Tormented by grief over the loss of his beloved Pramadvara, Ruru stood upon the riverbank, his heart heavy with sorrow. Thoughts of ending his own life flooded his mind—he considered drinking poison or tying a noose around his neck. Tears streamed down his face as he lamented, pondering deeply on his fate. Yet, as he stood there, Ruru questioned the outcome of such a desperate act. “What fruit would come from my death?” he wondered. “Would this terrible act of self-destruction bring any benefit?” He realized his passing would only bring grief to his father and unimaginable sorrow to his mother. Perhaps fate would be satisfied by his sacrifice, but what of his beloved? Even if everyone rejoiced at his destruction, what good would it do for Pramadvara, even in the next world? Ruru’s thoughts grew clearer: if he died by his own hand, tormented by separation, even then, in the world beyond, Pramadvara would not be his—for one who takes his own life cannot attain such union. He understood that the fault would be his if he died thus, and not if he refrained. With this realization, Ruru wept, but after bathing and purifying himself, he stood firm in resolve. Turning to the river, he took water in his hands and prayed: “Whatever merits I have gained—through worship of the gods, honoring my teachers with devotion, offering oblations, reciting the scriptures, performing austerities, studying the Vedas, and sanctifying the Gāyatrī; whatever I have earned by worshipping the Sun—may all these good deeds restore my beloved to life. If she does not return, then I will abandon my own life.” With these words, Ruru poured the water upon the ground, having worshipped the deities. As Ruru lamented and grieved for his wife, a divine messenger appeared before him and spoke, “O Brahmin, do not commit such a rash act. How can your beloved, who is dead, live again? Her life has ended—she, the fair-hipped daughter of a Gandharva and an Apsaras, has died unmarried. Desire another beautiful woman, for this one is gone. Why do you weep, O most foolish one? What joy could you have with her?” But Ruru replied steadfastly, “Divine messenger, I will not choose another woman.” His words were true, sincere, and deeply moving. The messenger then said, “Listen, O foremost of Brahmins, to a method once devised by the gods: by granting half of your own lifespan, Pramadvara may be revived at once.” Without hesitation, Ruru declared, “I give half my life to the maiden; let there be no doubt. Let her life be restored today, let my beloved rise again.” At that very moment, Viśvāvasu, Pramadvara’s father, descended in his celestial chariot, having learned of his daughter’s death from the heavenly realm. Together with the divine messenger, he approached the Lord of Dharma and said, “O Lord of Dharma, Ruru’s wife is also the daughter of Viśvāvasu. She has died, bitten by a serpent. She wishes to die, but now, by half of Ruru’s lifespan, let her be revived, O son of the Sun.” Dharma replied, “If you desire the maiden, daughter of Viśvāvasu, let her rise by half of Ruru’s lifespan. Go and deliver her to Ruru.” The divine messenger, acting swiftly upon these instructions, revived Pramadvara and returned her to Ruru. On an auspicious day, with all proper rites, Pramadvara was married to Ruru. Thus, by this sacred method, even one who was dead was restored to life—a method that must always be performed in accordance with the scriptures. With gems, mantras, and medicines, life is to be protected according to prescribed procedures. The king, having heard of these events, appointed ministers and arranged for guards. He ordered the construction of a splendid seven-storied palace. The king’s son ascended this palace with his ministers, and brave men bearing gems and mantras were stationed there for protection. The king sent the sage Gauramukha and, seeking the servant’s favor, repeatedly requested forgiveness. Brahmins skilled in the perfected mantras were sent for further protection. The minister’s son was stationed there, elephants were placed for security, and the palace was so well-guarded that no one could enter—not even the wind could stir within. The king ensured all kinds of food and drink were provided, and all daily duties, worship, and rituals were performed within. He conducted all royal affairs from there, consulting with his ministers and counting the days. Among the ministers was a certain Brahmin named Kaśyapa, foremost among the wise. He learned of the curse that had befallen the great-souled king and, desiring wealth, reflected, “I shall go where the king, cursed by the brāhmaṇa, now resides.” Resolute, Kaśyapa departed from his home and set out on the road. On that very day, Takṣaka, the supreme among serpents, also learned that the best of kings had been cursed. Swiftly, Takṣaka left his house, taking on the guise of an old brāhmaṇa, and set out on the same road. There, he encountered Kaśyapa, the mantra-master, and questioned him, “Where are you hastening to, sir, and what business do you intend to accomplish?” Kaśyapa replied, “Takṣaka will burn up Parīkṣit, the best of kings; I am hurrying there to free the king from suffering. I possess, O best of brāhmaṇas, a mantra said to destroy poison; I shall revive him, for now it is his time to live.