In that sacred assembly, the women, adorned with all the highest virtues, spoke with joyful hearts, declaring, “This is my husband, this is my lord, this is my master, this is my protector.” Their voices rang with happiness and pride in their devotion. Hearing these varied words, a virtuous and discerning woman among them addressed the gathering, saying, “The king himself favors Saudāsyā—why, then, should we women quarrel among ourselves?” With these wise words, all the beautiful women, abandoning their disputes, approached joyfully, their hearts uplifted and their bodies adorned with splendid ornaments. Together, they worshipped that sinless and noble king, honoring him and his wives with offerings of water and other respectful gestures. Then Purandara, the lord of the heavens, spoke, and he seated the king, accompanied by his wives, in the celestial chariot Puṣpaka. The air resonated with the sweet sounds of drums, kettledrums, and ḍiṇḍimas, while the clangor of cymbals, the rhythmic clapping of hands, and the victorious cries of the gods filled the heavens with glorious sound. Fanned by the delicate hands of divine women wielding white chowries, the king, mounted with his wives upon the chariot, ascended toward heaven. Indra himself, fearing for his own position, graciously offered half of his own seat to this righteous king. Thus, dwelling always on the same seat with Indra in heaven, the king attained the status of Indra, all by the compassion of Keśava. For thousands and millions of ages, he enjoyed all the pleasures of heaven. Then, by the command of the Lord, he mounted the chariot and journeyed to Vaikuṇṭha. There, after enjoying the delightful pleasures of a Manvantara, he attained supreme knowledge and, together with his wives, achieved liberation. O Brahmin, I have thus described in full the fruit that arises for one who gives up the body on the journey to the bank of the Jāhnavī, the sacred Gaṅgā. Know this: in the journey to the bank of the Gaṅgā, no fixed time is prescribed by the sages who see the truth, such as Nārada and others. Whenever a person bathes in the Gaṅgā, at that very moment he certainly obtains inexhaustible merit. It is certain that the Gaṅgā destroys all sins; yet if one repeatedly commits sin, the Gaṅgā does not purify him. Therefore, abandoning sinful intent, bathe in the Gaṅgā, the mother of the world, if you desire the highest good. The merit gained by humans from bathing in the Gaṅgā, O twice-born, is only otherwise obtained through actions that are extremely difficult to perform. One may count the raindrops or the dust particles of the earth, but the virtues of Bhagirathi, the Gaṅgā, cannot be described or enumerated. Having considered all the scriptures, I declare this to you: by bathing even once in the waters of the Gaṅgā, a person attains liberation. Even one who bathes in well-water, while meditating on the Gaṅgā—the sovereign of the gods, destroyer of all suffering, sorrow, and fear—becomes freed from all heaps of sins, even the gravest, and by the grace of the Gaṅgā attains Vishnu’s abode, the giver of all happiness. Vyāsa then spoke: O best of the twice-born, those who have taken refuge in Nārāyaṇa and are endowed with devotion never experience misfortune at any time. Again, I will declare the greatness of the Lord of Lakṣmī; hearing this, all people attain the supreme state. Hearing the greatness of Vāsudeva satisfies the Vaiṣṇavas, but those who deny the truth are not satisfied and suffer torment in hell. Therefore, O best of the twice-born, the supreme greatness of Viṣṇu should not be spoken of in the presence of heretics, but only before the devotees of Viṣṇu. Now, listen to a story from the Tretā Yuga. There was a man named Urviśur, who was perpetually devoted to sin and intent on reviling righteousness. He was a thief of Brahmins’ wealth, a pursuer of adultery, an eater of cow’s flesh, a drinker of liquor, and addicted to the company of prostitutes. He killed those who sought refuge, slandered others, betrayed trust, destroyed his friends, and tormented his relatives. He was a liar, cruel, associated with heretics, a ruiner of Brahmins’ livelihoods, and a thief of deposits. Witnessing his wickedness, all his relatives, filled with anger, came to his house and said, “The reputation acquired by our ancestors in this pure lineage is being destroyed by you, O fool. Abandoning the path of righteousness, you always commit sin; you have become the destroyer of our family’s honor and the cause of suffering for your kin. Such is the astonishing creation of the Creator in you—just as even foam is produced in the ocean where the moon was born. The power of wicked sons cannot be measured; in a moment, they destroy the reputation accumulated by many. When a noble son is born, the lineage is uplifted; but if a wicked son is born, even a noble lineage is degraded.” Having thus spoken, all his relatives, angered and fearing disgrace, abandoned that most sinful man. Left alone and reviled by all, deprived of his wealth, Urviśur sorrowfully turned to a life of banditry. Engaging in merciless, violent acts with other bandits, he was eventually seized by the people of the region and brought before the king. Yet, out of affection for his father, the king did not have him killed, but banished him from the land. Thus, seeking refuge in the forest, Urviśur joined with other arrogant bandits, waiting mercilessly to rob travelers. Once, after wandering in the forest and growing exhausted, he went to the riverbank to bathe. Thus unfolds the tale, revealing both the fruits of virtue and the consequences of sin, and the supreme grace found in devotion and in the sacred waters of the Gaṅgā.