Through deep meditation, the sage Kaśyapa perceived that King Parīkṣit’s final hour was near. Righteous in heart, Kaśyapa accepted the wealth offered by Takṣaka, the serpent king, and returned home. Meanwhile, Takṣaka, having turned Kaśyapa away, was intent on fulfilling the curse that decreed the king’s death on the seventh day. With swift purpose, Takṣaka made his way to the city known as Nāgasāhvaya. There he learned that King Parīkṣit was residing at the city’s edge, protected within a palace fortified by precious jewels, guarded by the power of mantras and potent medicines, and watched over with utmost vigilance. Yet Takṣaka, anxious and fearful of the Brahmin’s curse, pondered deeply through his yogic powers: “How shall I enter this house? By what means can I deceive this sinful king—one ruined by the Brahmin’s words, deluded, and a tormentor of Brahmins? Never before in the noble line of the Pāṇḍavas has one committed such an act as placing a dead serpent upon a sage’s neck. The king, aware of time’s inexorable march, has committed a grievous wrong. He has set guards around his palace and withdrawn within, thinking himself safe. Today, free from anxiety, he believes he is outwitting death. But how shall I burn him, as the Brahmin’s curse demands? The deluded king does not realize that death cannot be turned back. Thus, he enjoys himself, surrounded by guards, high in his palace. “If fate has truly decreed death for one of immeasurable power, what effort—however great—can avert it? The king, heir of the Pāṇḍavas, knowing the hour has come, remains composed, fixing his mind on the hope of life. A king should always perform acts of charity and merit, for righteousness destroys disease and makes life enduring. Otherwise, if the decree of death is not fulfilled, then acts like bathing and giving gifts at the time of death would bring heaven; if not, then hell. Now the sin of harming the twice-born and the terrible curse of the Brahmin approach the king in his final hour. No Brahmin stands beside him to offer warning. The death ordained by the Creator cannot be avoided by any means.” Resolved in his purpose, Takṣaka instructed the snakes nearby to assume the appearance of ascetics, and sent them forth. Takṣaka himself entered a fruit in the form of a tiny worm, while the other serpents, bearing fruits and roots, quickly made their way to the royal palace and stood near the king’s mansion. The guards, seeing these ascetics, challenged their purpose. The disguised serpents replied, “We have come today from the forest hermitage to see the king. We wish to bless the heroic son of Abhimanyu, the radiant scion of his line, and nurture him with Atharvan mantras. Inform the king that sages seek an audience; after bestowing our blessings, we shall depart, leaving him sweet fruits. In the line of Bhārata, never has it been seen that doorkeepers bar the way, nor have ascetics been denied an audience with the king. We shall ascend to King Parīkṣit, bless him, and, with his leave, depart.” Hearing these words, the guards, believing them to be Brahmins, replied according to the king’s instructions: “Today, O Brahmins, you cannot see the king—such is our decision. Tomorrow, all ascetics may come to the royal palace. The king has ordered that no Brahmin may ascend the palace, out of fear of a Brahmin’s curse.” The disguised Brahmins then said, “Let the fruits, roots, and water be brought to him.” They instructed the guards to deliver these offerings to the king. The guards relayed this message to the king, who replied, “Bring here whatever fruits, roots, and such there are. Ask the ascetics their purpose and about their coming again in the morning. Convey my respects, for today I will not grant an audience.” The guards gathered the fruits, roots, and offerings, and presented them to the king with great honor. When the disguised Brahmins and the guards had departed, King Parīkṣit addressed his ministers: “Let my friends eat all these fruits today. I will eat this one great fruit offered by the Brahmins.” Thus, the son of Uttarā distributed the fruits among his friends, and, taking the ripe fruit in his own hand, split it open. Inside the fruit, he saw a tiny worm—black-eyed and reddish. Showing it to his astonished ministers, the king said, “The sun is setting; today I have no fear from poison. I accept the curse—let this worm bite me.” With these words, the king placed the worm upon his neck. As the sun set, the worm clung to the king’s throat—and in that instant, it became Takṣaka himself, terrifying and death incarnate. Takṣaka wrapped himself around the king and bit him. The ministers, struck with wonder and grief, wept aloud. The guards, seeing the dreadful serpent, fled in terror, and a great clamor arose. Ensnared in the coils of the serpent, his strength utterly spent, the son of Uttarā neither spoke nor moved, meeting his destined end in silence.