While the sage Śamīka sat in meditation, his young son, radiant and gifted with unusual brilliance, was playing among his companions. Suddenly, word reached him of the king's offense against his father. Right there, amid the children, the boy’s spirit flared with indignation, and he spoke out, “Alas! What injustice is this, that rulers behave like greedy men devouring offerings meant for the gods? The servants have offended their master—it is as if the gatekeepers, or even the dogs, have turned against their lord.” He continued, “Though a kṣatriya by birth, this king has been appointed by the brāhmaṇas as the guardian of their household. How, then, should such a doorkeeper be entitled to partake of the household's provisions?” His anger mounting, the boy declared, “Now that Kṛṣṇa, the Lord and guide for those who stray from the path, has departed, I must punish those who have broken the bridge of righteousness. Behold my power!” His eyes red with wrath, the young sage purified himself in the waters of the Kauśikī River. There, among his friends, he uttered a curse as powerful as a thunderbolt: “Because the king has crossed the bounds of propriety, Takṣaka, impelled by me, will bite this destroyer of the dynasty on the seventh day.” After pronouncing this curse, the boy returned to the hermitage. There, he saw his father sitting in meditation, a lifeless serpent draped across his neck. Grief struck him, and he cried out in anguish. At the sound of his son's lament, the sage Śamīka, of the Āṅgirasa lineage, slowly opened his eyes. Noticing the dead snake on his shoulder, he cast it aside and gently asked, “Child, why do you weep? Who has wronged you?” The boy recounted all that had happened. Hearing that the king had been cursed for an offense he did not deserve, the sage did not rejoice. Instead, he lamented, “Alas, my child, what a great calamity you have wrought today! Though the king’s offense was slight, your punishment is severe.” He counseled his son, “You should not judge the king, O immature-minded one. Through his invincible power, the people enjoy prosperity and safety. When the king, the Naradeva, wielder of the chariot wheel, is disregarded, the world is overrun by thieves and, left unprotected, perishes in an instant—like sheep without a shepherd.” He continued, “Today, sin flows unchecked as the wealth of the unprotected is plundered. People kill, curse, rob, and seize cattle, women, and property. Then, noble dharma dissolves, and the practices of varṇa and āśrama, rooted in the three Vedas, vanish. Those obsessed with wealth and pleasure, like dogs and monkeys, bring about the mixing of castes. The king, guardian of dharma, is the great emperor Bṛhacchrava, a royal sage and true devotee who 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.” The sage added, “Even when insulted, deceived, cursed, abused, or killed, the devotees of the Lord do not retaliate, even if they possess the power to do so.” Thus, overwhelmed by the gravity of his son’s deed, the great sage was filled with remorse. Though he himself had been wronged by the king, he did not dwell on the offense. “The virtuous in this world,” he reflected, “are often subjected to dualities by others, yet they neither grieve nor rejoice, for their reliance is upon the qualities of the self.” Turning to his son, he instructed, “One should not lie down without washing the feet, nor with wet feet or a wet head. One should not eat food offered by others, nor lie naked, nor at dawn or dusk. Always pure, clothed in clean garments, 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. Having worshipped her husband, a wife should attend to him and meditate upon him as residing within her womb. If you uphold this unbroken vow of puṃsavana for a year, then a son who will defeat Indra shall be born to you.” Diti, resolute and determined, agreed, “So be it.” She received the seed from Kaśyapa and faithfully undertook the vow. Indra, aware of his maternal aunt’s intention, served Diti, who resided in the hermitage, with utmost attention. He regularly brought her flowers, fruits, sacred grass, kuśa, leaves, sprouts, clay, and water at the appropriate times. Yet, as she observed her vow, Hari, wishing to break it, served her in a crooked manner, like a deer masking its true form. But even so, he found no fault in her observance, for she remained steadfast. Indra then grew anxious, wondering how he might achieve his aim. One evening, exhausted from her vow, having eaten, and with her feet unwashed, Diti—her mind clouded by fate—fell asleep. Seizing this opportunity, Indra, master of yoga, entered her womb by his yogic power while she slept. With his thunderbolt, he divided the golden-hued embryo into seven parts. As each part cried out, Indra gently said, “Do not cry.” But as he split them further, all of them, with joined palms, pleaded, “Why, Indra, do you wish to kill us, your brothers, the Maruts?” Kauśika 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 perish, even though struck repeatedly by the thunderbolt—just as you, O King, survived the weapon of Droṇa. For by worshipping the primeval person even 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. Diti awoke and saw her sons, radiant like fire, together with the goddess, blameless, and rejoicing with Indra. She turned to Indra and said, “My child, I undertook this most difficult vow, which brings fear to the Adityas, desiring to obtain a son. One son was intended, but now there are seven, and each has become sevenfold. How has this come to be? If you know, my son, speak the truth and do not deceive me.” Indra replied, “Mother, knowing your intent, I came near. Seizing an opportunity, I divided the embryo, my mind set on my purpose, not on righteousness.