Pulastya spoke: “Therefore, go—freed by me—to where your son is.” At that very moment, the king returned to his natural state, his mind restored. With a heart filled with joy, he addressed Kapila, who is ever truthful, saying, “O Kapila, what favor shall I do for you today? Speak quickly, and I shall fulfill your wish.” The cow replied, “Thirst torments me; please bring water at once. Know that I do not speak falsehood—what I have said is true.” Hearing her earnest plea, the king set an arrow to his bow, took careful aim, and struck the earth. Instantly, pure, cool, and auspicious water sprang forth from that spot. At that very moment, Dharma himself appeared there, pleased by the king’s truthfulness. He spoke with kindness: “Because of your unwavering truth, I declare—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 will attain the highest state. By your name, this holy place will indeed 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—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.” Then Kapilā, surrounded by her cows and herds, ascended them. Therefore, it is said, one should bathe here with all effort. Pulastya continued: “There, long ago, fire was lost, and even the gods themselves came to recover it.” Yayāti asked, “How was it recovered in that very place? I am eager to know, O great sage.” Pulastya replied: “The whole world, afflicted by hunger, was seized by great doubt. Most had died, and those who remained alive were but shadows upon the earth. When such hardship befell the world of mortals, O king, because of the absence of food and medicinal herbs, only bones remained. Severely afflicted by hunger and thirst, Agni himself reached the dwelling of a caṇḍāla. The caṇḍāla took him in, brought him home, and washed him with water. Knowing what was edible and inedible, Agni—the fire-god—considered, ‘Now that the medicinal herbs have vanished from the world, this is indeed appropriate at present. But I will not consume what is unfit to eat; I will abandon the earth.’ Thus, having resolved in his mind, Fire, filled with anger, decided to depart. With the sudden disappearance of Fire, all rites—such as the Agniṣṭoma—ceased. The hosts of gods fell into great doubt. Mortals, abandoned by Fire, met with destruction. The gods resolved, ‘Let Fire be sought out—where does he now abide?’ They searched for Fire throughout the expanse of the earth. Then, exhausted, the gods saw a parrot before them. The parrot declared, ‘The great and radiant Fire, who receives oblations, has vanished—I have seen him.’ Fire was revealed by the parrot, but the parrot, filled with anger, cursed him. Fire had entered the interior of the śamī tree and the noble aśvattha tree.