With the desire for a powerful son, Diti approached her husband, Kaśyapa, and was instructed in a sacred vow. Kaśyapa explained that women and those of valor should worship with garlands, fragrances, offerings, and ornaments. Diti was to worship her husband, serve him, and meditate upon him as residing within her very womb. If she upheld this unbroken vow, known as puṃsavana, for a full year, Kaśyapa promised that a son would be born to her—a son powerful enough to defeat even Indra, the king of the gods. Diti, resolute and steadfast, agreed to these terms, saying, “So be it.” She received Kaśyapa’s seed and faithfully undertook the rigorous vow. Meanwhile, Indra, the mighty king of the devas and Diti’s nephew, learned of her intentions. Fearing the birth of a rival who might threaten his rule, Indra decided to act. He approached Diti in the hermitage and, concealing his true motives, served her with great attentiveness. He brought her flowers, fruits, sacred grass, kusha, leaves, sprouts, clay, and water from the forest at the proper times, fulfilling every need as she observed her vow. Yet, though he appeared dutiful, Indra was secretly seeking an opportunity to thwart her purpose. In this way, he served her, his intentions hidden, much like a deer disguised among deer. But Diti, unwavering in her observance, gave Indra no chance to find fault or break her vow. This left Indra deeply anxious, pondering how he might accomplish his aim. One evening, exhausted by her austerities, Diti ate her meal and, overcome by fatigue, neglected to wash her feet or cleanse herself with water. Confused by fate, she fell into a deep sleep. Seeing his chance at last, Indra, master of yoga, entered Diti’s womb by his yogic power while her mind was lost in slumber. With his thunderbolt, Indra split the golden-hued embryo within her into seven parts. As each part cried out, Indra hushed them, saying, “Do not cry.” As he divided them further, the seven, with palms joined in supplication, pleaded, “Indra, why 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 perish, even when struck repeatedly by Indra’s thunderbolt—just as Arjuna had survived the weapon of Droṇa. For nearly a year, Diti had worshipped the Supreme Lord, and even a single act of such worship brings equality with the divine. Thus, Diti’s devotion preserved her children. In this way, along with Indra, the fifty gods became known as the Maruts. By Hari’s grace, they dispelled their mother’s fault and were made drinkers of Soma, the nectar of the gods. When Diti awoke, she saw her sons, radiant like fire, together with the goddess, blameless and rejoicing with Indra. Diti then addressed Indra: “My child, I undertook this most difficult vow, which brings fear even to the Adityas, desiring to obtain a son. I sought one son, but now there are seven, each multiplied sevenfold—how has this come to pass? If you know, my son, speak truly and do not deceive me.” Indra confessed, “Mother, knowing your intention, I came near. Seizing an opportunity, I divided the embryo, my mind fixed on my own purpose, not on righteousness. I cut your embryo into seven parts, and from each arose seven boys. Yet, none perished, even as I divided them further. Seeing this astonishing outcome, I realized it was the result of your worship of the Supreme Person, whose grace brings such success.” He continued, “Those who worship the Lord, desiring nothing, are truly wise, even if they do not seek anything further. But those who seek only their own benefit are not so. Who, being wise, would choose contact with material qualities, which can lead 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 this great offense of mine, for I am childish and base. By your good fortune, your embryo has arisen again from death.” Śrī Śuka then said: Thus permitted and forgiven by his pure-hearted mother, Indra, satisfied and grateful, bowed to her along with the Maruts and returned to heaven. Having recounted the auspicious birth of the Maruts, Śuka asked, “What more shall I tell you?” At this point, Sūta continued the tale. King Parīkṣit, deeply troubled, reflected upon the blameworthy act he had committed—not by his own hand, but through his own lapse—against the sinless and secretly powerful Brahmin. He thought, “Alas, I have acted basely, like one unworthy, toward the godly.” He realized, “Surely, because of 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 commit such a wrong against Brahmins, gods, or cows.” He resolved, “Today, may the fire of the Brahmin’s anger, kindled against me, consume my kingdom, power, and vast treasury. Let me never again harbor such evil thoughts.” As he pondered, he learned that the sage’s son had pronounced a curse of death upon him by Takṣaka, the serpent. The king accepted this fate, knowing that Takṣaka’s coming would bring him detachment from worldly attachments. Having renounced both this world and the next, having weighed their worthlessness, he resolved to serve at the feet of Kṛṣṇa and sat down to fast by the immortal river. This river, sanctified by the dust of Kṛṣṇa’s feet and more purifying than the Ganges, sanctifies all worlds and their rulers. Who, facing death, would not seek her shelter? Thus, the son of Pāṇḍu, resolute, undertook the vow of fasting unto death at the bank of the Viṣṇu-pada, fixing his mind solely on the feet of Mukunda, with the determination of a sage, freed from all attachments. At that sacred place, great and noble sages arrived with their disciples, purifying the world with their presence. Many came under the pretext of visiting holy sites, for the virtuous themselves sanctify the very places they visit. Among them were Atri, Vasiṣṭha, Cyavana, Śaradvān, Ariṣṭanemi, Bhṛgu, Aṅgirā, Parāśara, the son of Gādhi, Rāma, Utathya, Indrapramada, Edhmavāha, Medhātithi, Devala, Ārṣṭiṣeṇa, Bhāradvāja, Gautama, Pippalāda, Maitreya, Aurva, Kavaṣa, Kumbhayoni, Dvaipāyana, and the venerable Nārada. Many others came as well, distinguished among deva-sages, brahma-sages, and royal sages, along with Aruṇa and his companions. The king honored all these eminent sages, bowing his head in reverence. When they were comfortably seated, he approached them with joined hands, his mind clear and intent on his purpose. He addressed them: “Ah, among rulers, we are the most fortunate, for the greatest have shown us their gracious nature. The dynasty of kings, due to neglecting the feet of brāhmaṇas, has fallen into disrepute—alas, such blameworthy deeds. For me, the Supreme Lord, seeing my mind repeatedly attached to household affairs, has caused a sense of detachment, rooted in the words of the twice-born, where attachment quickly brings fear.