As the tale unfolds, the Pippalā trees and the mighty Vaḍavā spoke together, reminding Pippalāda of a prophecy his mother had made before departing for heaven. They revealed, “Your mother, who has ascended to the celestial realms, foresaw this path for you.” Meanwhile, it was said that those who become consumed by the desire to harm others, forgetting their own well-being, wander aimlessly, their minds lost in confusion, and ultimately fall into the gates of hell. Hearing the words of his mother, Pippalāda was overtaken by anger. Pride flared within him, and the praise of the virtuous lost all meaning in his heart. In that moment, a witch emerged from his eye, crying out, “Give me, give me!” Remembering Vaḍavā, the sage responded, and the witch took on the very form of Vaḍavā herself. This formidable being, now bearing the likeness of Vaḍavā, was pregnant with a fierce and consuming fire, radiant and powerful. She was the mother of Pippalāda, carrying within her the potential to destroy all beings. Born of meditation and yoga, the witch appeared, terrifying and deathlike, her tongue protruding, fire burning within her. She addressed Pippalāda, “Tell me, what shall I do?” To this, Pippalāda commanded, “Devour the gods, my enemies.” The witch agreed, saying, “So be it,” and seized Pippalāda as he stood before her. Startled, he asked, “What is this, witch?” She replied, “It is as you commanded.” Alarmed by the power he had unleashed, the gods created a new body for the witch. Frightened, Pippalāda sought refuge with Śiva, offering him praise. Śiva then addressed the witch, commanding, “By my order, do not seize any living beings who dwell within a yojana. Go far away and perform your task elsewhere.” Obeying Śiva’s command, the witch—still in the form of Vaḍavā and created by the sage—departed from the Pippalā tīrtha, traveling as many yojanas as were counted before Pippalāda. Within her blazed a great fire, capable of destroying the worlds. Witnessing this, the gods were seized with terror and hastened to Śambhu, Śiva himself. They praised Śambhu, the lord of the wheel and protector of Pippalā, and the dwellers of heaven, their minds filled with fear, beseeched him: “Protect us, Śambhu! The witch torments us, and her fire threatens the worlds. Be our refuge, O lord of all, giver of fearlessness to the frightened. For all who are insulted, distressed, and weary in mind—for every creature—you alone are the refuge, Śiva. The witch, at the sage’s request, has emerged from your eye as fire and seeks to destroy the three worlds. You are our only protector.” The Lord of the universe then reassured those dwelling within a yojana: “That action will not trouble you. Therefore, remain here day and night, gods; you need not fear.” Yet again, the lords of the gods addressed Śiva: “You have granted us heaven. How, revered one, can we dwell here, abandoning that realm so honored by the gods?” Śiva listened to their words and spoke: “That god is all-seeing, his face everywhere, shining always with rays, the creator revered by all. He alone is the sun here, ever-present in visible form. Let him remain, and in his form, all will abide.” At Śambhu’s command, the gods fashioned the sun from the Parijata tree, and Tvashta spoke to Bhaskara, the Sun: “Remain here, Lord of the world, and protect the gods yourself. We too shall stay here with our shares, in the presence of Śambhu.” So it was that, around the Lord of the disc, the best of the gods gathered, stretching as far as the count of yojanas, reaching both banks of the sacred Ganges, and sat there. On the river’s bank, in a space no larger than half the length of a finger, there were three crore and five hundred tīrthas. O best of sages, who could possibly describe or recount their arrangement? Then all the hosts of gods, humbled, spoke to Śiva: “O Lord of the gods, O embodiment of the universe, bring peace to Pippalāda.” Śiva, uttering the sacred syllable ‘Om,’ addressed Pippalāda: “Even if the gods are destroyed, your father will not return. Your life was given by your father for the fulfillment of the gods’ purpose. Who indeed is a friend to the distressed and afflicted like that? Your mother, devoted to her husband, has gone to heaven, my son. Here, by some means, both Lopamudra and Arundhati are equal; by their bones, all the gods are forever victorious and happy. By this, your mother’s fame has become abundant and imperishable; through you, her son, she is accomplished everywhere. Nothing greater than this has been done. “Because of fear of your might, you ought to protect those expelled from heaven, the Kandishikas; you ought to save the gods from your own wrath. Nowhere is there a greater good than rescuing the afflicted. As long as your fame shines beautifully in the world of men, for that many days, each day, in the world beyond, the number of years becomes your residence, unchanging. Truly dead are those who lack fame here; truly blind are those deprived of learning. Those who are generous are not powerless, and those devoted to righteousness are not to be pitied.” Hearing these words of the Lord of gods, the sage’s anger left him. He became peaceful, joined his palms in reverence, bowed to the Master, and spoke: “Those who, by word, thought, or deed, sometimes help me and are devoted to my welfare—for their benefit, and for others as well, I bow to Soma, honored by the lords of the gods. May Śiva, adorned with the crescent moon, grant the wishes of those who have protected and nurtured me, who share my lineage and my dharma. I bow to him always. O Lord, by whose name may a sacred place arise in the three worlds for those by whom I have always been raised as by a mother and father. Their fame will endure, and thus I shall be free of debt to them. Whatever fields of the gods and sacred places exist on earth—” Thus, the story reveals the power of devotion, the importance of compassion, and the ever-present grace of the divine, as Pippalāda’s heart turned from anger to gratitude and reverence, and peace was restored among gods and sages alike.