A grievous wrong had been committed against the innocent King Parīkṣit, and it was the work of a child—one whose understanding had not yet matured. The wise and compassionate prayed that the Lord, the soul within all beings, might forgive such a thoughtless offense. Indeed, the devotees of the Lord are remarkable: even when insulted, deceived, cursed, abused, or even killed, they do not retaliate, even if they possess the power to do so. Such was the greatness of the sage whose son had pronounced a curse upon the king. Though wounded by his son’s rashness, the sage did not dwell on the offense committed against himself, but was instead filled with sorrow over his child’s act. For it is the way of the virtuous in this world to be placed by others in situations of duality—joy and sorrow, praise and blame—yet they neither grieve nor rejoice, for their trust rests in the true qualities of the self. Amidst these events, the ancient scriptures prescribe certain disciplines: one should not lie down without first washing the feet, nor with wet feet or a wet head; nor should one eat food offered by others, lie naked, or sleep at dawn or dusk. One should remain pure, clothed in clean garments, and, endowed with auspiciousness, worship cows, Brahmins, fortune, and the infallible Lord before breakfast. Women and those of valor are to worship with garlands, fragrances, offerings, and ornaments; a wife, having worshipped her husband, should serve him and meditate upon him as residing within her womb. If one upholds the unbroken vow of puṃsavana for a year, it is said that a son will be born who will surpass even Indra. Diti, resolute and firm in her desire, agreed to this vow, received the seed from Kaśyapa, and faithfully undertook her observances. Indra, knowing his maternal aunt’s intention, came to serve her in the hermitage, offering her devoted attention. He brought her flowers and fruits from the forest, sacred grass, kusha, leaves, sprouts, clay, and water at the proper times. Yet, as Diti observed her vow, the Lord Hari, wishing to prevent its fulfillment, inspired Indra to serve her with subtle crookedness—like a deer approaching in the form of a deer. Still, Indra could find no fault in Diti’s observance, for she was steadfast. This left Indra anxious, pondering how he might yet succeed in his purpose. One evening, exhausted by the austerities and having eaten, Diti, her feet unwashed and not cleansed by water, fell into a sleep clouded by fate. Seizing this opportunity, Indra, master of yoga, entered her womb by his yogic power while she slept. With his thunderbolt, he split the golden-hued embryo into seven parts. As each part cried out, he soothed them, saying, “Do not cry.” As they were being divided, all the parts, with joined palms, pleaded, “Why, Indra, do you wish to kill us, your brothers, the Maruts?” Indra replied, “Do not fear, dear brothers—you are my beloved attendants, the hosts of the 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 Parīkṣit himself had survived the weapon of Droṇa. The power of worshipping the primeval Lord is such that, even when performed just once, one attains equality; and Diti had worshipped Hari for nearly a year. Thus, with Indra, those fifty gods became the Maruts. Their mother’s fault was dispelled, and by Hari’s grace, they were made drinkers of Soma. When Diti awoke, she saw her sons—radiant like fire—together with the goddess and Indra, all rejoicing. Diti then turned to Indra and said, “My child, I undertook this most difficult vow, which brings fear to the Adityas, desiring to obtain a son. I had resolved upon one son, but seven have become sevenfold—how is this? If you know, my son, speak the truth and do not deceive me.” Indra answered, “Mother, understanding your intent, I came near. Seizing the opportunity, I divided the embryo, my mind set on my purpose, not on righteousness. Your embryo was cut by me into seven parts, and from them seven boys arose. Even as each was further divided into seven, none perished. Witnessing such an astonishing outcome, I realized it was the result of worshipping the Supreme Person, which brings such success.” He continued, “Those who worship the Lord, desiring nothing, are truly wise, even if they seek no other boon; but those who seek only their own benefit are not so. Who, being wise, would choose contact with material qualities, which leads even to hell, when one can worship the Lord who bestows the self, the Lord of the universe and one’s own soul? Therefore, O Mother, please forgive my great offense. By good fortune, your embryo has arisen again from death.” Śrī Śuka then narrated: Thus permitted by her, pure-hearted and satisfied, Indra, having bowed to Diti together with the Maruts, returned to heaven. Śuka concluded, “Thus I have told you all you asked—the auspicious birth of the Maruts. What more shall I tell you?” Meanwhile, Sūta spoke of King Parīkṣit. The king, deeply troubled in his heart, reflected on the blameworthy act—not his own doing—that had brought such calamity. He thought, “Alas, I have acted basely, like one unworthy, toward the sinless and secretly powerful Brahmin. Surely, for my disrespect toward the godly, a great calamity, hard to overcome, will soon befall me. Let it come as it will, as expiation for my sin, so that I may never again act in such a way.” He prayed, “Today, may the fire of the Brahmin’s anger, kindled against me, consume my kingdom, power, and vast treasury, so that I, the unfortunate one, may never again harbor such thoughts toward Brahmins, gods, or cows.” As he pondered thus, he learned that the sage’s son had indeed pronounced his death, naming Takṣaka as the agent. Yet he accepted this, seeing that Takṣaka’s coming would bring about the detachment so necessary for one so attached to worldly life. Resolving to renounce both this world and the next, having already weighed their worthlessness, Parīkṣit decided to dedicate himself to the feet of Kṛṣṇa and sat down to fast by the immortal river. That sacred river, whose waters are sanctified by the dust of Kṛṣṇa’s feet and are purer even than the Ganges, sanctifies all worlds and their rulers—who, facing death, would not seek her shelter? Thus, the son of Pāṇḍu, determined, undertook the vow of fasting to death at the bank of the Viṣṇu-pada, fixing his mind solely on the feet of Mukunda, with the resolve of a sage, freed from all attachments. At that place, purifying the world, gathered great and noble sages with their disciples—most coming under the pretext of visiting a holy site, for the virtuous themselves sanctify the very places they visit.