With utmost effort, one should perform the sacred bath at that holy place, for its power is indeed great. Thus concludes the twenty-sixth chapter, “The Greatness of Kanakhala Tīrtha,” in the Arbuda section of the Skanda Mahāpurāṇa. Now, listen to the story of another sacred site. In ancient times, it was there that the mighty Viṣṇu released his divine discus. After slaying the Dānavas in battle, Viṣṇu himself bathed in the pure waters of that stream. At that very spot, whoever performs a śrāddha ceremony during the times when Hari sleeps or awakens attains great merit. Thus ends the twenty-seventh chapter, “The Greatness of Cakra Tīrtha.” At yet another holy tīrtha, whenever a person bathes there properly, he is always born again as a human, never falling to an animal birth, even if he has committed many sins. Once, a herd of deer, surrounded on all sides by hunters armed with bows and arrows—like the very servants of Yama—reached this water sanctuary. Exhausted by hunger and thirst, they entered the sacred waters, and by the power of that place, all at once, they attained human birth and remembered their former lives. This is the truth, without any doubt. Bathing in those holy waters, O King, brings immediate success. When Indra himself saw that sacred place, which removes all sin, he revered it. Even today, on the eighth lunar day, people go there with understanding, and by performing ancestral rites and making gifts, they obtain the full fruit of those acts. Thus ends the twenty-eighth chapter, “The Description of the Power of Manuṣya-tīrtha.” Wherever a man bathes properly at these holy sites, he is freed from all sins. Long ago, there was a king named Suprabha, a mighty destroyer of enemy heroes. He took no special delight in women, pleasures, or riding horses and elephants; instead, he was fond of the hunt. Once, O best of kings, Suprabha journeyed to Arbuda for hunting. There, he saw a gentle creature, a doe, suckling her young, her affection evident. As the king drew his bow, the doe, burning with anger, spoke to him: “Lying down, engaged in union, suckling, or afflicted by disease—today, O lowest of kings, my death has come in every way. For, O lord of the earth, you have slain me unrighteously.” The king, seeing her life ebbing away, tried to appease her, saying, “Out of ignorance and cruelty, O gentle one, I have slain you.” The dying doe pronounced, “From conversing with her, you will return to your natural state as a cow.” Having spoken thus, the doe departed from life before the king. Immediately, King Suprabha’s face became fierce; seized by rage, he turned upon his own army and devoured them. The remaining soldiers, deeply distressed, fled and reported the terrible events at the crossroads and three-way junctions. Hearing these words, the king’s son, a youth of great valor, learned of the tragedy. In time, in that same royal lineage, a cow—separated from her herd by thirst for grass—wandered there. She was one who always ate grass with unbroken tips. At that place, a tiger approached her, its mouth fierce with fangs. Thus, the sacredness and stories of these tīrthas are revealed, their power to transform, to liberate, and to teach both kings and creatures the profound consequences of action and the blessings of holy places.