Hear now a sacred tale as spoken in the Padma Purāṇa. At the moment of death, if a wise person remembers the name “Ganga,” all impurities fall away, and he goes to the abode of Vishnu. This name itself grants liberation, and Lord Hari is pleased with one who remembers it at their last breath. If, at the time of death, a person bears the mark of Ganga water, or beholds a bather of the Ganges—even if he departs this world in a cremation ground—he attains the merit of dying on the banks of the Ganga. As long as a person’s bones remain in the waters of the Ganga, for as long as the body endures, he is honored in Vishnu’s world for thousands of aeons. Even if only the ashes, bones, nails, or hair of a person sink into the Ganga, that soul dwells in Vishnu’s realm. While the bones remain in the sacred river, whatever actions the person performed in life, their entire fruit is enjoyed—so it is declared. Now, listen to a tale of the gods. Once, Śakra—the blessed Indra—adorned with many ornaments and desiring pleasure, entered his splendid playhouse accompanied by a young woman, Padmagandhā, whose body was fragrant with lotus. She, skilled in the arts and newly come to youth, delighted the lord of the gods with various pleasures. On the golden couch of his co-wife, Indra, overcome by passion, dwelt at her feet, enchanted by her fawn-like eyes. Pleased and captivated by her qualities, Indra fashioned a golden betel box and gifted it to Padmagandhā. At that very moment, Paulomī, also known as Śacī, the most beautiful and adorned with all ornaments, entered the house. Witnessing Indra thus, the lord of all gods, her own husband, Paulomī became greatly angered. With a face radiant with virtue, she spoke: “O lord of gods, beloved, what are you doing? You give a golden betel box to a woman who is but a servant to me. All the gods bow their heads to you and touch your feet, yet you, my lord, touch the feet of Padmagandhā, a mere servant? Even a bee, if asked, would become fragrant but lose its fame; you, master of all radiance and husband to countless beauties, how can you perform such a disgraceful act? Leave far behind this servant, Padmagandhā, who is devoid of qualities. You are the queen upon the couch, while Śakra is at your feet.” Thus, Vyāsa says, Paulomī rebuked Padmagandhā in many ways. Angered, Padmagandhā replied, “Only the master knows my virtues and faults. By what authority do you insult me, declaring me devoid of qualities? Others, even with two eyes, see both virtues and faults; but one with a wicked heart, even with a thousand eyes, sees only faults. It is the faults of people that spread, not their virtues. The blemish of the moon is seen first by those who value virtue; one who speaks harm, is cruel, and has a wicked form, is truly devoid of virtue. If I am not virtuous, then let your husband worship you.” Having spoken thus, her lotus-like eyes blazing with anger, Padmagandhā rose from the golden couch, lamenting greatly. Indra called after her, “Beloved, mistress of my life, best of women, where are you going, leaving me? What wrong have I done? Tell me, beautiful one. I am surely your servant and perform the duties of a servant for you. The wife of a servant becomes a servant herself; you do not listen to my words.” Then Indra, his mind bewildered, rose and placed the beautiful Padmagandhā again upon his lap. Śacī, filled with sorrow, said, “The life of the Krauncha bird is blessed; surely my life is wasted. You are always fortunate, O mistress, while I am unfortunate. As long as the merit of the Krauncha lasts, that merit will be exhausted. Born again in the Krauncha lineage, you will experience sorrow once more. Until then, enjoy pleasure with the king of gods as you wish. But how many days, O Krauncha, will you not be, O one without virtue?” Hearing these words, Padmagandhā was greatly astonished. Abandoning all conflict, she bowed and addressed Śacī, “O daughter of Puloma, exalted one, what you have said is remarkable. O Krauñcī, tell me—who are you? Where do you dwell, and how did you come here? I wish to hear everything in detail. How long will it take for my merit to be exhausted?” Śacī replied, “In the past, you were Krauñcī, born among birds, with the fragrance of lotuses. You dwelled upon the earth, eating impure flesh and insects. On the lovely bank of the Ganga stood a single banyan tree. There, after building your nest, you made your home. One day, a black serpent entered the banyan and, finding your nest, bit you and took your life. In its rage, the serpent devoured all your flesh, leaving only your bones in the nest. Later, a great wind cast the serpent down, and the banyan tree, roots and all, broke and fell into the Ganga. When the tree entered the river, your bones were washed by the sacred waters. As long as your bones remain in the Ganga, so long does your merit endure. For that same duration, you will always be dear to your lord. Thus, O Padmagandhā, I have told you everything. By the power of that merit, even Śakra, king of the gods, is under your control. Blessed indeed is the goddess Jāhnavī, the Ganga herself, by whose grace, O Krauñcī, you have attained such fortune.