Mukunda spoke: “Once, a Brahmin came to my house one evening. I welcomed him with all due respect, offering him a proper place to stay and food according to custom. He ate as much as he wished and, afterward, rested on a fine bed. But at midnight, a severe fever suddenly afflicted his entire body. Tormented in every limb, the Brahmin could not find rest, and as dawn approached, death drew near, and he departed from this life. After his passing, I performed all the prescribed rites for his cremation with care, ensuring that his bones were properly consigned to the sacred waters of the Ganges. By the merit of that act, my own remains have now come to rest in this holy place, Kośalā, created by Brahmadeva himself, which bestows auspiciousness upon all. Nārada continued: When Mukunda had spoken thus, the Brahmin, now radiant as a god, immediately ascended to heaven in a celestial chariot. Thus, I have told you how he met his end at the hands of a thief, yet, by the grace of this king among holy places, attained heaven. So ends the two hundred and tenth chapter in the story of Mukunda, found in the section on the glory of the Kalindi, in the Uttarakhaṇḍa of the revered Padma Mahāpurāṇa. Nārada spoke again: O auspicious one, I have just recounted to you the excellent story of Mukunda. Now, listen as I tell you the tale of Caṇḍaka, the barber. On the very day that Mukunda, the Brahmin, was slain by Caṇḍaka, word of the event spread among the townspeople. They brought the news before the king, saying, “O king, Caṇḍaka has killed Mukunda, the foremost of Brahmins. He has also taken much wealth. If it is proper, let it be restored. You are our protector and the ruler who deals with the wicked.” Hearing this, the king’s eyes reddened with anger. He addressed his minister, who stood nearby: “Hear what these people say. Quickly bring the wicked one before me, or I will hold you responsible. Arise! Let the welfare of the virtuous be ensured. In whose realm the subjects are oppressed by fierce robbers, that king goes to hell if he does not protect them.” The minister, obeying the king’s command, swiftly mounted a horse with the king and was accompanied by hundreds of foot soldiers. They went to Mukunda’s house and questioned his relatives: “Tell me truly, by whom was Mukunda killed?” Mukunda’s relatives replied, “He was killed by the fierce barber, Caṇḍaka. As he was fleeing, his turban fell, and Mukunda’s wife herself saw him commit the crime. What can we do with that sinner, drowned as we are in the ocean of grief?” Hearing this, the minister went straight to the house of the wicked barber. Dismounting quickly, he entered with a few soldiers and found the barber lying there. At the minister’s command, the soldiers dragged Caṇḍaka by the hair and lifted him from his bed. Muttering in confusion, he opened his eyes, and as soon as he saw the soldiers before him, he remembered his evil deed. The sin he had committed at night weighed on him, and he stood for a moment with his head bowed, seeing Yama, Lord of Death, standing above him. The minister seized the barber and brought him before the king, saying, “O king, here is the murderer of a Brahmin, the fierce barber. Whatever you command, I will do at once.” The king replied, “O wise minister, listen. This river, Candrabhāgā, is pure and excellent among rivers. Those who give up their lives here attain the abode of the gods. Therefore, do not kill this sinful barber here. If, outside the boundary of this river, in the region of Pañcakośa, he crosses the limit, let this murderer of a Brahmin quickly go to the dreadful hells.” Thus instructed, the minister sent outcaste men to carry out the king’s order. They took Caṇḍaka to the far bank of the Candrabhāgā, at a distance of two yojanas, and there, they severed his head. Because of his sin, Caṇḍaka was reborn as a serpent in the region of Māra, taking on the form of Time itself. He dwelled in the hollow of a dhava tree, his mouth blazing with poisonous flames. Just as a dry dhava tree is consumed by fire or a pond dries up from the sun’s heat, so too did the entire grove become barren from his presence, and all the grasses and plants useful for cattle were destroyed. One day, a caravan traveling from the southern region toward the holy hermitage of Nārāyaṇa, called Badarī, arrived at that place. Among them was a Brahmin who carried, on his shoulder, a wooden box bound with iron rods, containing the bones of his father and mother. He intended to immerse their remains in the sacred waters of the Gaṅgā, which fulfills even the wishes of sinners. This Brahmin, too, entered the forest where the serpent dwelled. In a secluded spot, he set down his box. The serpent approached, struck the iron rod with his hood, and as the box opened slightly, he slipped inside. The rod returned to its place, and the coiled serpent remained there, motionless and full of venom, inside the box.