Then, at my own words, tormented by what I had done, I quickly drew the arrow from the young ascetic’s vital spot. With the arrow removed, he left his body and attained heaven right there, while you, his venerable parents—blind, grieving, and lamenting—were left behind, bereft of your only son. Unknowingly, I had struck down your child; now that matters had come to this, I begged the sage to show me mercy for what remained. Hearing my grievous confession, the venerable sage, sighing deeply and consumed by sorrow, could not restrain the intensity of his grief. Tears streaming down his face, sighing and worn by pain, the great and radiant one spoke to me as I stood before him, my palms joined in supplication. He said, “O King, had you not confessed this terrible deed yourself, 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 exalted place. If such a weapon is released knowingly, and against a celibate sage steadfast in austerity, the head splits into seven parts as a result. But since this was done out of ignorance, you live. Otherwise, today, the entire lineage of the Raghus would have perished—how then could you remain? Now, lead us, O King, to the place where our son lies. Today we wish to see him for the last time.” I led the two, greatly afflicted, to where their son lay. His body was stained with blood, his deerskin garment scattered, lying unconscious on the ground—he had departed to the realm of righteousness. When we arrived, I let the sage and his wife touch their son. Overwhelmed by grief, they fell upon his body, and the father cried out, “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! 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 and without support, 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? 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. 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 departed son. By his own deeds, the ascetic’s son, now in a divine form, swiftly ascended to heaven together with Indra, the knower of action. That ascetic youth, together with Indra, spoke to his aged parents, comforting them for a moment, and addressed them with these words: “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, after performing 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. But because my pure son was slain by you unknowingly, I shall curse you with a sorrow most grievous and terrible. The grief that now afflicts me from the loss of my son—so too, O King, you shall meet your end consumed by grief for your son. Because the sage was slain by you, a Kshatriya, out of ignorance, O lord of men, the sin of Brahmin-slaying will not quickly seize you. But this same fate will swiftly overtake you—a dreadful ender of life—just as the giver of a gift is overtaken by the gift itself.