As King Janamejaya prepared for the great serpent-sacrifice, an ominous sign appeared, casting a shadow over the sacred proceedings. While the priests and workers readied the sacrificial ground, a mysterious voice was heard, unsettling those present. At that moment, the master builder—wise in the science of architecture—spoke out. Alongside him were the skilled architect, the charioteer, and the learned reciter of ancient lore. Addressing the gathering, the master builder declared, “In this very place and at this very time, since the measuring has begun with a Brahmin as its cause, this sacrifice will not reach completion.” Hearing these unsettling words before the formal initiation of the sacrifice, King Janamejaya ordered his steward, “Let no one unknown to me enter here.” With this command, he sought to guard the sanctity of the ritual. Despite these omens, the serpent-sacrifice commenced in earnest. The priests, each well-versed in their duties, began the rites according to ancient tradition. Dressed in black garments, their eyes reddened by the smoke, they chanted mantras and offered oblations into the blazing fire. The power of their invocations shook the hearts of all serpents, compelling every snake to be drawn toward the mouth of the sacrificial flames. One after another, the serpents were summoned into the fire. They writhed in agony, calling out to each other in distress as they were consumed. Their bodies trembled and they breathed heavily, coiling around one another in fear. With tails and heads raised, they fiercely reached out, some even stretching toward the radiant Bhanu, the Sun. Serpents of all kinds—white, black, blue, old, and young—rushed into the flames, filling the air with cries both strange and sorrowful. The sacrificial ground, measured by the length of a krosha at Gokarna, became a scene of relentless destruction as the serpents fell ceaselessly into the fire. Countless thousands, tens of millions, even crores of serpents perished there, helpless and doomed. Some were as large as horses, others as mighty as elephants—intoxicated with their own strength, massive in form, and full of venom. Tall and short, fierce as iron clubs, these snakes fell into the fire, driven by the words of their mothers and the force of destiny. At this terrible sacrifice of King Janamejaya, son of Parikshit, many wondered who the officiating priests and learned members were. In answer, the names of the wise and venerable were recounted: The Hotṛ was Chandabhargava, a Brahmana of the Cyavana lineage, renowned for his mastery of the Vedas. The Udgātṛs were the elderly and learned Brahmanas Kautsa and Jaimini. Shārngarava was the Brahma, and Pingala the Adhvaryu. Among the members present was the great sage Vyasa, accompanied by his sons and disciples, including Uddalaka, Pramataka, Shvetaketu, and Pingala. There too were Asita, Devala, Narada, Parvata, Atreya, Kumda-Jathara, and the Brahmana Kalaghat. Other venerable Brahmanas included Vatsya, the aged Shrutashrava devoted to study and recitation, Kohala, Devasharma, Maudgalya, and Samasaurabha. Along with these, many other accomplished Brahmanas attended the sacrifice of Parikshit’s son. As the priests poured oblations into the fire, the serpents continued to fall, their terrifying forms striking fear in all living beings. From the burning pit, streams of fat and marrow flowed, and a tumultuous scent filled the air, carried by the wind as the flames raged day and night. The cries of the serpents echoed unceasingly, and they were consumed by the relentless fire. Yet, Takshaka, lord of serpents, having learned of King Janamejaya’s sacrifice, fled to the abode of Indra. Fearful and aware of his own transgression, he sought refuge with the king of the gods, recounting all that had transpired. Indra, greatly pleased, reassured Takshaka, saying, “Here, Takshaka, you need not fear at any time from this serpent-sacrifice. In the past, I have propitiated the Grandsire for your sake; let your anxiety depart.” Thus comforted, Takshaka remained content in Indra’s celestial mansion. Meanwhile, Vasuki, surrounded by only a few surviving kin, was tormented as he watched his race fall unendingly into the fire. Overwhelmed by dread and despair, Vasuki, chief of serpents, turned to his sister and spoke in anguish, “My limbs are burning, dear one, and I cannot discern the directions. My mind reels and I seem to sink in confusion. My vision whirls, my heart feels torn; I am helpless and fear I too will fall into the blazing fire. This sacrifice of Parikshit’s son is underway, intent on our destruction. Surely, I must go to the realm of the lord of the dead.” He continued, “Now has come the time, sister, for which I once gave you in marriage to Jaratkaru. Save us and our kin. It is foretold that Astika, your son, will oppose this ongoing sacrifice for the sake of the serpents—the Grandsire himself told me this before. Therefore, dear one, go to your son Astika, esteemed by the elders and learned in the Vedas, and urge him to secure freedom for me and my household today.” Thus, amidst the destruction and despair, hope rested on the wisdom and intervention of Astika, the savior foretold for the serpent race.