Having spoken her last words, Pratitheyi, ever devoted to her husband’s wishes, gently placed her newborn child near the sheltering pippala trees. With reverence, she offered her respects and, in an act of profound sacrifice, abandoned her child there. Then, carrying the sacred vessels and circumambulating the fire as was proper, Pratitheyi entered the flames herself. In that moment of selfless devotion, she was united with her husband, and together they ascended to the heavenly realms. The hermitage, once vibrant with the presence of the sage Dadhichi and his noble wife, was now overcome with sorrow. All who dwelled there—ascetics, animals, birds, and even the trees—mourned deeply, for Dadhichi had cared for them all as a father would for his own sons. Without him, and now without Pratitheyi, life in the forest felt empty and forlorn. The trees whispered among themselves, the animals and birds agreed: “Without them, how can we continue to live?” It is said that those who show true affection for the children of parents who have departed for heaven are truly accomplished and virtuous. Yet now, the denizens of the forest lamented their own failings: “Neither Dadhichi nor Pratitheyi looks upon us as before. Neither father nor mother remains—shame on us, for we are sinful.” In their grief, they resolved, “From now on, the child of Dadhichi and Pratitheyi shall be our eternal dharma-child.” Moved by compassion, all the medicinal herbs and trees approached King Soma, the lord of the plants, and humbly requested the supreme nectar of immortality. Soma, generous and gracious, bestowed upon them the unparalleled nectar. The trees and herbs, in turn, gave this divine elixir—beloved of the gods—to the abandoned child. Nourished by this nectar, the child grew with the radiant fullness of the waxing moon. Raised lovingly by the pippala trees, he flourished and came to be known as Pippalada. As he grew, wonder filled his heart, and he questioned the pippala trees, “Humans are born from humans, birds from birds, plants from seeds—there is no disparity in the world. Yet how is it that I, though raised among tree-dwellers, possess hands, feet, and a living soul?” Hearing his innocent inquiry, all the trees and herbs recounted to him the story of his parents: the death of the sage Dadhichi and the virtuous Pratitheyi’s entry into the fire. When Pippalada heard in full detail from the gods themselves how his father’s bones had been gathered after his passing, sorrow overcame him, and he fell to the ground, overwhelmed by grief. The trees and herbs, ever compassionate, comforted him with words imbued with righteousness and purpose, soothing his heart. Reassured, Pippalada addressed them once more: “I must avenge my father’s death; otherwise, I am not fit to live. A son must follow in the path of both the friends and enemies of his father.” He declared, “He alone is truly a son; another, though appearing as a son, is but an enemy. It is said that the friends of the father rescue even those who are hostile.” The trees, understanding his resolve, took the boy and brought him before Soma. They conveyed Pippalada’s words to the king of plants. Hearing his plea, Soma spoke kindly to Pippalada: “By my command, receive complete knowledge in due form—accomplishment in austerity, auspicious speech, courage, beauty, strength, and wisdom, my son.” Pippalada, respectful and earnest, addressed Soma again: “All this is in vain unless I can atone for my father’s killing. Please, tell me how I may do so. O best of gods, in what place, at what time, with which deity, with what mantra, and at which sacred site will my intention be fulfilled?” Soma meditated deeply before replying: “Whether it is enjoyment or liberation, all arises from the great god Maheśvara—there is no doubt. Seek him.” Pippalada asked, “How shall I see Maheśvara? I am but a child, with a child’s understanding, and I lack the ability for such austerity.” Soma counseled him, “Go to the Gautamī river, dear one, and praise Hara, the lord of the discus. If the Lord is pleased with you, even a little one such as yourself will receive his grace with little effort. If the compassionate Śiva is pleased, he will appear directly to you. Śambhu is manifest there, revealed to the mighty Viṣṇu. He granted a boon to Viṣṇu at that place, and the discus, worshipped by the gods, was given there. Go, wise one, to the Gautamī river in Daṇḍaka. The sacred place is known as Cakreśvara among the plants. Go there and praise Śaṅkara, the lord of gods, with all your heart; pleased in mind, he will grant your desires.” Thus instructed by Soma, the great sage Pippalada set out for the place where Rudra, the lord of the world and giver of the discus, was present. The compassionate pippala trees, having seen him off, returned to their hermitages. After bathing in the holy Godāvarī, Pippalada bowed to the lord of the three worlds and, pure in heart, praised Śiva with all his being. He offered his devotion, saying, “Those steadfast ones who renounce all actions, abandon desires, and conquer mind and senses, strive for liberation and seek refuge in you. I bow to that primordial god Śambhu. May He, the witness of all, the inner soul of all beings, the Lord of all, the repository of all arts, who knows all that is in my mind—may that enemy of Smara show me compassion. You, who conquered the guardians of the directions and are worshipped by the gods, who shook Kailāsa when the ten-headed one pressed it down to the netherworld with his thumb—it was you, O Purāri. Hearing the words of one whose body was mangled, you laughed with the goddess and granted the boon; thus, even when angry, you are gracious to the unworthy, O Maheśvara.” Pippalada continued his praise, recalling the Sautrāmaṇī rite performed, the constant worship of Hari, and how Bāṇa became renowned for his splendid worship of the moon-crested Lord. He remembered how Viśākha, after defeating his enemies and bowing to his teacher, became angry seeing Gaṇanātha seated on his lap, and how Soma laughed as he lifted him up. Even when mounted on Īśāna, the child did not leave his mother’s lap; not even Soma could pacify the angry boy, and thus he obtained the state of being half-defeated. Then, the self-born Lord, well pleased with Pippalada’s devotion, spoke to him: “Choose a boon, O blessed Pippalada, whatever you desire.” Pippalada replied, his heart heavy with grief: “My father, the illustrious Mahādeva, was killed by the gods. He was sincere and truthful, and my mother was devoted to her husband. Hearing in detail from the gods about their destruction, O Lord, I am overwhelmed by grief and anger and am unable to go on living.