The noble king Śaryāti, accompanied by his wise priest, set forth on a campaign to conquer the four directions. Victorious in his quest, the king paused along the journey and, seeing his priest troubled, addressed him with concern and respect. “My friend, what weighs upon your mind?” the king inquired gently. “You, who are honored above all in my realm, possess flawless knowledge of every science. You are sinless and untouched by sorrow, yet you appear distant, as if your thoughts are elsewhere. We have conquered the earth, subdued the kings—surely this is a time for joy. Why, then, do you seem emaciated and forlorn? Speak to me plainly, my teacher and friend.” Hearing the king’s affectionate words, the venerable priest, a brahmin of great nobility, replied with love and candor. “O king, listen to what my wife said to me. One night, as half the night had passed, she waited for my return, longing for me. The mistress of my body, my beloved, yearns for me; recalling her words, my own body withers. When love’s longing stirs, even the lotus-faced, longing for life, waste away.” The king, subduer of foes, laughed softly and spoke with warmth. “You are my teacher and my friend, why do you jest at your own expense? Truly, what value is there in my words? For great souls, what reliance can there be on fleeting happiness?” At this, the wise Madhucchandā responded, “Where harmony exists between husband and wife, the three aims of life flourish. O king, this is no fault—it is a great virtue.” With the campaign concluded, the king returned to his land, surrounded by his mighty army. Desiring to test the depth of love between spouses, he sent word throughout the city. But as Śaryāti had set out to conquer the quarters, a fearsome Rākṣasa, the foremost among his kind, slew both the king and his priest, then descended to the netherworld. The king’s wife, seeking certainty after hearing the messengers’ news, approached her beloved Madhucchandā once more. In that very moment, overcome by grief and love, she lost her life—a mysterious and wondrous event. The messengers, witnessing her fate, hastened to inform the king. Astonished and distressed by the actions of the royal wives and the priest’s beloved, the king instructed his messengers, “Go swiftly and guard the body of the brahmin lady. Bring me news, for both the priest and I will soon arrive.” As the king was troubled with anxiety, a bodiless voice resounded from the heavens: “O king, the Gaṅgā will accomplish all that you desire. Gautamī, purifier of the earth and dispeller of afflictions, will fulfill your wish.” Hearing this, Śaryāti went to the bank of the Gautamī. There, he gave wealth to the brahmins and satisfied the ancestors and the twice-born. He sent his chief priest, the foremost among brahmins, to other holy places, instructing him to give gifts diligently to groups of travelers. The priest, unaware of all the king’s actions, departed on his mission. Then, the king approached the great-souled Viśvāmitra. Having dispatched his entire retinue, the king entered the fire upon the riverbank, making this solemn declaration to Gaṅgā, the Sun, and the gods: “If I have given, if I have offered oblations, if I have protected my people—by that truth, may this virtuous woman live with my lifespan.” Having spoken thus, Śaryāti, the best of kings, entered the fire. In that very instant, the priest’s wife was restored to life. News spread swiftly that the king had entered the fire—a cause for wonder—and that the priest’s devoted wife, who had died, now lived again. Because the king had abandoned his own life for her sake, the king’s guru remembered his own remaining duties. He resolved, “I too, having seen the fire, will either go to my beloved or undertake austerities here.” Thus resolved, the twice-born sage acted. “This is the proper duty for me and a virtuous act: I support the king, and then return to my beloved. This alone would be auspicious for me.” With this thought, he praised the Sun, for truly, none but the Sun grants all desires. He offered salutations: “To that Sun, the liberator, of immeasurable brilliance, the deity composed of Vedic meters, whose essence is Om—salutations to you. To the formless and the beautiful, the one of three qualities, the triple-formed, the cause of creation, preservation, and destruction, the mighty Lord—salutations.” Pleased with his devotion, the Sun spoke: “Ask for a boon.” The sage replied, “O Lord of gods, grant the king his life, a wife who speaks kindly, virtuous sons for myself, and auspicious boons for the king as well.” The Lord of the universe granted Śaryāti, adorned with jewels, the return of his wife, other boons, and all prosperity. Filled with affection for their beloveds, the king and priest returned to their own land in happiness. That place became renowned as a holy site. There are three thousand sacred tirthas endowed with virtues there, and from that time, the site has been known as Bhānu-tīrtha. It is also called Mṛtasaṃjīvana, Śāryāta, and Mādhucchandasamākhyāta; remembering it dispels sins, O sage. Bathing and giving gifts there bestow the fruits of all sacrifices, and Mṛtasaṃjīvana increases both lifespan and health. Further, it is known as Khaḍga-tīrtha, on the northern bank of the Gautamī. By bathing and giving gifts there, one attains liberation. Now, O Nārada, listen attentively as I narrate another tale. There was one named Pailūṣa, the son of Kavaṣa, a twice-born.