Dadhīci, the renowned sage, turned to his virtuous wife and spoke with concern, “O gentle one, the enemies of the gods now harbor hatred toward me, and the gods themselves seem unwilling to reclaim the weapons they once entrusted to my care. Tell me, what should be done in this situation?” His wife, ever respectful and wise, replied, “My lord, you know best what is proper. The Daityas, empowered by their fierce austerities and strength, are growing ever mightier and may soon seize these weapons. You must act to protect them.” Determined to safeguard the divine weapons, Dadhīci performed a sacred rite. He sanctified the weapons with mantras and holy waters, and then, gathering all their energy and merit, he drank the consecrated water, absorbing the weapons’ power into his own body. In time, as fate would have it, the weapons lost their potency and gradually faded away. When danger from their enemies loomed large, the gods assembled and approached Dadhīci, saying, “A great peril has come upon us—our enemies threaten us once more.” They pleaded, “O eminent sage, please return to us the weapons we entrusted to your care.” Dadhīci replied, “Out of fear of the enemies of the gods, and because you did not return soon, I drank the weapons; now they reside within my body. Tell me, what should I do now?” Hearing these words, the gods, humbled and anxious, spoke, “O best of sages, we can only ask that you give us your weapons—and your body, for nothing else can be done. Without those weapons, we are constantly overpowered by our well-nourished foes. Where can we go, O lord of sages? Today, there is no refuge for the gods in the mortal world, nor in the underworld, nor even in heaven. Only you, endowed with ascetic power, can guide us further.” Dadhīci then said, “Let the gods take weapons formed from my bones—there is no doubt about this.” The gods, however, lamented, “What use is this to us? Deprived of weapons, O lord of gods, we are as powerless as women.” Yet again, the sage declared, “I will abandon my bodily life, united with yoga. Let the supreme weapons, of excellent form, be made from my bones.” The gods agreed, saying, “Do so,” recognizing Dadhīci’s unwavering spirit. At that moment, his beloved wife, like a blazing fire in her affection, was not present. The gods, not seeing her, urged Dadhīci with urgency and fear, “Proceed.” Filled with affection, Dadhīci prepared to relinquish his difficult-to-renounce life, telling them, “Enjoy this body as you wish.” With these words, Dadhīci sat in the lotus posture, his gaze fixed at the tip of his nose, his form serene and radiant. Through the practice of controlling his breath, inner fire, and the subtle channel, he gradually gathered his vital energy into the space of his heart. Fixing his mind on that immeasurable, supreme state—the very form of Brahman, worthy of meditation—the great soul attained union with Brahman. When his body lay lifeless, the gods and immortals hurried to Tvaṣṭṛ, the divine craftsman, saying, “Quickly, make many weapons now!” Tvaṣṭṛ hesitated, “How should this be done, O gods? I fear to act cruelly toward a brahmin’s body, yet the excellent weapons must be fashioned.” For the benefit of the gods, Tvaṣṭṛ resolved, “The head of the thunderbolt will be made. The cows, along with the gods, will provide weapons.” In an instant, Dadhīci’s body was split open, and his pure bones were made available. At the gods’ command, the bones were gathered and distributed. The gods, now reinvigorated, quickly departed, and the cows too returned to their abodes. Having fashioned the weapons, Tvaṣṭṛ also departed as instructed. After some time, Śīlavatī, Dadhīci’s virtuous and fortunate wife, who was pregnant, hurried toward her husband’s hermitage, carrying a water-filled pot. Bowing to Umā with offerings of fruits and flowers, she came quickly, longing to see the sacred fire, her husband, and their home. But as she journeyed, Prātitheyī was stopped by the fall of a meteor. Alarmed, she returned to her hermitage, only to find her husband gone. In astonishment, she asked Agni, “Where has he gone?” Agni recounted in detail the arrival of the gods and their request for Dadhīci’s body. Hearing of her husband’s sacrifice and the taking of his bones, she was overcome with grief and anxiety, collapsing to the ground, comforted only by the fire. Yet, it is not sorrowful, Agni reminded her, that all who are born must perish. For the sake of cows, brahmins, and gods, the virtuous willingly give up even their most beloved lives. Truly blessed are those who, having gained a righteous body in this world, relinquish their lives for the sake of the gods or brahmins. All embodied beings must one day surrender their life-breath; those who do so for the sake of brahmins, cows, gods, or the destitute are indeed lords among men. Even though I tried to restrain her, Agni continued, she who took refuge with me accepted the divine weapon. Who can fathom the mind of another, or the intent of the Creator, in the extraordinary actions of mortals? Having spoken thus, and after duly worshipping the sacred fires, she entered, bearing her husband’s skin and hair, the place where the child lay. She tore open her own belly and took the child in her hands. The child, now orphaned—bereft of father, relatives, and mother—was left to the care of all beings, the hosts of creatures, the medicinal herbs, and the guardians of the world, who were invoked to protect him. Those who see and protect a child utterly alone, growing by his own strength, are worthy of veneration even by Brahma and the gods. Having said this, she, devoted to her husband’s will, placed the child near the pippala trees, offered her respects, and abandoned him. Circumambulating the fire and carrying the sacrificial vessels, Pratitheyi entered the flames and, together with her husband, ascended to heaven. All who dwelled in the hermitage—the trees, the forest-dwellers, the animals, and the birds—mourned deeply, for they had all been cared for like children by sage Dadhīci. “Without him, and without her, we cannot live,” they lamented to one another. Those who show true affection for the children of parents who have attained heaven are alone truly accomplished. “Neither Dadhīci nor Pratitheyi looks upon us as before; neither father nor mother—shame on us, we are sinful,” they grieved. From that moment, it was certain among them all: the child of Dadhīci and Pratitheyi would be regarded as the eternal dharma-child. With this resolve, all the medicinal herbs and trees approached King Soma and requested the supreme nectar. Soma, compassionate, granted them the unsurpassed nectar, which they in turn gave to the child—a nectar beloved of the gods. Nourished by this nectar, the child grew, waxing like the moon in its bright fortnight. Raised by the pippala trees, the child, known as Pippalada, flourished and, filled with wonder, addressed the pippala trees that had become his guardians.