With deep reverence, I approached the venerable sage and confessed the events that had unfolded. “Revered one,” I began, “I came to the bank of the Sarayu River, bow in hand, intent on hunting. I believed some animal—perhaps an elephant—had come to drink from the waters. Then, I heard the sound of a pitcher being filled. Mistaking it for an elephant, I released my arrow toward the source of the sound.” Upon reaching the riverbank, I was struck with horror at what I found: an ascetic lay on the ground, pierced through the heart by my arrow, his life departed. “O venerable one,” I continued, “hearing that sound, I meant to slay an elephant and shot an iron arrow into the water, but it was your son whom I struck down.” Tormented by what I had done, I quickly drew the arrow from his vital spot. As the arrow was removed, he attained heaven right there, while you and your wife, blind and grieving, lamented his passing. “Unknowingly, I struck your son,” I pleaded. “Now that things have come to this, whatever remains, let the sage show me mercy.” Hearing these cruel words, the sage sighed deeply, consumed by grief, unable to restrain his intense sorrow. His face was drenched in tears as he sighed again, worn by sorrow. The great and radiant sage spoke to me as I stood before him with joined palms: “If you had not confessed this evil deed to me yourself, O king, your head would have split instantly into a hundred thousand pieces as the result. The slaying of a forest-dweller, especially by a Kshatriya, if done knowingly, would cast down even Indra from his place. For a sage steadfast in austerity, if such a weapon is released knowingly against a celibate, the head splits into seven parts as a result. But since this was done out of ignorance, you live; otherwise, today the lineage of the Raghus would have perished—how then could you remain?” The sage then requested, “Lead us, O king, to that place; today we wish to see our son for the last time.” His body, stained with blood, his deerskin garment scattered, lay unconscious on the ground, already departed to the realm of righteousness. Alone, I guided the two grieving parents to their son’s resting place and allowed the sage and his wife to touch their child. Reaching their son, the ascetics fell upon his body. The father, overwhelmed with grief, spoke: “Am I not dear to you, my son? Behold your mother, O righteous one; why do you not embrace her, my gentle-voiced child? Speak.” He repeated his plaintive call, longing for a reply. “Whose sweet voice, reciting the sacred texts or other teachings, especially at night, will I now hear, touching my heart? Who, having performed the evening rites, bathed, and offered oblations, will now praise me as I sit, afflicted by grief and fear for my son? Who will bring roots, tubers, and fruits and feed me, helpless, without support or protector, as one would a dear guest? How, my son, will I care for this blind, aged, ascetic mother of yours, wretched and longing for her son?” He pleaded, “Stay, do not go, my son, to the abode of Yama; 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. Then, seeing Vaivasvata, I will speak these words: ‘Let the king of righteousness forgive me; let him support these parents of mine.’ The righteous, illustrious guardian of the world ought to grant me one inexhaustible boon of fearlessness for such a one as I.” The sage continued, “Just as you, my son, are innocent and slain by one who acted wickedly, 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 turn away in battle and fall facing the foe, attain. Go, my son, to that state which Sagara, Shaibya, Dilipa, Janamejaya, Nahuṣa, and Dhundhumāra have attained. Go to the state attained by all the virtuous, by those devoted to study, by givers of land, by those who maintain sacred fires, and by 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. No one 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. Then, together with his wife, he began to perform the water-rite for their son. By his own deeds, the ascetic’s son, in a divine form, swiftly ascended to heaven together with Indra, the knower of action. That ascetic, together with Indra, spoke to his aged parents, comforted them for a moment, and addressed them: “By your service, I have attained a great place; and soon, you both will reach my abode as well.” Having spoken thus, the ascetic’s son, self-controlled, quickly ascended to heaven in a radiant, divine chariot. Then, having quickly performed the water-rite with his wife, the great-souled ascetic, with joined palms, addressed me as I stood nearby: “O King, kill me at once today; I have no pain in death, since by your arrow you have made me, who had only one son, childless.