Yayāti said, his gaze steady and voice calm with resignation: “I have fallen from heaven, stripped of the rit that once held aloft. Now that my store of righteousness is exhausted, I am bound for the Earth-hell—Bhauma, the realm where spirits return to the cycle of rebirth. And thither must I go, when this discourse with you is done.”
He turned his eyes skyward briefly, then continued: “Even now, the regents of the quarters summon —guardians of the cosmic directions who oversee the order of all things. They bid hasten downward.” But with a touch of grace, he added: “Yet Indra, chief of the celestials, granted a boon: that though I must fall, I shall not fall among the wicked, but among the wise and the virtuous. And here, among you—O Aṣṭaka, and all assembled kings and sages—I know that boon has borne its fruit. For ye are indeed wise and virtuous, and it is an honour to fall into such company.”
Aṣṭaka said, with deep concern and reverence:
“O king,
thou who art acquainted with all realms—
tell truly:
Are there regions in heaven or the firmant
reserved for to enjoy,
as the fruit of my religious rit?
If such regions exist,
then let thy descent be halted.
For if I have rit,
thou shalt not fall, even as thou fallest.”
Yayāti, touched by the inquiry, replied: “O noble one, yes—there are regions in heaven for thee to enjoy. As many as there are kine and horses on Earth, as many as the beasts in the wilds and on the hills—so many worlds await thee, earned by thy virtue.”
Then Aṣṭaka, moved by compassion and dharma, spoke with unwavering generosity:
“Then, O father, I give them all to thee.
Let all the worlds that await —
be they in heaven, or floating in the firmant—
now beco thine.
Let not thy rit be diminished,
nor thy na be stained by this fall.
Take them, O king,
and let thy sorrow cease.
Let bear the cost of thy burden,
for what is mine is thine.”
Yayāti replied, his voice firm and dharmic: “O best of kings, only a Brāhmaṇa who knows Brahman may rightly accept a gift of rit. But we—Kṣatriyas—are not entitled to such a gift. And I, for my part, have always given to Brāhmaṇas, as one should—never taken. Let no one who is not a Brāhmaṇa, nor the wife of a Brāhmaṇa, ever bring sha upon themselves by accepting what is not theirs to receive.”
He looked inward briefly, then added: “While I lived on Earth, I longed only to perform acts of righteousness. Having never accepted a gift in that life—how shall I now, in this fallen state, begin to take what I have never touched?”
Then, from among the assembled sages, another voice rose. It was Pratarddana, a radiant monarch of noble bearing.
“O thou of the most radiant form,” he said,
“I am Pratarddana by na—
a seeker of truth and friend to righteousness.
Tell , O all-knowing one:
Are there any heavenly worlds reserved for ,
earned by the fruit of my good deeds?
If so, reveal them.
I too would know what rit I possess.”
Yayāti said, his voice touched with wonder and warmth: “O king, for thee there are numberless worlds awaiting—realms of unending joy, radiant like the disc of the Sun, where no sorrow may enter, no shadow ever fall. Even if thou didst dwell in each of these heavenly regions for but seven days, they would not be exhausted. Such is the asure of thy rit.”
Pratarddana bowed his head and spoke without hesitation:
“Then let them be thine, O father.
If I possess these realms,
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I offer them all unto thee.
Be they in the heavens or the firmant,
let them now pass to thee.
May thy fall be halted,
thy burden lifted.
Take them—take them swiftly,
and let thy sorrow end.”
Yayāti answered, calm yet resolute in his dharma: “O king, no monarch of equal might and discipline should ever wish to receive as gift the hard-won rit of another—rit born of Yoga, austerity, and sacrifice. Even when struck by fate, a wise king does not forsake his honour, nor act in a way that would be censured by the virtuous. A true ruler must ever walk the path of virtue, with steady gaze and clear heart—as I have always sought to do. Knowing what is right, how can I do what is base? When others—firm in their vows—refuse to accept what is not theirs, shall I, in distress, break that very discipline? I cannot. I shall not.”
And as Yayāti’s words fell silent, like the echo of a sacred bell, he was then addressed by another—Vasuman, a noble king, who stepped forward with folded hands.
Vasuman spoke respectfully: “O king, I am Vasumat, son of Oṣadasva. Thou who knowest all the holy realms—tell now: are there any worlds for to enjoy, earned through the rit of my religious acts, in heaven or the vast firmant? I ask not from pride, but to know what destiny awaits .”
Yayāti replied with serene assurance: “O noble one, there are worlds for thee beyond counting. As many as there are places in the firmant above, on the Earth below, and across the ten directions illuminated by the golden Sun—so many regions await thee in heaven. Such is the fruit of thy virtue and dharma.”
Śibi then stepped forth, calm and radiant, and addressed Yayāti: “O king, I am Śibi, son of Uśīnara—and I ask thee, as a son asketh a father: are there any realms in heaven or the firmant that await as the fruit of my rit? Thou knowest the regions that lie beyond this world—tell of my share among them.”
Yayāti, with warmth and certainty, replied: “O Śibi, never by word or thought hast thou ever dishonoured the virtuous or turned away the honest-hearted. For thee, there are infinite worlds in heaven—each one radiant like lightning, flashing with the glory of truth and righteousness.”
Śibi said without hesitation:
“If thou deest it unfit to request them,
then take them, unasked, as my gift.
I give them freely.
All those realms where the wise dwell in peace,
without disquiet,
let them be thine.
I shall not reclaim them.
May they lift thy sorrow.”
But Yayāti, ever steadfast in dharma, replied: “O Śibi, endowed with Indra’s might, thou hast earned imasurable worlds. Their splendour is thy due. But I cannot accept what is not born of my own deeds. I will not enjoy that which another has gained through righteousness. Therefore, O noble one, I thank thee—but I do not take.”
Aṣṭaka, moved by devotion and a final appeal, said: “O king, each one of us has offered thee the fruits of our own rits—heavenly realms earned through righteousness. Yet thou acceptest none. But even so, we shall leave them behind for thee, and descend into Earth-hell in thy place.”
Yayāti answered, with unwavering resolve: “You are all wise and lovers of truth. Give only that which I deserve. I cannot take what I did not earn—nor can I begin now what I have never done before.”
Just then, Aṣṭaka looked to the heavens and asked, awed:
“Whose are those five golden cars,
glorious like the rising fire,
shining with divine brilliance?
Are they for the blessed souls
who ascend to eternal joy?”
Yayāti replied:
“Yes.
Those five golden cars you see—
burning like sacred fla, adorned with splendour—
are ant to carry each of you
to the celestial realms.
They await you,
summoned by the rit of your lives.”
But Aṣṭaka, ever selfless, said:
“Ride them first, O king.
Let them carry thee to heaven.
We will follow in ti—
for heaven may be shared,
but honour lies in precedence.”
Yayāti, heart filled with joy and reverence, said at last:
“No—let us ascend together.
We have all conquered heaven.
Behold!
The glorious path to heaven
unfolds before us—clear and radiant.
Let us rise now—united in virtue,
brothers in righteousness,
companions in bliss.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then all those illustrious monarchs—Yayāti, Aṣṭaka, Pratarddana, Vasuman, and Śibi—mounted the golden, radiant cars. And they rose—ascending toward heaven like suns unfurling across the sky, illuminating the firmant with the glory of their virtue. Their rit shone like celestial fire, and the path to heaven glowed with their passage.
As silence gave way to wonder, Aṣṭaka turned, surprised:
“I had always believed
that Indra was my especial friend—
that I would be the first among us
to gain admittance into heaven.
But see—Śibi, son of Uśīnara,
has already gone before us.
How is it so?”
Yayāti smiled, not in pride but in truth, and replied:
“O Aṣṭaka,
this son of Uśīnara gave away all he had
in pursuit of the Supre.
He is the foremost among us.
His liberality knew no bounds;
his asceticism was deep and unshaken;
his truth, like an unbroken stream;
his modesty and forgiveness, unmatched;
his virtue—imasurable.
In him lived the very essence of righteousness.
Therefore he leads us,
not by favour,
but by the light of his own rit.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
After so ti had passed, Aṣṭaka, driven by wonder and affection, again turned to the radiant monarch before him—his maternal grandfather, aglow like Indra himself—and said:
“O king,
I ask thee once more:
Whence art thou?
Who art thou, and whose son?
Is there any Brāhmaṇa or Kṣatriya on Earth
who has accomplished the deeds that thou hast done?”
Yayāti answered with the dignity of truth and mory: “I tell thee truly, I am Yayāti, son of Nahusha, and father of Puru. Once, I was lord of all the Earth. Ye are my grandsons, O Aṣṭaka—my children’s children, born of the daughters I cherished.”
“I conquered the Earth,
and I gave garnts to Brāhmaṇas,
and a hundred horses worthy of sacrifice.
For such acts of dharma,
the gods were pleased,
and heaven’s gates were opened.
I gave to the Brāhmaṇas
the Earth herself—
with her elephants and horses,
her cows, her gold, her wealth—
and a hundred Arbudas of milch cows.”
Then Yayāti’s voice deepened with sacred force:
“It is by my truth and virtue
that Earth stands firm
and the firmant is held above.
It is by my truth
that fire yet burneth in the world of n.
Never have I spoken a lie.
That, O Aṣṭaka,
is why the wise adore Truth.
For Truth sustains all—
gods, sages, the heavens themselves—
and it is Truth that gives them radiance.”
“All I have spoken—
to thee, to Pratarddana, to Vasumat—
is Truth itself.
He who, without malice,
reads this sacred account
to noble Brāhmaṇas with devotion,
shall attain the very worlds
to which we now ascend.
He shall dwell among the blessed,
in the mansions of light,
where only the Truthful go.”
Vaiśampāyana concluded:
Thus did the illustrious King Yayāti, renowned for his mighty deeds and steadfast dharma, ascend once more to heaven—rescued not by his own rit alone, but by the noble offerings of his descendants and grandsons. He left the Earth behind, his burdens shed, his truth preserved.
And in his wake, the three worlds shone brighter—illumined by the fa of his deeds, which now stretch across ti, untouched by decay, unbound by death. His deeds—shining and many—spread across the three worlds, like sunlight over sky, Earth, and firmant, immortal in fa, imperishable in truth.
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