Suta said: "After some days, Jaratkaru, the great ascetic, laid his head in her lap and fell asleep, as if utterly weary. And while that foremost of brahmins slept, the sun was drawing toward the mountain of its setting, at the close of day, O brahmin; then Vasuki's sister, fearing a lapse of dharma, wise as she was, fell to thinking: 'What would be good for me — to wake my husband, or not? He is of a difficult nature, though righteous; how might I avoid offending him? Which is worse — the anger of a righteous husband, or a lapse of dharma? A lapse of dharma is surely the graver thing,' she resolved in her mind. 'If I wake him, he will surely grow angry; but if the twilight rite is missed, a lapse of dharma is certain.' Having thus resolved in her mind, Vasuki's sister spoke a gentle word to that sleeping sage, sweet of speech: 'Rise, O greatly blessed one, the sun is going down; perform the twilight worship, my lord, having touched water, you who are firm in your vow. The fire-offering has already been kindled; the hour has come, both lovely and forbidding; and now this evening twilight is falling in the western quarter, my lord.' Thus addressed, the lord Jaratkaru, the great ascetic, his lips trembling [with anger], said this word to his wife: 'You have offered me an insult, O serpent-woman; I will not remain beside you — I will go as I came. For while I sleep, O fair-thighed one, the sun has no power to set at its due time — so it stands in my heart. And it does not befit one who has been slighted to remain anywhere — how much less one righteous as I, or one like me.' Thus addressed by her husband, Vasuki's sister, her heart trembling, said there, in that dwelling: 'It was not out of disrespect that I woke you; I did this only so that no lapse of dharma should befall you, O brahmin.' Thus addressed, Jaratkaru, the great ascetic, overcome with anger and wishing to abandon the serpent-woman, said: 'My word does not lie — I will go, O serpent-woman; for this pact was made between us before. I have dwelt happily [with you], O gracious one; tell your brother, once I am gone from here: "The lord has departed." And you, once I have gone, should not give way to grief.' Thus addressed, the flawless-limbed wife then answered her husband Jaratkaru — she who was herself named Jaratkaru — given over to anxious grief, her voice choked with tears, her face parched dry, her hands joined in supplication, the fair-hipped one, her eyes brimming with tears, summoning her courage, her heart trembling: 'You should not, O knower of dharma, forsake me, who am blameless — me, who stand firm in dharma even as you stand firm in dharma, ever devoted to your good. The purpose for which I was given to you, best of the twice-born — if it remains unfulfilled, what will Vasuki say of me, wretched as I am? The offspring longed for by my kinsmen, who lie under a mother's curse, is a child from you — and it is not yet to be seen. Only by the gaining of offspring from you would good fortune come to my kinsmen; let not this union of mine with you, O brahmin, prove in vain. Wishing the good of my kinsmen, my lord, I beseech you: having planted in me this yet-unmanifest fetus, how can you, being great of soul, wish to go, forsaking me, who am blameless?' Thus addressed, that sage Jaratkaru, rich in austerity, spoke a word to his wife, [acknowledging it] fitting: 'This fetus of yours already exists, O fortunate one, resembling Vaishvanara (Agni) — a sage, most righteous, versed in the Vedas and the Vedangas.' Having said this, the righteous great sage Jaratkaru, his resolve made firm, went once more to fierce austerity."