How Astika Stopped Janamejaya's Sarpa Yajna

The Sarpa-yajna was raging — more serpents had fallen than could be counted, burnt offerings of a cursed lineage lighting up the skies. Takshaka, the heart of this yajna, was still untouched. Hidden. Sheltered by none other than Indra, king of Swarga.

And into this storm stood Astika, calm as a full moon on a war-torn night.

He had praised the yajna, lifted the yajamana with honeyed truth, and earned his moment.

Janamejaya, beaming with pride, declared before the purohitas and assembled sages:

‘Let this brilliant boy be granted a boon! Ask what you will, child. Gold, land, cattle, gems — the kingdom itself if you so desire!’

The scholars nodded.

‘He may be young, but his wisdom burns brighter than age. A promise made on the vedi cannot be taken back.’

But a murmur stirred.

‘O King,’ said the ritwiks, ‘remember... our task is still incomplete. Takshaka lives. He is still protected — by Indra himself, hiding in Swargaloka!’

And then... a pause.
All eyes turned to Suta, the Purana-knower, the bard who could see across kalpas.

Suta said:

‘Yes. This happened before. In the previous kalpa too, Indra shielded Takshaka. The present is but a reflection of what was. Time runs in circles, not lines. What you see now is only a retelling.’

Why didn’t Suta warn Janamejaya of Astika’s real intent?

Maybe... he wasn't allowed to.
Maybe the future was veiled.
Or maybe, just maybe, this tale needed to unfold.

After all, even in the Ramayana, Sanatkumara's prediction to Dasharatha wasn’t fully revealed until it had to be.
Dharma works through timing, not control.

Janamejaya, impatient now, roared:

‘Then bring Indra himself! Let the lord of Swarga answer!’

The purohitas, their mantras sharp as lightning, invoked Indra.

And he appeared — seated on his vimana, crowned, dazzling, flanked by devas.

But Takshaka, curled beneath Indra’s uttareeya, was trembling.

Janamejaya saw. And he was done.

‘So Indra shelters my enemy? Fine. Let Indra fall into Agni too!’

The flames surged.

Indra, realizing this was no invitation for honors but a summons for destruction, abandoned Takshaka and fled.

Takshaka, now exposed, was pulled by the very Agni he thought he had escaped.

He screamed. He hissed. He twisted.

A mountain of serpent-flesh falling toward fire.
The heavens echoed with horrific shrieks.
The yajna was seconds away from completion.

And just then...

Astika stepped forward.

His voice was gentle, but it struck the court like thunder:

‘O King... grant me the boon you promised.’

Janamejaya smiled.

‘Name it, boy. Anything! I shall fulfill it at once.’

Astika’s eyes were steady. His voice unwavering:

‘Stop this yajna. Now.’

It was as if a thunderclap had silenced the wind.

Janamejaya froze.

‘What? This yajna — this very fire — was lit for revenge.
For the blood of my father. For justice.
And Takshaka still lives.
Why do you ask this?’

Astika simply said:

‘Because behind every serpent’s fang, there is a mother’s name.
And my mother’s clan will be destroyed if this continues.
I ask for no gold, no jewels, no land.
Only mercy. Only restraint.
Only the right to protect my mother’s vamsha.’

Janamejaya pleaded.

‘Please… take anything else.
Take the wealth of the kingdom.
But let me finish what I began.’

Astika did not bend.

He stood firm like a dharma-stambha, unshaken by emotion, untouched by temptation.

‘A king’s word is his crown.
You promised.
You must keep it.’

The rishis murmured in agreement.

The purohitas nodded gravely.

‘O King, you have no choice now.
A yajamana does not go back on a vow,
Especially one made before sages and Agni.
Let your wrath end, and dharma be fulfilled.’

And thus...

The fire slowed.

The mantras paused.

The winds calmed.

Astika, born of a serpent mother and a sage father, became the one soul who stopped death by word alone.

Ramaswamy Sastry and Vighnesh Ghanapaathi