From the jaws of Takṣaka, a terrible, blazing fire erupted, its fierce flames engulfing King Parikṣit in an instant and taking his life. As soon as the serpent had claimed the king, Takṣaka soared into the sky, appearing to all as if he would set the very world ablaze. The king’s body fell lifeless to the ground, like a tree consumed by fire, and the people, seeing their lord struck down, wailed in grief. Sūta continued: When the ministers and counselors saw the king had passed away, leaving behind his young son, they performed all the proper rites to ensure his journey to the next world would be auspicious. On the banks of the sacred Ganges, they placed the king’s body—now reduced to ashes—upon a pyre built with fragrant aloeswood. The priests, following the Vedic injunctions, recited the prescribed mantras for one who had met such a difficult end. Generous gifts were given to the Brahmins: cows, gold as was appropriate, abundant varieties of food, and many kinds of garments. At a moment chosen for its auspiciousness, the ministers seated the young prince, who brought joy to the people, upon the splendid throne. The townsfolk, villagers, and all the people together proclaimed the child Janamejaya, marked with the signs of royalty, as their new king. His nurse instructed him in all the royal insignia, and, day by day, Janamejaya grew in wisdom and intelligence. When he reached his eleventh year, the family priest began his formal education, and Janamejaya received it with the proper reverence. Kripa, the renowned teacher, imparted to him the complete and well-ordered science of archery, just as Drona had once taught Arjuna and Bhargava had taught Karna. With this knowledge, Janamejaya became both strong and unconquerable; in the arts of archery and the Vedas, he excelled, attaining the highest understanding. He mastered the meaning of the scriptures on dharma, was ever truthful, self-controlled, and ruled his kingdom righteously, in the manner of the son of Dharma himself. In time, Suvarnavarma, the king of Kashi, gave his beautiful and radiant daughter to Janamejaya in marriage. The young king rejoiced in receiving the dark-eyed princess, just as the kings of old delighted in winning their beloveds. Like Vichitravirya and Subhadra, and Arjuna with his own bride, Janamejaya wandered through forests and groves with his lotus-eyed queen, and, like Indra with Shachi, he cherished his people, who flourished in happiness. The ministers, skilled and attentive to their duties, accomplished all tasks efficiently. At that very time, the sage Uttanka arrived in the city. He had suffered at the hands of Takṣaka and had come to Hastinapura, pondering who might avenge his enmity with the serpent. Considering that Janamejaya was the son of Parikṣit, Uttanka approached him and said, “O best of kings, you do not know what should or should not be done at the proper time. Today you do what should not be done, and you neglect what should be done. Why should I appeal to you now, when you lack anger and effort?” Janamejaya replied, “I know of no enmity, nor have I acted in revenge. Tell me, O fortunate one, what is the cause of this enmity?” Uttanka then revealed, “O king, your father was killed by the wicked Takṣaka. Call your ministers together and ask them about your father’s destruction.” When Janamejaya did so, the ministers explained, “He was bitten by a snake and died as a result of a Brahmin’s curse.” Janamejaya asked, “The curse of the sage is said to be the cause of my father’s death. But tell me, O best of sages, what fault lies with Takṣaka?” Uttanka replied, “Takṣaka bribed the sage Kasyapa and turned him back, preventing him from saving your father. Thus, Takṣaka is truly your enemy and your father’s killer, O king. Long ago, Ruru’s wife was bitten by a snake and died; but the sage did not marry her, and she was brought back to life.” He continued, “Thereupon, Ruru made a terrible vow: ‘Whichever snake I see, I will kill with a weapon.’ With this vow, Ruru roamed the earth, weapon in hand, slaying snakes wherever he found them. Once, in the forest, he saw a dreadful, aged Dundubha and approached, raising his staff to strike. As he prepared to kill it, the Dundubha spoke: ‘I have done you no wrong, O sage; why do you wish to kill me?’ Ruru replied, ‘My beloved, dear to my life, was bitten by a snake and died; in my grief, I made this vow, O serpent.’ The Dundubha answered, ‘I do not bite you; there are other serpents who bite. Because of the nature of my body, you should not harm me.’ “Hearing these gentle, human-like words from the serpent, Ruru asked, ‘Who are you, and how did you become a Dundubha?’ The serpent replied, ‘I was once a Brahmin, O sage. My friend was named Khagama, a Brahmin, best among the righteous, truthful, and self-controlled. Out of foolishness, I deceived him and caused him to become a snake, frightening him greatly in the house of the sacred fire. Terrified, he cursed me, trembling: “Become a snake, you dull-witted one, for you have wronged me.” I earnestly begged his forgiveness, and, his anger somewhat appeased, that best of Brahmins said to me, “You will be freed from this curse by Ruru, O serpent.