O King, listen to the wondrous tale of the sacred Gaṅgā, especially where she turns westward and joins with the Kāliṃdī. This confluence is so powerful that it destroys ten million sins, yet to find her in the month of Māgha is a rare blessing indeed. The sacred Veṇī, celebrated on earth as nectar itself, is so difficult to approach in Māgha that even the gods find it hard to attain a single moment there. During this auspicious time, the highest of beings—Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Mahādeva, Rudra, the Ādityas, the hosts of Maruts, Gandharvas, the guardians of the worlds, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and the serpent deities—all come to bathe at the Veṇī. Alongside them are the Siddhas with their mystical powers, the teachers of truth, and the great goddesses: Brahmāṇī, Pārvatī, Lakṣmī, Śacī, Menā, Aditi, Diti, and all the wives of the gods and serpent maidens. The celestial nymphs—Ghṛtācī, Menakā, Rambhā, Urvaśī, and Tilottamā—are also present, as are all the Apsarases and the hosts of ancestors. In the Kṛta age, these divine beings come openly in their true forms, but in the Kali age, they arrive concealed. Bathing for three days at Prayāga during Māgha yields a merit so great that even a thousand horse sacrifices cannot equal it. In ancient times, this very merit was once given by Kāñcanamālinī to a Rākṣasa, freeing him from his sins. Hearing this, Kārtavīrya asked, “O lord, who was this Rākṣasa, and who was Kāñcanamālinī? How did she bestow such merit, and how did he attain liberation? Please tell me, if you deem it worthy, for I am greatly curious.” Dattatreya replied, “Listen, O King, to a marvelous and ancient story, the mere remembrance of which bestows the fruit of a great sacrifice. There was an Apsaras of surpassing beauty named Kāñcanamālinī. In the month of Māgha, she bathed at Prayāga and then journeyed to the abode of Hara, Lord Śiva. As she wandered in a grove on the king of mountains, an aged Rākṣasa, disguised as a mountain, saw her ascending the sky. She shone with a golden hue, her form radiant, with beautiful hips, large eyes, a face like the moon, lovely hair, and full, high breasts. Amazed by her beauty, the Rākṣasa spoke to her: ‘Who are you, O lotus-eyed one? From where have you come? Why are your garments wet and your hair damp? How do you move through the sky with such grace? By what merit do you possess such radiance and enchanting form? O bright-eyed one, as drops from your garment fell upon my head, my mind—usually cruel—became peaceful in an instant. What is the greatness of this tasteless water? Please explain it to me, for such form does not arise without virtue.’ The Apsaras replied, ‘Listen, O Rākṣasa. I am an Apsaras, able to assume forms at will. My name is Kāñcanamālinī, and I have just come from bathing at Prayāga in the pure white and black waters. My girdle is wet for this reason, and now I go to the supreme mountain, Kailāsa, where Lord Śiva, worshipped by gods and asuras, resides. The water from my braid has pacified your cruelty, O Rākṣasa. By what merit was I born, a maiden of divine form, to the Gandharva named Sumedhas? I will tell you all. In a previous birth, I was a courtesan in the city of the king of Kaliṅga, renowned for my beauty and charm. I was not proud of my good fortune, yet among all the young women, I was the foremost jewel. I enjoyed pleasures as I wished, enchanting the entire city with my youth, and acquiring jewels, ornaments, and wealth. I obtained beautiful garments and fragrant substances—camphor, aloe, and sandalwood—through my allure. I do not know the limit of gold in my own house; young men, tormented by desire, served at my feet. By my illusion, I deceived them all, taking everything; some died in rivalry, others were consumed by longing. Thus, all my desires were fulfilled in that beautiful city. But when old age arrived, my heart was filled with sorrow: I had not given, nor sacrificed, nor recited, nor observed any vow. I had not worshipped the god who grants the fruits of life, nor honored goddess Durgā, nor remembered Viṣṇu, being greedy for pleasure. I had not satisfied the Brahmins or acted for the welfare of others; not even the smallest merit had I performed, out of heedlessness. My life was filled with sin, and my mind became tormented. Lamenting in many ways, I sought refuge with a Brahmin, devoted to Brahman and learned in the Vedas, who served as the king’s priest. I asked him how I could atone for my wrongs: “O best of twice-born, how can I escape my sin? I am afflicted by my own actions, wretched and distressed. Lift me from the mire of sin with the hook of your teachings; let the water of compassion fall upon me from your joyful eyes, O Brahmin.” All virtuous people are kind to the good, and the good are also kind to the wicked. Hearing my words, he showed me favor. The Brahmin said, “I know all your forbidden deeds, O beautiful one; quickly follow my advice and go to the field of Prajāpati. Bathe there, and your sins will be destroyed. All your worries have been considered by me. I see no other means for the destruction of your sin; the supreme atonement, remembered by the sages, is bathing at the holy place.