In a secluded hermitage on the pure banks of the sacred Jāhnavī, there lived a twice-born sage named Satyavrata. Despite his lineage, Satyavrata was ignorant of the sacred fire-offering rituals, the giving of oblations, and the proper hospitality due to guests. He did not know the twilight worship, the kindling of the sacred fire sticks, or the fire rituals that mark the daily life of the learned. Each morning, Satyavrata would rise and clean his teeth in a simple manner, then bathe in the Gaṅgā as a Śūdra might, without reciting any mantras or sacred verses. He would gather wild fruits and, even at midday, eat whatever pleased him, never distinguishing between what was proper or improper to consume. Yet, though untrained in ritual, Satyavrata always spoke the truth and never uttered a false word. The people knew him as 'truthful and austere,' for his vow of truth was unwavering. He harmed no one, nor did he ever act in a forbidden way. He slept peacefully, untroubled by fear, and spent his days reflecting on his own condition. Often, he would ponder, "When will death come for me? I live in misery in this forest; shame on the life of a fool—death is surely better." He lamented his fate, saying, "By destiny, I have become a fool; there is no other cause. This excellent birth has been wasted." He compared himself to a barren woman, a fruitless tree, or a cow that gives no milk—useless, he thought. Yet, he reasoned, "Why blame fate? Surely my actions are at fault. I did not give the gift of knowledge to a great-souled Brahmin in a previous life; therefore, by karma, I am now a deceitful and lowly twice-born." He mourned that he had not performed austerities in holy places, nor served the virtuous, nor honored Brahmins with wealth, and so had become wicked-minded. He saw the sons of sages, accomplished in the meaning of Vedas and scriptures, but he himself was utterly deluded by fate. "I do not know how to perform austerity—what good thing can I do?" he wondered. "My resolve is false; fortune has not favored me." Satyavrata considered fate supreme, lamenting, "Shame on human effort, which is fruitless. Action done with effort is in vain; everything happens only by fate." He reflected that even Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Rudra, and the gods beginning with Indra are subject to Time, for Time is insurmountable. Day and night, Satyavrata dwelled in these thoughts, remaining in his hermitage on the banks of the Jāhnavī. Detached from worldly pursuits, he calmly passed his days in the lonely forest. Fifteen years passed in this way—he engaged in no worship, nor recitation, nor did he know any mantra. He simply lived quietly among the trees and pure waters. People knew only of his extensive vow of truthfulness. Even the sage himself spoke only his name and lineage. His fame spread among all: "This Satyavrata never utters a false word, day or night." One day, while Satyavrata was in the forest, a Nishada hunter arrived, fierce in appearance, skilled with bow and arrow, his body like Yama, the lord of death. This hunter, adept at killing, was enjoying the hunt in the vast forest. He struck a boar with a sharp arrow, and the terrified animal, trembling and bleeding, fled into the hermitage, seeking refuge with the sage. Seeing the pitiable creature, Satyavrata was overcome with deep compassion. As the boar, its body wet with blood, came before him, the sage trembled greatly and, moved by compassion, spontaneously uttered the Sarasvata seed-syllable—a sacred sound never before known or heard, which came to his mouth by divine will. Bewildered, Satyavrata did not recognize the syllable and, overwhelmed by grief, was plunged into sorrow. The boar, entering the hermitage grounds, slipped away into a thicket and hid himself, his path undetected and his mind despondent from the pain of the arrow. Soon after, the Nishada king, fierce and holding his drawn bow, arrived at the hermitage, seeking his wounded quarry. He saw Satyavrata seated on a bed of kusha grass and approached, bowing respectfully. Standing before the sage, the hunter asked, "O lord of the twice-born, where has the boar gone?" He continued, "I know your renowned vow, O virtuous one; that is why I ask you today. My family is struck by hunger and must be supported—I have come here with my arrow-wounded prey. This is the livelihood ordained for me by the Creator; there is no other. I speak the truth, O best of Brahmins. My family must be supported, by whatever means, auspicious or not. Speak the truth today, for you are Satyavrata. My dependents are tormented by hunger. Where is that boar, struck by my arrow? Tell me quickly, O sage." Thus questioned, the sage was plunged into deep thought: "Let not my vow of truthfulness be broken today. But if I say he is not seen, what is the point of such speech? The boar, his body pierced by arrows, has come here—how can I speak falsely or truly today? This man, tormented by hunger, is asking; if he sees the boar, he will surely kill it." He pondered: "Truth is not truth where there is violence; and that which is compassionate, though untrue, is indeed truth. That which brings benefit to people is truth here, not otherwise. How can there be benefit for both, when their interests are opposed? What answer can there be, other than a lie?" Thus caught in a dilemma of dharma, the sage could not utter a fitting reply. At that moment, seeing the boar struck by arrows and filled with compassion, the Goddess Sarasvatī was pleased with him and granted him rare knowledge, arising from her own seed-syllable. By the utterance of her seed-syllable, all knowledge manifested within him, and he became a poet like Vālmīki. Then, Satyavrata addressed the hunter standing before him, armed with a bow. Righteous and compassionate, he spoke a single verse: "She who sees does not speak, and she who speaks does not see; O hunter, intent on your own purpose, why do you ask again and again?" Thus addressed, the animal-slayer departed, disappointed with the boar, and returned home. From that day, the brāhmaṇa Satyavrata became a poet, renowned everywhere as another Vālmīki, the son of Prachetas. His fame spread far and wide, and people knew him by the name Satyavrata, the twice-born.