Alas! Indra, the mighty king of the gods, was seized by dread as he realized the gravity of his predicament. “This is terrible—most terrible indeed!” he lamented before the assembled deities. “My lordship over the gods is slipping away. Yama, performing fierce austerities on the banks of the Godāvarī with dark intent, surely aims to seize my very throne—such is my fear, O gods.” Having voiced his anxiety, Indra immediately summoned the host of apsarases, the celestial nymphs. He addressed them with urgency: “Which among you is capable of breaking the austerity of this formidable foe, who has been steadfast in penance for so long? Speak quickly!” But upon hearing Śakra’s—Indra’s—words, none of the great sages or nymphs responded. Their silence only deepened Indra’s frustration, and he rebuked the apsarases in anger: “Since none of you will answer, then we must act ourselves. Let the gods prepare; let them assemble their armies without delay. We shall destroy this enemy who seeks to ascend to heaven through his austerity!” At Indra’s command, the army of the gods appeared, ready for confrontation. Yet, knowing the true intent of Indra’s heart, Hari—the sustainer of the worlds, Lord Viṣṇu—intervened. Bearing his mighty discus, he sent it forth to protect Yama. Wherever the discus touched the earth, there arose a supreme and holy place, known as Cakratīrtha. At this moment, Menakā, one of the foremost apsarases, voiced her doubts to Indra: “O Lord of the gods, none of us can withstand the fearsome gaze of Kāla—Death himself. O god, death at your hands would be preferable to death at Yama’s.” She continued, “This courtesan, intoxicated by her own beauty and youth, is well-practiced in the arts of enticement, O Lord. Send her; let her go. She considers herself your own.” Hearing Menakā’s words, Indra honored the slender and beautiful courtesan, giving her his instructions: “Go swiftly, O courtesan, and accomplish my task. Return successful, and you shall be as dear to me as Śacī herself.” Obedient to Śakra’s command, the courtesan soared swiftly through the heavens, and in a moment, she stood before radiant Yama. There, shining in all ten directions, the graceful maiden began to sing playfully, her voice weaving the enchanting Hindola melody. As the song filled the air, Kāla’s—Yama’s—mind grew restless and unsteady. Opening his eyes, Yama gazed upon her, his heart kindled with the fire of desire. He engaged with her, O great sage, though she was sent as his enemy, believing some merit might come of it. But then, in an instant, she dissolved before him and became a river. Joined by her attendants and musicians at the sacred Gautamī, the courtesan, now sung to and celebrated, ascended to heaven by the power of that holy place. Witnessing the courtesan ascending to heaven in a celestial chariot, Kāla—his eyes still restless—was struck with great wonder. Then, as the Sun approached, he addressed Yama with these words: “Perform your own duty, my son; you are to oversee the end of all beings. See how the wind always blows, creating living beings for the Creator; see the people wandering the three worlds, and the earth bearing all creatures.” Hearing his father’s command, Yama replied: “This is not a blameworthy act; I shall surely do it. But you should not command me to perform such a cruel deed.” To this, the Sun responded, “What act could be blameworthy for you, O Yama? Did you not see the courtesan, accompanied by her attendants, being sung to, and ascending to heaven at once after bathing in the Gautamī? You have performed severe austerity here, my son, which is most difficult; yet I do not see its end. Therefore, return to your own city.” Having thus spoken, the blessed Sun, after bathing there, ascended to heaven. Yama, too, after bathing at the sacred confluence, returned to his own city. Even the slayer of beings—Death himself—then abandoned all doubt, O great sage. Seeing Yama depart, he set his wheel in motion and traveled on. Where the blessed Govinda, adorned with a garland of wild forest flowers, resides—whoever hears or recites this tale with concentration, their calamities are destroyed, and they attain long life. Now, O best of sages, listen to the story of the holy place of Ahalyā’s union, which purifies the three worlds, and what transpired there. Out of great curiosity, O lord of sages, I once created many maidens, each endowed with different forms and virtues. Among them, I fashioned one most excellent, marked by auspicious signs—a maiden of beautiful limbs, radiant in form and virtue. A thought arose in me: “Who indeed is capable of supporting her? Not the demons, nor the gods, nor the sages as well.” I realized that none but a Brahmin, foremost in virtue, endowed with austerity and wisdom, could be her worthy protector. Thus, I entrusted her to Gautama, the great sage, possessed of all auspicious marks and a knower of the Veda and its branches. I said to him, “Protect her, O best of sages, until she attains youth. When she reaches young womanhood, bring the virtuous one back to me.” Having thus spoken, I gave the slender-waisted maiden to Gautama. Taking her, the best of sages, purified by his austerity, departed. He raised her properly and adorned her, and without any wavering, brought Ahalyā back to me when the time was right. Seeing her, all the gods—Indra, Agni, Varuna, and the rest—approached me, each one separately, and pleaded: “Give her to me, O lord of gods.” Likewise, sages, Sādhyas, Dānavas, Yakṣas, and Rākṣasas all gathered there, each desiring the maiden. But above all, Indra’s desire was especially great—yet, even then, the greatness, depth, and steadfastness of Gautama shone forth.