Distressed by a grave situation, a devotee approached Śaṃbhu—Lord Śiva—and reported his troubles. Śiva, compassionate and resolute, addressed his sacred bull, Nandi, and declared, “Let all your words be fulfilled.” Thus empowered by Śiva’s command, Nandi manifested all that was born of cows. Yet, as a consequence, all cows vanished from both heaven and earth, and a great urgency arose among the beings. The hosts of gods, deeply troubled, came to me and exclaimed, “Without cows, life cannot be sustained!” I counseled them, “Go to Śaṃkara and petition him directly.” Heeding this, the gods approached Śiva, praised him with devotion, and laid their concerns before him. Śiva replied, “Nandi knows my will.” Turning to Nandi, the gods pleaded, “O benefactor, grant us the cows.” Nandi responded, “Let a sacrifice called Gosava be performed. Through this, you will regain all cows, celestial and earthly.” Thus, the Gosava sacrifice, established by the gods themselves, began. By the auspicious Gautamī river, cows multiplied once more, and that sacred place became known as Govardhana, a site that increases the joy of the gods. O best of sages, bathing there grants the merit of gifting a thousand cows. The fruits of gifts and other meritorious deeds at that place are so great, they are beyond our knowing. Now, O Nārada, listen as I speak of another holy place, Pāpapraṇāśana—the destroyer of sin and fear. In ancient times, there lived a Brahmin named Dhṛtavrata, renowned throughout the world for his virtue. His wife was Mahī, a youthful woman of great beauty. Their son, radiant as the sun, was named Sanājjāta. In time, Death, prompted by fate, took Dhṛtavrata from this world. Left a young widow with a small child and no protector, Mahī sought shelter at the hermitage of the sage Gālava, entrusting her son to his care. But overcome by desire and sin, she wandered many lands, seeking the company of men and indulging her passions. Sanājjāta, though raised in Gālava’s house and learned in the Vedas and their branches, was tainted by his mother’s conduct and developed the mind of a pleasure-seeker. He dwelled in Janasthāna, a place inhabited by many kinds of people. By fate, Mahī too came to Janasthāna, living there in disguise as a courtesan. Her son, wandering many lands in pursuit of pleasure, also arrived in Janasthāna. Neither recognized the other. Sanājjāta desired a courtesan woman, while Mahī, seeking wealth, looked for generous men. By fate, mother and son became united, neither knowing the truth of their bond. Thus, time passed with the two living together, each unaware of their true relationship. Yet, though Sanājjāta’s conduct was improper, a good thought arose in his heart. Despite his wayward life, he never neglected the Brahmin’s evening prayers. Each day, after performing the twilight worship, he would seek out wealth, which he earned through his learning and generously gave away. Every morning, he would rise and go to the Ganges, observing all acts of purity, bathing, and the rites at dawn and dusk, as prescribed. Only after bowing to the Brahmins would he attend to his own affairs. One morning, a deformed man afflicted with leprosy—his limbs slack, oozing pus and blood—came to the Gautamī river. After bathing in the holy waters, he emerged transformed: handsome, peaceful, and radiant like the sun or fire, as if he were the very embodiment of the sun. Sanājjāta, the twice-born, did not recognize either of these forms as his own. At the hermitage, where the venerable Gālava—devoted to austerity and wisdom—resided, this Brahmin came daily, performed his rites, and returned home, his original body restored after serving the Ganga. After bathing and performing the evening rites, both forms would again appear to him, and Gālava observed this phenomenon with wonder. Astonished, the sage thought, “There must be some reason for this.” Moved by curiosity and compassion, Gālava addressed the Brahmin as he was departing. He bowed to him and, inviting him to his home, asked gently, “Who are you? Where are you going? What do you do? Where do you eat? What is your name? Where is your bed? Who is your wife? Tell me everything.” Hearing these words, the Brahmin replied, “Tomorrow I will tell you everything, once I have determined what must be done.” That night, after returning home and dining well with the courtesan, he lay beside her. Remembering Gālava’s questions, he spoke to her with concern: “You are endowed with all virtues, and though a courtesan, you are faithful to your husband. May our mutual affection continue as long as we live. Yet, I wish to ask you: what is your name, your family, your home, your relatives? Tell me everything.” She replied, “I am known as Dhṛtavrata, a Brahmin, consecrated and pure. My wife is Mahī, and my son is in Gālava’s hermitage. My intelligent son, abandoned as a child, is called Sanājjāta. But I, due to a former fault, abandoned my family’s dharma and now live here as a courtesan by my own will—know me as a Brahmin woman, O twice-born.” Hearing these words, the Brahmin was struck to his core and suddenly fell to the ground in shock. The courtesan then spoke to him, as their astonishing fate was revealed.