The Weight of the World

The Pandavas, noble heroes of the past, had embarked on their final journey. Govinda, beloved Krishna, had left his earthly form. The world felt hollow without him. Vyasa, the sage, was lost in thought. "Where Krishna isn’t, how can this Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa stay?" he wondered aloud. "I want to leave too, but I can’t. Lord Krishna hasn’t given that order yet. What should I do? I’m so confused."

"Narayana Narayana!" came a familiar voice. It was Sage Narada, his presence as bright as the morning sun. "Sage Narada, come, come, great sage," Vyasa greeted him warmly. "I saw you at sunrise today. What a blessing for me! Please accept my respects, great sage."

"Narayana Narayana!" Narada replied with a gentle smile. "Why do you look so sad, great sage Vyasa? What are you worrying about? Are you in good health?"

Vyasa sighed, unable to hide his feelings from the perceptive sage. "There’s no way to hide from your keen eyes, great sage. You’re right, I’m not feeling well. Nothing seems good anymore."

"If you feel this way, imagine the state of the world," Narada said, his voice filled with understanding. "What’s troubling you, great sage? If there’s a way I can help, I surely will."

"Great sage Vyasa," Vyasa began, "ever since the departure of the Pandavas and Lord Krishna, nothing feels good to me. There’s no happiness or joy anywhere. I must stay for the welfare of the people, as the Creator has commanded. But this world isn’t the same anymore. It’s filled with desires, greed, and lies. What will happen to my Vedas, Vedanta, Upanishads, and Mahabharata? Who are they for?"

Narada nodded, his eyes wise and kind. "I understand your sorrow now, wise sage. You’ve spoken of knowledge and action for so long that your heart has become heavy. But peace doesn’t come that way, great sage. To find peace, you need devotion. But you’ve never written about devotion."

Vyasa looked at Narada, realization dawning on his face. "Is that why I can’t find peace? Then whose story should I write, great sage? Who can give me peace?"

"Why, Lord Hari," Narada answered gently. "Write about Lord Hari. There is no peace without him. You must write about Hari, Vyasa."

Vyasa's heart lifted at Narada's words. "Without seeing my Mukunda Murari, I don’t think I can write anything, great sage. Only Krishna’s earthly body has left. Can he ever abandon his devotees?"

"He is right here with you," Narada assured him. "There is no difference between Hari and the stories of Hari, great sage Vyasa. Write about Hari, and your sadness will go away."

"Wow, what wonderful words you have spoken, Devarshi!" Vyasa exclaimed, hope rekindling in his heart. "If I write about Lord Krishna... Surely, surely, I will be able to be with Krishna again. All my sadness will go away. Thank you, thank you, Devarshi Narada."

"There is no need for thanks," Narada replied. "Those who listen to the stories of Krishna will also be free from all sins and fears. In this age of Kali, Krishna's name is the only hope."

"I will write, I will write, Devarshi," Vyasa promised, determination lighting his eyes. "I will surely write about Lord Krishna. But who will listen to these stories if the world is not ready for them?"

"Aren't you yourself Vyasa?" Narada asked with a twinkle in his eye. "No, I am not. But you won't find anyone more worthy than your son, Shukadeva."

"Great Sage Vyasa: Shuka," Vyasa said, his voice filled with love and pride. "But my son is a wise sage. From birth, he has been in deep meditation. I don't even know where he is. How will he sing the praises of Krishna? He doesn't speak at all."

"Narayan Narayan!" Narada exclaimed with confidence. "See the glory of the Lord's name with your own eyes. Great Sage Vyasa, call your son by remembering him. Let's see."

Vyasa closed his eyes and called out, "Son Shuka, can you hear me? Son Shuka, you must tell the stories of Krishna. Shuka, come down, son, come down."

As if drawn by the power of his father's voice, Shuka appeared. "Greetings, Father. Greetings, Devarshi Narada," he said, bowing respectfully.

"Son, you have come, you have come," Vyasa said, his heart swelling with joy. "Son, what a wonderful play of the Lord! Why have you called me? Please command me, Father."

And thus, a new chapter began, with the promise of stories that would transcend time and bring peace to the world.

The Call of Destiny

Vyasa looked at his son with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with the wisdom of ages. "Devarshi Narada has tasked me with a great responsibility, Shuka," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his mission. "I am to write about Lord Krishna, and this story will be known as the Shrimad Bhagavatam. It is said that without hearing it, people in the age of Kali will not find salvation. You, my son, will carry this story to the world."

Shuka bowed his head in respect. "Your command is my duty, Father. It shall be done," he replied solemnly. "I am Shuka, the only son of the great sage Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa. My mother, Ghritachi, was a celestial nymph. After my birth, she returned to the heavenly realm, leaving me without a mother's love. But perhaps that is why I have no attachments. My father, Vyasa, ensured I never felt the absence of a mother. Yet, as the successor of a wise sage, I cannot be bound by affection or attachment. From birth, I have been a hermit, spending my years in deep meditation. Now, I have come down at my father's call."

Vyasa nodded, pride evident in his eyes. "At Devarshi Narada's command, I have crafted the stories of Krishna in the Shrimad Bhagavatam. After completing these tales, I shared a wonderful story with you, my son. Now, you shall tell it to others."

Shuka took a deep breath, ready to recount the tale. "The Dvapara Yuga was nearing its end. Lord Krishna had returned to his divine abode. In his absence, the goddess of devotion, Bhakti Devi, was desolate, wandering like a beggar with her children, Wisdom and Detachment."

"Oh Lord," Bhakti Devi lamented, her voice filled with sorrow, "I cannot bear your absence. Without you, I have no value in this world. Where will I go with Wisdom and Detachment? No one gives us shelter."

Her children clung to her, their voices small and worried. "If you become so worried, then what will happen to us, Mother? We have no shelter left. We live because of your strength."

Just then, Devarshi Narada appeared, chanting softly, "Namo Narayanaya, Namo Narayanaya."

"Bhakti Devi, why do you look so sad?" Narada asked gently, concern etched on his face. "And why do Wisdom and Detachment seem so helpless? What has happened?"

"We have no shelter left, Devarshi," Bhakti Devi replied, her voice trembling. "Lord Krishna has gone to his divine abode. We have no value anymore. No one seeks us."

"Narayan, Narayan!" Narada exclaimed, trying to calm her. "Please, Devi, do not despair. If people forget you, this world will disappear. Your time is returning, I promise. On the orders of Brahma's son, Sanat Kumar, I have begun chanting the name of Hari. Without you, no one else can understand the greatness of this name."

"Hari's name!" Bhakti Devi's eyes brightened with hope. "Are you chanting Hari's name, Devarshi?"

"Look, look, I am filled with joy," she cried, her spirit revived. "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna!" As she spoke, Bhakti Devi and her children came alive with renewed energy. Other saints and wise people gathered, drawn to Devarshi Narada's sweet chanting. The power of Hari's name was such that it breathed new life into all who heard it.

From that day, Devarshi Narada spread the word that Vyasa's writings, the Harikatha, were the only remedy for the Kali Yuga. Listening to these stories would free people from the fear of death, sorrow, hatred, confusion, and delusion in this age.

Hearing all this from Vyasa, Shuka asked, "Father, you created the four Vedas, the essence of all scriptures. Why did you feel the need to create this Bhagavata Purana?"

"My son," Vyasa replied, his tone thoughtful, "the Vedic scriptures discuss sin and virtue and the results of these actions after death. They speak of heaven and hell but not of devotion. People are bound by happiness, sin, and virtue. Is there no escape from them, Father? Can't we transcend these bonds?"

"The scriptures that exist today do not possess that power, my son. They teach about deeds and duties but do not lead to liberation. Following them can grant heaven after death, but once the virtue is exhausted, one must be born again on earth. There is no true liberation."

"Father," Shuka said earnestly, "take me to the shore beyond sin and virtue. Tell me about the main benefit. I want to hear about it."

And thus, the promise of a new journey began, one that would guide humanity towards eternal peace and liberation.

The Essence of the Bhagavata

Shuka sat attentively, his eyes reflecting a deep curiosity. His father, with a gentle smile, began to explain, "My son, the joy I have is in sharing with you the tales of the Bhagavata. This Bhagavata stands above all Vedas and Vedanta. It is the paramount scripture. Listening to it liberates people from the chains of sin and virtue."

Shuka leaned forward, intrigued. "So, is the Shrimad Bhagavata not a Vedic scripture, Father?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

His father chuckled softly. "The Bhagavata cannot be confined to any specific limit, dear Shuka. Consider this: look at that tree in front of you. Can you drink the juice directly from the tree?"

Shuka shook his head. "Of course not, Father. But the tree does have its own juice."

"Exactly," his father said, nodding. "Do you know where you can find that juice? It is in the fruit. You won't find that juice anywhere else but in the fruit. When the tree's juice becomes concentrated and enters the fruit, the fruit becomes delicious. The Bhagavata is just like that. It contains the essence of all scriptures. It has no specific limit."

As his father spoke, a serene melody seemed to play in the background, resonating with the wisdom of the ages.

"Son," his father continued, "I sat with my father, the great sage Vyasa, and began to drink the nectar of Lord Hari's stories. King Janaka of Mithila was my teacher. He taught me the path of non-dualism, a path I followed diligently. But as I listened to my father narrate these wonderful stories of Lord Hari, my heart transformed. Those tales of divine play and love enchanted me, and I left behind my thoughts of non-dualism. The stories of Hari became my meditation and focus."

His father paused, his eyes shining with a distant memory. "After telling the stories, my father said, 'These stories will take away all human sorrow, my son. They will bring peace to troubled people and remove the fear of death from the dying. These words are a great treasure. From today, you are the heir to this sweetness. The whole world will hear these stories of Hari from you.'"

Shuka listened intently, then asked, "Father, please tell me why human sorrow begins. Is sorrow another child of man? There seems to be no end to their pain and suffering. Fear is the root of sorrow. There is fear of evil spirits on one side and fear of their own illnesses on the other. On top of that, there is fear of other people. Why do people fear each other, Father?"

His father sighed, a shadow of concern crossing his face. "The reason is that no one knows what is in another person's mind. The fear of who might harm them destroys people, dear Shuka. This fear lasts until death. Once you hear the stories of the Bhagavata, you can cross the ocean of fear, my son. Suffering will end. There is no other way to liberation except through Hari and his stories."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The truth of my father's words was proven when these stories of the Bhagavata saved Arjuna's son, King Parikshit, from the fear of death. Following my father's command, I came to tell him the stories of Hari. Through Parikshit, a wave of love for Hari spread across the world."

His father looked at Shuka with a knowing gaze. "But there is still much to tell. Let me first speak of King Parikshit. It was because of Parikshit that the age of Kali rose in this world. If Parikshit had not shown mercy, Kali could not have become so destructive. But who can defy destiny? I am just an impartial observer. My story begins with the tale of Parikshit, the descendant of the Pandavas, and the stories of Krishna's adventures as told in the Bhagavata."

The promise of more tales to come hung in the air, and Shuka felt his heart stir with anticipation.

The Arrival of Kali

Prince Parikshit, a descendant of the noble Pandavas, was renowned for his virtues, much like his illustrious grandfather, Arjuna. At his birth, the wise Brahmins had gathered, their eyes filled with wonder. "Wonderful, wonderful!" they exclaimed. "The birth chart of this prince is most auspicious. Through him, a new example of righteousness will be set in the world. Noble souls will once again walk the earth."

As the years passed, the Brahmins' predictions came to life. Parikshit grew into a man of strength, bravery, courage, and kindness, embodying the very essence of royal duty. He forged a strong alliance with the kingdom of Virata, where the Pandavas had once lived in disguise, and wed Iravati, the daughter of Uttara, Arjuna's foremost descendant. Among their four children, the eldest was Janamejaya. In every aspect, Parikshit mirrored the Pandavas. During his reign, righteousness flourished, and the gods' influence was palpable across the land. Yet, even in such times, the age of Kali sought a weakness through which it could seep into the world.

One day, a messenger rushed into the royal court, his face a mask of urgency. "Long live the king! I bring very bad news," he announced, breathless.

King Parikshit, concerned, leaned forward. "What news do you bring, messenger? Are the people of this great kingdom happy and peaceful? Are the Brahmins safe? Is anyone being cruel to innocent creatures?"

The messenger hesitated, worry etched on his brow. "Your Majesty, nothing is happening right now, but in the near future, something even more terrible might occur. I am worried just thinking about it."

Parikshit frowned, his voice steady but firm. "What do you mean, messenger? What has happened in my kingdom? Tell me everything in detail right now."

The messenger took a deep breath. "Your Majesty, the age of Kali has entered your kingdom. Despite all your protections, Kali is spreading its influence. Soon, it will become a great enemy of righteousness and justice."

Parikshit stood, his eyes blazing with determination. "Who is this Kali? How dare it enter my kingdom against my orders? No, we cannot delay. I will drive it out of my kingdom immediately. General, prepare for my conquest journey. Wherever I find Kali, I will destroy it."

At the king's command, the Kuru general swiftly prepared the soldiers for battle. Parikshit's chariot, drawn by rare blue horses, flew the lion flag as he set out on his journey, a mighty bow in hand. A formidable army of chariots, elephants, horses, and foot soldiers accompanied him. They traversed many lands, yet Kali remained elusive.

One day, Parikshit arrived at the banks of the sacred Saraswati River. His journey momentarily halted there, close to the Kurukshetra battlefield, where his ancestors had fought a monumental war. Reflecting on this, Parikshit became lost in thought.

Suddenly, a strange scene caught his eye. Not far from his camp, by the riverbank, he saw a man dressed like a king, yet his demeanor was not regal. This man, a Shudra, wielded a big stick, cruelly beating a white cow. The cow, frail and disabled, stood trembling on a single leg, unable to escape the harsh blows.

Outraged by this injustice, Parikshit shouted, his voice ringing with authority, "Stop, Shudra! How dare you beat this innocent, helpless animal so cruelly?"

The man paused, startled by the king's presence. "Who are you? Why are you stopping me?" he demanded.

Parikshit stepped forward, his gaze fierce. "I am King Parikshit. My grandfather Arjuna has indeed journeyed to the heavens with Lord Krishna. But don’t think there’s no protector left on this earth. You are sinful, a great sinner. I sentence you to death."

The man fell to his knees, fear flickering in his eyes. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty. Please forgive me."

Parikshit shook his head, his voice resolute. "After committing such a terrible act, you ask for forgiveness? Aren’t you ashamed? Who are you? Where did you come from?"

The man bowed his head. "Your Majesty, my name is Kali. The Dvapara Yuga has ended. By divine order, my reign is about to begin. This is how it has always happened in creation, Your Majesty. No one dares to break this rule. I am just following it."

Parikshit narrowed his eyes, realization dawning. "Oh, so you are Kali. I understand now. I was looking for you. Now that I have found you, I won’t let you go so easily."

Kali looked up, desperation in his voice. "Why, Your Majesty? I haven’t harmed you."

The Bargain with Kali

King Parikshit stood firm, his gaze unwavering. "If you stay, chaos will begin everywhere," he declared, his voice echoing with authority. "I just witnessed the turmoil you bring. I won’t allow you to roam freely. Why were you beating this helpless creature like that?"

Kali lowered his head, his voice tinged with desperation. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. If this cow remains safe, my purpose will not be fulfilled. I won’t be able to enter this world. But if I don’t come, how will creation end?"

Parikshit turned his attention to the cow, curiosity piqued. "Who is this? Who is this cow then?" he asked, addressing the creature directly. "Standing on one leg, who are you? Are you a deity?"

The cow lifted her head, her voice gentle yet filled with wisdom. "King Parikshit, I am Dharma. Your ancestors followed me. But if I am here, Kali cannot have his influence."

Parikshit nodded, acknowledging her presence. "O Dharma, accept my respects. But who cut off your other three legs? Tell me the name of that cruel oppressor. He is an enemy of the Pandavas. I will banish anyone who disrupts the peace of my people from this kingdom. Rest assured."

Dharma sighed, her eyes reflecting the burden of ages. "O King, you are a worthy heir of King Pandu. You have acted just like him. But, Your Majesty, before blaming others, let me tell you about myself. I am very confused, O King. Even Dharma is confused."

Parikshit looked perplexed. "What is this? Is this even believable?"

"I am telling the truth, Rajan," Dharma continued, her voice tinged with sorrow. "The pain from this cruel age hurts me the most. I know all the scriptures of the world, yet I can't escape this dissatisfaction. It is destroying me."

Concern etched on his face, Parikshit asked, "What happened, Dharmadev? Please tell me the reason for your problem. Is there any way I can help you?"

"I don't know the path to human liberation, Rajan. I also don't know why living beings suffer. Can you, with your wisdom, give me the right answer to my question, Maharaj? What is the path to salvation? Do you know, Rajan?"

Parikshit shook his head, his expression somber. "Dharmadev, this is a very difficult question. If you can't answer it yourself, how can I? My knowledge is nothing compared to yours."

Dharma looked at him with hopeful eyes. "Then how will you ease my suffering, Maharaj? Your knowledge and wisdom are like Arjun's. But no, you can only punish. You didn't even tell me the name of your wrongdoer because you are Dharma. Fine."

Parikshit pondered for a moment, then spoke. "Let me guess. In the Satya Yuga, you had four legs. Those legs were penance, purity, compassion, and truth."

Dharma nodded, a sad smile on her lips. "Your guess is correct, Maharaj. As time passed, the oppression of unrighteousness destroyed three of my legs one by one. Now I live with only one leg, and that is truth. This age of Kali wants to destroy that leg too. I will stop it now."

Kali, sensing the shift in the King's resolve, pleaded, "Save me. Save me, Rajan, save me. Don't banish me. I give up my royal attire and take refuge at your feet. Protect the one who seeks refuge, King. Fulfill your royal duty, Maharaj Parikshit."

Parikshit considered Kali's plea. "Fine, since you have sought my refuge, I won't kill you, but I can't let you stay here either. If you stay, unrighteousness will arise. Under your influence, the king of the land will tolerate injustice. Your presence will disrupt the worship of Lord Hari. You have no place here. Leave now."

Kali bowed his head, accepting the King's decision. "Maharaj, by the order of time, I must come. I can't be stopped. No one can stop me. I only fear for you. Wherever I am, your bow will find me. So, I ask you, Maharaj, to give me a few places where I can stay peacefully."

Parikshit thought carefully before replying. "Alright, I give you four places: where gambling happens, where drinking occurs, where there is indulgence with women, and where violence is rampant. You can stay in these four places but nowhere else."

Kali, still not fully satisfied, asked with a hint of desperation, "Please have mercy on this humble one, Maharaj. Show compassion. Give me one more place. I will never ask you for anything again."

Parikshit sighed, weighing his options. "So, you need a fifth place. Fine, I grant you permission. You can also reside among wealth. But remember, you can't stay anywhere else besides these five places."

Kali nodded, relief washing over him. "Long live the king! I promise to follow your orders with all my heart. I give you my word."

And so, by King Parikshit’s command, the age of Kali found five places to stay: falsehood, drinking, desire, hostility, and passion. These five places are the root of all wrongdoing. So, for anyone who wants to be good, these places are equally harmful.

The King's Mistake

King Parikshit chose not to kill Kali. Although Kali had sought his protection, there was another reason for sparing him. Parikshit saw a noble quality in Kali. He understood that people with a strong conscience were free from Kali's influence. Only those without a conscience fell victim to him. The greatest secret of this age of Kali was that simply singing the praises of Lord Hari could lead to great rewards. Difficult rituals were no longer necessary. Keeping this in mind, Parikshit decided not to destroy Kali and instead offered him shelter.

With this decision, both Kali and Parikshit were at ease and returned to their respective places. Kali went to dwell among riches, while Parikshit resumed his hunting. During one of his hunts, Parikshit chased a deer deep into the forest but could not find it.

As the day came to a close, the king found himself extremely tired and thirsty. He wandered into the ashram of Sage Shamik, hoping to find water. There was no water source nearby, so Parikshit entered the ashram, expecting assistance. However, the sage was not there to greet him. Sage Shamik, with his matted hair and deer skin garment, was deep in meditation under a tree.

Parikshit showed respect to the sage, but his fatigue and thirst overwhelmed him. He felt slighted, believing he had not received the respect due to a king. Despite his inner turmoil, he spoke to the meditating sage in a controlled voice, "I am very tired. Can you give me some water? Sir, can you hear me? Sir, why aren’t you answering? I am King Parikshit. Can’t you hear me, sir? I am very thirsty. Please give me some water. Such disrespect to the king of the land. No seat to sit on, no water to drink. This sage has no sense of courtesy. He must be punished for this insult."

Conflicted about what to do, Parikshit's mind raced. "What should I do? What should I do? Ah, I’ll hang this dead snake around his neck. He’ll see the result of pretending to ignore me." Driven by pride and anger, Parikshit picked up a dead snake with the tip of his bow and draped it around the meditating sage’s neck. Normally calm, wise, and thoughtful, Parikshit had made a grave mistake.

Reflecting on his actions, Parikshit returned to the palace. He couldn't determine if the sage was truly deep in meditation or if he had been ignoring him. With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Parikshit rode his horse back to the capital.

Nearby, Shringi, the young son of Sage Shamik, was playing with other sage's sons. Suddenly, a boy came running to him, breathless and excited. "Shringi, Shringi, go to your ashram and see. There's no difference between Lord Shiva and your father. Both have snakes around their necks. The only difference is that Shiva's snake is alive, and your father's snake is dead."

Shringi frowned, puzzled by the boy’s words. "What are you saying? I don't understand. What snake are you talking about?"

"You won't understand now," the boy replied. "Hurry back to your ashram. Everything will be clear when you see your father."

"Really? Come with me to the ashram. I want to see what happened to my father with my own eyes. Let's go." With urgency, Shringi led his friends back to the ashram. When he saw the dead snake draped around his meditating father's neck, he was shocked and filled with anger and disbelief. The other boys laughed at the sight, but Shringi’s eyes burned with rage. He trembled as he demanded, "Who did this to my father? Who dared to insult him like this?"

"Did you see? Do you know anything? Did you hear anything from anyone?" Shringi asked his friends. One boy stepped forward and said, "I saw, Shringi. Just a while ago, I saw King Parikshit leaving the ashram. He dared to disrespect a Brahmin. The scriptures say that Kshatriya kings should protect Brahmins like servants. Parikshit doesn't know this. He entered a Brahmin's home and insulted him. Just because Lord Krishna is not alive, does he think there will be no punishment for sin? I will punish him myself."

"What will you do, Shringi?" another boy inquired.

"Even though I am young, the fire of Brahma burns within me," Shringi declared with determination. "The power of my penance will not go to waste. I will give King Parikshit the punishment he deserves. Watch what I do. Come with me to the banks of the Kaushiki River."

With determination in his heart, Shringi set out, his friends following closely behind, eager to witness the unfolding events.

The Curse of the Takshak Snake

Shringi stood at the banks of the Kaushiki River, his young heart heavy with anger and determination. He cupped his hands, letting the cool waters flow through his fingers, and began to chant, his voice steady and resolute. "Om Vishnu, Om Vishnu, Om Vishnu. I, Shringi, son of Sage Shamik, touch the waters of the Kaushiki River and curse the wicked Parikshit. He has insulted my father, a great Brahmin sage. For this sin, in seven days, he will die from the bite of the Takshak snake."

With the curse spoken, Shringi returned to the ashram, his spirit weighed down by the gravity of his actions. He began to cry loudly, unable to contain his sorrow and frustration. Hearing his son's cries, Sage Shamik emerged from his meditation, concern etched on his wise face.

"What happened, my son?" Sage Shamik asked gently, kneeling beside Shringi. "Why are you crying so much? Did something terrible happen? Why do you seem so upset, Shringi?"

Through his tears, Shringi explained, "King Parikshit has insulted you, Father. Look at what he has done, such a wrong! He came here, and I didn’t know anything about it. He must have called for me. Maybe, feeling greatly insulted because I didn’t respond, he hung this dead snake around your neck. But how could he know that you were deep in meditation at that time? No, no, it’s not his fault."

Shringi paused, guilt washing over him. "He doesn’t know that, seeing your insult, I have cursed the king terribly, Father. In the next seven days, he will die from the venom of the Takshak snake."

Sage Shamik sighed deeply, his eyes filled with both love and disappointment. "What have you done, Shringi? You are just a young boy. Why did you give such a big curse? For such a small mistake, you gave him such a severe punishment, my son. No, no, I cannot support what you have done."

"But Father," Shringi protested, "the king insulted you. How could a warrior be so arrogant?"

"Listen, a king can never be like ordinary people, my son," Sage Shamik explained patiently. "Because of a king’s power, rule, and foresight, people can live without fear. A king works for the welfare of the people. A king is like Lord Narayana himself. Without him, society would fall apart. Oh, my son, you are just a child. How do you know so much? What have I done? What have I done? Listen, listen, listen, without a king, the eternal religion will disappear. Chaos will spread across the land. Emperor Parikshit is the protector of religion. Among the devotees, he is the greatest. Parikshit has performed countless Ashwamedha Yajnas. And yet, you cursed him."

"Forgive me, Father," Shringi pleaded, his voice trembling. "I made a terrible mistake without knowing. Please save me, save me, Father."

Sage Shamik shook his head sadly. "No, my son, I cannot forgive you. You must ask God himself for forgiveness. Only if he forgives you will you be forgiven, otherwise not."

Together, father and son prayed earnestly for salvation at the sage’s hermitage. Meanwhile, in his palace, King Parikshit was filled with deep regret as he traveled through his kingdom. "Oh no," he thought miserably, "what have I done? I have insulted a great sage so badly. What madness came over me? Surely, a terrible curse will fall upon me for insulting Sage Shamik. Let it come; it will be the punishment I deserve. Let such a curse come that no one ever dares to commit such a sin again. Let everything I have burn to ashes. I am waiting for it. Shame on me, shame."

Back at his court, King Parikshit sat silently, scolding himself. His friends and followers cheered for him, shouting, "Long live King Parikshit!" But today, the king didn't pay any attention to their cheers. He didn't even raise his hand to calm them. Lost in thought, he took his seat on the throne.

Just then, a messenger arrived and announced, "Long live the king! A young sage from the hermitage of Sage Saumik has come with an important message for you. He wishes to meet you."

"Bring the young sage to me at once. I have been waiting for him," King Parikshit commanded.

Moments later, a young sage named Gaurmukh entered the court, bowing respectfully before the king. "King Parikshit, I greet you. I am the young sage Gaurmukh. I have come to you on the orders of the wise Sage Shamik. I bring you very troubling news, Your Majesty."

"I know, young sage," the king replied, his voice calm yet filled with a resigned acceptance. "I am prepared. Speak freely, Gaurmukh. I bow to you. Tell me about the curse of death."

The Ominous Curse

King Parikshit sat on his throne, his expression calm and composed, even as the words of the young sage Gaurmukh echoed through the grand hall. The court was filled with a tense silence, each person holding their breath as Gaurmukh recounted the terrible curse pronounced by Shringi.

"The curse, as Shringi declared," Gaurmukh said, his voice steady but filled with gravity, "is that within seven days, you shall be bitten by the deadly serpent king, Takshak, and meet your end."

Gasps rippled through the court, fear and disbelief etched on every face. Yet, in stark contrast, King Parikshit remained unruffled. He nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the words. "Thank you, Gaurmukh," he said, his voice resonating with a quiet strength. "I appreciate your courage in bringing this news to me."

The king rose from his throne, his mind already racing to find a way to avert his fate. "I must find a solution," he murmured to himself, determination glinting in his eyes. "There must be a way to protect myself from this doom."

As the court buzzed with murmurs, far away, Takshak, the serpent king, simmered with ancient grudges against the Pandava lineage. Upon hearing of Shringi's curse, he prepared himself, eager to fulfill the prophecy and settle old scores.

The air was thick with anticipation and unease, as everyone wondered what steps King Parikshit would take next. The fate of the king, and perhaps the kingdom, hung in the balance.