Pramati, accompanied by his son and the other ascetics who dwelled in the forest, came upon a heart-wrenching sight: the maiden Pramadvara lay lifeless, felled by the venom of a serpent. Overcome with compassion, the forest-dwellers wept for her. But Ruru, stricken with unbearable grief, could not bear to remain among them. He left the hut and wandered out into the dense forest, his heart heavy with sorrow. There, alone amidst the trees, Ruru’s anguish poured forth. He cried aloud, lamenting bitterly as memories of his beloved Pramadvara overwhelmed him. “She lies on the ground, her slender limbs increasing my sorrow,” he mourned. “Her face, radiant as the full moon, seems to draw out my very life. If she, with her broad hips and lotus-petal eyes, is truly dying, will she not take my soul with her as she departs? What greater pain could there be for my parents, friends, and kin than the loss of one so dear, gone without the honors and offerings owed to her?” Desperate, Ruru invoked the power of his own merit: “If ever I have given gifts, practiced austerities, or honored my teachers as I should, by that virtue, let my beloved live again. From birth I have been self-controlled and steadfast in my vows—may this radiant Pramadvara rise up today.” As Ruru’s lament echoed through the forest, his devotion and grief reached the heavens. Filled with compassion, the gods sent a celestial messenger to console him. The divine being approached Ruru and spoke: “O Brahmin, I have been sent by all the gods. Listen well to these words, spoken for your benefit. What you plead in your grief is not in vain, Ruru, but for mortals, once life has departed, it does not return. The life of this maiden, daughter of a gandharva and an apsaras, is gone. Do not let your mind be consumed by sorrow.” The messenger, however, offered hope: “A way has been ordained by the great gods in ages past. If you are willing, you may yet have Pramadvara restored to you.” Ruru’s heart leapt. “Tell me, O celestial, what is this means established by the gods? I will do whatever is required—please, save me!” The messenger replied, “O descendant of Bhrigu, offer half of your own lifespan to the maiden. Thus, your wife Pramadvara will rise again.” Without hesitation, Ruru declared, “O best among those who move in the sky, I give half of my lifespan to her. Let my beloved, adorned with beauty and ornaments, arise.” Carrying Ruru’s offer, the king of the Gandharvas and the divine messenger approached the Lord of Dharma. They requested, “O Lord of Dharma, with half of Ruru’s lifespan, let his wife Pramadvara, the auspicious one, rise—if you so decide.” The Lord of Dharma consented: “If you wish, let Pramadvara, Ruru’s wife, rise up, endowed with half of Ruru’s lifespan.” At these words, Pramadvara awoke as if from sleep, her radiance undiminished, now living with half of Ruru’s years. It was thus decreed that, for the sake of his beloved, half the lifespan of Ruru—who was destined for long life—was given away. On an auspicious day, the fathers of Ruru and Pramadvara arranged their joyous marriage. United, the two delighted in each other, each seeking the other’s welfare. Having won his rare and radiant wife, Ruru made a solemn vow: he would destroy all crooked beings, remaining steadfast in his resolve. Whenever he saw such beings, filled with righteous anger, he would seize his weapon and strike them down as best he could. One day, the Brahmin Ruru entered a great forest. There he saw an aged Dundubha lying on the ground. Raising his staff, fierce as the rod of Time itself, Ruru approached with the intent to kill. Dundubha, perceiving Ruru’s anger, spoke: “O possessor of austerities, I have done you no wrong today. Why do you wish to strike me down?” Ruru replied, “My wife, as dear to me as my own life, was bitten by a serpent. Because of that, I took a terrible vow against serpents: I vowed to slay every one I see. Therefore, I seek to kill you now; today you shall lose your life.” Dundubha pleaded, “Other serpents have bitten humans here, but I, who bear the scent of a Dundubha, have done you no harm. There are many forms of harm, many duties, many sorrows, and many joys. As one who knows righteousness, I do not deserve to be harmed.” Hearing these words, Ruru recognized the truth: Dundubha was no ordinary serpent, but a sage in this form. Though still wary, he did not kill him. Instead, Ruru spoke gently, seeking to understand: “Tell me, O serpent, by what cause have you come to this state, and who are you?” The serpent replied, “Once, I was the sage named Dundubha, with a thousand feet. But by the curse of a Brahmin, I have taken the form of a serpent.” Ruru asked, “For what reason did the Brahmin curse you, O best of serpents? And how long will you remain in this form?” Dundubha began to recount his story: “In former times, a Brahmin named Khagama was my friend.