Pulastya, the wise sage, counseled, “O son, one must always protect oneself with great effort. As you wander the forests, remain ever watchful—beware of wild animals and beings born in evil wombs. Now, listen to our reply, which dispels sorrow: just as a traveler who rests eventually returns, so too do all beings meet again after parting. In time, they gathered together to see their mother and their circle of friends. Overcome with grief for her son, the mother spoke in anguish, ‘My little son Phenapa is helpless, weak, and miserable. He is meant for the future, and now, more than ever, he is vulnerable. He wanders in dangerous places, among herds that are not his own. Forgive me, O noble ones; I must go, relying on truth alone.’ Hearing her words, all the women present were filled with sorrow and tried to dissuade her, saying, ‘You must not go to Kapila; you will not incur any fault by staying here.’ At that moment, a verse once sung by sages devoted to dharma was recalled. Kapila then spoke: ‘I do not use even the slightest falsehood for my own sake, ever. When truth and a thousand horse sacrifices are weighed on a scale, truth is greater. Therefore, I will not speak falsehood, even to preserve my life. That you are willing to abandon your life—so difficult to give up—for the sake of supreme truth is the highest virtue. Indeed, death will never come to one who stands firmly in truth, under any circumstance.’ Then someone beheld Kapila, astonished, their eyes wide in wonder. For those devoted to truth, nothing inauspicious ever befalls. ‘You have always spoken with oaths, Kapila, honoring your vow. Therefore, go—freed by me—to where your son is.’ Pulastya continued: At that very moment, the king returned to his natural state. With a joyful heart, he spoke to Kapila, who always spoke the truth, ‘What favor can I do for you today, O cow? Speak quickly.’ She replied, ‘Thirst troubles me; therefore, bring water at once.’ ‘Know that I do not speak falsehood; what I have said is true,’ the king declared. He set an arrow to his bow, took aim, and struck the earth. At once, pure, cool, and auspicious water sprang forth from the ground. At that moment, Dharma himself appeared. Pleased by the king’s truthfulness, Dharma said, ‘There is none equal to you anywhere. By your radiance, you shall attain a divine realm, free from old age and death. Let this sacred reservoir of water become renowned by my name. Especially on the fourteenth day, those who come here shall attain the highest state. By your name, this holy place will become supremely meritorious—bathing here brings a hundred thousandfold merit, and gifts given here yield inexhaustible virtue. Those who perform śrāddha here with full concentration— even insects and moths tormented by thirst, who enter these auspicious waters—will be blessed. How much more so for humans endowed with devotion and truthfulness in speech!’ ‘O king, by the power of Kapilā, they have all arrived here,’ the sage declared. Then Kapilā, surrounded by cows and herds, ascended them. Therefore, one should bathe there with all effort. Pulastya concluded, ‘There, long ago, fire was lost, and even the gods recovered it.