At dawn, the caravan of pilgrims arose and prepared to depart, O king. Among them was a devoted brāhmaṇa, who carefully wrapped a box in a blanket and took it up, bearing it with reverence. He placed the bundle upon his head and, along with the others, made his way toward the sacred Gaṅgā. After several days of journeying, the group finally arrived at the holy land of Kośalā, a place purified and revered. There, upon the auspicious banks of Ayodhyā, the brāhmaṇa, afflicted by the cold, unwrapped his blanket to reveal the box. He opened it, and from within emerged a serpent, who had survived his confinement by subsisting only on air, having fasted all that time. As the serpent lifted the well-barred lid and appeared before the people, those present were seized by alarm and anger, shouting, “Snake! Snake!” They rushed forward, clods of earth in hand, and as the serpent tried to escape, he was struck down by one among them. In full view of the assembled pilgrims, the serpent relinquished his mortal body. At that moment, freed from his serpent form, he attained a rare state of divinity. Ascending a celestial aerial chariot, he addressed the people, saying, “O brāhmaṇas from the south, listen to my words.” He revealed his story: “In a former birth, I was a barber named Caṇḍaka, a wretched slayer of a brāhmaṇa. Because of that grave sin, I was cursed to become a serpent in the desert. After enduring the torments of hell for five hundred thousand years, I spent another twenty thousand years in the womb of a serpent. By the grace of this holy place, I have now attained the highest state of divinity. Therefore, this sacred site of Kośalā should never be abandoned, for it grants all desires. Even I, though sinful, have reached heaven because of its sanctity.” Nārada continued, explaining to the king that this sinful barber, after taking such a condemned birth, ascended to heaven in a celestial chariot by the grace of Kośalā. The ascetics from the south, having witnessed this miracle, became mendicants and remained at that holy site, their minds fixed upon the lotus feet of Govinda, beholding his glory. The foremost Brahmin, filled with unwavering faith after seeing the greatness of the place, cast the bones of his parents into the sacred waters. Instantly, his parents ascended a splendid celestial chariot and appeared before all in divine form. In the hearing of the assembled people, they spoke to their son: “Dear child, may you live long in this world, blessed with wealth, grain, and happiness. Because you have granted us liberation, you too shall attain release—this is no falsehood. The fruit that a son gains by offering rice-balls in the Gaṅgā, and the destiny attained by ancestors there, both are obtained here by the casting of bones.” Thus concludes the chapter named “The Story of Mukunda,” in the section on the Glory of the Yamunā, in the Uttara-khaṇḍa of the great Padma Purāṇa. Nārada then spoke again, addressing Śibi, the king: “Hear as I describe before you the supreme glory of Kāśī, which brings merit, fame, and long life. On the bank of Indraprastha, in the sacred age of Kṛta, there stood a single tree called Śiṃśapā. Upon this tree, a lone crow had built its nest, and beneath it, in a hollow, there dwelled a great serpent. One day, the crow’s mate, having laid two eggs in the nest, departed and did not return. The crow himself cared for the two eggs, remaining high upon the Śiṃśapā tree. Then, one night, a mighty storm arose and struck the tree, uprooting it from its strong base. As the tree fell, both the crow and the serpent at its base were crushed and lost their lives. Yet, those three—the Śiṃśapā tree, the crow, and the serpent—took on divine forms, ascended three celestial chariots, and went to the abode of Śrīpati. Śibi asked Nārada, “By what merit did those three attain the city that grants liberation? Who were they formerly?” Nārada replied: “In the land of Kurujāṅgala there was a Brahmin named Śravaṇa; his wife was Kuḍā, and his brother-in-law was Kuraṇṭaka. Śravaṇa, who always ate without bathing and took morsels of sweet food, became, due to that fault, a village crow named Shravan. Kurantaka, his brother, was a fierce atheist, a destroyer of the path of scripture and tradition, and a blasphemer of the gods. Because of this, he became a black snake after death. That snake, Kundā, was Shravan’s wife, sharing both faults. Thus, she attained a state of immobility and was of dual nature—this is their account from previous births. Now hear of their merit: Once, returning from another village, they saw a milk-giving cow fallen into a well, belonging to a traveler. They rescued her, prompted by no one, and Kundā spoke approvingly. By this act of compassion, the three attained a rare death and ascended to Vaikuṇṭha in Kāśī, on the bank of Indraprastha. This Kāśī is the city of Maheśa, O king; even so, one who dies here becomes happy in Vaikuṇṭha, the abode of Hari. Thus, I have told you the supreme glory of Kāśī. If you wish to hear more, tell me.” Śibiru then said, “Sage, you have described three fields of Maheśa: Kāśī, Śivakāñcī, and Gokarṇa as the other. You have spoken of the greatness of Kāśī; tell me of Gokarṇa and Śivakāñcī, if there is more to be known.” So ends this tale, O king, a testament to the sanctity of holy places, the power of compassion, and the grace that leads even the most fallen souls to liberation.