Jaratkaru Abandons His Wife After Perceived Insult
Jaratkaru falls asleep at sunset with his head in his wife's lap, forcing her to choose between his anger and his dharma. She wakes him for his prayers, and he, enraged by the perceived insult, carries out his vow to leave her — despite her pregnancy and her family's desperate need for a son.
In time, Vasuki’s sister conceived a child who grew in her womb, radiant like the god of fire. One day, the famous sage Jaratkaru, weary from his austerities, fell asleep with his head resting in his wife’s lap. As he slept, the setting sun touched the mountain peaks.
His wife was caught in a dilemma. The day was ending, and with it would pass the time for the evening prayers and agnihotra (fire sacrifice). If she let him sleep, he would suffer a loss of dharma. If she woke him, she risked his terrible anger. She weighed the two evils in her mind. “It seems to me that the loss of dharma is the greater evil.”
Steeling herself, she spoke to the rishi asleep before her, blazing like a banked fire. Her voice was sweet. “O greatly illustrious one! Wake up, the sun is setting. Touch the water and perform the evening prayers. The fearful and beautiful moment for agnihotra has arrived. Dusk is gradually spreading over the western direction.”
Jaratkaru awoke. His lips quivered with anger. “O snake! You have insulted me. I shall no longer live with you. I will go away to the place from where I had come.” He dismissed her practical concern with a statement of his own power. “O lady with the beautiful thighs! If I am asleep, I know for certain that the sun does not have the power to set. No one likes to stay in a place where he has been insulted, let alone those who are like me and are devoted to dharma like me.”
His wife’s heart trembled. She pleaded that she had acted only to save him from a loss in dharma, not to insult him. But Jaratkaru’s mind was made up. “O snake! I have never uttered a lie. Therefore, I have to go.” He reminded her of their original agreement — the condition he had set on their very first night. He told her to inform her brother that the illustrious one had left, and asked her not to grieve.
Now her anxiety and sorrow overflowed. Her mouth went dry, her eyes filled with tears, and her voice choked with sobs. Steadying herself, she made a final appeal with joined palms. She was innocent. She had not yet accomplished the purpose for which she was given to him — to bear the son who would save her snake relatives from their mother’s curse. The child was in her womb, but not yet visible. “O supreme one! Why should a great-souled one like you abandon an innocent one when the conception is still not apparent?”
The hermit, blessed with the power of austerities, gave her his last words. They were a promise, but not a reprieve. “O fortunate one! The one who is in your womb now will be a rishi who will be like the god of fire himself. He will be the best of those who follow dharma and will be learned in the Vedas and the Vedangas.”
Having said this, the virtuous Jaratkaru went away. His heart was once again firmly fixed on the practice of great austerities, leaving his wife alone with the child who would one day be known as Astika.