The Lord, deeply pleased with Raibhya’s devotion, his heartfelt praises, and his ritual bathing at the sacred site, appeared before the sage. “O best of the twice-born, your faith has delighted me,” the Lord said. “Tell me, illustrious one, what is your heart’s desire?” Raibhya, humbly bowing, replied, “O Lord of gods, grant me the path where Sanaka and the other great sages dwell. By your grace, O bearer of the mace, may I reside in their company.” The Lord gently answered, “So be it.” With these words, he vanished from sight. Raibhya, now blessed with divine knowledge, also disappeared from the mortal realm. In a mere instant, through the favor of the discus-bearing Lord, Raibhya attained that exalted place where the perfected sages, Sanaka and their peers, reside. It is said that whoever recites Raibhya’s hymn to Vishnu, the wielder of the mace, especially after journeying to Gayā and performing the ancestral rites, will surpass others in merit. Then, Śrī Varāha spoke of another tale: There was one who, having become the very disease within the body of Vasu, remained steadfast in his own nature for four thousand years of men. Each day, for the sake of his family, he would hunt and slay a wild animal in the forest, yet he always pleased his servants, honored his guests, and tended the sacred fire. In the city of Mithilā, whenever a sacred occasion arose, this wise man faithfully performed the ancestral rites for his forefathers, following his family tradition. He constantly served the fire, spoke only truth and pleasant words, and was intent on sustaining life—never taking the life of a living being unnecessarily. As he lived thus, righteous and steadfast in great austerity, a son was born to him, named Arjunaka, self-controlled and sage-like. In due time, through his virtuous conduct, he also fathered a daughter, Arjunakī, of excellent beauty. When Arjunakī came of age, her father, ever mindful of dharma, pondered deeply: “To whom should this maiden be given? Who is truly worthy?” As he reflected, he spoke of Prasanna, the righteous hunter and son of Mataṅga. Deciding thus, Mataṅga approached his own father: “O best of ascetics, let Arjunī be given to Prasanna, the great-souled one, as your own gift.” Mataṅga replied, “My son is pleased and thoroughly learned in all the scriptures; I accept Arjunakī, your daughter, O best of hunters.” Thus, the great ascetic Dharmavyādha gave his daughter to Mataṅga’s son, who was both joyful and wise. Having fulfilled his duty, Dharmavyādha returned home, while Arjunakī devoted herself to serving her husband and her parents-in-law. After some time had passed, Arjunakī’s mother-in-law spoke to her: “Daughter, you are like one who takes life; you do not know how to perform austerities or properly honor your husband.” Rebuked for a small fault, the slender-waisted Arjunakī, still young, wept bitterly and returned to her father’s house. Seeing her tears, her father asked gently, “What is this, my daughter? Why are you crying?” Through her sobs, Arjunakī explained, “Father, my mother-in-law, in great anger, called me the daughter of a killer, again and again calling me a hunter’s child.” Hearing this, the righteous Dharmavyādha was filled with anger. Surrounded by the people of his region, he went to Mataṅga’s house. When he arrived, Mataṅga, ever courteous, honored him with a seat, water for washing feet, and other rites. “What is the purpose of your coming?” Mataṅga asked. “What may I do for you now that you are here?” The hunter replied, “I wish to eat food that is devoid of consciousness; it is out of curiosity that I have come to your house.” Mataṅga answered, “I have wheat, rice, and barley, all properly prepared. O best of those who know dharma, eat as you wish.” The hunter said, “Let me see what kind of wheat, rice, and barley you have. By their very nature, I will know, O noble one.” Śrī Varāha continued: At Mataṅga’s word, baskets filled with wheat and rice were shown to Dharmavyādha. But seeing them, Dharmavyādha rose from his seat to leave, only to be stopped by Mataṅga, who asked, “Why do you leave without eating? Excellent food is ready, cooked by my own hand. Why do you not partake?” The hunter replied, “Day after day, you kill thousands and millions of living beings. Who among the virtuous would eat the food of one so sinful? If there is truly food here that is devoid of consciousness, then why do I see these aquatic creatures now? They are raised by the thousands each year. For my family, I kill but one animal in the forest each day, offering it properly to the ancestors before eating it with my household. “But you, together with your family and followers, having killed many living beings, continually consume that which is unfit to be eaten; this is my view. Long ago, all plants and herbs were created by Brahma; the Veda declares these are to be eaten by beings for the sake of sacrifice. “The five great sacrifices—divine, elemental, ancestral, human, and Brahmanical—were established by Brahma in ancient times. These were instituted for the welfare of Brahmins and, through them, for the benefit of the other classes. The auspicious rites for the other varnas are performed by Brahmins. If this order is maintained, then the food becomes pure; otherwise, even these grains are to be considered like the flesh of animals and birds, both for the giver and the eater—it is regarded as great meat. “I gave you my daughter, divine in form, for the sake of a son; she, who is called your wife, is the daughter of one who slays living beings. Therefore, I have come to your house to observe your conduct, your worship of the gods, and the offerings made to guests. But here, not even one of these is being performed; thus, I wish to leave this house, desiring to perform the śrāddha for the ancestors.” In this way, the story reveals the subtle complexities of dharma, the importance of intention in action, and the deep bonds of family and duty.