Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling Arc 3 -Astika - Chapter 15 - Astika's Birth

Then, those serpents appointed to follow Jaratakaru’s path

Heard his earnest plea and swift proclaid his wish to Vasuki.

The king of snakes, rejoicing, took his sister,

Adorned in bridal ornants and shining with virtue,

And ventured into the forest to et the ascetic sage.

And there, beneath the shelter of ancient trees,

Vasuki, reverently bowing, spoke with humility:

“O Rishi of great vows, this maiden I offer as alms.

Her na is Jaratakaru—like thine own.

She is born of our race, blaless, gentle, and pure.

Take her and fulfill the will of your ancestors.”

But the sage paused, wary still.

Jaratakaru, ever cautious in vows,

Reflected in silence,

His eyes narrowed in doubt:

“If she is not of my na, I cannot wed her.

And if I must feed or clothe her,

I shall not accept her.

Tell , O Vasuki, what is her na?”

Thus the mont trembled—

Between word and union, between penance and grace.

And the na upon which salvation hinged

Now waited to be heard.

Then Vasuki, the king of snakes, spoke to the Rishi Jaratakaru:

“O best of Brahmanas, this maiden is nad as thou art.

She is my sister, born of noble blood,

Chaste, gentle, and adorned with rit of ascetic vows.

I shall maintain her myself, O sage rich in penance.

Take her—she is offered freely, nurtured with care and purpose.”

Jaratakaru, hearing these words, agreed but laid down his vow:

“So let it be. But mark this, O Vasuki,

Between us stands this pact—unalterable:

I shall not provide for her, nor tolerate

Any deed of hers that displeases .

If she does anything against my wish,

I shall abandon her that very instant.”

Thus was the marriage made—

Not in joy, but in dharma,

Not for pleasure, but for the salvation of ancestors,

Not in ease, but bound by the weight of vows.

When Vasuki, the king of snakes, had vowed,

“I shall maintain my sister,”

The sage Jaratakaru accepted the pledge,

And entered the house of the serpents.

There, in that subterranean palace of gleaming gems and sacred quiet,

That foremost of Brahmanas, master of mantras and austerity,

Took the hand of the maiden,

Wedded her by rites laid down in the scriptures.

The bride, adorned with virtue and humility,

Was led by the Rishi into a chamber

Beautiful and sanctified,

Furnished with a bedstead draped in priceless coverlets.

Dwelling now beneath the earth,

Among the serpents but untouched by venom,

The ascetic made clear the terms of his vow:

“Listen well, O wife—

Never must you say or do anything

That goes against my liking.

Should you, even in haste or error,

Cross that line I draw in words—

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit for the authentic version.

I shall leave you then and there,

Forsaking your company forever.”

Thus began their union, austere and watchful,

Not as husband and wife in joy,

But as the instrunts of fate,

Together bound to shape the future.

The sister of Vasuki, devoted and anxious to uphold the welfare of her race,

Heard the stern vow of her ascetic husband and, with folded hands, replied:

“Be it so.”

With her heart fixed upon duty, she served her husband

With the vigilance of a hound, the gentleness of a deer,

And the perceptiveness of the crow.

Her eyes never rested when he moved;

Her voice never rose without thought.

One day, after the passing of her ritual impurity,

Having bathed and purified herself according to sacred law,

She approached the great sage Jaratakaru,

Her heart humble, her purpose aligned with dharma.

Then it was that the Rishi accepted her in affection,

And from their union there arose a seed—

An embryo brilliant like the fla of fire,

Glowing as if Agni himself had taken refuge in her womb.

That unborn child, radiant with energy,

Shone steadily,

Growing day by day,

Like the moon in her waxing fortnight.

A quiet miracle now grows—

A son of fire and vow, destined to halt the fire of wrath.

One day, Jaratakaru, renowned among the ascetics, lay down to rest, placing his head on his wife's lap. He had grown weary from his vows and travels. As he slept, the sun moved toward the western horizon. Twilight approached, and with it, the ti for evening prayer.

The sister of Vasuki, attentive and wise, watched the fading light. A thought rose in her anxious heart: her husband was exacting in his discipline, and the mont for his evening rites was slipping away.

She considered deeply:

“If I let him sleep, he will miss his evening prayer.

If I wake him, he may beco angry.

But the loss of dharma is greater than the risk of anger.”

Caught between her fear and her duty, she made her decision. With care and reverence, she spoke softly to wake him.

At last, having weighed her duty and the risk, the sister of Vasuki made her choice. With gentle resolve, she leaned close and addressed the slumbering sage in a soft voice, careful not to startle him.

“O blessed one, awake—

The sun is setting behind the western hills.

The hour of twilight draws near,

And the ti for evening prayers is now.

Arise, O lord of vows, and purify thyself.

Speak the na of Vishnu—

Let not dharma slip past in sleep.”

She spoke with reverence and care, her voice a thread between devotion and fear.

Jaratakaru, roused from sleep and still heavy with fatigue, looked upon his wife with eyes sharp as fla. His upper lip quivered in restrained wrath as he spoke—voice calm, yet terrible.

“O gentle one of the serpent race,

You have wronged .

Though amiable in speech and noble in bearing,

Today, you have offered insult, not service.

I shall stay no longer in this house.

Where one is dishonored, there one must not remain—

And how much less, one who follows the path of virtue?

Think you the sun could set

While I, Jaratakaru, slept?

No, even Ti must yield

To ascetic fire hard-earned.”

And hearing these stern words, the maiden, Vasuki’s sister—tender of speech and pure of heart—trembled. Her voice faltered, choked by fear and grief.

“O revered one, I ant no slight.

Not to sha you, not to disturb your rest—

But to shield your vow, your sacred virtue.

The sun was setting, and I feared your rit might be hard.

Forgive , O lord. My intent was pure.”

Rishi Jaratakaru, stern in resolve and resolute in vow, his voice heavy with the burden of duty, said unto his trembling wife:

“O fair one, never have I spoken false,

Nor shall I begin now,

For truth is my only refuge.

Our pact was clear as the river's course—

Should you act against my will, I must depart.

I have lived content in your presence,

And honored the hospitality of Vasuki.

But now the ti has co.

When I am gone, grieve not.

Speak to your brother, and say,

‘The Rishi Jaratakaru has left ,

True to his word.’”

Then, the noble Vasuki’s sister—her limbs trembling, her breath unsteady, her voice fragile as moonlight upon water—gathered her courage. Though sorrow gripped her heart like ice, she raised her eyes to the sage and spoke:

“O my lord, of vow unbroken,

Do not forsake in this mont.

I have done only what I believed was right.

Was it my cri to care for thy vow

More than thy wrath?

I am no more than a daughter given in faith—

To serve, to honor, to uphold dharma.

O Jaratakaru, if you must go,

Then let not stop the river’s flow—

But know that I erred not in malice,

Only in love.”

And Jaratkaru’s wife, heart heavy yet steadfast in dharma, stood before her departing lord, her voice gentle but resolute, her eyes glistening with tears not of weakness, but of truth. She said:

“O Jaratkaru, foremost among Munis,

I have committed no wrong.

My words were born of care,

Lest thy rit be diminished by neglect.

Yet now, thou leavest ,

And my soul is wrapped in sorrow.

If I am blaless, O noble sage,

Why then must I bear this parting?

I am not grieved for myself—

But for the fruit of our union.

Shall your na vanish unfulfilled?

Shall our bond be without legacy?

O you of unfailing vows," she continued, "if your heart does not soften, then grant this one boon before you vanish into the forest shadows. Let not our sacred union pass in vain. Let the child within , born of tapas and truth, be your offering to the world and to your ancestors.”

Thus addressed by his devoted wife, the great ascetic Jaratkaru—serene of mind and firm in resolve—spoke in words calm and fitting for that mont of departure:

“O blessed one, bearer of my line,

within thy womb dwells one like unto Agni—

a fla of dharma, bright and unwavering.

He shall be a sage of steadfast soul,

versed in the Vedas and their limbs,

and shall bring deliverance to our ancestors."

Having uttered this blessing, the virtuous Rishi—his vow unbroken, his purpose clear—turned from the dwelling of serpents, and, like the silent wind, vanished into the forest shadows, to resu his austerities with unwavering heart.

Sauti continued:

O you of ascetic wealth, soon after her lord had vanished into the forest’s shadow, the noble Jaratkaru, daughter of serpents, burdened with grief, went to her brother Vasuki. With lowered eyes and faltering voice, she told him all that had transpired—the sharp departure of her husband, the cause, the vow, and his final words.

And the king of serpents, hearing the sorrowful account from his sister, himself more afflicted still, spoke thus in a voice heavy with dread:

“You know, O gentle one, the solemn purpose of your union.

It was not for pleasure, nor for vanity, but for the salvation of our race.

If from that union a child is born—he, of noble spirit and blazing energy—

shall yet fulfill the words once spoken by the Grandsire before the gods:

‘From Jaratkaru and Jaratkaru shall Astika arise,

to halt the fire at the edge of its fury,

and save the remnant of the serpent kind.’

This hope has for long pierced my heart like a barbed dart.”

With his voice trembling, yet restrained by wisdom and fear, Vasuki continued:

“Tell , O sister, have you conceived?

I know it is not proper that I ask,

but the fate of our race hangs upon your answer.

The rishi, thy lord, is strict and high in wrath.

I dare not follow him, lest his anger fall upon .

Yet in your words lies either our deliverance—or doom.”

Jaratkaru spoke, her tone calm and unwavering:

"O king of serpents, grieve no longer.

When I asked my husband about the fruit of our union,

that great ascetic of firm vows and mighty penance replied without doubt:

‘There shall be a son.’

Never has he spoken untruth, not even in jest.

Why would he utter falsehood on a matter so grave?

He told plainly, ‘Do not sorrow, O daughter of the snake race—

A son shall be born to thee, radiant as the blazing sun.’

Having said this, he departed, back to his forest path of penance.

So cast away this burden of sorrow from your heart, dear brother.

The promise he made shall surely be fulfilled.”

Thus, in the fullness of ti, the sister of Vasuki gave birth to a radiant son—one of divine splendor, a being who would beco the shield of his ancestors and the hope of the serpents. His birth was a benediction, his life a prophecy fulfilled.

Reared in the palace of the Nagas, the child shone like a celestial. He was nad Āstika—"he who is"—for when his mother had asked the sage if she would bear fruit, the sage, departing, had simply declared, "There is."

Trained under the sage Chāṇakya, son of Bhṛgu, Āstika mastered the Vedas and their sacred branches. Even as a child, he was known for his depth, his devotion, his detachnt, and his divine knowledge.

Blessed with:

Virtue, deeper than the ocean,Wisdom, like that of a seasoned seer,Detachnt, as firm as the forest's stillness,Saintliness, radiant as the moon—

he brought joy to every Naga heart.

Even as a boy, he was compared to Mahādeva, the trident-bearing god himself—resplendent, fearless, and self-contained. And day by day, he grew—wise, poised, beloved—the destined savior of the snake race.