In her anguish, she wept aloud, her heart heavy with memories of her noble lineage and the dignity she once knew. Hearing her sorrowful cries, the women of the household gathered around, their concern drawing them near. Meanwhile, the man—overcome by his own distress—had fainted, but through various means, the women revived him. Once restored, he recounted the entire tale: the events that had transpired and the greatness of his ancestral line. Yet, as he spoke, a deep sadness overcame him, for he realized the gravity of the forbidden union that had occurred. He reflected on the fate of a Brahmin who is born as a murderer of Brahmins or a drinker of liquor, and on the grave sins involving mothers, a teacher’s wife, sisters, daughters, and daughters-in-law. He remembered that approaching the teacher’s bed, killing a Brahmin, drinking liquor, or slaying a woman are among the gravest offenses. Upon hearing all this, Panchali fixed her mind upon her eldest brother. She gathered all the jewels, garments, wealth, and grain that were present and dedicated them to the adornment of Kalinjar, especially for the upkeep of gardens and for her own purification. With resolve, she kindled the sacrificial fire, seeking to cleanse herself of any taint. The Panchala, too, with proper reverence, bowed to his teacher, the sage. He performed the appropriate rites for the departed at that very place. He purchased villages and gifted them to the Brahmins, distributing wealth among them for the purpose of the sacrificial session. After bathing at Krishna’s sacred site, he beheld the deity, bowed in reverence, and then commissioned the building of a temple there, instructing the local merchants to assist in this holy work. With humility, he praised the sage’s wondrous and awe-inspiring divine knowledge. “O teacher,” he said, “from that time in Mathura, I have come to you. Once, your pure gaze fell upon me, O sage. By the power of Krishna and the Ganga, I have again attained purity. That truth now shines within me—the sin of forbidden approach is gone. Grant me your permission, O lord; I bow at your feet.” As he was about to enter the sacrificial fire, a bodiless voice resounded from the sky: “Why, and out of fear of whom, do you, so resolved upon death, act thus? This place, marked by the discus-bearing foot, is as auspicious and exalted as Brahma’s own realm. Any sin committed at this holy site becomes as hard as diamond to remove. Yet, by bathing here even once, a person is freed from the sin of killing a Brahmin. There is nothing to equal the merit of bathing at the five sacred fords here—of this, there is no doubt. On the thirteenth day at Naimisha and the fourteenth at Prayaga, bathing at these times cleanses a person of all sin. At Asikunda on the Sarasvati, and likewise at Kalinjara, the Krishna-Ganga’s merit increases tenfold with each passing day. Both good and evil deeds are destroyed at Mathura. The virtues and greatness of these holy places can destroy even the gravest sins. Their power is endless and immeasurable, and their limits are not known. When such a place is dissolved, it cannot be perceived—what more can be said of that divine one? Just as, when breath ceases, the wind is lost and unseen, only leaving behind a trace—a name or semblance—like sweat, so too does the essence of these places remain, subtle yet ever-present.” Thus, the story unfolds—a tale of sorrow, repentance, and the unfathomable power of sacred places to purify and redeem.