King Janamejaya sat on the throne of Hastinapura, but his heart bore the weight of grief. He was the son of Parikshit — the king who had died not in battle, but by venom. Takshaka, the serpent-king, had brought death to his father despite every ritual of protection, every sacred mantra, and every wall built to keep fate away.
Janamejaya did not forget.
He summoned his priests and ministers. His voice was steady, but his words burned with rage.
"We shall perform a sacrifice. Not for gods. Not for peace. This sacrifice shall be for vengeance. Let every snake in this world be dragged into the fire. Let Takshaka be burned among them."
The court was stunned, but no one objected. A king's word was law.
Preparations began for the Sarpa Satra — the Snake Sacrifice. A massive platform was built. Fires were consecrated. Sacred mantras were arranged. Learned priests took their places, chief among them the sage Uttanka, who had his own reasons to hate Takshaka.
As the rites began, the fire responded.
By the power of invocation and ritual, serpents from every corner of the world — great and small, winged and scaled, black and gold — began to fall into the sacrificial flames. The sky was filled with their cries, their bodies twisting in helpless flight as divine energy pulled them in.
The world of serpents trembled.
But Takshaka, the one they sought most, had vanished. He had taken refuge with Indra, king of the gods.
The priests increased the power of their chants. They called not just to the earth, but to the heavens. The fire grew hotter, hungrier.
Even Indra, seated in his divine palace, felt its pull. Takshaka clung to him in fear.
"Save me, O king of the gods!"
But the ritual was unrelenting. Takshaka and Indra began to descend, drawn by the inexorable force of the sacrificial fire.
Just then, a young boy named Astika stepped forward.
He was the son of a man and a serpent-woman — born of both worlds. Wise beyond his years, trained in scripture and restraint, Astika had been sent by the serpent race to stop the destruction.
He entered Janamejaya's court during the sacrifice. The king, bound by custom, had promised to grant any request made by a Brahmana on that day.
Astika stood before him and bowed.
"O King, you have vowed to give a gift to any Brahmana who asks today. Grant me this: stop the sacrifice."
Janamejaya was stunned.
"You know why this is being done."
"I do," said Astika. "But the serpents are not all guilty. Shall the innocent burn for the crimes of one?"
The king hesitated. The priests protested. But Janamejaya had spoken a vow — and a king's word was sacred.
He raised his hand.
"Let the sacrifice end."
The flames calmed. The chants ceased. Takshaka was saved. The serpents were spared.
Astika was honored, and Janamejaya, though still heavy with grief, accepted the outcome as fate.
In the silence that followed, a bard named Ugrasrava Sauti stepped into the king's presence.
"I know a story," he said. "A true one. Told by Vyasa, written by Ganesha, preserved by time. A story of your ancestors. Of war, destiny, and the collapse of dharma."
And so, in that moment — after fire, fury, and restraint — the Mahabharata began to be told again.