Nowhere in the world, it was said, could there be found a woman as passionate as she. Yet, in a moment of distress, her beloved, feeling wretched, gently questioned her, “Why, when I am so miserable, do you, who always speak kindly, seem angry with me?” Provoked by his words, she replied sharply, “Why do you speak to me in vain? You, wretched insect, have given yourself over to another because of your lust!” Though she declared she would not act as he wished, the poor insect pleaded with her again and again. Hearing his repeated entreaties, her anger softened and she became appeased. Witnessing this strange and wondrous turn of events, the queen was overcome with sorrow. She lamented, “I am not desired by my beloved; surely, I will die—there is no doubt.” Thus, she grieved in many ways, sighing over and over, until her eyes fell upon a sage. He sat there, serene, born of austerity, firm in his vows. Approaching the sage, she spoke, “O Brāhmaṇa, one doubt whirls in my heart. I do not know the reason, but union does not arise between us. He who once conquered the realm of women, who defeated all in battle, now has no desire for them—O virtuous one, what can this mean? Horses, elephants, endless wealth and grain are his, and yet…” She continued, “By what result of karma is my youth so vibrant? It is visible during the day, but at night, it is not. O Brahmin, please instruct me on how to avoid evil deeds.” The sage listened and said, “My daughter, hear what happened long ago, done out of childishness. Your husband is certainly the son of Viduratha. In his youth, the prince ate many chickens. Years passed as he continued this habit. When asked why the chickens no longer came to the palace, there was no answer. Eventually, someone revealed that the king had devoured all the chickens, and for no reason at all.” He continued, “Then, Tāmracūḍa, enraged, pronounced a curse upon your husband for his evil-mindedness. From that time, the prince grew weaker day by day. Driven by a desire for relief, he went to the hermitage of Vāmadeva, bowed repeatedly, and asked, ‘O Lord, by what sin is my body wasting away day and night?’ Vāmadeva replied, ‘You have eaten chickens. Go to Tāmracūḍa for refuge; he will tell you the means of release.’” The prince found Tāmracūḍa, joined his palms in devotion, and pleaded, “O Lord, the chickens were eaten out of ignorance, for the sake of nourishment.” Tāmracūḍa responded, “Since you request, O king… The king, wielder of the rod, is the ruler, teacher, and protector of the worlds. Therefore, my daughter, he is not seen, having taken on an animal form.” Hearing the words of the great-souled sage Gālava, the queen asked with utmost devotion, “How may the curse come to an end?” Gālava, perceiving through deep meditation, replied, “In the forest of Mahākāla, there is a liṅga called ‘Liberator from the bird womb.’ By merely seeing it, the curse will be lifted.” She bowed reverently to the foremost sage and departed swiftly. Her eyes bloomed with hope, and her beloved, whose gaze was restless, saw her. At that time, the king spoke to her, she of deer-like eyes. She said, “O great king, today I will go with you.” Hearing her words, the king hurried, filled with joy. Together, they worshipped the liṅga known as the ‘Liberator from the bird womb.’ That night, for the first time, the rooster did not appear as it always had.