In the aftermath of his son’s death, the noble sage, a descendant of Atri, found himself tormented by thoughts of what his ancestors would say of him now. As the early twilight faded and the sun rose, his heart grew even heavier with sorrow. Once again, he was gripped by deep worry, overwhelmed by the weight of his loss. In his distress, the sage lamented: “Fie upon age, fie upon my actions, fie upon strength, and fie upon life itself!” He reflected that the true hell known as Pūti is nothing but suffering that burns within the heart. Yet, he remembered, the wise teach that by worshipping the gods and giving generous gifts, a man may secure blessings through his son, and the ancestors are honored through the grandson. But now, deprived of a prosperous son, he felt unable to bear life any longer. Seeking solace, he journeyed to the forest of ascetics, where the hermitages of sages shone with their own brilliance. Entering one such hermitage, he was received with honor: his feet were washed, an arghya was offered, and he was seated respectfully. It was there that the great sage Nārada spoke to him with compassion: “You grieve for those who should not be grieved for. Though you are wise, you do not truly understand. The wise do not mourn either for the living or the dead. When a man departs, even if his enemies rejoice, he does not return. All beings—devas, asuras, gandharvas, humans, beasts, and birds—are subject to time, and death is present for every one that is born. “Your son was a truly great soul, renowned and a treasure of fortune. Having reached the appointed time, he has now attained the highest, divine state.” Hearing these words from Nārada, the best of the twice-born was struck with fear, his voice faltering as he sighed again and again. “O best of great sages! O foremost among knowers of dharma!” he cried. “Out of affection, friendship, and love, I will speak—please listen. Out of love for my son, I resolved and performed the rites that were done. Afterwards, I offered the rice-ball, spreading darbha grass upon the ground. It was grief that compelled me to act; in my sorrow, my intellect, memory, and resolve were lost, clouded by ignorance. “I see terrible fear arising from the fierce curse of the sage, but do not be afraid, best of the twice-born—take refuge in your father. I see no unrighteousness here; indeed, I am certain this is righteousness.” He took refuge in his father, not only by deed, but also in mind and speech. Meditating thus, he quickly approached the ascetic, who was rich in austerity. The ascetic comforted his son with auspicious and imperishable words: “This is the rite for ancestors, prescribed as duty by Brahma himself. The Śrāddha was first performed by Svayambhū, the self-born, O best of the wise. The procedure for the Śrāddha rite and the acts for the departed are thus established. And by my grace, I bestow understanding upon him. “One must certainly go, by the command of Dharmarāja. For one who is born, death is certain; and for one who has died, birth is certain. Sattva, rajas, and tamas—these three qualities arise from the body. Those dominated by tamas, because of the faults of their actions, do not comprehend the sattvic path. But those who know the Vedas, being sattvic, proceed on the path to liberation.” Thus, in the hermitage of sages, wisdom and comfort were offered to the grieving father, and the eternal truths of duty, fate, and liberation were gently revealed.