As the king’s men questioned the ascetic, he remained silent, offering neither good nor bad words in response. Searching his hermitage, they discovered thieves hiding within, along with the stolen goods. Suspicion fell upon the sage, and the guards, restraining him, reported both him and the thieves to the king. The king, unable to discern the truth, condemned the sage to death alongside the thieves. Unaware of the ascetic’s greatness, the guards impaled him on a stake, then returned to the king with the recovered wealth. Yet, though the righteous sage was impaled for a long time and deprived of food, death did not claim him. Sustaining his life, he summoned other sages, and, enduring the agony at the tip of the stake, continued his austerities. Those ascetics, troubled by his suffering, gathered at night in the form of birds and questioned him: “O Brahmin, what sin have you committed to endure such great pain and fear on the stake?” The sage, a tiger among ascetics, replied, “By my own fault I shall go; no one else has wronged me.” After many days, the guards, witnessing his endurance, reported everything to the king. Hearing their account, the king went with his ministers to appease the sage, who still remained impaled. Humbly, the king pleaded, “Whatever wrong I have done to you out of delusion or ignorance, O best of sages, I beg your forgiveness; please, do not be angry with me.” The sage, moved by the king’s words, forgave him. The king then took the sage down from the stake, and attempted to remove it, but could not extract it entirely. He cut it off at the base, leaving the point lodged within the sage’s throat and side. Thus, with the stake still inside him, the sage moved about, thinking, “I should carry a vessel for flowers.” By his intense austerity, he conquered worlds difficult for others to attain. Therefore, among people, he is known as Aṇimāṇḍavya. This sage, a knower of the highest truth, journeyed to the abode of Dharma. Seeing Dharma seated, he addressed him: “What wrongful deed, done by me unknowingly, has resulted in this suffering? Tell me the truth quickly—witness the power of my austerity.” Dharma replied, “You inserted a blade of grass into the tails of insects; this is the fruit of that action, O ascetic. Just as a small gift given multiplies many times, so too unrighteousness yields manifold painful results.” The sage asked, “At what time did I commit that act? Tell me truly.” Dharma answered, “You did it in childhood.” Aṇimāṇḍavya declared, “Whatever a child does before twelve years from birth is not unrighteousness, for he does not know the directions. For a slight offense, you imposed a great punishment upon me; the killing of a Brahmin is heavier than the killing of all creatures. O Dharma, you will be born as a human in the womb of a Shudra. Today, I establish a rule in the world for the arising of the fruit of actions: up to fourteen years of age, there will be no sin; only after that will fault arise for those who act wrongly.” Because of this curse, Dharma was born as Vidura, in the womb of a Shudra. Vidura, skilled in righteousness and wealth, free from greed and anger, far-sighted, devoted to peace, and engaged in the welfare of the Kurus. When Dhritarashtra, Pandu, and the great Vidura were born, the land of the Kurus and Kurukshetra flourished with them. The earth yielded abundant crops, grains bore fruit, rains fell in season, and trees produced many flowers and fruits. Vehicles moved joyfully; wild animals and birds were delighted; garlands were fragrant and fruits full of flavor. The cities overflowed with merchants and artisans, heroes skilled in knowledge, and virtuous people who were happy. There were no robbers, nor anyone inclined to unrighteousness; even in the distant regions, a golden age prevailed. People devoted themselves to righteous acts, sacrificial rites, and truth, flourishing together in mutual affection. Men were free from pride and anger, untouched by greed, rejoicing in one another, and the highest righteousness prevailed. The city shone like a great ocean, adorned with gates, arches, and exits resembling clouds. Hundreds of palaces crowded the city, resembling Indra’s own abode. The people delighted in rivers, forests, ponds, marshes, and beautiful groves. The southern and northern Kurus moved about in friendly rivalry, like divine sages and celestial beings. In that delightful land, made populous by the Kurus, no one was destitute, nor were there any widowed women.