Desiring to witness the one whom he deemed a sinner—the hunter who performed worship of the Lord—Veda approached the sacred place, even as the hunter himself drew near the deity as was his daily custom. The hunter began his worship as usual, and at that moment, the Primeval Lord addressed him with affection. “O wise hunter,” the Lord said, “I see you are weary again and again. Why have you come after so long? Without you, dear one, I find no happiness at all. Take comfort, my son.” Hearing these words, Veda, who was watching, was overcome with amazement and anger, yet he held his tongue. The hunter, meanwhile, completed his worship as always and returned to his home. But Veda, now burning with indignation, approached the Lord and spoke. “This hunter,” Veda said, “is devoted to sin. He knows nothing of proper rites, is cruel, intent on harming living beings, and merciless to all creatures. He is of low birth, ignorant, without a teacher’s guidance, always acting improperly, and has never even subdued a single cow. He has revealed himself to you, but will you not speak to me? O Lord, I perform worship with proper mantras and vows! Yet this hunter, who has none but you to rely on, who lives always alone, worships you with impure meat. It is truly astonishing that you are pleased with him and not with me. I shall punish this Bhilla, who has done wrong. If someone can be pleased with clay, or with a wicked person, then surely I should cast a stone upon my own head.” When Veda had spoken thus, the Lord laughed gently and replied, “Wait until tomorrow, then cast the stone upon my head.” “So be it,” Veda said, setting the stone aside and restraining his anger. “I will do it tomorrow.” The next morning, after bathing and completing his daily rites, Veda came to the shrine to begin worship as usual. But as he approached the liṅga, he saw upon its head a terrible, wounded gash, soaked with blood—a sight so shocking that he wondered, “What is this on the liṅga’s head?” He pondered, “For whom has such a portent arisen? Whom does it indicate?” He washed the wound with clay, cow dung, kuśa grass, and water from the Ganges, then performed the worship as he always did. At that moment, the hunter, now freed from all sin, arrived. Within the liṅga, he saw the head of Śaṅkara, the Lord with the first head, wounded and covered in blood. Astonished by this strange sight, the hunter exclaimed, “What is this marvel?” Overcome with grief, he pierced himself again and again with sharp arrows, a hundredfold, a thousandfold, unable to bear that such harm had come to the Lord while he lived. Again and again he reproached himself, lamenting, “Alas, what terrible fate has come upon me, oh, by cruel destiny!” Seeing the hunter’s act, Mahādeva was deeply moved. Turning to Veda, the best of those who know the Vedas, the Lord said, “See the hunter, O great-minded one, endowed with devotion and sincerity. But you—you have only touched my head with clay, kuśa grass, or water. By this act, O Brahman, even my own self has been offered. Wherever there is devotion, love, power, or discernment, therefore I grant boons to him first, and afterwards to you, best of twice-born.” With these words, the great Lord Maheśvara invited the hunter to choose a boon. The hunter said, “May I receive your nirmālya—the sacred remnants. May that become ours, O Lord. Let a holy place be named after me, and may that holy place grant the fruit of all sacrifices merely by remembrance.” The Lord of the gods replied, “So be it.” Thus, that most excellent sacred place, Bhillatirtha, became a cause for the destruction of all accumulated sins. It bestowed great devotion at the feet of glorious Mahadeva, granting both enjoyment and liberation through bathing, giving, and other acts. Shiva also granted many various boons there, even to the Vedas. This sacred place is known as Cakshus-tirtha, the holy site that bestows beauty and good fortune, where the Lord of Yogis resides on the southern bank of the Gautami. Nearby, on the summit of a mountain, was the city called Bhauvana, where King Bhauvana, devoted to the duties of a warrior, once ruled. In that excellent city lived a Brahmin named Vriddhakaushika. His son, Gautama, was renowned as the foremost knower of the Vedas. Yet, due to a fault in his mother’s mind, Gautama became contrary in nature. He had a friend, a merchant named Manikuṇḍala, and though their friendship was uneven—one wealthy, one poor—they always sought each other’s welfare. One day, Gautama spoke privately and affectionately to Manikuṇḍala, saying, “Let us go to obtain wealth, even to mountains and oceans. Youth is wasted without the means for happiness; how can there be happiness without wealth? Alas, shame on the man who is poor.” Manikuṇḍala replied, “I have much wealth, earned by my father. What need have I for more, O best of Brahmins?” But Gautama replied with vigor, “Who among those who know righteousness, wealth, knowledge, and desire is ever truly satisfied? For embodied beings, only the attainment of excellence is praiseworthy, my friend. Creatures who live by their own effort are truly fortunate; those content with what is given by others live a wretched life. That son is praised in the world and honored by his fathers who desires his ancestral wealth—not even in speech, O Kuṇḍala. The son who, relying on his own strength, acquires wealth, is accomplished in the world; he should not touch his father’s wealth.” Thus, the story flows from the Lord’s mysterious favor to the humble hunter, and the birth of a sacred place, to the teachings exchanged between friends in a distant city—each episode revealing the profound interplay of devotion, action, and the quest for true excellence.