Hearing the words of the noble sage Gālava, the devoted woman bowed and asked with deep reverence, “How may the curse that binds me come to an end?” Gālava, perceiving her plight through careful meditation, replied with compassion: “In the sacred Mahākāla forest there is a liṅga known as the ‘Liberator from the bird womb.’ By merely beholding this liṅga, your curse will be lifted.” With gratitude, she prostrated before the illustrious sage and departed swiftly. Her eyes shone with renewed hope as she was reunited with her beloved, whose gaze was restless with longing for her. In that moment, the king, moved by her presence and her deer-like eyes, addressed her with gentle words. She replied, “O great king, today I will go with you.” Overjoyed by her words, the king hastened eagerly. Together, they worshipped the liṅga called the ‘Liberator from the bird womb.’ That very night, the rooster—who had always appeared as a sign of the curse—was nowhere to be seen. Captivated by her beauty and the radiance of their union, the king marveled: “By what power have I crossed this insurmountable curse?” His heart full of wonder, he questioned his beloved, whose face glowed like the full moon. With joy, she recounted everything in detail: “O king, it is by the power of this liṅga that you are freed from the curse.” Thereafter, together with her, the king ascended to heaven, praised by the hosts of gods. It is said, O goddess, that this liṅga is renowned throughout the world as the bestower of all desired fruits. Those who worship or even see it shall not be born in animal wombs, nor will they suffer separation from loved ones. There will be no descent into hell, no suffering, no old age, nor fear. They will be endowed with beauty and good fortune in every age, and even their ancestors—no matter where they dwell, even in hell or in animal births—are uplifted by this merit. Whoever enters the animal realm, or is born as a beast, by merely seeing this liṅga, their animal birth is transcended. Long ago, in a great cosmic age, there was a king who embodied Dharma. So radiant was he that even Soma, Sūrya, and the other celestial lights seemed dim beside him. He could assume any form at will and was undefeated in battle. His chief queen was dearer to him than life itself. Among a thousand kings, he alone was never released from wonder, his mind ever awed by the sage Vashishtha. The king humbly asked, “O Lord, by what Dharma have I attained such supreme fortune?” Vashishtha replied, “In a former life, you were a king born in the Shudra caste. You lived for many years with a wicked heart, stealing from Brahmins and constantly reviling the Vedas. When your end came, you fell into hell, suffering in Raurava, Kumbhipaka, Maharaurava, and other dreadful places. In the crucible and upon the sword-leaf, you endured great torment. Yama assigned you the form of a crab, O ruler of the earth. Yet, whatever little you had given, recited, performed, or offered to the gods, and all acts of worship—these future merits shaped your fate. One day, as a crab, you slowly made your way to the riverbank to play. Suddenly, you were snatched up into the sky by a bird, tossed about by the wind, and released from the bird’s beak. Shiva, seeing your affliction, swiftly cast you down, freeing you from the torment of the bird’s beak and its violent shaking. Abandoning that worn-out body, as you once did in your form as a crab, you were released from your suffering.” Thus, the power of devotion, the grace of the liṅga, and the mysterious workings of karma brought about liberation and ascent for both king and queen, and even for their ancestors, bestowing blessings beyond measure.