ask about your great-souled father’s conduct, and how that lord of kings reached his end. Your father was righteous, great-souled, and a protector of his people. Listen now to how that great one lived among us. He established the four orders in their proper duties and protected them; the king, a knower of righteousness, upheld dharma as if it were embodied itself.