Vibhandaka Discovers His Son's Disturbed State

Vibhandaka returned to the hermitage. He was a formidable presence — eyes tawny like a lion's, his body covered with hair up to the tips of his nails, a man of learning, conduct, and deep meditative faculties. He had raised his son in isolation, in the discipline of the forest, away from the world and its distractions. He saw his son seated alone. Rishyashringa was immersed in thought. His mind was disturbed. His eyes were raised up, as if searching for something that was no longer there. He sighed repeatedly. Vibhandaka spoke to his dejected son. "O son! Why has wood for the sacrificial kindling not been brought? Have you still not performed agnihotra today? Have the sacrificial ladles been cleaned? Have you brought out the sacrificial cow and her calf today?" The questions were simple, practical — the daily rhythm of hermitage life. But each one pointed to something missing. The fire had not been fed. The rituals had not been performed. The ordinary order of the day had collapsed. "O son! You do not seem as you used to be. You are immersed in thought and have lost your senses. Why are you so dejected today?" Then the question that mattered most: "I am asking you. Who came here today?"