As the sacred ritual progressed, the sage Kaṇva prepared to offer the next oblation, taking the sacrificial materials in his hand. But at that very moment, the fire—central to the rite—suddenly went out. Deeply troubled, Kaṇva became lost in anxious thought, pondering what should be done. He deliberated within himself, his mind clouded with distress, for the fire had been extinguished between the two crucial offerings. According to both Vedic law and worldly custom, a new fire should be acquired in such a situation. Kaṇva wondered anxiously: Where should the second offering be made now? From where should a new fire be obtained? As he turned these questions over in his mind, a divine voice resounded, breaking the silence of his worry. The voice declared, “You must not seek another fire here; whatever fragments of the previous fire remain nearby will suffice.” The voice continued, “When the wood is half-burnt, O king of Brahmins, offer the oblation.” Yet Kaṇva hesitated, saying, “No.” But again the divine voice gently instructed him, “The son of Agni is Hiraṇya; the father is also the son. Whatever is given to the son, for the sake of the beloved, will bring pleasure to the father.” The voice explained further: “One should give to the father, and the son should give as well; in this way, the delight will be multiplied a crore-fold.” The sages present heard these words, and, having discerned the fullness of righteousness, they acted as prescribed. They recognized that, in this world, whatever is given to the son becomes the father’s, and that the affection of parents arises rightly through the benefit of offspring and similar acts—not by any other means. This truth, the voice proclaimed, is well established in the world and honored in all realms. When gifts are made in this manner, the merit is multiplied a hundred million times. Relief from mental fatigue arises, and great happiness is born. Once again, the divine voice spoke these words at that very spot—this excellent ford associated with Kaṇva. By the power of these events and their merit, that ford became a place of immense sanctity, surpassing all other sacred crossings in the three worlds. Whatever is done there—be it bathing, giving, or other pious acts—when performed with devotion and concentration, yields a hundred million times the usual fruit. For this reason, that sacred site is called the Hundred Million Ford. It is here, at this ford, that the event involving Agneya, Kaṇva, and the golden grandson named Vani took place, making it renowned as the Hundred Million Ford, for it yields the merit of a hundred million fords. The greatness of this ford is beyond expression—even Vachaspati and the gods cannot fully describe it. By the grace of the Godavari, every act performed here—no matter how small—becomes multiplied a hundred million times. If one gives a single cow to a worthy twice-born at this ford, by the ford’s greatness, it is as if a hundred million cows have been given. If, having purified oneself at this ford, one gives land with faith, the result is multiplied a hundred million times. Across the banks of the Gautami, the best offerings to ancestors are especially potent at the Hundred Million Ford, which grants infinite fruit. The sages know there are forty-nine fords here, each just one less than this supreme ford. Turning now to another sacred site, the tale continues with the Narasimha tirtha, situated on the northern bank of the Ganga. Its influence, which grants universal protection, is celebrated. Long ago, Hiranyakashipu, foremost among the powerful, had become unconquerable even by the gods through his austerity and might. Yet, his heart was poisoned by hatred for his own son, who was a devoted worshipper of Hari. In response to the suffering of his devotee, Hari manifested as Narasimha, bursting forth from a pillar in the assembly, revealing his all-pervading nature. Narasimha slew Hiranyakashipu and drove away his formidable army. Then, in battle after battle, he vanquished all the great demons, conquering the enemies of the netherworld, ascending to the world of the gods, and, after triumphing there, descending to earth to destroy the demons infesting the mountains. The Lord, in his fierce beast form, hunted down demons wherever they hid—in the ocean, in rivers, in villages, and in forests, even those who assumed many forms. With claws sharper than thunderbolts and a mane bristling in fury, he struck down those who soared in the sky, those who moved with the wind, and those who had entered the realm of light. His roars thundered like the cries of demon births, and as he conquered the rakshasas, he blazed with the fury of the fire of dissolution. With mighty slaps and violent movements, he crushed the asuras, and, having destroyed countless foes, Hari made his way to the Gautami. There, the demon Ambarya, enemy of the lord of Dandaka and renowned for his might, arose, radiant and formidable. Surrounded by great power, he provoked a fierce, terrifying battle that caused hair to stand on end. Weapons and missiles flew as Hari fought the demon’s son, and at last, the glorious Hari slew his enemy on the northern bank. Thus, on the Ganga arose the Narasimha tirtha, famed throughout the three worlds. Bathing, giving, and performing other rites there destroys all sins and afflictions. This tirtha grants universal protection, wards off old age and death, and just as among all the gods none is equal to Hari, so among all tirthas, this one is supreme. After bathing there, one should worship Narahari. Whether in heaven, on earth, or in the netherworld, nothing is difficult for Narasimha. There, O sage, are eight great tirthas, each said by the wise to yield the merit of a crore of tirthas. Even remembering its name without faith destroys all sins. Wherever Narasimha himself is present, who can describe the fruits that come from serving that tirtha? Just as there is no god greater than Narahari, so too, there is no tirtha equal to the Narasimha tirtha.