As the season unfolded, torrents of rain struck the land, their force accompanied by the thunder’s deep roar and hum. The rivers swelled, their resounding noise mingling with the vibrant cries of peacocks. Amidst this, gentle winds began to blow, offering comfort to the peacocks and all who dwelled there. Thus passed the season, resounding with the drums of clouds rolling across the sky. In time, the ponds became clear, filled with blooming lotuses and water-lilies, while pleasant, fragrant, and cool breezes drifted through the air. When autumn came to its end in this delightful manner, the festival of Kaumudi arrived, bringing joy and celebration. On the eleventh day of the bright fortnight, O fair-browed one, after bathing and adorning themselves in linen garments, those who had dwelled there in comfort for six months prepared for the twelfth day. On that auspicious day, the son, steadfast in righteousness, listened to the words of his parents and replied, “It is as you have spoken, O greatly fortunate one. This is indeed the twelfth day, beloved of Lord Nārāyaṇa. On this day, in the bright Kaumudi, the joyful give gifts, and by the power of that giving, which delights Viṣṇu, great merit is attained.” As they spoke in this way, the auspicious night gave way to morning. Having purified himself as was proper and adorned in linen garments, the son approached his parents, took hold of their feet, and addressed them: “Whatever you wish to know about the secret of the boar, dear father, I shall tell you. I once ate insects and, afflicted by indigestion, was greatly tormented. Seeing me bewildered, the other children took me and went off to play. You saw me, and I saw you—thus, our contest was made. Saying, ‘Not mine, but yours,’ I journeyed to the supreme holy place of the Sun, and there, at that mighty holy place, I released my life-breath. “Mother, your son was born on this most auspicious day. The secret of what has passed, and my own story, I have now revealed to you. I shall perform my duty; go now, dear one, with my salutations. Whatever deeds are declared by Viṣṇu, those you should have performed. The garland of banyan leaves, as is proper, brings liberation from the cycle of actions.” Having performed great deeds, they attained death and, freed from all worldly existence, reached the White Island—a place where all are endowed with prosperity, free from disease and illness. There, they rejoice as is proper, by the grace born of my field. Again, I shall tell you another story of what happened in my boar incarnation. Freed from birth among animals, they reached the White Island. He, the son, quickly delivered his lineage—ten ancestors before and ten after—from the bonds of birth and death. This sacred story should not be recited among slanderers, but may be recited alone at home, and before the Vaiṣṇavas, those endowed with the virtues of the scriptures. Thus ends the one hundred thirty-eighth chapter, named ‘The Story of Khañjarīṭa,’ in the glorious Varāha Purāṇa. Now, O goddess, listen as I speak of the greatness of the boar and the true result of what is being written. To begin, one should take cow dung and plaster the ground of my abode.