Praised by the celestial Gandharvas, Indra, the subduer of Pāka, journeyed to Amarāvatī, and at Prayāga, he was instantly freed from all sin. Therefore, you too, O blessed one, should go to Prayāga, that most sacred place revered by the gods, for there, sins are destroyed in a moment and the path to heaven is opened. Hearing these words and the auspicious tale that accompanied them, the woman, filled with urgency, immediately bowed at the feet of the Brāhmaṇa. She abandoned her relatives and the comfort of her household, leaving behind all pleasures as one would cast off poison. As I witnessed her body perish in a moment, I departed, tormented by the dreadful inner fire that is the suffering of hell. With a heart weighed down by the burden of a corpse, I went to bathe at the sacred white and black fords during the auspicious month of Māgha. Listen, O aged night-wanderer, to the greatness of that bath: in just three days, all my sins were destroyed, and in twenty-seven days, the merit I gained from that holy observance brought me divinity. I delighted on Kailāsa as the dear companion of Girijā. By the power of Prayāga, I was reborn with the memory of my past life intact. Remembering the greatness of Prayāga, I return there every Māgha. Thus, O Rākṣasa, all that you, amazed in mind, asked of me, I have told you in full—my story, for your delight. Now, for my own delight, tell me your story, O Rākṣasa: by what deed were you born so deformed and terribly frightening, with a beard, long fangs, and dwelling as a flesh-eater in the mountain caves? The Rākṣasa replied: One gives what is desired, receives, speaks secrets, and asks in turn. Indeed, O gentle one, the virtuous rejoice in you and all righteousness is established in you. Surely, O woman with beautiful eyes, you are honored by them, I believe. O auspicious one, you will surely bring about the remedy for my cruel deeds; therefore, I will tell you, O gentle lady, the wrongdoing I myself have committed. By revealing one's sorrow to the virtuous, happiness is attained. 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 Brāhmaṇa in a great and pure lineage, O timid one, among sinful kings, Shūdras, and common folk. In Varanasi, I accepted wicked gifts—a terrible act. Though forbidden many times, I repeatedly took them and was much reviled for it. I did not even refuse wicked gifts from a Chandāla, 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, and in that birth, I accumulated no merit at all. Then, after a long time, I died there itself, O lovely one. Yet, by the power of Avimukta, I did not go to hell. It is said that one who dies in Avimukta, however sinful, does not go to hell, but any sin committed there becomes fixed, like a thunderbolt. Because of that sin, fixed like a thunderbolt, my birth became demonic. A fierce, exceedingly cruel, sinful existence arose for me in the snowy mountains. Twice I was born in the lineage of vultures, previously thrice as a tiger, twice as a serpent; once as an owl, and then as a wild boar thereafter. This, O radiant lady, is my tenth birth as a Rākṣasa; thousands of years have passed in these births. O gentle one, there is no remedy for me from this ocean of sorrow. Here, O beautiful-browed one, I have made three yojanas devoid of living beings. I have destroyed many innocent creatures; because of that, my mind is constantly tormented. Yet now, my mind, sprinkled with the nectar of seeing you, has found coolness. A holy place bears fruit in time, but the company of the virtuous does so immediately. Therefore, O beautiful-browed one, the wise praise the association with the virtuous. All this, my heart's sorrow, I have told you. Rare indeed is the virtuous person whose own self is not afflicted; you know what is proper here, so I will say nothing further. Thinking, “How can I cross this ocean of sorrow?”—the company of the virtuous is the support and sustenance for all. The ocean of milk gives its water to the swan, not to the crane. Dattātreya said: Hearing his words, their hearts were softened with compassion. Kāñcanamālinī, setting her mind on the gift of righteousness, sang: “I will make amends—protect me now, do not grieve. Having made a firm vow, I will strive for your liberation; for many Māgha observances have been performed by me each year, as prescribed. With faith, O blessed one, I have performed them in the sacred fields of Brahmā, both white and black; I will tell you the count of that merit, O Rākṣasa. Wise people have said that righteousness should be practiced in secret; sages who know the Vedas praise giving to those in distress. O blessed one, when it rains into the ocean, what fruit does the cloud gain? I myself have experienced the fruit born of that merit, O Rākṣasa. That merit I will give to you, friend, which instantly destroys sin.” Then, wringing out a cloth, she placed water in the lotus of her hand and gave that Māgha-born merit to the aged Rākṣasa. Listen, O king, to the wondrous power arising from the observance of Māgha. Then, having obtained that merit, the Rākṣasa’s monstrous body was freed; a divine form appeared, radiant like the image of the sun. Mounted on the path of the gods, his eyes blossoming with joy, he shone in the sky, illuminating all the directions with his brilliance.