A Description Of The Sarpa Yajna

Janamejaya — king of Kuru vamsha, son of Parikshit, heir to rage.

He did not just mourn his father’s death. He did not just weep. No — he burned with purpose.

For Takshaka, the serpent king, had killed his father — not in battle, not face to face, but with poison, hidden, deceitful. And this was no random act — it was clothed in curse, wrapped in fate, but drenched in blood nonetheless.

Janamejaya rose like a flame and declared:

‘I shall not let my father’s soul wander unavenged.
Let the skies open and pour down serpents into fire.
Let every fang that has ever tasted innocence perish.
Let the Naga-vamsha be no more.’

And so began the Sarpa-Satra — the snake sacrifice.

Not a slaughter. Not a massacre.
A Yajna.
A sacred ritual, rooted in Veda, cleansed of personal karma.
It wasn’t revenge alone — it was cosmic rectification.

You see, this wasn’t just Janamejaya’s wrath.
It was destiny, already whispered by the lips of gods.

Long ago, Kadru, mother of serpents, had cursed her own children.
Their venom had outgrown their purpose.
Their numbers had become monstrous.
Innocents were dying. Fear ruled the forests.

Brahma himself had approved:

‘Let only the wicked serpents burn. Let the pure be saved. Let balance be restored.’

Thus, the yajna was not against dharma — it was dharma’s very execution.

But this was no ordinary yajna.

The priests who led it? Titans of tapasya:

• Chandabhargava – the Hota, Rigvedi-purohita, descendant of Shaunaka himself.

• Pingala – the Adhwaryu, Yajurvedi master, mover of rituals and offerings.

• Kautsa – the Udgata, Samavedi, learned in chants that stir even the stars.

• Jaimini – the Brahma, Atharvavedi sage, keeper of hidden forces.

But it did not stop there.

Vyasa came.
Shukadeva came.
So did Uddalaka, Shvetaketu, Devala, Narada, Parvata, Aatreya, and dozens more.

These were not men of blind fire — these were living scriptures.
If they stood by the yajna, then its cause was pure.

And oh, what a sight it was.

The agni-kunda blazed like a second sun.
Every ahuti — every offering — came with a name.

Not just ‘serpents’ — but names, lineages, gotras. Precision.

“We offer Kotisha, Manasa, Shala, Halimaka, Picchala, Kaunapa, Chakra…”
And they came.
Screaming.
Burning.
Dragged by mantra-shakti, their very essence unraveling in the flames.

From Takshaka’s clan, from Airavata’s vamsha, from Kauravya’s bloodline, from Dhritarashtra’s serpentine lineage — they fell.

Black, red, blue, green.
Miles long or thumb-sized.
Hissing, coiling, clinging to one another.
But nothing — nothing — could stop the pull of the mantras.

Some tried to hold on to trees. Others latched onto the limbs of their kin.
But fire would not be denied.

The skies rained snakes.
Their fat flowed like rivers, their stench filled the air, and still the ritual continued.

Even mighty Vasuki, king of serpents, trembled.
He knew Brahma had said: “Only the cruel shall perish.”
But now? All were falling.

And Takshaka — the cause, the cursed — saw death approach and fled.

He ran not into the woods, but into the palace of Indra.

“O King of Devas, protect me!”
Indra replied, “You are under my shelter. I will not let harm come to you.”

But then Vasuki remembered — a sliver of hope remained.

Jaratkaru, his sister, had a son — Astika.
Born of a sage. Raised with wisdom.
A boy — but not ordinary.

For Brahma had long declared:

“When the fire of the Sarpa-yajna threatens to consume all,
It shall be Astika, the child of knowledge,
Who shall step into the storm and speak truth that halts the flames.”

The time had come.

Vasuki summoned Jaratkaru.
“Send him. Send your son. Before we are all ashes.”

And thus, while fire roared and serpents screamed, while kings chanted and Rishis poured ghee, while the heavens watched with tense silence — Astika took his first step toward the yajna mandapa.

The one who would stand before kings and halt the mantra.
The one who would speak truth louder than fire.

Shall I take you into that next moment — when Astika arrives and speaks to Janamejaya? Or do you want images for this fiery chapter? The next part is where the story shifts from revenge to wisdom. Let me know how you'd like to continue.

Ramaswamy Sastry and Vighnesh Ghanapaathi