With great humility and sorrow, I spoke to the venerable sage before me: “I am a Kshatriya, known as Dasharatha—not your son, O noble one. The grief I now endure, scorned by the virtuous, has arisen from my own actions.” I explained, “Revered sage, I came to the banks of the Sarayu River, bow in hand, intent on hunting. I believed some animal—perhaps an elephant—had come to drink at the water’s edge. Then I heard the sound of a pitcher being filled in the river. Mistaking that sound for an elephant, I loosed an arrow in that direction.” As I approached the riverbank, my heart froze at the sight before me: an ascetic lay on the ground, pierced in the heart by my arrow, his life departed. I continued, “O venerable one, hearing that sound, I meant to strike an elephant, and so I released an iron arrow into the water. By that, your son was slain. Tormented by his own agony, he spoke to me, and I hastened to draw the arrow from his vital spot. With the arrow withdrawn, he left his body there and ascended to heaven. You and your revered wife, blind and stricken with grief, mourned deeply for him.” I confessed, “Unknowingly, I brought about your son’s death. Now, as fate has brought us to this moment, whatever remains, let the sage show me mercy.” Hearing my painful words, the venerable sage was overcome by sorrow. He sighed deeply, consumed by grief, unable to restrain his anguish. Tears streamed down his face as he spoke to me, standing before him with joined palms. He said, “If you had not yourself confessed this grievous deed to me, O king, your head would have split instantly into a hundred thousand pieces as a consequence. The slaying of a forest-dweller, especially by a Kshatriya, if done knowingly, would cast down even Indra from his throne. If such a weapon is released knowingly against a celibate sage, the head splits into seven parts as a result. But since you acted in ignorance, you are spared; otherwise, today the lineage of the Raghus would have perished—how then could you survive?” Then the sage requested, “Lead us, O king, to that place. Today, we wish to see our son for the last time.” I guided the grieving parents to where their son lay—his body stained with blood, his deerskin garment scattered, lying lifeless upon the earth, having gone to the realm of righteousness. Alone, I brought the two afflicted ascetics to their son and let them touch him. Reaching their child, they fell upon his body, and his father spoke words of heart-rending sorrow: “My son, am I not dear to you? Behold your mother, O righteous one; why do you not embrace her, my gentle-voiced child? Speak to us. Whose sweet voice, reciting the sacred texts or other teachings, especially at night, will I now hear, soothing my heart? Who, after performing evening rites, bathing, and offering oblations, will now praise me as I sit, afflicted by grief and fear for my son? Who will bring roots, tubers, and fruits to feed me, helpless and unprotected, as one would a cherished guest? How, my son, shall I care for your blind, aged, ascetic mother, wretched and longing for you? Stay, do not go yet to Yama’s abode; tomorrow, together with your mother, you shall depart with me. Both of us, stricken by grief, without support, pitiable in the forest, will soon go to Yama’s realm, bereft of you.” He continued, “Then, seeing Vaivasvata, I will say: ‘Let the king of righteousness forgive me and support these parents of mine.’ The righteous, illustrious guardian of the world must grant me one inexhaustible boon of fearlessness for such as I. Just as you, my son, are innocent and slain by one who acted wrongly, by that truth, swiftly go to the worlds attained by warriors fallen in battle. Go, my son, to that supreme state which the brave, who do not flee the fight and fall facing the foe, attain. Go to the state attained by Sagara, Shaibya, Dilipa, Janamejaya, Nahuṣa, and Dhundhumāra. Go to the state attained by all the virtuous, by those devoted to study, givers of land, keepers of sacred fires, and those faithful to one wife. Go, my son, to the state attained by givers of a thousand cows, by those who honor their teachers, and by those who have renounced the body. None born in this lineage goes to an unfortunate state; but he by whom you, my kinsman, were slain, will go there.” Thus, again and again, the sage lamented in misery. Together with his wife, he began to perform the water-rite for their son. Then, by the merit of his own deeds, the ascetic’s son, now in a divine form, swiftly ascended to heaven alongside Indra, the knower of action. The ascetic youth, together with Indra, comforted his aged parents for a moment and spoke these words: “By your service, I have attained a great place; and soon, you both will reach my abode as well.” Having said this, the ascetic’s son, self-controlled, quickly ascended to heaven in a radiant, divine chariot. After the water-rite was performed with his wife, the great-souled ascetic, with joined palms, turned to me as I stood nearby, awaiting his words.