On the eastern side of that sacred region lies a place remembered as Haṃsa-tīrtha. It is renowned, especially on the night consecrated to Śiva, when devotees gather for the great festival and offer their worship with devotion. Once, during such a night, crows, drawn by hunger, flew toward the offerings that had been made there. In their struggle for food, two of the crows began to fight fiercely, and both tumbled together into a pit at that very spot. A wondrous transformation occurred: from that pit, the two crows emerged as radiant swans, their bodies shining with the luster of the moon. From that moment, O noble one, this holy place came to be called Haṃsa-tīrtha—the sacred site of the swans. In earlier times, it had been created by a Yaksha and was known as Yaksha-tīrtha. It was there, too, that a devotee wholly dedicated to Śiva relinquished his mortal life, sanctifying the place further. Such is the profound power of this tirtha, magnified by the presence and greatness of a mighty yogi. Thus, O Earth, I have revealed to you the secret of this sacred field—a secret among secrets, the highest of all. Tell me, what else would you wish to hear? Now, let me recount the glory of the Salagrama field. O Lord of gods, listen to the tale of the sage Salankayana. This venerable sage, steadfast in his austerities as prescribed by the scriptures, once beheld an extraordinary sala tree. The tree stood unbroken, vast, blossoming, and of incomparable beauty. Weary from his long pursuit of knowledge, Salankayana gazed upon this wondrous tree and, overcome by exhaustion, paused to rest. To the east of the sala tree, the sage stood facing west. There, on the eastern side, he beheld me—Sri Varaha—his gaze steady and intent, his vows unbroken. Awestruck by my radiance, he slowly opened his eyes in reverence. I moved to the southern side of the tree, and the sage, standing before me, began to praise me with words dear to my heart. As he worshipped me with hymns, I moved to the western direction. There, he lauded me with mantras from the Yajur Veda, and again, with mantras from the Sama Veda, he honored me in the west. Filled with the highest joy by his devotion, I addressed the sage: “Pleased am I by your austerity and your heartfelt praise.” Hearing my words, the steadfast Salankayana replied with humility, “I have wandered across the whole earth, through its mountains, forests, and groves. If you are truly pleased with me, O supreme Lord, bringer of peace, grant me a son equal to yourself.” Moved by the sage’s request, I responded: “O sage, what you have long contemplated in your heart while observing your vows shall come to pass. The supreme form of the Lord, by the name Nandikeśvara, is your boon. Cease your austerities now, O Brahmin, and find peace. You do not yet know, O best of seers, but Nandikeśvara has already been born. From Mathurā, bring the one known as Āmuṣyāyaṇa. There, O most fortunate one, remain in the hermitage—you who are a treasure of austerities.” Such is the sacred tale of these holy places and the power of unwavering devotion.