Shaken by fear, the elderly couple gently raised their young daughter-in-law from the ground and addressed her with anxious voices. “O bewildered one,” they asked, “why have you struck your own womb with your lotus-like hands, seeking to destroy the entire, rare lineage of Vasiṣṭha? Tell us, noble lady, what has brought you to such a resolve?” They continued, “You have seen your own son, the son of Śakti, and have tasted the nectar of his presence. The noble son of the sage was determined to protect this body—therefore, you too must preserve your body.” Thus, reproaching their daughter-in-law in their distress, Arundhatī herself, agitated and troubled, stood by the sage and spoke to Vasiṣṭha: “O virtuous one, the life of this sage depends on you alone. Protect my life, and as the nurse of the body, do what is beneficial.” The young woman, her heart heavy, responded, “If I am determined to protect the great sage, then, whether my body is auspicious or inauspicious, I will somehow preserve it. I have received both joy and sorrow, and I am unchaste—there is no doubt, O sage. I am burned by grief, for I am your daughter, O sage. Ah, I have seen something wondrous; I am indeed a vessel of sorrow, O Lord. Become the remover of sorrow, O Brahman, son of Brahma, teacher of the world.” Yet, in her grief, she lamented further: “Still, a woman deprived of her husband becomes miserable here; protect me, O noble lord, otherwise I will be dishonored. Father, mother, sons, grandsons, and father-in-law—these are not true relatives for women; the husband is the true relative and the highest refuge. Even what has been spoken by the wise about the self is only half true; even that proved false here, for Śakti is gone and I remain. Ah, how hard is my mind, O foremost sage, that I remain here for a moment, having abandoned my husband, who is as dear as life. Relying on Vasiṣṭha, like a creeper on a tree, I am immortal even though uprooted; abandoned by my husband, I remain miserable.” Hearing these sorrowful words from their daughter-in-law, Vasiṣṭha, wise and composed, resolved together with his wife to return to their hermitage. With great difficulty, the blessed Vasiṣṭha and his wife quickly made their way home, entering unseen, lost in reflection. Śakti’s wife, devoted to her late husband, somehow preserved her pregnancy for the sake of maintaining the family line, despite her suffering. In the tenth month, she gave birth to a radiant son, just as Arundhatī too bore a powerful son according to her ability. Śakti’s wife gave birth as Diti bore Viṣṇu, as Svāhā bore Guha, as the wife of Agni bore a son from the fire-stick, and thus she brought forth Parāśara himself. At that moment, as Śakti’s son descended to earth, Śakti was freed from his suffering and attained equality with the ancestors. Dwelling among them, the illustrious Vasiṣṭha shone with his brothers like the sun among the Ādityas, foremost among sages. At Parāśara’s birth, the ancestors sang, the grandfathers and great-grandfathers danced, and the best of Brāhmaṇas rejoiced. Those who spoke of Brahman danced on earth, the gods danced in heaven, and celestial beings, beginning with Puṣkara, showered flowers from the sky. The twice-born in the cities of the Rākṣasas raised a tumultuous sound, and the sages in their hermitages felt a surge of joy. Just as the sun emerges from the egg, so too did Parāśara appear—like the four-faced Brahmā arising from a mass of clouds, as the sun from the sky. Yet, both happiness and sorrow came to the unseen one, Adṛśyantī, as she gazed upon her son and remembered her husband, just as it was for Arundhatī, the sage’s wife. Seeing her radiant son Parāśara, the young mother was overwhelmed; her throat choked with emotion, she wept and fell to the ground. With a pure smile and tear-filled eyes, she praised Parāśara, great in wisdom, sinless, honored by hosts of gods and demons—even as a newborn. “O son of Vasiṣṭha,” she cried, “wherever you are, see your sinless son, your own child! Abandoning me, sorrowful and longing to see our son in the forest, O lord!” She continued, “O Śakti, see your own six-faced son together with his brothers, just as Maheśvara saw his own, surrounded by his attendants, his face beaming with joy.” Hearing her lament, Vasiṣṭha, the best of sages, spoke to his sorrowful daughter-in-law: “Do not weep.” At his command, the noble lady of Vasiṣṭha’s line abandoned her grief and cared for the child, herself still young, with eyes like a gentle fawn. One day, seeing the young woman seated, without auspicious ornaments, distressed and virtuous, her eyes filled with tears, Parāśara spoke to her: “Mother, without your auspicious ornaments, your sinless body does not shine. You should tell me today the reason, for as night without the moon’s disk is dark, so is your beauty dimmed.” He pressed her gently, “Mother, why are you seated, having abandoned your ornaments, as if bereft of your husband? O beautiful one, you should tell me.” But hearing her son’s words, Adṛśyantī did not reply, neither auspicious nor otherwise. The illustrious son of Śakti then spoke again: “Mother, tell me, where is my mighty father? Speak, speak!” Hearing her son’s insistent words, she became overwhelmed with grief and wept, finally saying, “Your father was devoured by a Rākṣasa,” before collapsing in sorrow. Hearing these words, Vasiṣṭha too fell to the ground, weeping compassionately, as did Arundhatī, the ascetics of the hermitage, and all the great sages present. Learning from his mother’s lips that his father had been devoured by a Rākṣasa, the wise Parāśara, his eyes filled with tears, spoke with resolve: “Having worshipped the Lord of gods, the ruler of the three worlds with all that moves and does not move, I will, in a moment, show you our father, mother—this is my resolve.