Bhagiratha, with unwavering concentration, set his mind on the sacred task of bringing the Ganga to earth. Through his great austerity and devotion, he succeeded in bringing the holy river down. With profound reverence, he touched the waters of Ganga to the ashes of his ancestors, purifying them and thus enabling their ascent to heaven. His lineage continued with his son, Mitrasaha, whose fame spread throughout all the worlds. Mitrasaha, too, worshipped with drops of Ganga’s water and, through this act, was once more liberated from impurity. A question arises: how was he purified again by bathing with the drops of Ganga? Truly, hearing and recounting the story of Ganga itself brings great auspiciousness to all. Mitrasaha ruled the entire earth, caring for his subjects with the affection and protection of a father. He governed just as his own father had, never deviating from the path of dharma. In his youth, he reigned over the world for thirty-eight thousand years. One day, accompanied by his ministers and army, he entered a splendid, well-cleansed assembly hall. Later, feeling thirsty, the righteous king approached the river Reva. There, after sharing a meal with his ministers, he spent the night. The next day, he wandered along the forested banks of the Narmada with his minister by his side. Spotting a black antelope, he drew his bow and pursued it. In the course of the hunt, he came upon a cave where he saw two tigers, a male and a female, united in intimacy. Master of the science of archery, Mitrasaha readied his bow and arrow to confront them. Suddenly, the tigress, immense in size—measuring thirty-six yojanas in length—leapt forth. Seeing his beloved mate struck down, the tiger-demon, now Mitrasaha’s enemy, was seized by furious rage. Alarmed by this turn of events, the king gathered his army in the forest, and King Sudāsaja, suspecting the work of a demon, grew increasingly apprehensive. After much time had passed, the king performed a great Aśvamedha sacrifice. There, he offered oblations to Brahmā and the other gods, following the prescribed rites. Yet, filled with anger, the tiger-demon came before the king to demand recompense, declaring his desire to eat meat. At that moment, the king stood holding the offering vessel meant for Hari, awaiting his guru’s arrival. When the guru, Vasiṣṭha, came, the king respectfully presented the vessel to him. But upon seeing its contents, the guru was astonished and wondered why such a thing had been done. Lamenting, he thought, “Alas, this king has acted wickedly—he has given me what is unfit to eat. O lord of the earth, you have given me impure food to harm me. You have given me human flesh, which is food only for demons.” As Vasiṣṭha pronounced a curse, Saudāsa (Mitrasaha), filled with fear, stood trembling. Vasiṣṭha, realizing the situation had not been caused by the king’s will, began to reflect deeply. Simultaneously, the king, in his distress, took up water to curse Vasiṣṭha in return. At that crucial moment, his virtuous wife Madayantī addressed him gently, reminding him that whatever destiny has in store will surely come to pass—there is no doubt of this. She foretold that in a waterless wilderness, he would become a dreadful rākṣasa, and that, as established in the scriptures, such beings eventually go to the abode of Brahmā. The king, torn by indecision, wondered where he should pour the water meant for the curse. After much thought, he poured the water at his own feet. From that time onward, he became widely known as Kalmāṣapāda.