Having undertaken a most difficult vow, which even brought fear to the Adityas, the mother approached Indra and spoke: “My child, I performed this vow desiring to obtain a son. I intended for only one son, but now seven have emerged, multiplied sevenfold. How has this happened? If you know, speak truthfully—do not deceive me.” Indra replied, “Mother, understanding your intent, I drew near and, seizing the opportunity, divided your embryo. My mind was fixed on my purpose, not on righteousness. I cut your embryo into seven parts, and from them arose seven boys. Each of these was further divided into seven, yet none perished. Witnessing this astonishing outcome, brought about by my actions, I realized it was the result of your worship of the Supreme Person, which brings about such extraordinary success.” He continued, “Those who worship the Lord desiring nothing are remembered as 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 leads even to hell—when one can worship the Lord, the bestower of the self, the Lord of the universe and one’s own soul? Therefore, O Mother, forgive this great offense of mine, for I am childish and base. By good fortune, your embryo has arisen again from death.” Śuka then said: Thus permitted by her, Indra, pure-hearted and satisfied, bowed to her together with the Maruts and returned to heaven. “All that you have asked has been told—the auspicious birth of the Maruts. What more shall I tell you?” Meanwhile, Sūta narrated: The king, deeply troubled, reflected on the blameworthy act he had committed—not by his own hand, but still feeling guilt. He lamented, “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, hard 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.” He prayed, “Today, may the fire of the angered Brahmin, kindled against me, consume my kingdom, power, and vast treasury, for I, the unfortunate, may never again harbor such evil thoughts toward Brahmins, gods, or cows.” As he reflected, he heard that the sage’s son had pronounced death upon him—Takṣaka by name. He considered this good, for Takṣaka would soon bring detachment to one so attached. Renouncing both this world and the next, having weighed their worthlessness, the king resolved to serve Kṛṣṇa’s feet and sat down to fast by the immortal river. The river, whose waters are mixed with the dust of Kṛṣṇa’s feet, is more purifying than the Ganges, sanctifying all worlds and their rulers. Who, facing death, would not serve her? Thus, the son of Pāṇḍu undertook the vow of fasting unto death at the bank of the Viṣṇu-pada, fixing his mind solely on Mukunda’s feet, with the resolve of a sage, freed from all attachments. Great and noble sages arrived at that place, purifying the world, accompanied by their disciples. Most 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, Edhmavāha; Medhātithi, Devala, Ārṣṭiṣeṇa, Bhāradvāja, Gautama, Pippalāda; Maitreya, Aurva, Kavaṣa, Kumbhayoni, Dvaipāyana, and the venerable Nārada. Others, distinguished among deva-sages, brahma-sages, and royal sages, along with Aruṇa and his companions, also gathered. The king honored the assembled eminent descendants of sages, bowing his head in reverence. When they were comfortably seated, he offered his respects and, with a clear mind and intent to act according to his purpose, approached them, standing before them with hands joined. 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 been cast far away—alas, such blameworthy deeds. For me, the Supreme Lord of all, 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.” He pleaded, “O brāhmaṇas, may you remain with me, who has approached, 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 again be devotion and attachment to the infinite Lord, and to those who take refuge in Him; wherever I am born among the noble, may there always be friendship, and I bow to the brāhmaṇas everywhere.” Resolute in his decision, the king sat facing north on the eastern bank, upon a bed of kuśa grass, steadfast, having placed the burden of his wife and son with the ocean’s daughter. As the king of men and gods sat in fasting, the hosts of gods in heaven praised him, scattering flowers upon the earth with joy, and drums resounded again and again. The great sages assembled, praising him and approving his actions, spoke: “His conduct is for the welfare of the people, adorned by the virtues of the Lord, praised by the highest. Nor is it remarkable, O foremost of royal sages, among those devoted to Kṛṣṇa, that they, who once occupied the throne adorned with the royal crown, immediately renounced it, desiring only the Lord’s presence. All of us shall remain here today, until he abandons his body; then this foremost devotee of the Lord will attain the supreme world, free from passion and sorrow.” Hearing the words of the assembly of sages, Parīkṣit, along with Madhucyuda, his teacher, and without fault, addressed them, greeting those who were present, eager to hear the deeds of Viṣṇu. He observed, “All have gathered here from every direction, as the Vedas take form in the three worlds; here or elsewhere, there is no purpose except the supreme welfare and the nature of the self. Therefore, I ask you, O brāhmaṇas, what should be done, trusting in your guidance; for those who are dying, what is the pure duty? Let those who are engaged deliberate upon it.” At that moment, the son of Vyāsa, the venerable sage Śuka, arrived by chance, wandering the earth without expectation. His signs were unrecognizable, content in his own gain, surrounded by children, and wearing the garb of a mocker. In his sixteenth year, his feet, hands, thighs, arms, shoulders, and cheeks were tender; his limbs graceful, eyes large and elongated, ears equal to his raised nostrils, brows beautiful, face radiant, and neck well-formed like a conch. His collarbones were hidden, chest broad and high, navel deep and whorled, belly marked with lines and softly rounded; unclothed, his hair spread over his face, arms long and hanging, resembling the best among gods. His complexion was dark, his youthful beauty ever fresh, his limbs marked by auspicious signs; with a charming smile, he captivated the minds of women. Even the sages, though knowing his true nature, rose from their seats to honor him, for his greatness was concealed. Viṣṇurāta (Parīkṣit) offered worship with bowed head to that honored guest who had arrived. Then, as the ignorant women and children withdrew, the sage was seated with honor upon the great seat. There, surrounded by the great ones—assemblies of Brahmarṣis, Rājarṣis, and Devarṣis—the illustrious sage shone brilliantly, just as the moon shines surrounded by hosts of planets, stars, and constellations.