Savithri rose before the breaking of dawn, her heart weighted with the knowledge that the destined end of her husband drew near. She completed her sacred rites with unwavering composure, served her elders with devotion, and received from them blessings for an enduring marital bond. When the day had reached its warm middle, her father-in-law called to her and spoke with gentle concern: “O Savithri, you have undertaken a difficult vow. Three days have passed and this is the fourth. You are weary and weakened. Conclude the rite with food; it is unwise to delay.” She bowed respectfully and replied, “Revered sir, I cannot partake until dusk. Before beginning this observance, I vowed to fast, and I shall not turn from my word. Satyavan has gone to the forest to gather sacred grass, fruit, and wood for the holy fire.”
When he returned, she said to him quietly, yet with firm resolve, that she would accompany him. He protested, reminding her of her three days of fasting, but she answered that her mind knew no faintness. She had heard that the forest shimmered with tender leaves and blossoming creepers, with groves heavy with fruit, and her heart longed to behold its splendour. She entreated him not to refuse her, for her wish was small. Satyavan, moved by her earnestness, consented. She then approached Dyumatsena, saying, “Your son goes to gather firewood for the sacred rite. My spirit is eager to see the forest. Permit me to walk beside him.” The elders, noting that she had never asked any boon until that moment, reasoned that her wish was harmless and allowed her to go. Touching their feet in reverence, she set forth with her husband.
They walked in quiet companionship until the woodland rose before them. Satyavan spoke of its wonders: swans drifting across the lake like moonlight swaying in the heavens, creepers heavy with blossoms casting a cool radiance upon the air, bees humming drunkenly over sweet fruit, and birds murmuring drowsy songs after their feast. Savithri listened to him with tender attention, her eyes absorbing the beauty around her, her mind alert to his every gesture. Satyavan filled his baskets with ripe fruit, and while cutting dry wood for the sacred fire, fatigue overcame him. He let the axe fall, breathed heavily, and turned to her with troubled eyes. His limbs trembled, his head reeled with sudden agony; in a faint whisper, he begged for rest. She placed his head upon her lap; but scarcely had she done so when she felt his consciousness slipping away.
As she watched over him in stillness, a presence stirred the air. A radiant being emerged—a dark form like a storm-laden cloud, with eyes blazing like red fire, adorned in garments of gold that shone like lightning. In his hand he bore the cord of destiny. Approaching with measured, sovereign stride, he seemed as though he were the very flame of the world’s ending. Savithri, trembling, addressed him: “O noble one, who are you, and for what purpose have you come?” The divine figure answered, “Lotus-eyed lady, I am Yama, lord of the end. Because you are chaste and steadfast in virtue, you are able to behold me; others cannot. The span of your husband’s life is fulfilled. His merit is great, and therefore I have come in person.” With that, he cast his noose and drew forth the subtle body of Satyavan, then began his path toward the southern realm.
Savithri tended her husband’s earthly form with devotion, then set out after Yama. Seeing her following him across the harsh path, he turned and spoke with stern compassion: “O gentle maiden, you cannot proceed further. Turn back; this journey is not for mortals.” She answered with calm conviction, “Lord of Dharma, wherever the husband goes, the wife must follow. Through your grace, and through my devotion to my husband, I believe no distance is impassable. I know I am unworthy to counsel you, but listen to my words: of all goals, virtue is supreme; those who walk in righteousness are the pillars of the world. Their presence never proves fruitless. Having received the vision of your divine form, how can I return empty-handed?”
Astonished by the clarity of her reasoning, Yama said, “Your pious words delight my mind. Ask a boon—anything except the life of your husband.” With folded hands, she replied, “Let Dyumatsena regain his sight.” Yama granted it and urged her to turn back, yet she continued walking beside him. She then spoke of the ancient code: purity of thought, word, and deed; harmony among the three; non-violence in all; compassion toward the helpless; charity without measure; and shelter freely given to those who seek refuge. “These,” she said, “are the laws upheld by honourable beings. You, O lord of righteousness, embody them more than any. The sages call you Samavarti—impartial, purifier of sin, judge of deeds.” Yama, hearing her words, felt his sternness soften and granted her another boon. She asked that Dyumatsena recover his kingdom, and it was granted.
Still she walked beside him. He warned her once more that the path was forbidden to mortals, but she replied gently, “O lord of Dharma, the righteous never abandon their duty, nor do they yield to the illusions of grief. How could I turn from my husband while I yet breathe?” Yama, moved by her steadfastness, said, “Ask again—anything but his life.” With reverence, she asked that her father, the king of Madra, who had no sons, be blessed with a hundred heirs. This, too, Yama granted and urged her again to rest. But Savithri’s spirit glowed with unwavering purpose, and she continued, saying, “The presence of truly virtuous souls keeps creation in balance—the oceans within their shores, the mountains in their majesty, the earth steady beneath the weight of life. And when two beings exchange even seven words with sincerity, they become kin. We have spoken far more; thus, I am your friend by sacred tradition. Fulfill the wish of a friend, for that itself is righteousness.”
Yama’s heart swelled with admiration. “Ask what you will,” he said, “except his life.” Then Savithri, seizing the moment with wisdom brighter than flame, said, “O guardian of Dharma, you have granted me sons for my father; you have spoken without condition. How shall I bear sons if my husband remains lifeless? Restore his life, for the pain of separation is unbearable, and without him no sacred duty remains for me.” Yama, recognizing the flaw in his own promise, smiled with divine grace and said, “O faithful Savithri, your words bind logic with virtue. Take back the life of your husband. He shall live four hundred years, and you shall bear a hundred sons. He will perform great sacrifices and earn the love of heaven.” With that, the lord of Dharma vanished.
Savithri returned to the forest, placed her husband’s head again upon her lap, and waited. In time, he awoke, confused, saying he had felt a great being seize him, and wondered if it were a dream or the truth. She soothed him and said the tale would be told on the morrow, for night had fallen and the forest had grown perilous with roaming beasts and sinister calls. Urging him to rise, she led him homeward, her heart steady with triumph. Thus begins the shining chapter of Savithri’s brilliance, wisdom, and unfaltering resolve—how she conversed with the lord of Dharma, bent the course of destiny, and won back the life that fate had denied. The rest of the tale unfolds in splendour thereafter.
