The disciple of Parashurama, the sage Akruthavarṇa, continued his narration of Jamadagni. During the years when Jamadagni and his family lived in strict austerity, his sons once went into the forest to gather fruits and sacred grass. It so happened that the mighty Haihaya monarch, Kārtavīrya, radiant in strength like the blazing sun, and famed for his thousand arms, entered that forest on a royal hunt. His retinue filled the woods with noise, and soon he came upon the hermitage of Jamadagni. The sage, true to his hospitality, received the king with reverence, but the monarch, swollen with pride and blinded by power, behaved with reckless arrogance. He trampled upon the sanctified ground, shattered the ritual enclosures, crushed tender creepers and sacred trees, and in insolent defiance seized the divine cow that provided milk for sacrifices and worship.
When Rāma returned from the forest, his father spoke with sorrow: “The king has taken our sacred cow by force and mocked our austerity. He is too powerful for us to resist.” Hearing this, Rāma’s wrath flared like wildfire. He declared that such arrogance deserved correction and set out with his bow. He pursued Kārtavīrya’s forces, showered arrows upon them, and destroyed his vast army. In valor and fury beyond mortal measure, Parashurama confronted Kārtavīrya, cut off his thousand arms, and slew him—draining his pride drop by drop until he lay lifeless.
But vengeance did not end there. The sons of Kārtavīrya, consumed by hatred, came to Jamadagni’s hermitage when Rāma was away. In their wickedness, they bound the sage and struck him down, deaf to his cries for his son. Thus perished the righteous Jamadagni—slain by ignorance and cruelty. When Rāma returned, he beheld his father’s lifeless body and his mother weeping bitterly beside it. His heart, burning like a tower of fire, could not bear the sight. “The Haihayas,” he said, “have murdered a man of peace, a sage beloved by gods and men, a fountain of knowledge and virtue. Such a crime cries for vengeance.”
In that moment, Parashurama, steadfast and terrible, vowed to purge the earth of the Kshatriya race. The heavens trembled, the earth quaked, and the oceans moaned at the vow of the sage-warrior. Guided by destiny, he swept across the quarters of the world guarded by the celestial elephants—Airāvata, Puṇḍarīka, Vāmana, Kumuda, Añjana, Puṣpadanta, Sarvabhauma, and Supratīka—conquering all lands. Having fulfilled his vow, he conducted great sacrifices, bestowed the earth upon Sage Kaśyapa, and withdrew from worldly ties to dwell in deep penance upon Mount Mahendra.
In later times, King Dharmaja, accompanied by his brothers and learned Brahmins, came to that mountain on the sacred day of Chaturdashi. They beheld Parashurama in divine radiance, worshipped him with devotion, and, receiving his blessings, journeyed southward. Reaching the holy land of Tryambaka, where the river Godavari—Dakṣiṇa Gaṅgā—flows, they bathed and offered gifts of cows, gold, and gems to the Brahmins. Moving onward through many pilgrimage shrines, they came to the Agastya Tirtha in the Dravidian realm, where once Arjuna had gifted a thousand cows. Delighted to learn of it, Dharmaja continued his sacred journey to Surparaka, where they saw the altar of Parashurama near the sea. From there, they reached the ocean and performed penance for twelve days, subsisting on air and standing amidst the five fires—Dakshina, Āvahaniya, Gārhapatya, Sabhya, and Anvahārya.
Their arrival became known to Balarama, Krishna, and the Vrishni lords, who came forth to greet the weary but radiant Pandavas, their bodies clothed in coarse linen and deer-skin, bearing the glow of sanctified austerity. Seeing their hardship, Krishna and Balarama comforted Draupadi and listened as Dharmaja spoke of their trials in the wilderness, their pilgrimage, and Arjuna’s divine boons from Indra. The Yadava chiefs condemned the blindness of Dhritarashtra and the wickedness of his sons. “It is folly,” they said, “to banish the righteous to the forest. Drona and Bhishma failed to restrain Duryodhana’s arrogance. When truth and valor are oppressed, the world suffers. The Kauravas must be overthrown, and Dharmaja restored as king. Supported by Krishna, Balarama, Pradyumna, and Aniruddha, none can stand before the Pandavas’ might.”
Krishna turned to Dharmaja and said, “As Satyaki has spoken, so shall it be. The world shall again rest under your rule.” Dharmaja bowed humbly and replied, “With your grace, O Krishna, no enemy can stand against us. Yet bound by my vow of exile, I shall not violate my word.” His composure pacified the impassioned Yadavas, who soon departed. The Pandavas then bathed in the divine river Payoshni, where the sage Romasa recounted the ancient glory of King Nriga, who had performed mighty sacrifices that strengthened Indra and subdued demons.
Romasa spoke further: in earlier times, the son of Ādharma Rājasa, King Gaya, had performed a grand yajna upon those banks. Even now the golden vessels, ladles, and sacrificial poles remained as relics of that holy age. The gods themselves bathed there, and so the waters of Payoshni were deemed sacred, bestowing endless merit upon those who entered them.
As they journeyed onward, they beheld a mountain of lapis lazuli shining like moonlight. There, Romasa told another tale—that at the close of the Tretā age, King Saryāti had given his daughter Sukanyā in marriage to the sage Chyavana to atone for a grave mistake. For once, while the sage was lost in long penance and covered by an anthill, the young princess, seeing two glowing lights that were the eyes of the ascetic, had unwittingly disturbed him. Her father, realizing her error, offered her in marriage to the sage as penance.
Sukanyā served her husband with unwavering devotion. One day, the divine physicians, the Ashwins, beheld her and mocked her fortune, saying, “Why do you waste your beauty beside this aged hermit? We can restore your youth and grant you joy.” But Sukanyā rebuked them, declaring her eternal loyalty to her husband. Chyavana, moved by her fidelity, later blessed her with a miracle that united youth and virtue. Thus, the stories of sages and kings flowed endlessly from the lips of Romasa, each a mirror of cosmic truth, revealing the hidden order of destiny woven through the ages.
