Indra, aware of his maternal aunt Diti’s intentions, respectfully and attentively served her as she resided in the forest hermitage. Each day, he brought her offerings from the woods—flowers, fruits, sacred grass, kuśa blades, leaves, sprouts, clay, and water—always at the proper times, never neglecting her needs. Outwardly, Indra appeared devoted to her vow, but inwardly, Lord Hari, wishing to disrupt her austerity, inspired Indra to serve her with a hidden motive, like a deer disguised among deer. Yet, despite his efforts, Indra found no fault in Diti’s observance; she remained unwavering in her vow. This left Indra deeply anxious, pondering how he might fulfill his purpose. One evening, weary from her penance and having eaten, Diti, her feet unwashed and her body uncleansed, succumbed to sleep, her mind clouded by fate. Seizing this moment, Indra, master of yogic powers, entered Diti’s womb by his yogic ability while she slept. There, with his thunderbolt, he split the golden-hued embryo into seven parts. As each part cried out, Indra repeatedly hushed them, saying, “Do not cry.” As he continued to divide them, the seven, with folded hands, pleaded, “Indra, why do you wish to kill us, your brothers, the Maruts?” Indra, the son of Kausika, reassured them, “Do not be afraid, my dear brothers. You are precious to me. You are my attendants, the hosts of the Maruts, always devoted to me.” By the compassion of Śrīnivāsa, Diti’s embryo did not perish, even though Indra struck it repeatedly with his thunderbolt—just as you, O King, survived the weapon of Droṇa. Indeed, the power of worship is such that by honoring the Supreme Person even once, one attains equality; and Diti had worshipped Hari for nearly a year. As a result, along with Indra, those fifty gods became the Maruts. Thus, their mother’s misdeed was dispelled, and Hari granted them the right to partake of Soma, the nectar of the gods. When Diti awoke, she beheld her sons, shining like fire, with the goddess, blameless, rejoicing together with Indra. She turned to Indra and said, “My child, I undertook this most arduous vow, which fills the Adityas with fear, desiring a son. I wished for one, but now there are seven, and each has become sevenfold—how can this be? If you know, my son, speak truly and do not deceive me.” Indra replied, “Mother, knowing your intent, I came close. Seizing the opportunity, I divided the embryo, my mind fixed on my purpose, not on righteousness. I cut your embryo into seven parts, and from each arose a boy. Even as each was further divided into seven, none perished. Witnessing this wondrous result, I realized it was due to your worship of the Supreme Person, which brings about such miraculous 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 attachment to material qualities, which lead even to hell, when one can worship the Lord, the giver of the self, the Lord of the universe and one’s own soul?” “Therefore, O Mother, forgive this great offense of mine. I am childish and base. By good fortune, your embryo has arisen again from death.” Śrī Śuka said: Thus, with her permission, Indra, pure-hearted and satisfied, bowed to Diti together with the Maruts and returned to heaven. “O King,” Śuka continued, “thus have I told you all you asked—the auspicious birth of the Maruts. What more would you hear?” Now, Sūta spoke: The king, Parīkṣit, deeply troubled, reflected on the blameworthy act that had come to pass—not even done by himself. He thought, “Alas, I have acted basely, like one unworthy, toward the sinless and secretly powerful Brahmin. Surely, because of my disrespect toward the godly, a great calamity, difficult to overcome, will soon befall me. Let it come as it will, as expiation for my sin, so that I may never do such a thing again. Today, may the fire of the Brahmin’s anger, kindled against me, consume my kingdom, power, and vast treasury. May I, unfortunate as I am, never again harbor such evil thoughts toward Brahmins, gods, or cows.” As he pondered thus, he heard how the sage’s son had pronounced his death, to come at the hands of Takṣaka. The king accepted this, for soon Takṣaka would bring detachment to one so attached to worldly life. Resolving to renounce both this world and the next, having already weighed their worthlessness, he determined to serve the feet of Kṛṣṇa and sat down to fast unto death by the immortal river. That river, whose waters are mingled with the dust of Kṛṣṇa’s feet and are more purifying than the Ganges, sanctifies all the worlds and their rulers—who, facing death, would not seek her shelter? Thus, the son of Pāṇḍu, having made his resolve, undertook the vow of fasting unto death on the riverbank, fixing his mind solely on Mukunda’s feet, 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 by their presence. Many came under the pretext of visiting holy sites, for the virtuous themselves sanctify the holy places. Among them were Atri, Vasiṣṭha, Cyavana, Śaradvān, Ariṣṭanemi, Bhṛgu, and Aṅgirā; Parāśara, the son of Gādhi, Rāma, Utathya, Indrapramada, and Edhmavāha; Medhātithi, Devala, Ārṣṭiṣeṇa, Bhāradvāja, Gautama, Pippalāda; Maitreya, Aurva, Kavaṣa, Kumbhayoni, Dvaipāyana, and the venerable Nārada; and many others, distinguished among deva-sages, brahma-sages, and royal sages, along with Aruṇa and his companions. The king honored all these eminent descendants of sages, bowing his head in reverence. When they were comfortably seated, he offered his respects with a clear mind and intent to fulfill his purpose. He approached them, standing before them with joined palms. The king spoke: “Ah, among rulers, we are the most fortunate, for the greatest have shown us their gracious nature. The dynasty of kings, due to the impurity of neglecting the feet of brāhmaṇas, has fallen into disgrace—alas, such blameworthy deeds! For me, the Supreme Lord of all, seeing my mind repeatedly attached to household affairs, has brought about this sense of detachment, rooted in the words of the twice-born, where attachment quickly brings fear.” “O brāhmaṇas, may you remain with me, who has approached you, and may the goddess Gaṅgā, with my mind fixed upon the Lord. Whether by the curse of a brāhmaṇa or by the snake Takṣaka, let it happen; meanwhile, sing the glories of Viṣṇu. May there always be devotion and attachment to the infinite Lord, and to those who seek refuge in Him. Wherever I am born among the noble, may there always be friendship, and I bow to the brāhmaṇas everywhere.” Thus, the king, resolute in his decision, sat facing north on the eastern bank, upon a bed of kuśa grass, steadfast, having entrusted the care of his wife and son to the daughter of the ocean.