Once, in the tranquil depths of a forest hermitage, a dramatic scene unfolded. A hunter, bow in hand, had struck a wild boar with a sharp arrow. Terrified and trembling with fear, the wounded animal fled desperately, seeking refuge. In its pain and panic, the boar rushed into the presence of a sage. The sage, Satyavrata, beheld the pitiable creature—its body trembling, its hide wet with blood. Deep compassion welled up within him at the sight. Overcome by this feeling, and himself trembling, the sage spontaneously uttered a mysterious seed-syllable of Sarasvati. This syllable, never before known or heard, arose on his lips by divine will. Bewildered, the sage could not recognize what had come forth from him. Overwhelmed by sorrow for the suffering creature, he was plunged into grief, uncertain of what had transpired. Meanwhile, the boar, having reached the grounds of the hermitage, slipped away into a nearby thicket and hid itself. Its path was undetected, and its mind was filled with utter despair as it trembled from the pain of the arrow lodged within it. Not long after, the Nishada king—the fierce hunter—arrived at the hermitage, his drawn bow still in hand, having followed the trail of his wounded quarry. He saw Sage Satyavrata seated peacefully on a bed of kusha grass. Approaching the sage, the hunter bowed respectfully and stood before him, asking, “O lord of the twice-born, where has the boar gone?” He continued, “I know of your renowned vow, O virtuous sage; that is why I ask you today. My family, struck by hunger, depends on me. I have come here with my prey, wounded by my arrow. This is the livelihood ordained for me by the Creator—there is no other way. I speak the truth, O best of Brahmins; I must support my family here, by whatever means, whether auspicious or not. You are Satyavrata, the very embodiment of truth—tell me, where is the boar I struck? My dependents are tormented by hunger. Please, O sage, tell me quickly.” Faced with this plea, the great sage Satyavrata fell into deep contemplation. “Let not my vow of truthfulness be broken today,” he thought. “But if I say the boar was not seen, what is the value of such words? The boar, pierced by arrows, has indeed come here. How can I speak either falsely or truly? This man, driven by hunger, asks me; if he finds the boar, he will surely kill it.” He pondered further: “Truth is not truth where it leads to violence; and that which is compassionate, though untrue, is indeed the real truth. That which brings benefit to people is the true path, not otherwise. But 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 find a fitting reply. At that very moment, seeing the boar wounded and trembling, and perceiving the sage’s compassion, the auspicious Goddess was pleased with Satyavrata. She bestowed upon him the rare gift of knowledge, arising from her own divine seed-syllable. By the utterance of this sacred sound, all knowledge manifested within him, and, just as the sage Vālmīki before him, Satyavrata became a poet. Then, the twice-born sage addressed the hunter, who stood before him with bow in hand. Righteous and compassionate, Satyavrata 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?” Hearing these words, the hunter realized his search was in vain. Disappointed, he turned away from the hermitage and returned to his home. As for the brāhmaṇa, he became a poet—renowned everywhere as Satyavrata, the twice-born, another like the illustrious son of Prachetas. Performing the proper rites, he recited the Sarasvata seed-mantra and, through this, his fame spread far and wide across the earth. At every festival, brāhmaṇas sang of his glory, and sages praised the richness of his narrative. Word of his transformation reached the people, and they gathered at his dwelling and ashram. He who had once been abandoned was now welcomed home with great honor and reverence. Therefore, O King, it is said: the Supreme Goddess, the primal power and cause of all worlds, should always be served and worshipped with devotion. O great King, perform her sacrifice according to Vedic injunction, for it is always said to grant all desires. Whether remembered, worshipped with devotion, meditated upon, uttered, or praised, the Goddess grants the desired objects—thus she is known as the fulfiller of purposes. The wise should always strive to accomplish this, especially when they see people afflicted by disease, misery, hunger, poverty, or deceit; when they see those distressed, ignorant, tormented by enemies, obedient servants, the lowly, the disabled, and the agitated; those unsatisfied in food and enjoyment, suffering, unable to control their senses, overwhelmed by desire, powerless, and constantly oppressed by others. Likewise, even those who are blessed with wealth, many descendants, strong bodies, pleasures, and Vedic knowledge; those adorned with royal fortune, heroes who have subdued others, those surrounded by their own people, and marked by all auspicious qualities—none are exempt from the need for reflection and worship of the Goddess. The discerning should consider both distinction and association, for the auspicious Goddess, bestower of all results, is not truly worshipped by those who neglect her. Yet, always worshipped by such people, Ambika grants happiness to all in this world—of this there can be no doubt. Vyasa concluded: “O King, thus, in the gathering of sages, I have heard at length from the mouth of Lomasha the supreme glory of the Goddess. With this understanding, O best of kings, one should always perform worship with utmost devotion and love for the Goddess.” The king then asked, “Tell me in full, O Lord, the proper method of sacrifice to the Goddess. Having heard, I will perform it to the best of my ability and without negligence. Please also explain the procedure of worship, the mantras, the offerings for the fire ritual, the number of Brahmins required, and the gifts to be given.” Vyasa replied, “Listen, O King, I will explain to you the proper method of sacrifice to the Goddess. It is always known as threefold, according to the prescribed rules. The sacrifice is of three kinds: sattvic, rajasic, and tamasic. The sattvic is prescribed for sages, the rajasic for kings, and the tamasic for rakshasas. For the wise, it transcends all qualities; for the liberated, it is of the very nature of knowledge. I will now explain these in detail.