In the sacred valley where the revered Sarasvatī, the best of rivers, flows, a remarkable event unfolded. There, a figure approached, declaring, “Grant me alms, O Lord; I am the great Kāpālika, O sir.” With a fervent plea, he called upon Maheshvara, asking him to strike with the trident using his left arm. Responding with swift might, Maheshvara struck Narayana’s left arm. In that moment, a wondrous sight appeared: a being ascended into the sky, standing adorned with stars. From this brilliance, the sage Durvasa emerged, born from a portion of Shankara himself. Alongside him, a youth appeared, armored and ready for battle. This youth, bold and resolute, spoke: “Tell me, whose shoulder shall I strike off, as one would pluck a palm fruit from its stalk?” Then a command was issued: “Cast down this man, the son of Brahma, whose wicked words shine like a hundred suns.” The hero, unwavering, took up his inexhaustible arrows and resolved to fight. For a thousand divine years, the battle raged, until at last Hara approached Viranchi with words. Assailed by mighty arrows, the combatants caused all ten directions to tremble with wonder. The outcome was clear: “Defeated, your man will act; my own great-souled man will do so.” Thus, in the midst of conflict, the god—source of dharma—hurled man against man. In the aftermath, Brahma was overcome with distress, his senses agitated by worry. Then, a terrible figure with hair soaked in blood—Brahma-hatya, the embodiment of the sin of Brahmin-slaying—approached Hara. Hara questioned, “Who are you, arrived here in wrath? For what reason? Tell me that.” She replied, “I am Brahma-hatya, come to you; accept me, O Three-eyed One.” Rudra, holding his trident, was afflicted by this encounter. As he journeyed onward, he saw the sages Nara and Narayana. Brahma-hatya sought purification; she went to the Yamunā to bathe, but its waters had dried up. She turned to the Plakṣajā, but as she entered, it too vanished. Undeterred, she went to the Saindhava forest and bathed there as she wished. Yet, even after bathing, that fierce sin of Brahmin-murder would not leave her. Jaladadhvaja, though endowed with self-control and yoga, could not attain liberation from this sin. Seeking a solution, he came upon the Lord who wields the discus, the one whose banner bears the eagle. With folded hands, Hara began to recite a hymn in praise. “O Vāsudeva, wielder of conch, discus, and mace, I bow to you. Salutations to you, O infinite, qualityless, unfathomable creator—supportless in knowledge and ignorance, yet the support of all. By you, O Lord, this entire world of moving and unmoving beings has been created. Protector of creatures, mighty-armed one, Janārdana, I bow to you. Lord of gods, endowed with virtues, all-pervading one, I bow to you. You are the wind, intellect, mind, and night; I bow to you. You are forgiveness, generosity, compassion, fortune, and self-restraint, O Lord. You are the upavedas, O Lord; you are everything. I bow to you. In this world, you are regarded by me as compassionate; save me, Keśava, from the bondage of sin. I am burned, I am lost, I have acted without reflection; purify me, you are the holy ford. Salutations, salutations to you.” Hearing this heartfelt plea, the Blessed Lord spoke words for the removal of the sin of Brahmin-murder, bestowing auspiciousness, increasing virtue, and removing the stain of that grave act. He declared that he dwells eternally at Prayāga, renowned as Yogaśāyin, the eternal refuge for those seeking purification and grace.