When the divine and gracious Savitri beheld her husband rise again from the noose of life’s departing breath, she perceived in him a strange and sacred change. With a gentle voice, she spoke: “O Satyavan, treasury of noble qualities, darkness already thickens around us. Our hermitage lies far from this place, and thy weariness has not wholly left thee.
If thou art still fatigued, why must we hasten? Let us tarry here through the night and return only when dawn has dispelled the gloom.” Satyavan replied, “The weight in my head has lifted, and new strength flows gently within me. I shall walk, though slowly, until we reach the hermitage. Yet how shall I remain here without the sight of my parents? Never before have I stayed so long away from them; what anxiety must now torment them because of my delay!
My mother permits me not to wander late into the evening; today her heart must be shaken in this desolate forest because I have tarried. I do not know what storms of fear now pass through her mind. Often has she held me close and said with tears, ‘Beloved son, thou art our fivefold breath; thou art the vessel by which we cross the ocean of worldly existence. Through thine eyes our blind gaze beholds the world; our very life is thine.
We trust that thou shalt bear forward the honour of our lineage.’ Such are the affections with which my aged parents surround me; their sole discipline is my welfare. This day’s delay must have weighed heavily on them. I came only to gather fruits and firewood—had I finished early and returned to the hermitage, their anguish would not have arisen. By the strange sport of fate, I was detained in this place. What shall I do now?
My father knows not where I am. He must be asking the dwellers of the hermitage again and again, yet they cannot answer, for they know not where I remain. How shall I soothe his grief? Perhaps their frail and trembling lives have nearly slipped away in fear for me. What profit is there in my return if such sorrow has already seized them? In that case, grief itself would consume my life.”
Thus, he lamented, and Savitri, with tenderness like the soft stems of lotus flowers, uplifted him and embraced him. Rising, he brushed the dust from his limbs, and together they prepared to depart. Savitri, finding the burden of the fruit-basket too great in that moment, hung it upon a branch. Taking the axe in one hand and guiding Satyavan’s left arm upon her shoulder, she led him slowly through the forest.
In the hermitage, at that very hour, Dyumatsena suddenly recovered his sight—a marvel beyond all telling. Yet though his outward vision returned, the inner eye of his heart perceived not Satyavan. The aged king looked to every side, his joy darkened by the absence of his son. With tears rising, he spoke to his queen, and soon his sorrow overflowed. Calling aloud, he questioned the sages: “Have you seen my Satyavan?” Bereft of strength, he cried again and again, “My son, where art thou?” The hermits marvelled at his restored sight and sought to soothe his troubled heart.
At that moment, Satyavan approached the hermitage with Savitri by his side. The parents embraced him with overwhelming relief, and all rejoiced. “Child,” said they, “why hast thou delayed so long?” Satyavan answered, “In gathering fruits and cutting wood, I grew weary, my head pained me, and I lay to rest. Then a powerful being drew me away—” but Savitri gently intervened. To Dyumatsena she said, “Today the prince reached the final limit of his life, as declared by sage Nārada. Knowing the prophecy true, I remained ever watchful and followed him into the forest. When he felt weary and slept, the Lord of Death came and took his life.
I pursued Yama and praised him with truth and righteousness. By one boon granted, Satyavan was restored to life; by another, thy sight has returned. The remaining two boons secure the restoration of thy kingdom and the birth of a hundred sons to my father.” At these words, the hearts of Dyumatsena and his queen melted like sandal paste warmed by sacred fire. In reverence, they proclaimed, “Thy deeds shall be praised in every age. Thou hast rescued our lineage from sinking into calamity, and hast laid the foundation of future prosperity.” They honoured Savitri with noble words, and the sages bestowed their blessings before departing.
Soon, servants, ministers, elders, and citizens arrived, bowing before Dyumatsena: “O revered king, thy enemies have perished by their own strife and treachery. None remains. The people beseech thee to reclaim thy throne. Thy victory is proclaimed throughout the realms. Come forth upon the royal elephant and return to thy kingdom. Thy penance has borne wondrous fruit; fortune has returned to us.” Pleased, Dyumatsena sought the sages’ leave, mounted the royal elephant with his son, and, upon regaining his realm, anointed Satyavan as crown prince. Thus, by Savitri’s virtue, the king’s glory and wealth shone anew. O Dharmaraja—husband, in-laws, parents, and Savitri herself were all preserved by her righteousness. Even as Draupadi, may she bestow blessings upon thy lineage. After the tale of Savitri concluded, sage Markandeya returned to his hermitage.
Then Janamejaya asked Vyasa’s disciple Vaisampayana: “Revered one, how did Indra obtain the natural Armor and earrings of Karna?” Vaisampayana thus spoke: When the exiled Pandavas neared the end of their twelfth year, Indra resolved to aid them. The Sun-God, perceiving this intent, sought to warn Karna. Concealing his radiance beneath the guise of a learned Brahmin, he met Karna alone and said, “For thy welfare I reveal a hidden danger: Indra, ever partial to the Pandavas, may come to thee in disguise to beg for thy divine Armor and earrings. Thou art famed for charity, especially to Brahmins, and refusest none. Divert him with gold and jewels; seek his Favor, but guard thy birth-gifts, for as long as they remain, none can vanquish thee.” Karna, hearing these words, bowed and replied, “O spotless one, thou art not what thou seem.
None knows my secret—thou art a celestial. Reveal thyself.” The deity answered, “I am the Sun-god, and for thy good have I spoken of thy duty to protect thyself.” Karna, with folded hands, said, “O radiant lord, thy kindness in coming to guide me fulfils my life.
Yet hear my vow: if a Brahmin asks even for my life, I shall give it without hesitation. The world knows this oath. If the king of the gods himself comes to beg my Armor and earrings, what are such things compared to my vow? My mortal body is but straw beside my honour. Let Indra come—it shall diminish his glory but shall spread mine through all the worlds. Better is death attended by fame than life steeped in disgrace.
Reputation lights a righteous path and guards a man like a mother. Life emptied of honour is but a corpse. As Brahma once declared, disgrace devours righteousness and brings all calamities. These principles are my daily rule: give to Brahmins whatever lies within my power; confront the strong enemy; die with courage if death must come; spare and protect even the worst foe who seeks refuge; aid elders, women, children, Brahmins, and all the weak who fall into trouble. If I fail in even one of these, my honour collapses. Therefore, I shall give my Armor and earrings to Indra.”
The Sun-God answered, “O Karna, though thy friends advise thee for thy own good, thou art innocent of guile, and cunning finds no place in thy thoughts. Hear instead a prosperous path instead. Glory gained by sacrificing kinsmen is worthless; only glory that protects all is worthy. Thy foremost duty is to guard thy divine gifts. If life endures, all things—kin, fame, brilliance, hope—shall flourish. When life departs, a man becomes dust; what use is honour he cannot experience? Fame gathered after death is but ornament on a lifeless form. Since thou art my pure devotee, I must protect thee.
A celestial secret lies hidden, which I cannot reveal now, but it shall be known in time. Between thee and Arjuna, a conflict without remedy must arise. With thy Armor intact, thou art unconquerable; without it, peril draws near.” Karna replied, “O lord, lotus-born in radiance, thou art compassion itself. I know thy counsel springs from affection for thy devotee; yet grant me leave to speak. I fear falsehood more than death.
I shall not betray righteousness. Lead me not from the path of truth. And deem not Arjuna invincible; thou knowest the divine missiles I possess from Drona and Paraśurāma. I shall surely subdue Arjuna. Bless me.” Then the Sun-God said, “If thou art resolved to give thy Armor to Indra, then demand in return the mighty weapon Sakti. First receive that tremendous power; afterward, surrender thy Armor. With that terrible missile thou shalt destroy foes many times over, and it shall return to thy hand. With its Indra conquered uncounted demons. If thou obtain it, thou shalt surpass all enemies.”
Having spoken thus, the Sun-God vanished. Vaisampayana concluded: Thus shone Karna’s noble discourse, revealing him not as a deceitful warrior but as one whose truth, generosity, and steadfast vow stand eternal, a beacon of righteousness for generations to follow.
