novelraw Arc 3 -Astika - Chapter 15 - Astika's Birth
Arc 3 -Astika - Chapter 15 - Astika's Birth
Then, those serpents appointed to follow Jaratakaru’s path
Heard his earnest plea and swift proclaimed his wish to Vasuki.
The king of snakes, rejoicing, took his sister,
Adorned in bridal ornaments and shining with virtue,
And ventured into the forest to meet 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 name is Jaratakaru—like thine own.
She is born of our race, blameless, 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 name, I cannot wed her.
And if I must feed or clothe her,
I shall not accept her.
Tell me, O Vasuki, what is her name?”
Thus the moment trembled—
Between word and union, between penance and grace.
And the name 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 named as thou art.
She is my sister, born of noble blood,
Chaste, gentle, and adorned with merit 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 me.
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—
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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 instruments 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 flame 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 time 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 moment 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 become 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 time for evening prayers is now.
Arise, O lord of vows, and purify thyself.
Speak the name 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 flame. His upper lip quivered in restrained wrath as he spoke—voice calm, yet terrible.
“O gentle one of the serpent race,
You have wronged me.
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 Time 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 meant no slight.
Not to shame you, not to disturb your rest—
But to shield your vow, your sacred virtue.
The sun was setting, and I feared your merit might be harmed.
Forgive me, 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 time has come.
When I am gone, grieve not.
Speak to your brother, and say,
‘The Rishi Jaratakaru has left me,
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 me in this moment.
I have done only what I believed was right.
Was it my crime 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 me 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 merit be diminished by neglect.
Yet now, thou leavest me,
And my soul is wrapped in sorrow.
If I am blameless, 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 name vanish unfulfilled?
Shall our bond be without legacy?
O you of unfailing vows," she continued, "if your heart does not soften, then grant me this one boon before you vanish into the forest shadows. Let not our sacred union pass in vain. Let the child within me, 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 moment of departure:
“O blessed one, bearer of my line,
within thy womb dwells one like unto Agni—
a flame 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 resume 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 me, 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 me.
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 me 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 time, the sister of Vasuki gave birth to a radiant son—one of divine splendor, a being who would become 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 named 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 detachment, and his divine knowledge.
Blessed with:
Virtue, deeper than the ocean,Wisdom, like that of a seasoned seer,Detachment, 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.