Arriving at the sacred place, I found my father Śarabha greatly afflicted by fever. With reverence, I bowed my head to him and received his blessing. He spoke gently, saying, “Why have you come here, dear son, traveling such a long road? Stay for a few days, performing your own duties.” He then warned me, “A friend of mine named Vikaṭa, a demon, will soon arrive. When he comes, rise and fall at his feet in salutation. Do not fear him; he has abandoned violent deeds and, having reached this holy ford, now stands here in my presence.” Obeying my father, the great-souled Śarabha, I rose and prostrated myself at his feet. The demon Vikaṭa lifted me up in his arms, embraced me warmly, and said, “Welcome, friend’s son,” blessing me. He spoke kindly: “O dear one, you are fortunate to have come, having heard of your righteous father’s severe affliction with fever. By offering sesame water at this sacred place, you gain merit for your father. Bathe here, perform your own rites, and you will recall your previous birth.” Taking his words to heart, I entered the excellent waters of the holy place to bathe. As I immersed myself, I remembered, O father, the auspicious and inauspicious deeds of my previous birth. After bathing properly, I returned to my father’s presence and asked the rākṣasa about his story, curious how he had attained such righteousness. My father told me the rākṣasa’s tale, and that of a traveler and his steeds. Inspired, I composed a hymn of praise to the lord of the holy place. “My father will be freed from disease,” I thought, “and when that happens, I will return home.” I remained there for ten days. Within those ten days, O father, my father’s death occurred, as he stood in the half-submerged waters of this lordly holy place. Then, in a wondrous vision, Viṣṇu himself arrived, mounted on Garuḍa, bearing splendor upon his chest, his form like a fresh rain cloud. He was clad in yellow garments, with four arms and lotus-reddened eyes, accompanied by Brahmā, Indra, and other ancient deities, all with their attendants. Hosts of virtues served him, Kinnaras sang his praises, and everywhere he was lauded by Hāhā, Hūhū, and others. Viṣṇu granted his own likeness to my father, placed him upon Garuḍa, and, surrounded by Brahmā and the others, ascended to Vaikuṇṭha. Seeing my father attain the likeness of Viṣṇu, I reflected deeply; realization dawned within me. Truly, the greatness of this supreme holy place cannot be described. One who dies in its waters becomes four-armed, like Viṣṇu himself. I resolved never to abandon this lord of holy places; its greatness is steadfast and direct, dispelling desires for wealth, disease, and other cravings. Here, at my father’s shrine, I must remain until the fruits of my actions, begun on earth, are exhausted. Having thus considered, and having performed the proper rites for my father, I remained there with the rākṣasa, desiring liberation. Thus concludes the two hundred and fourth chapter, concerning the glory of the Kālindī, in the Uttarakhaṇḍa of the great Padma Purāṇa, comprising fifty-five thousand verses. *** Later, Saubhari narrated: The illustrious king Śibi, having heard the sage Nārada’s words, addressed him with delight. “O sage,” said Śibi, “I have listened to your detailed account of the greatness of this foremost tīrtha, as revealed in the scriptures, and its power to remove sin. In Indraprastha there are indeed hundreds of tīrthas. If you know of any other whose greatness is renowned, please tell me about it as well.” Nārada replied, “O king, within Indraprastha there is a place called Dvārakā. I shall tell you what happened there in ancient times—listen closely. In Kāmpilya, there lived a brāhmaṇa named Puṣpeṣur, the very embodiment of beauty, captivating the hearts of all women with his exceptional charm. Skilled in the art of music, his voice was as sweet as a cuckoo’s. He would often take up his vīṇā and play it repeatedly. With a melodious voice, that wise man wandered through the city, singing in every street. Hearing the sound of his singing, adorned with notes and melodies, the city’s women abandoned their household duties and came to him. Enchanted by his appearance, they could not withstand the surge of desire; upon hearing his song in person, they lost control of themselves. He was the one who tempted Brahmā’s mind toward Sarasvatī, and who caused Śiva to give half his body to Pārvatī. Except for those two, no one else in the world—no matter how self-controlled or wise—can conquer Kāmadeva; women by nature are fickle. Even those women could not endure the onslaught of desire, though they tried; what more can be said, O king? For in this world, Kāmadeva is truly hard to overcome. Wherever Puṣpeṣur went, singing and playing the vīṇā with his enchanting voice, the women followed him. Their husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers, O king, came and rebuked them, then led each woman back to her own home. But after searching for him, all those women again went to him; whenever this happened, the townspeople reported it to the king. The king summoned Puṣpeṣur in private and asked, “O brāhmaṇa, by what mantra have you enchanted the women of the city? Tell me this, best of brāhmaṇas, and I will give you much wealth; otherwise, without doubt, I will expel you from my kingdom.