Never before had the prince, Parīkṣit, felt such intense hunger and thirst. In this state of distress, a wave of anger and envy rose within him toward the sage he encountered. Overcome by these emotions, Parīkṣit, in a moment of rashness, took up a lifeless snake and, in anger, placed it upon the shoulder of the sage Śamīka, who sat absorbed in meditation. Without another word, Parīkṣit left the hermitage and returned to his city. As he departed, thoughts swirled in his mind: Was this sage, eyes closed and senses withdrawn, truly deep in meditation, or was he merely pretending? What could one expect from those of the warrior class in such situations? Meanwhile, the sage’s son, a boy of remarkable brilliance, was playing with other children nearby. Word reached him that his father had been insulted by the king. Hearing this, the boy, filled with indignation, spoke out in that very place: “Alas, what injustice is done by rulers, who are like gluttons devouring the offerings meant for the gods! The offense committed by the servants against their master is like that of gatekeepers—or even dogs—against their lord.” He continued, “Though a kṣatriya by birth, this king has been appointed as a mere guardian by the brāhmaṇas. How then should such a doorkeeper presume to partake of the household’s provisions?” “Now, with Lord Kṛṣṇa, the supreme guide, departed from this world, those who stray from righteousness have no one to restrain them. Therefore, I shall punish those who have broken the bridge of dharma. Behold my power!” With eyes reddened by anger, the young sage purified himself at the Kauśikī river and, in the presence of his friends, released a thunderbolt of words—a curse: “Because the king has transgressed, Takṣaka, urged by my words, will bite this destroyer of the dynasty on the seventh day.” Having pronounced this curse, the boy returned to the hermitage. There, he saw his father sitting with a dead serpent draped around his neck. Overwhelmed with sorrow, the boy cried out loudly. Hearing his son’s lament, the sage Śamīka, of the Āṅgirasa lineage, slowly opened his eyes. Seeing the lifeless snake, he calmly cast it aside and asked, “Child, why are you crying? Who has wronged you?” Thus questioned, the boy explained all that had transpired. When the sage heard that King Parīkṣit had been cursed undeservedly, he did not rejoice at his son’s act. Instead, he lamented, “Alas, what a great calamity you have brought today! Though the offense was small, the punishment is severe.” He gently chided his son, “You should not judge the king, O immature-minded one. By his invincible power, the people enjoy prosperity and safety on all sides. When the king, called Naradeva, wielder of the chariot wheel, is disregarded, O dear one, the world will quickly be overrun by thieves and, left unprotected, will perish in an instant like sheep without a shepherd.” “Today, sin will fall upon us without interruption, as people plunder the wealth of those who have lost their protector. Men will kill one another, curse, rob, and seize cattle, women, and property. Then, noble dharma dissolves among men, along with the practices of varṇa and āśrama, which are rooted in the three Vedas. Thereafter, those absorbed in wealth and pleasure, like dogs and monkeys, will cause the mixing of castes.” He continued, “The king, guardian of dharma, is the great emperor Bṛhacchrava, a royal sage, a true devotee who has performed horse sacrifices. A sin has been committed against this innocent king by a child of immature understanding. May the Lord, the soul of all, forgive this offense.” “Even when insulted, deceived, cursed, abused, or even killed, the devotees of the Lord do not retaliate, even if they possess the power to do so.” Thus, due to his son’s offense, the great sage was filled with remorse. Though he himself had been wronged by the king, he did not dwell on the offense. For, generally, the virtuous in this world are placed in situations of duality by others, yet they neither grieve nor rejoice, relying instead upon the qualities of the self. The sage then reflected on proper conduct: one should not lie down without washing the feet, nor with wet feet, nor with the head wet; nor should one eat food offered by others, nor lie naked, nor at the times of dawn or dusk. Always pure, clad in clean garments, and endowed with all auspiciousness, one should worship cows, brāhmaṇas, fortune, and the infallible Lord before breakfast. Women and those possessing valor should worship with garlands, fragrances, offerings, and ornaments; after worshipping her husband, a wife should attend to him and meditate upon him as residing within her womb. If this unbroken vow of puṃsavana is upheld for a year, then a son who will defeat even Indra shall be born. Diti, of great resolve, agreed to this, saying, “So be it.” She received the seed from Kaśyapa and faithfully undertook the vow. Indra, knowing his maternal aunt’s intention, served Diti, who dwelled in the hermitage, with attentive service. He regularly brought her flowers, fruits, sacred grass, kusha, leaves, sprouts, clay, and water at the appropriate times. While she observed the vow, Hari, wishing to break it, served her in a subtle and indirect manner, like a deer disguised as a deer. Yet, he found no fault in her observance, for she was steadfast in her vow. Indra became anxious, pondering how he might achieve his purpose. One evening, exhausted from her vow and having eaten, Diti neglected to wash her feet and, not cleansed by water, fell asleep—her mind clouded by fate. Seizing this opportunity, Indra, master of yoga, entered Diti’s womb by his yogic power while she slept. With his thunderbolt, Indra split the golden-hued embryo into seven parts. As each part cried out, he said to them, “Do not cry.” But as he continued to split them, all of them, with joined palms, pleaded, “Why, Indra, do you wish to kill us, your brothers, the Maruts?” Indra replied, “Do not fear, brothers; you are dear to me. You are my attendants, the hosts of Maruts, devoted to me alone.” By the compassion of Śrīnivāsa, Diti’s embryo did not die, even though struck repeatedly by the thunderbolt—just as you, O King, survived the weapon of Drona. For even worshipping the primeval person once, one attains equality; and for nearly a year, Diti had worshipped Hari. Thus, along with Indra, those fifty gods became the Maruts. Having dispelled their mother’s fault, they were made drinkers of Soma by Hari. When Diti awoke, she saw her sons, radiant like fire, together with the goddess, blameless, rejoicing with Indra.