At the sacred grounds of Prayāga, where many illustrious sacrifices had been performed in ancient times—the Soma sacrifice, the sacrifice to Varuṇa, and the great offering to Prajāpati—another remarkable sacrifice was now underway. This was the sacrifice of King Janamejaya, son of Parikṣit, scion of the Bhāratas. As the ritual proceeded, the assembled priests and elders invoked blessings, wishing well-being for themselves, their families, and all present, just as had been done in those legendary sacrifices of the past. They recalled the hundred sacrifices of mighty Indra, and another hundred of equal grandeur, and now, Janamejaya’s own sacrifice stood alongside these, a source of hope and prosperity for all. They spoke of the sacrifices of Yama, of Harimedhas, and of the renowned King Rantideva, and prayed that Janamejaya’s rite, too, would bring blessings. The sacrifices of Gaya, King Śaśabindu, and King Vaiśravaṇa were remembered, as were those of Nṛga, Ajamīḍha, and the illustrious Daśaratha. Even the celestial sacrifice of the son of the god, the great Yudhiṣṭhira, and Ajamīḍha’s own offering were recounted—each, a shining example, now joined by Janamejaya’s own. They remembered the sacrifice performed by Kṛṣṇa, son of Satyavatī, where he himself conducted the sacred rites. And now, before their very eyes, the assembly was filled with men whose brilliance rivaled the sun, gathered as if for Indra’s own sacrifice. The worth of these assembled great souls was beyond measure; the gifts bestowed upon them would never be lost. Among all officiants, none equaled Dvaipāyana—this was the firm conviction of the priests. His disciples, well-versed in sacrifice, spread across the earth, each skilled in their sacred duties. The fire, Vibhāvasu, of wondrous radiance and golden seed, consumer of offerings, whirling and blazing, received the oblations with its dark, swift tongue. In this world, the priests declared, there was no king like Janamejaya in protecting his people. His steadfastness reassured them all; he was likened to Varuṇa, to Dharmarāja, to Yama himself. Just as Śakra, the thunderbolt-wielder, protected the world, so did Janamejaya guard his people. In their eyes, he was the foremost of men, unmatched among kings. His might was compared to Khatvanga, Nabhaga, Dilipa, Yayati, and Mandhāta; his brilliance to the radiance of the sun; his righteous rule to that of Bhīṣma. Like Vālmīki, he concealed his own strength; like Vasiṣṭha, his anger was restrained. His sovereignty was as Indra’s, his splendor as Nārāyaṇa’s. Yama’s discernment of righteousness, Kṛṣṇa’s virtues, the prosperity of the Vasus, and the repository of sacrifices—all these qualities were said to reside in him. In strength, he rivaled Dambhodbhava; in mastery of weapons, he was like Rāma; in brilliance, like Aurva and Trita; and he was as difficult to behold as Bhagiratha. Thus praised, the king, the assembly, the priests, and the fire-offerer were all pleased. Their gestures were auspicious, and seeing this, King Janamejaya spoke. He marveled at the wisdom of the young Brahmin Astika, saying, “Though he is a boy, he speaks like an elder. I do not consider him a child, but a wise man. I wish to grant him a boon. O Brahmins, arrange this for me as is proper.” But even as the king spoke of granting a boon, the matter of Takṣaka, the serpent king, was urgent. The king declared, “As Takṣaka comes to us swiftly—” and was about to speak further. The Brahmins urged him to proceed, and Janamejaya, the giver of boons, said to the Brahmin, “Choose your boon.” Yet the hotar, the chief priest, was not entirely pleased, and replied, “Takṣaka does not come while this ritual is ongoing.” The king, eager for vengeance, commanded, “As this ritual is completed for me, and as Takṣaka comes quickly, all of you must strive with utmost effort, for he is my enemy.” The priests explained, “Takṣaka, afflicted by fear, is in Indra’s abode, as our scriptures and the fire itself declare.” Thereupon, the charioteer, wise and knowledgeable in ancient tales, spoke as the Brahmins had instructed, recounting the tradition: “Indra granted Takṣaka a boon, O king—‘Stay here with me, well protected; fire will not burn you.’” Freed from fear by this boon, Takṣaka had gone to Indra’s realm. But the king was undeterred, thinking, “It will happen,” and pondering his next move. Takṣaka, hidden in Indra’s upper garment, was distressed and found no comfort. The king, skilled in mantras and filled with anger, spoke again, determined on Takṣaka’s destruction: “If Takṣaka is in Indra’s abode, O Brahmins, then let him be cast down together with Indra by the fire.” Since Janamejaya had not yet specifically summoned Takṣaka, the Hotri priest now offered oblations to call forth the serpent. As the oblation was cast into the fire, Takṣaka appeared in the sky, agitated and accompanied by Purandara, Indra himself. But seeing the sacrifice, Purandara entered it with Takṣaka, and then, abandoning the terrified serpent, returned to his own abode. When Indra departed, Takṣaka, overcome by fear and confusion, was helplessly drawn by the power of the mantra toward the flames. The officiating priests announced, “Takṣaka is coming swiftly under your control, O king; his terrible, fearsome roar is heard as he cries out.” “Surely,” they said, “the serpent has been abandoned by the wielder of the thunderbolt, cast down from the heavens, terrified by the mantra. Reeling in the sky, his senses lost, the lord of serpents approaches, breathing heavily in distress.” The priests assured the king, “Your sacrifice proceeds properly. Now you should grant a boon to this foremost of Brahmins.” Janamejaya, addressing the youthful and immeasurable Astika, said, “I shall grant you a suitable boon. Choose whatever you desire that is in your heart, and if it is possible, I shall give it to you.” At that very moment, as Takṣaka was about to fall into the fire, Astika intervened, saying, “If you grant me a boon, O Janamejaya, I choose this: let your sacrifice cease, and let no more serpents fall here.” Though not pleased in his heart, Janamejaya replied to Astika, “Gold, silver, cows, and whatever else you desire, O illustrious one, I shall give you as a boon, O Brahmin—but let my sacrifice not be stopped.” Thus, at the height of the serpent sacrifice, with Takṣaka himself drawn toward destruction, the fate of the serpents and the king’s own resolve hung in the balance, as Astika stood before Janamejaya, seeking mercy for the serpent race.