As Galava prepared to depart, he bowed respectfully and, with careful attention, invited the one born of holy rites—the wise teacher—to his house. Moved by both compassion and curiosity, Galava spoke kindly, asking, “Who are you? Where are you going? What do you do? Where will you eat? What is your name? Where do you rest? Who is your wife? Please, tell me everything.” Hearing Galava’s earnest questions, the Brahmin replied, “Tomorrow I will tell you everything, once I have determined what must be done.” With these words, he returned home. That night, after eating well with her, he lay down beside the courtesan, but Galava’s words lingered in his mind, and, troubled, he addressed her. He said, “You possess every virtue, and though you are a courtesan, your faithfulness to your husband is unwavering. May our mutual affection endure for as long as we live. Still, I wish to know: What is your name? What is your family? Where is your home? Who are your relatives? Please tell me everything.” She answered, “I am known as Dhritavrata, a Brahmin, consecrated and pure. My wife is Mahī, and my son lives in Galava’s hermitage. My intelligent son, abandoned as a child, is called Sanājjāta. But I, due to a former fault, having abandoned the family dharma, live here as a courtesan by my own will. Know me as a Brahmin woman, O twice-born.” Hearing these words, the Brahmin felt as if pierced to the core and suddenly collapsed to the ground. The courtesan, seeing his distress, asked gently, “What has happened, O best of twice-born? Where has your affection gone? What words have I spoken that have so troubled your heart?” Gathering himself, the Brahmin replied, “My father is the sage Dhritavrata, and I am his son from the beginning. My mother is this earth, who has come to me by divine will.” Her sorrow deepened upon hearing his words, and after both had grieved together, at dawn, under the clear sun, the Brahmin went to report all to Galava, the tiger among sages. He said, “O Brahman, Dhritavrata’s son, whom you once protected and initiated, and this earth, my mother, O Lord, were both given by you. What should I do, and by doing what will I be freed from my guilt?” Galava responded with gentle assurance: “Do not grieve. I always see your twofold form as if it were something unprecedented. I have heard and understood your story; whatever needs to be done for you, all of it returns to completion in the Ganges. By the greatness of this sacred place and by the grace of this goddess, you are purified every day, child; there is no need for further deliberation here. At dawn, I see your forms, bearing sin, day and night; yet again I see your most excellent form. I see you always coming yoked with sin, and departing free from it; therefore, you are now purified by the goddess. Therefore, nothing remains for you to be done; this is your mother, O Brahmin, and the one known as Bandhakī. Having passed through intense remorse, she is now freed from sin; affection among beings, child, is natural. Through association with the virtuous, great merit arises, and release is granted by the divine; she was excessively repentant due to previously performed merit.” After bathing at this sacred place, both mother and son became purified. By bathing, both were freed from sin without doubt, and from that time, the sacred spot was known as the remover of sin. It became renowned as the destroyer of sin, as Gālava’s tirtha; whether great or small, or even secondary sins, all are destroyed here—this place cleanses sin and bestows great merit. In this land, where Rama, son of Dasaratha, together with Sita, satisfied the ancestors, that place is known as the ancestral tirtha. There, by bathing, giving, and offering libations to the ancestors, all attain imperishable merit; there is no need for doubt in this matter. It was also where Rama, son of Dasaratha, honored the great sage Vishvamitra, the king among kings, along with sages who perceive the truth. That sacred place of Vishvamitra, cherished by sages and bestowing great virtue, is celebrated by those versed in the Vedas. Once, a terrible drought afflicted the people. The wise Vishvamitra, accompanied by his disciples, went to the Gautami river. Seeing his disciples, sons, and wife emaciated and distressed by hunger, the illustrious Kaushika spoke to his disciples, “In whatever way, whatever thing, wherever, however—bring food to eat, but do not delay; go now and bring it at once.” At the sage’s command, the hungry disciples hurried off. Wandering here and there, they found a dead dog. Taking it quickly, they presented it to their teacher. He accepted it, saying, “Let it be well,” and received it with his hand. He instructed, “Cut up the dog’s flesh, wash it with water, cook it, and, reciting mantras, offer it into the fire as prescribed. After satisfying the gods, sages, ancestors, guests, and teachers, we shall eat what remains.” The disciples did as Vishvamitra said. As the dog’s flesh was cooking, Agni, the divine messenger, approached the abode of the gods and reported everything to them: that the dog’s flesh, prepared by the sages, was to be eaten in distress.