Within the celestial realms, a profound trouble was brewing. The enemy that dwells within the body—hard to conquer, never satisfied, always overpowering—had stirred unrest. In the secret lotus-mansion of Vāsava, words were spoken quietly, acknowledging that without Ākhaṇḍala, the world of the gods lost its splendor. Thus, the gods, joined by Gandharvas, guardians of the worlds, and Kinnaras, gathered together with Śacī and approached Bṛhaspati, the revered teacher. “O lord,” they asked anxiously, “we do not know where the mighty god has gone. Where does he dwell, where has he gone, or where should we seek him? Without him, heaven and the hosts of gods do not shine.” They lamented, “Just as a noble family is incomplete without a worthy son, so heaven is dim without its lord. Let us quickly find a way to restore its brilliance.” They urged, “Let heaven be restored, endowed with its lord and prosperity; let us not delay.” Hearing their pleas, Bṛhaspati replied, “I know where Maghavan abides. Out of shame for his own fault, he now reaps the fruit of his hasty deed. When righteousness is abandoned, men suffer terrible consequences. Alas, intoxicated by the pride of sovereignty, he acted without discernment. He has done what is blameworthy, causing ruin both seen and unseen. Such acts are born of folly, when minds are confounded by fate. From wrongdoing, birth itself becomes fruitless here and hereafter. Let us go to where Śakra abides.” With these words, all the gods, led by Bṛhaspati, departed. In a vast lake, they beheld a forest of golden lotuses. There, they praised the king of the gods, seeking to awaken him. By the teacher’s call, Indra emerged from a lotus bud, his face dejected, his form altered, eyes downcast with shame. He grasped the feet of his elder, Bṛhaspati, and pleaded, “Protect me, tell me the expiation for this sin, O Bṛhaspati!” The sage replied, “Hear, O lord of the gods, I will tell you a means to destroy sin: by merely bathing at Prayāga, you are freed from sin at that very moment. You will be released from your demerit, O king of the gods, simply by that. Let us go there together with you.” Accompanied by his priest, Indra, the subduer of Bala, arrived at Prayāga. There, he bathed at the white and black fords and was immediately freed from his sins. The preceptor of the gods, pleased, granted him a boon: “By merely bathing at Prayāga, your sin is destroyed, O sinless one. O Śakra, with your sins gone, by my grace, swiftly—a thousand yonis and a thousand eyes will be yours.” By the word of the Brāhmaṇa, Indra, lord of Śacī, shone forth. With a thousand eyes, his mind was serene like a lake filled with lotuses. Honored by all attendants and sages, praised by Gandharvas, Śakra returned to Amarāvatī. Thus, at Prayāga, the subduer of Pāka was instantly freed from sin. “You too, O blessed one,” the sage advised, “go to Prayāga, revered by the gods, for the instant destruction of sin and surely for attaining heaven.” Hearing these words and the auspicious story, she bowed at once to the feet of the Brāhmaṇa, seized by urgency. She abandoned all relatives, the house of servants and maids, and left behind all pleasures as one would cast off poison. Seeing her body perish in a moment, I departed, tormented by the dreadful inner fire of the ocean of hell. My heart afflicted by the beast of a corpse, I went and bathed at the white and black fords in the month of Māgha. Hear, O aged night-wanderer, the greatness of that bath: in three days, my sins were destroyed; in twenty-seven days, the merit from that bath brought me divinity. I delighted on Kailāsa as the dear friend of Girijā. By the power of Prayāga, I was born with memory of my past life; remembering the greatness of Prayāga, I go there every Māgha. Thus, O Rākṣasa, all that you, amazed in mind, asked, I have told you in full—my story, for your delight. Now, for my delight, tell me your own story, O Rākṣasa: by what deed were you born so deformed and terribly frightening? With a beard, long fangs, a flesh-eater in the mountain caves—what is your tale? The Rākṣasa replied, “He gives what is desired, receives, speaks secrets, asks—indeed, O gentle one, the virtuous rejoice, and all that is established in you. Surely, O woman with beautiful eyes, you are honored by them, I believe. O auspicious one, you will promptly bring about the remedy for this cruel deed. Therefore, I will tell you, O gentle lady, the wrongdoing I myself have committed. By revealing one’s sorrow to the virtuous, one then becomes entirely happy. Listen, O woman with lovely hips, I am a master of the Rig Veda, learned in Vedic lore, from Kashi. Long ago, I was born as a foremost Brahmin in a great and pure lineage, O timid one, among sinful kings, Shudras, and also the people. In Varanasi, I accepted wicked gifts—a terrible act. Though forbidden many times, I repeatedly took them, much reviled. I did not even refuse wicked gifts from a Chandala; and there, with a deluded mind, I committed other sins—there is no evil deed which I did not do. Hear also, O fair-complexioned one, another fault concerning the sacred field: in Avimukta, even the smallest sin becomes as weighty as Mount Meru; in that birth, I accumulated no merit at all. Then, after a long time, I died there itself, O lovely one; by the power of Avimukta, I did not go to hell.