The gods, seeking a weapon to defeat their enemies, approached the sage Dadhichi, whose resolve was unwavering. They urged him to surrender his body for their cause, and he agreed. At that crucial moment, Dadhichi’s beloved wife—fierce and affectionate as fire—was not present. Seeing her absence, the gods, anxious and fearful of delay, pressed Dadhichi again: “Do it now.” Moved by their urgency, and with deep affection, Dadhichi relinquished his life, saying, “Enjoy this body as you wish.” He settled himself in the lotus posture, his gaze steady at the tip of his nose, his mind tranquil and radiant. Through mastery of breath, the internal fire, and the subtle channels, he guided his vital energy into the space of his heart. With his mind fixed on the supreme, immeasurable state—the very essence of Brahman, worthy of meditation—Dadhichi, the great soul, attained union with Brahman, leaving his body behind. When the gods and immortals saw the sage’s lifeless body, they hurried to Tvaṣṭṛ, the divine craftsman, urging him, “Quickly, now, make many weapons!” But Tvaṣṭṛ hesitated: “O gods, how should I do this? I fear to act cruelly toward a brahmin’s body, yet the weapons must be made.” To benefit the gods, he agreed to fashion the thunderbolt’s head. The cows and gods themselves contributed to the making of the weapons. In an instant, Dadhichi’s body was split open, and his pure bones were gathered for the gods. At the gods’ command, the bones were collected and handed over. The gods, invigorated, departed swiftly, and the cows returned to their abodes. Tvaṣṭṛ, having fashioned the divine weapons, took his leave as well. Some time later, Śīlavatī, Dadhichi’s virtuous and fortunate wife, who was pregnant, hurried toward her husband’s hermitage. Carrying a pot of water and offerings of fruits and flowers, she bowed to Umā, eager to see the sacred fire, her husband, and their home. But as she approached, Prātitheyī (another name for Dadhichi’s wife) was halted by the ominous fall of a meteor. Alarmed, she reached the hermitage only to find her husband gone. Astonished, she turned to Agni, the fire, and asked, “Where has he gone?” Agni told her in detail of the gods’ arrival and their request for Dadhichi’s body. Hearing of her husband’s sacrifice and the taking of his bones, Śīlavatī was overcome with grief and anxiety. She fell to the ground, comforted only by the sacred fire. Yet, in the world of mortals, all that is born must perish. For the sake of cows, brahmins, and gods, the virtuous willingly lay down even their most cherished lives. Truly blessed are those who, having gained a worthy body and righteousness, surrender their lives for the gods or brahmins. All who are embodied must one day release their life-breath; those who do so for the sake of brahmins, cows, gods, or the destitute are indeed noble. Agni continued, “Though I tried to restrain her, she who sought refuge with me accepted the divine weapon. Who can know another’s mind, or the will of the Creator, regarding the wondrous deeds of mortals?” After these words, the devoted wife, having worshipped the sacred fires, entered the place where her unborn child lay. With her husband’s skin and hair, she opened her own womb and took the child in her hand. This child, bereft of father, relatives, and now mother, was left alone in the world. May all beings, the creatures of earth, the herbs, and the guardians of the world, protect this orphaned one. Those who care for a child utterly deprived of both parents, and who grows by his own strength, are worthy of reverence even from Brahma and the gods. With these thoughts, the faithful wife placed the child near the pippala trees, offered her respects, and abandoned him there. Circumambulating the fire and carrying the sacrificial vessels, she entered the fire herself and, united with her husband, ascended to heaven. Those who dwelled in the hermitage—the animals, the birds, the trees—all wept, for Dadhichi had nurtured them as a father. Now, without him and without his wife, they lamented, “We cannot live.” They mourned their loss, feeling orphaned and sinful, for neither Dadhichi nor Pratitheyi would look upon them again. From that time onward, they declared, the child of Dadhichi and Pratitheyi would be their eternal dharma-child. With this resolve, all the medicinal herbs and trees approached King Soma and requested the supreme nectar. Soma granted them the unsurpassed nectar, beloved of the gods, and they gave it to the child. Nourished by the nectar, the child grew as the waxing moon does in the bright fortnight. Raised by the pippala trees, he flourished and, filled with wonder, asked the trees, “Humans are born from humans, birds from birds, plants from seeds—no difference is seen in the world. But how is it that I, dwelling among trees, was born with hands, feet, and life?” Hearing his question, the trees and herbs recounted in order the death of Dadhichi and the virtuous woman’s entry into the fire. Learning of his parents’ fate and the gathering of his father’s bones by the gods, the child was overwhelmed by sorrow and fainted. The trees comforted him with words full of righteousness and purpose, and, reassured, he addressed them: “I will slay those who killed my father; otherwise, I am not fit to live. A true son follows the friends and enemies of his father. Only he is truly a son; another is but an enemy in disguise. It is said that friends of the father protect even those who are hostile.” The trees, moved by his words, took the boy to King Soma and conveyed his resolve. Soma, hearing this, said to Pippalāda, “By my command, receive complete knowledge, the accomplishment of austerity, auspicious speech, courage, beauty, strength, and wisdom, my son.” With respect, Pippalāda addressed the lord of the plants as well: “All this is in vain unless I make atonement for the slaying of my father. Therefore, tell me that first.” Thus began the journey of Pippalāda, the dharma-child, nurtured by the trees, seeking justice and wisdom in the world.