In the sacred Padma Purana, within its vast Uttarakanda, there is a revered chapter called "The Glory of the Jambavat Tirtha." Amidst the dialogue between Uma and Maheshvara, the tale unfolds of a hidden and supremely pure tirtha known as Khangadhara, nestled on the banks of the holy Sabhramati River. In the age of Kali, this tirtha remains concealed from the world, but its sanctity endures: those who bathe or drink its waters are cleansed of all sins and honored in the realm of Rudra. It is here that the Sabhramati herself, following the sage Kashyapa, was caught by Rudra in his matted locks as she descended to the netherworld. At this place, named Khangadhara, Rudra resides, and even sinners who bathe here are elevated to heaven. An ancient legend is recounted about the challenging vow undertaken by a Kirata—a forest-dwelling hunter. Curious, Parvati asks Mahadeva: “What was the Kirata’s name, and what vow did he perform? Please tell me everything truthfully, for none but you can narrate what is most beneficial to hear.” Mahadeva responds: “Once there lived a fierce Kirata named Chanda. He was wicked, cruel, deceitful, merciless, and a source of terror to all beings. With nets, he ceaselessly killed fish; with arrows, he hunted deer, wild beasts, black antelopes, and horned animals. He slew many kinds of birds, and in his anger, especially targeted peacocks. This hunter was a great sinner, beloved only by the wicked; his wife was equally cunning and deceitful. Many years passed as Chanda wandered thus. One night, on the fourteenth day of the bright half of the month of Māgha, he stationed himself atop a śrī tree, bow in hand, ready to shoot a jackal. He stayed awake through the night, his mind filled with anger, cutting many leaves from the śrī tree. These leaves fell upon a liṅga resting at the base of the tree, and by the workings of fate, all those leaves became offerings in worship to Śiva. Unknowingly, Chanda performed a great ablution by making water in his mouth and pouring it over the liṅga. Though ignorant and wicked, he thus worshipped Śiva. On that auspicious night of Māgha’s bright fortnight, at moonrise, Chanda was purified of his sins. His fierce wife, hopeless and hungry, came to him there. He had not caught a boar, deer, or buffalo, but his radiant wife brought him food. As she approached, her cruel eyes met his, and she slipped into the river’s water. She called out, ‘Come quickly and eat; I have brought fish and meat for you.’ Then, angrily, she said, ‘What have you done, fool? The meat I brought yesterday is gone—you have eaten it and are neglecting your household.’ Hearing her words, Chanda, transformed by his fasting and night vigil on Śivarātri, became pure in heart. He observed a vow of purity and went to bathe in the river. As he bathed, a dog appeared and devoured all the meat. Chanda’s wife, furious, wished to kill the dog, but Chanda restrained her: ‘You must not kill this one—what harm has he done?’ His wife protested, ‘This wicked one has eaten the food! What will you eat when you are hungry today?’ Chanda replied, ‘The food eaten by the dog has satisfied me. What is the use of this perishable body, whose life is fleeting? Those who nourish their bodies with all their being are foolish sinners, excluded from both worlds. Therefore, abandon pride, desire, and wickedness; be steadfast through reflection and understanding of truth.’ He continued, ‘Today, I will renounce this body by the vow of the sword’s edge. What is the point of living long for me?’ Having spoken thus, Chanda drew his sword, ready to strike himself. At that moment, many hosts sent by Śiva arrived, accompanied by celestial vehicles. Chanda gazed at them in wonder. Filled with devotion, he asked, ‘Why have you all gathered here, you wearers of Rudrākṣa beads?’ They were radiant as crystal, adorned with crescent moons, their hair matted, clad in hides, and garlanded with serpents. Their splendor rivaled Rudra’s own. The attendants replied, ‘We have been sent by fierce Śiva, the supreme lord. Come quickly, board the vehicle with your wife. The worship of the liṅga that you performed at night for Śiva has earned you the highest state.’ Vīrabhadra addressed him, and Chanda, nearly laughing, replied, ‘What good deed have I, a sinner, performed?’ Thus, the legend reveals the mysterious workings of fate, the hidden sanctity of Khangadhara, and the transformative power of unintentional devotion, as even the most unlikely soul finds redemption through the grace of Śiva.