In accordance with the sacred rites, my parents journeyed to a holy place, where, with hearts full of longing for a son, they bathed and worshipped the goddess Candika. Their offerings were sincere: flowers, incense, and lamps, all presented with deep devotion. For seven days, they worshipped Ambika with unwavering faith, and on the seventh day, the goddess herself appeared before them, her mind serene and clear. Parvati, pleased with their steadfast devotion, addressed my father, the merchant: “O merchant, your sincere efforts have moved me. I am pleased with your devotion and will grant you the son you so desire. But first, go without delay to the forest of Indra and Khāṇḍava. There lies the supreme holy place known as Indraprastha. It is a sacred site that awakens the Vedas and fulfills all desires, created by Bṛhaspati himself. Bathe there, with your wish for a son in your heart. Even I, after bathing there, obtained Skanda, the destroyer of the gods’ enemies. By bathing at that holy tirtha, you too shall receive a son.” Hearing these gracious words, my father, accompanied by my mother, traveled to that sacred place. With hearts full of hope, they bathed there, performing all the prescribed rites. As was proper, my father gave a hundred cows, complete with all their utensils, to the twice-born. He honored the gods and ancestors with offerings, acting with wisdom and reverence. After staying at that holy site for seven nights, my parents returned home, their faces alight with joy, their wish fulfilled. In that very year, my mother conceived, and after nine months, I was born in the auspicious tenth month. All this, which Viṣṇuśarman has recounted to you, I too have narrated faithfully as it happened. I heard these events from my father’s own lips, some twenty years ago. Later, as I grew capable in the affairs of the household, my father, having developed detachment from worldly life, entrusted me with the house. He was a righteous man, devoted to Govinda, and he often spoke to me, warning against the snares of sensory pleasure and praising again and again the path of devotion to Viṣṇu. “O wise one,” he said, “I have grown old; my hair is grey. I will now seek to serve the lotus feet of Govinda, as the virtuous do. In that service, the mind becomes pure and steady, and such a person, content within himself, desires nothing. Free of desire, he endures both joy and sorrow, accepts the fruits of good and bad deeds, and, when the time comes to abandon the body, becomes unborn. As long as one seeks material wealth and pleasure, one does not know the bliss of pure consciousness. When that bliss is attained, all else seems as insignificant as buttermilk compared to nectar. It is the power of Hari’s māyā that deludes embodied souls, so that they cannot recognize what is truly beneficial, just as a drunkard cannot see clearly. The Lord, at his will, brings about engagement and withdrawal, knowledge and ignorance, playing with the world as a child plays. When one performs Vedic actions with a desire for their fruits, that is called supreme engagement, and the offering is made to the Lord. But just as burned seeds do not sprout, so too, actions offered to the Lord of the universe without desire bear no further fruit. The dissolution of actions that bring pleasure and pain is liberation; their arising is bondage—so the scriptures declare. Therefore, I will perform Vedic actions without desire for their results, and wander among holy places, holding devotion to Hari in my heart. By enduring actions already begun and restraining others, I will destroy the disease of worldly existence by drinking the medicine of good company.” Having heard these words of my father, I, Viṣṇuśarman, responded to him, and this is what I said: The merchant’s son thought to himself, “This person is hard to please; he will not speak of my fame. Fleeing from a wicked family, he has left and gone away. Yet, this is the Gaṅgā, the river born of Viṣṇu, purifier of the three worlds, renowned for removing sin from afar. Why would you abandon her? Even a sinful person who dies in Magadha, if he dies in the Gaṅgā, ascends to heaven, leaving his faults behind. Sixty thousand sons of the great Sagara, burned by Kapila’s wrath, attained heaven by her touch. This river, foremost among the celestial, bestower even of liberation, is served by those who seek release. Do not go elsewhere, dear one, leaving her behind. Do not disregard the Gaṅgā, honored by the gods and so close at hand. If you desire, O fortunate one, she will grant whatever is sought by her worshippers. Even animals, without knowledge, if they die in her waters, become Brahman. How then can you abandon her?” Hearing these words, my truth-loving father turned away from all worldly matters and dwelt in the house. Each day, at the three prescribed times, he bathed in the Gaṅgā. And wherever the Purāṇa was being recited in the house, he would always go and listen. Once, upon hearing of the greatness of the sacred place of the Yamunā, my steadfast father learned of its supreme merit. From Avimukta, Haridvāra, Prayāga, Puṣkara, Ayodhyā, Dvārakā, Kāñcī, Mathurā, and other holy places, he heard that this one site, containing the essence of all sacred waters, was said by his learned son to be a hundred times greater in merit. Thus, unnoticed by all, my father quietly left his home and came here to this holy place—a great soul, a servant at the feet of Govinda, as we are. Arriving here, seeking liberation, he performed the ritual bath at the Tirtha that awakens the Vedas, three times a day. He remained here for many months, dwelling at this most excellent of holy places.