O sage, listen as the ancient teachings reveal the consequences of heedless actions and the sacredness of all things upon the earth. If a foolish person attempts to dig a well within the ruins of another's abandoned well, or if one removes mud from another's pond and casts it away, such acts are not without fault. Likewise, if a person neglects to offer the rice-ball to his departed father or to the guardian spirits of the ancestors, he incurs sin. Placing a lamp directly upon the ground is especially inauspicious, for it brings blindness for seven births. Consider also the precious things of this world: pearls, rubies, diamonds, gold, and other gems. Whoever places a Śiva-liṅga or any stone image that has been worshipped upon the bare earth, or if one sets down a sacred hymn, a mantra, holy water drawn from a stone, a flower, or a tulasī leaf, or even a rosary, a garland of flowers, camphor, or yellow pigment—such acts are grievous. The same holds true for sandalwood, rudrākṣa beads, and the roots of kuśa grass, O wise one. If one places a sacred book or the holy sacrificial thread upon the ground, he certainly incurs a sin as grave as the killing of a brāhmaṇa. Further, whoever, after performing a sacrifice, fails to sprinkle the ground with milk, or whoever digs into the earth during the inauspicious times of an earthquake or an eclipse, commits a serious offense. Know that this earth, called Urvī, was born from the thighs of Hari. She is diminished by sacrificial offerings and rituals, and at the time of cosmic dissolution, she is absorbed back into the divine. This earth is the daughter of Kaśyapa, the steadfast one, the very embodiment of stability. She is called Pṛthvī because she is the daughter of Pṛthu, and Mahī because of her vastness. Then, Nārada, the great sage, inquired: “O best of those who know the Vedas, tell me now the story of Gaṅgā.” Thus begins the tale of the goddess among goddesses, Gaṅgā, who descended to Bhārata from the very feet of the lord of Bhārata. How did this come to pass? In which age, by whose request, and through what circumstances was she sent to earth? In ancient times, there was the illustrious Sagara, a mighty king descended from the solar dynasty. He was the embodiment of truth: ever devoted to it, truthful in speech, and steadfast in thought. Sagara had one wife and one exceedingly handsome son. Yet his other wife, longing for a child, undertook intense worship of Śaṅkara, Lord Śiva. After a hundred years of devotion, she gave birth not to a child, but to a lump of flesh. Śambhu, Lord Śiva himself in the guise of a brāhmaṇa, approached her. By his divine power, that lump of flesh was divided, and from it emerged many sons, all possessing great strength and valor. However, their fate was tragic. Angered by their actions, the sage Kapila reduced them to ashes with his fiery gaze. In the generations that followed, Sagara’s descendants strove to redeem their ancestors. Asamañja performed rigorous austerities to bring Gaṅgā to earth, but did not succeed. His son, Dilīpa, also undertook penance for the same purpose, as did his son Aṃśumān after him. Then came Bhagīratha, the wise and devoted son of Aṃśumān. Bhagīratha performed severe austerities for a hundred thousand years, all for the sake of bringing the Ganges to earth to purify the ashes of his ancestors. In the course of his penance, he beheld a radiant youth with two arms, holding a flute and dressed as a cowherd. This was none other than the supreme Brahman, self-formed, complete, and sovereign—unattached, a witness beyond all qualities, transcending nature itself. Purified by fire and adorned with jeweled ornaments, this being had taken form in Śuka. By the divine play of this supreme one, Bhagīratha’s wish was granted: the boon that would save his ancestral line. In reverence, Bhagīratha bowed before the Lord. The goddess Gaṅgā, too, with hands joined in devotion, offered her praise, her whole being thrilled with divine joy. Then, Śrī Kṛṣṇa himself began to speak.