With reverence, Kaṇva bowed before the divine Gaṅgā and the personification of Hunger, addressing them both with humility and devotion. He prayed to the goddess Gaṅgā, “O goddess, grant me delightful wishes—bestow upon me wealth, long life, riches, enjoyment, and liberation. O Gaṅgā, may these blessings flow to me.” Having thus entreated her, the noble sage Kaṇva turned to address not only Gaṅgā, but also Gautamī and Hunger. He spoke earnestly, “O Hunger, O Thirst, O Poverty, let you and your influences depart from me and my descendants. Go instead to those more sinful and harsh; may you never return to us.” Kaṇva further proclaimed, “Those who suffer from hunger and praise you with this hymn shall be free from poverty and sorrow—this is another boon I ask.” He added, “Let those who, with devotion, bathe, give, recite, or perform any sacred act at this most holy ford become possessors of prosperity.” He also declared, “Whoever recites this hymn, whether at this ford or at home, shall have no fear of poverty or sorrow—this too is a boon I request.” The goddesses and Hunger, hearing his words, granted his requests, saying, “So be it.” They departed, and Kaṇva returned to his abode. From that day, the sacred ford became known as Kaṇva’s Gaṅgā, and also as Hunger. It was renowned for removing all sin and increasing the satisfaction of ancestors. Now, O Brahman, listen further of another holy place—a great ford known as Cakra-tīrtha. By bathing there with devotion, one attains the world of Hari. On the bright eleventh day, by fasting and bathing at the confluence of the Gaṅgā, one gains the eternal abode. Hear now what happened there in ancient times. Once, there was a wealthy merchant named Vishvadhara. In his later years, he was blessed with a son—virtuous, handsome, playful, and pleasing to behold. This son was dearer to his parents than life itself. But in due time, their beloved son passed away, and the couple was overwhelmed by grief. In their sorrow, they resolved to die with him, crying out in anguish, “Alas, son! Alas, cruel fate has taken you from us by a wicked destiny. Though you were in your prime and an ocean of virtues, you have been snatched away, and to us, you were more precious than life itself.” The pitiful weeping of the couple moved Yama, the lord of death, to compassion. He swiftly departed from his own city and stood upon the sacred bank of the Godāvarī, meditating on Janārdana. In a short time, because Yama had ceased his duties, no creature died, and everywhere, people grew old, burdening the earth. The earth, overwhelmed by the weight of undying beings, wondered, “How much of the earth is there, and by whom is it filled? No creature dies, and thus I am oppressed by this burden.” The goddess Earth quickly went to Indra, who was present with the gods. Indra, seeing her, bowed and asked, “O Earth, what is the purpose of your coming?” She replied, “O Indra, I am oppressed by a heavy burden—not by destruction, but by the accumulation of undying creatures. I have come to ask the reason for this—tell me, what is the cause?” Indra answered, “If there is indeed a cause, I shall know it, for I am lord of the gods and the earth.” Earth said, “Let Yama be instructed so that he may withdraw the creatures.” At Indra’s command, the Siddhas and Kinnaras were sent to bring Yama. They swiftly went to the city of Vaivasvata, but Yama was not found there. They searched everywhere, then returned to Shakra and reported, “O lord, we did not see Yama in his city, though we searched with great effort.” Hearing this, Shakra questioned Savitṛ, Yama’s father, “Where is Yama now?” Savitṛ replied, “O Śakra, Yama himself is now on the bank of the Godāvarī, engaged in severe austerity. I do not know the reason for this.” These words filled Indra with doubt and anxiety. He lamented, “Alas, this is terrible! My lordship over the gods is lost. If Yama performs austerity on the Godāvarī, he may seek to seize my position. Such is my fear, O gods.” Determined to act, Indra summoned the host of apsarases, asking, “Which among you is capable of destroying the austerity of this enemy, who is established in penance for a long time? Tell me quickly.” None of the apsarases or sages responded, and Indra, angered, declared, “Since none of you answers, then let us go ourselves. Let the gods assemble their armies without delay. We shall destroy this enemy who desires heaven through austerity.” The army of the gods gathered. But knowing Indra’s heart, Hari, the sustainer of the worlds, sent his discus to protect Yama. Wherever the discus rested, there arose the supreme holy place called Cakra-tīrtha. Then Menakā spoke to Indra, expressing her concern, “O Lord of the gods, none of us can withstand the gaze of Kāla, the Lord of Time. Death at your hands is preferable to death at Yama’s.” Another courtesan, intoxicated by her own beauty and youth, accustomed to solicitation, declared, “Send me, O Lord; let me go, for I consider myself your property.” Thus, the narrative reveals the interplay of divine will, compassion, and the sanctity of these holy fords, where the actions of gods and mortals alike shape the blessings and burdens of the world.