The king addressed his ministers, urging them to observe a profound truth: “Let this serve as a lesson for all. Is there anyone, whether in heaven or on earth, who can escape the power of fate?” He continued, “One should fix the mind upon destiny and, if so inclined, remain without striving. Otherwise, one may become detached from worldly concerns and, like a mendicant, wander everywhere for alms. In the homes of householders, whether invited or not, whatever food comes by chance or is placed in one’s mouth by another—such is the way of the world. Yet, how could food enter the stomach without effort? Some striving is necessary, for if success does not come, then—then, say the wise, one must rely on destiny.” At this, the ministers asked, “O King, which sage was it who revived his beloved by giving half his life? How did she die? Please tell us this story in detail.” The king began: “Bhrigu’s wife, Puloma, was a woman of great beauty and virtue. From her, the renowned sage Cyavana was born. Cyavana’s daughter by Sharyati was the lovely Sukanya, and her son was the famous and prosperous Pramati. Pramati’s beloved wife was the illustrious Pratapi, and to them was born Ruru, a supreme ascetic. Around this same time lived the sage Sthulakesha, known for his devotion to austerity, righteousness, and truthfulness. Now, the celebrated apsaras Menaka, the delight of the three worlds, was once playing on the riverbank. Having conceived a radiant daughter by Vishvavasu, Menaka departed, leaving the beautiful child on the riverbank near Sthulakesha’s hermitage. The apsaras left the infant girl there and returned to their celestial abode. When Sthulakesha found the abandoned child, he took her in, raised her with care, and named her Pramadvara. As the years passed, Pramadvara grew into a young woman adorned with every auspicious mark. When Ruru saw her, he was instantly struck by love’s arrows. King Parikshit, listening to this tale, interjected, “Tormented by love, Ruru returned to his own hermitage while his father slept. Seeing his son troubled, Pramati asked, ‘Why are you so downcast, Ruru?’ Deeply afflicted, Ruru replied, ‘In Sthulakesha’s hermitage there is a maiden named Pramadvara—may she become my wife.’ Moved by his son’s longing, Pramati quickly went to the great sage Sthulakesha. Humbly and with a pleasant demeanor, he requested the radiant maiden’s hand for Ruru. Sthulakesha agreed, promising, ‘I will give her on an auspicious day.’ Both families began preparing for the wedding in the peaceful forest. As the preparations continued, Pramadvara was one day delighting in the courtyard of the hermitage. By misfortune, she accidentally touched a sleeping serpent with her foot. The serpent bit her, and that excellent woman died instantly. A great commotion erupted as everyone saw Pramadvara lifeless. Sages from all around gathered, overwhelmed with grief, and wailed loudly. Sthulakesha, seeing his beloved daughter lying on the ground, was overcome with sorrow and wept over her radiant but lifeless form. Hearing the lamentation, Ruru rushed to the scene. He saw his beloved lying there, as if still alive, and witnessed Sthulakesha and the other sages weeping in despair. Overwhelmed by grief, Ruru went outside and, stricken by separation, wept bitterly: ‘Alas, by fate this serpent was sent—truly astonishing! This is the cause of my misery, the destroyer of my happiness. What shall I do, where shall I go—my beloved is dead. Truly, I do not wish to live, separated from her. I have not even embraced or kissed her, nor have I obtained her hand in marriage or performed the sacred rites with her. Fie upon this human life! Today my very life departs. For one who suffers, even death does not come though it is desired. How, then, can I attain any happiness, whether heavenly or earthly? I will plunge into a dreadful river, or cast myself into fire. I will drink poison, or tie a noose around my neck and abandon my life.’ Lamenting thus, Ruru wept and pondered deeply. Standing on the riverbank, he considered, ‘What fruit would there be from death, from this terrible act of self-destruction? My father would be grieved, my mother exceedingly sorrowful. Perhaps fate would be satisfied, seeing me having abandoned my life. All would rejoice at my destruction, of this there is no doubt; but what benefit would there be for my beloved, even in the next world? If I die by my own hand, tormented by separation, even then in the next world, that beloved would not be mine, for one who has committed self-slaughter. For this reason, the faults would be mine if I die, but not if I do not.’ Reflecting thus, Ruru bathed and purified himself, standing firm. Then, with resolve, he took water in his hands and declared, ‘Whatever good I have done—worship of the gods, honoring my teachers with devotion, offering oblations, recitation, austerities, study of all the Vedas, sanctifying the Gāyatrī, and worshipping the Sun—if I have gained merit by these acts, may my beloved be restored to life. If my beloved does not live, then I will abandon my own life.’ Having spoken these words and worshipped the deities, Ruru poured the water upon the ground, his heart filled with hope and desperation.