The demon, his heart ablaze with anger, confronted the sacred fire, Agni, demanding the truth: “Declare to me what is right, for I wish to take her from the hermitage. My anger consumes me like fire itself. If Bhrigu has taken my former wife, the fair-waisted one, without my consent, then today I will carry her away from this place.” Suspicion gnawed at him, and so he pressed Jātavedas, the radiant Agni, again and again, uncertain whether the woman was truly Bhrigu’s wife. “O Agni,” he pleaded, “you dwell within all beings and witness every act of virtue and vice. Speak the truth, O wise one. If Bhrigu, acting falsely, has taken my chosen one, you must tell me. If you say she is Bhrigu’s wife, I will take her from the hermitage. O Jātavedas, speak a truthful word as you see fit.” Hearing these insistent words, Agni was deeply troubled. He thought, “If I speak the truth, I may be cursed by the knower of Brahman. Yet if I speak falsely, I will surely fall into hell.” Torn between the fear of falsehood and the dread of a curse, Agni finally replied quietly, “She is Bhrigu’s.” Then Agni addressed the demon: “You had previously chosen Puloma’s daughter, O child of the Dānavas. But did you choose her according to the prescribed rites, with proper mantras? Puloma’s illustrious daughter was given by her father to Bhṛgu. Her noble father, desiring a better match, did not give her to you. And so, following the Vedic ritual, Bhṛgu the sage obtained her as his wife, with me as witness. This is the truth as I know it—I cannot utter falsehood, for truth is always honored in this world, O best of Dānavas.” Upon hearing Agni’s words, the Rākṣasa abandoned his claim. Assuming the form of a brāhmaṇa, he vanished from the hermitage with the swiftness of thought and wind. At that moment, the embryo dwelling in the womb of Bhṛgu’s noble wife, stirred by anger, fell from her womb; thus was born Cyavana. The Rākṣasa, seeing the radiant child Cyavana, shining like the sun, was instantly reduced to ashes and fell, releasing the woman. Pulomā, her heart torn by grief, gathered up her son Cyavana and fled. As she wept, her eyes brimming with tears, the grandsire Brahmā himself beheld her—Bhṛgu’s blameless wife. Moved by compassion, Brahmā comforted the sorrowful bride. From her tear-drops, a great river began to flow. That river followed the path of the ascetic wife of Bhṛgu, and as it flowed, Brahmā gave it a name: Vadhūsarā, for it coursed toward Cyavana’s hermitage. Thus was Cyavana, mighty son of Bhṛgu, born. In time, Bhṛgu returned and found his radiant wife and son. Angered, he questioned Pulomā: “By whom were you revealed to that Rākṣasa who sought to seize you? For he did not know you were my wife. Tell me truly, for today I will curse the one responsible for this transgression.” Pulomā replied, “O blessed one, it was Agni who revealed me to that Rākṣasa. Then the demon carried me away as I cried out in distress. Yet, by the radiance of your son, I was freed—the Rākṣasa was reduced to ashes and released me.” Hearing this, Bhṛgu’s anger blazed forth, and in his fury he cursed Agni: “You shall become the devourer of all.” Afflicted by the curse, Agni spoke in indignation: “O Brahman, what rash act is this you have done to me? I strive in righteousness and always speak the truth; when questioned, I replied truthfully—what fault is there in me? If a witness, knowing the truth, speaks otherwise, he destroys seven generations of ancestors and descendants. And he who knows the truth but keeps silent for the sake of justice is equally tainted by sin. I too could curse you, but Brahmins are honored by me. Yet, hear what I say. “Through yoga, I manifest in many forms. I abide in the agnihotra, in sacrifices, and in all ceremonies and rites. According to the Vedas, whatever is offered into me satisfies both gods and ancestors. Waters are the hosts of gods and ancestors alike, and both Darsha and Purnamasa rites are performed for their sake. Gods and ancestors are united and also separate at sacred times. Both partake of whatever is offered into me—I am regarded as the mouth of both. “On the new moon, the ancestors, and on the full moon, the gods, receive oblations through my mouth. How then shall I be their mouth if I am cursed to consume all? “In the agnihotra and sacrificial rites of the twice-born, without the utterance of ‘Om’ and ‘Vashat,’ and lacking ‘Svaha’ and ‘Swadha,’ without fire, all creatures became greatly distressed. The sages, troubled, went to the gods and spoke these words…” Thus unfolded the tale of Pulomā, Cyavana, and the sacred fire, revealing the weight of truth, the pain of anger, and the enduring sanctity of dharma.