With a water pot in hand, the sage’s son departed swiftly, intent on his errand. Neither the sage recognized the king, nor did the king know the twice-born youth. Both hurried to the spot, but the Brahmin reached the water first, plunging in and quickly filling his vessel. At that moment, the king, mistaking the Brahmin for an elephant, loosed sharp arrows at him. Even a wild elephant, knowing the inviolability of kings, would not attack—yet the king, deceived by fate, struck. The arrows found their mark in a vital spot, and the Brahmin, wracked with pain, cried out. “Who has done this grievous deed to me, a virtuous Brahmin? I am Maitra, a Brahmin, as I have said before. There is no fault in me at all.” Hearing the anguished words of the sage’s son, the king stood motionless, overcome with sorrow. Slowly, he approached the place where the wounded Brahmin lay. There, seeing the illustrious youth shining with spiritual radiance, the king himself nearly fainted, as if pierced by a dart of grief. Steadying himself, the king spoke: “Who are you, O foremost of Brahmins? For what purpose have you come here? Tell me, for I have committed a grave sin. Tell me the highest atonement.” He added, “A slayer of a Brahmin, however eloquent, should never be touched, O wise one—not even by outcastes; such a one should never be seen at any time.” Hearing the king’s words, the sage’s son replied: “My life is ebbing away, so I will speak. Know that the ripening of actions comes from freedom of conduct and ignorance. I do not grieve for myself, but for my aged parents—who will care for them now, both blind, with only one son? Without me, how will they survive in this great forest? Alas, how unfortunate am I! My duty to serve my parents is broken. Today, I am as good as dead—O Fate, what have you done? Still, go there quickly, carrying the water pot. Give them water, so that they do not perish.” With these words, his life departed in the great forest. The prince, leaving behind his bow and arrows, took up the water pot and hurried to where the aged parents waited. That night, the two elders spoke anxiously to each other. “Is he anxious, or angry, or perhaps fallen prey to a beast? Why has our son not returned to us? What shall we do? What hope remains? Nowhere is there a son, among moving or unmoving beings, who would disobey his parents’ words, even if reproached. Life is harder than a thunderbolt for those who, unable to see their son, do not quickly die, though their lives depend on him alone.” As the two elders spoke thus in the forest, King Dasharatha slowly approached. Hearing footsteps, they guessed their son had arrived. “Child, why have you come after so long? You are our only support, our sight—why do you not speak? Are you angry, son of your blind parents?” Like one pierced by a dart, tormented by sorrow and his own misdeed, the king, fearful, spoke to them, O Nārada. When the king said, “Let us have water,” the elders replied, “This is not our son’s voice—who are you? Tell us truly.” The king answered, “Let us drink water afterward. Your son stands there, where the water is kept.” Hearing this, the two afflicted ones pleaded, “Speak the truth, do not deceive us.” Then the king told them everything, just as it had happened. The two aged ones fell down and said, “Lead us there. Do not touch us—the touch of a slayer of a Brahmin is a sin that never perishes.” The best of kings, along with his wife, brought the aged Śravaṇa to the place where their son had fallen. Touching him, they both wept bitterly. “As death has been ordained for us because of the loss of our son, so too, you will meet death from the loss of your son, due to your sin,” they declared. As they spoke thus, the king’s life force was shaken. He then arranged for the cremation of the aged couple and their sage-son with the proper rites. Stricken with grief, the king returned to the city and recounted all that had happened in detail to Vasiṣṭha. For the kings of the Solar dynasty, Vasiṣṭha was always the supreme refuge. Vasiṣṭha, after consulting with the foremost of the twice-born, prescribed expiation. He summoned Gālava, Vāmadeva, Jābāli, Kaśyapa, and others, instructing them to perform the great Aśvamedha sacrifice, and to conduct many horse sacrifices with abundant gifts. King Daśaratha performed these sacrifices with the Brahmins, and at that moment, a bodiless voice was heard: “King Daśaratha’s body is now purified, and his sons will be fit for royal duties. By the favor of the eldest son, the king will be freed from his sin.” In time, for the fulfillment of the gods’ purpose, sons resembling the gods themselves were born to Daśaratha through the great sage Ṛṣyaśṛṅga’s rites.