When King Janamejaya, son of Parikshit, sought vengeance for his father’s death by serpent-bite, he inquired who among those present had witnessed or heard the conversation between Takshaka, lord of the serpents, and the sage Kashyapa on their journey. He declared that, upon hearing the account, he would devise a plan for the destruction of the serpents. “O King,” said his counselors, “listen to how this meeting between the illustrious Brahmin and Takshaka occurred on the road, as it was told to us. Once, a man climbed a tree full of dry branches in search of firewood. Neither Takshaka nor Kashyapa noticed the man above them, and as they conversed, the tree—along with the man—was reduced to ashes. But by the power of the twice-born sage, the tree was restored. This event, O best of Brahmins, was reported by a man who happened to be there.” All that transpired between Takshaka and the Brahmin has thus been recounted as it was seen and heard. “Having heard this, O tiger among kings,” said the counselors, “act as you deem fit.” Hearing their words, King Janamejaya was overcome with grief. He pressed his hand to his mouth, his lotus eyes shedding hot tears as he sighed deeply. The ruler of the earth, afflicted with pain and sorrow, released his tears with difficulty. After performing the prescribed purification by touching water, he spoke, having reflected for a moment and steadied his mind. Filled with indignation, Janamejaya addressed his counselors: “Having heard your words regarding my father’s fate, my resolve is now firm. Hear what I intend: Takshaka, that wicked one, must be dealt with. He must be repaid, for he caused my father’s death—using Shringin merely as an instrument, he burned the king. It was Takshaka’s wickedness that turned Kashyapa away; had that Brahmin arrived, surely my father would have lived. What loss would Takshaka have suffered if the king had survived, thanks to Kashyapa’s favor and your guidance? But out of delusion, he turned away the excellent Brahmin who had come to revive the undefeated king. This is a great transgression—he gave wealth to the Brahmin so that the king would not be revived. To please Uttanka, to serve myself, and for all of you, I will perform the funeral rites for my father.” Having spoken thus, the illustrious king, supported by his counselors, resolved to perform the snake-sacrifice. He summoned his family priest and officiating Brahmins, and spoke to them with skillful words: “That wicked Takshaka, who killed my father—tell me, how should I act toward him? Do you know by what means the serpent was responsible? I wish to cast Takshaka, along with his kin, into blazing fire—just as my father was once burned by the serpent’s venomous fire, so too do I desire to burn that wicked serpent.” The priests replied, “O King, there is a great sacrificial rite, created by the gods for your sake, known in the Purāṇas as the ‘universal sacrifice.’ According to ancient tradition, you alone among men are qualified to perform this sacrifice; that rite exists for us.” Thus addressed, the royal sage believed Takshaka would certainly be consumed, drawn into the mouth of the sacrificial fire. Then the king, skilled in mantras, commanded the Brahmins: “I will undertake that sacrifice—let all the necessary materials be gathered for me.” The officiating priests, learned in the scriptures, measured out the sacrificial ground as prescribed. All the learned Vedic scholars, accomplished in wisdom and prosperity, assembled there with groups of Brahmins. Abundant with wealth and grain, well-served by priests, they properly constructed the sacrificial altar according to the rites. Then they initiated the king for the completion of the serpent-sacrifice; and thus began the great rite. At that time, a great omen arose, hindering the sacrifice. As the sacrificial ground was being prepared, a voice was heard. The master builder, wise and skilled in architecture, spoke then—the architect, the charioteer, and the reciter of ancient lore. “In this place and at this time, since the measuring has begun with a Brahmin as the cause, this sacrifice will not be completed.” Hearing this, before the initiation, the king ordered, “Let no one unknown to me enter here, O steward.” Then the work of the serpent-sacrifice began in earnest. The priests performed their duties according to the proper rites. Clad in black garments, their eyes reddened with smoke, they offered oblations with mantras into the kindled fire. Their chants shook the minds of all serpents, summoning them into the mouth of the fire. Then the serpents, writhing in distress and calling out to one another, came together into the blazing sacrificial fire. They quivered, breathed heavily, and coiled around each other; with their tails and heads, they fiercely reached toward the radiant Bhanu. White, black, blue, old, and young—all making various cries, they rushed into the blazing fire, compelled by the power of the king’s sacrifice.