Dattatreya spoke to the king, saying, “Listen, O King, to a wondrous and ancient tale—the mere remembrance of which bestows the fruit of a Vājapeya sacrifice. There once 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. As she wandered through a grove atop the king of mountains, an aged Rākṣasa, who had assumed the form of a mountain, saw her ascending the sky. Kāñcanamālinī was radiant and golden-hued, with beautiful hips, large eyes, a moon-like face, lovely hair, and full, high breasts. Seeing her endowed with such beauty, the Rākṣasa addressed her: ‘Who are you, O lotus-eyed one? From where have you come? Why are your garments wet, and why is your hair damp? From where do you come, O timid one, and how do you move through the sky? By what merit, O blessed one, do you possess this radiant, supremely beautiful and enchanting form?’ He continued, ‘O bright-eyed one, by the mere fall of drops from your garment upon my head, my mind—always cruel—became peaceful in an instant. What is the greatness of this water, though it has no taste? You should explain this to me. You appear to be virtuous; such form does not arise without virtue.’ Kāñcanamālinī replied, ‘Listen, O Rākṣasa, I am an Apsaras, able to assume forms at will. I have come to Prayāga, and my name is Kāñcanamālinī. My girdle is wet because I have just bathed, O Rākṣasa, in the pure white and black waters. Now I must go to the supreme mountain, Kailāsa, where the Lord of Pārvatī dwells, worshipped by gods and asuras alike. By the power of water from my braid, O Rākṣasa, your cruelty has departed. By what merit was I born, a maiden of divine form, to the Gandharva named Sumedhas? I will tell you everything. In a previous birth, I was a courtesan in the city ruled by the king of Kaliṅga. Endowed with beauty and charm, I was not proud of my good fortune. Among all the young women of that city, I was the foremost jewel. In that life, O Rākṣasa, I enjoyed pleasures as I wished. By the power of my youth, I enchanted the entire city, acquiring various jewels, ornaments, and wealth. I obtained all manner of beautiful garments, camphor, aloe, and sandalwood—all gained through the power of enchantment. O night-wanderer, 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 from them; some died in rivalry with each other, and some were overcome by desire. Thus, in that beautiful city, all my pursuits were fulfilled; but when old age arrived, my heart grieved: I had not given, nor sacrificed, nor recited, nor observed any vow. I did not worship the god who grants the fruits of the four aims of life; nor did I honor the goddess Durga, destroyer of misfortune; nor did I remember Vishnu, remover of all sins, being greedy for pleasure. Nor did I satisfy the Brahmins, nor did I act for the welfare of living beings; not even the smallest merit was performed by me, due to heedlessness. But sin was committed, O auspicious one, and because of that my mind is tormented. Lamenting in many ways, I sought refuge with a Brahmin. He was devoted to Brahman, learned in the Vedas, and the priest of the king. I asked him how I could find atonement for my wrongs: ‘O best of twice-born, how can I attain a good path from this sin? I am afflicted by my own actions, wretched and with a distressed mind. Lift me out of 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 good to the good, and the good are also good to the wicked. Hearing my words, he showed me his favor. The Brahmin said: ‘I know all your forbidden deeds, O beautiful one; quickly follow my advice and go to the field of Prajapati. Go there and bathe; by that, your sins will be destroyed. All your worries, O auspicious one, 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. But, O fearful one, even in the holy place, you must abandon any evil done in your mind; purified by bathing at Prayāga, you will certainly go to heaven. By bathing at Prayāga alone, there is no doubt that people attain heaven; sin committed elsewhere, O beautiful one, is destroyed instantly. At Prayāga, sin perishes, except for that committed at a holy place.’ He continued, ‘Listen, O fearful one, long ago Indra saw the wife of sage Gautama. Seeing her, he was overcome by desire and secretly approached her; from that severe sin, its fruit was produced immediately. The sage, standing before Indra and her, then caused a form that was disgraceful and shameful, bringing embarrassment. By the power of her husband's curse, Indra was marked with a thousand female organs; then, with his face turned downward, the king of gods departed. Overcome and ashamed, he condemned his own deed, upon the summit of Meru, vast and filled with water for a hundred yojanas. There, having entered the golden lotus bud, he remained, constantly reproaching himself and also Kāma. ‘Fie upon this passion-driven nature in the world, which instantly brings sin, by which a man goes to hell, despised by all. It destroys life, fame, glory, virtue, and courage; shame on Manmatha, of evil conduct, the assured source of calamities.’ Thus, Kāñcanamālinī revealed her story and the power of purification at Prayāga, teaching the Rākṣasa—and all who listen—the transformative effect of virtue and repentance.