In the sacred city of Mathurā, it is said that even if one commits an offense, purity remains. Such is the power of this holy place that a person is freed from the weight of offenses accumulated over a thousand lifetimes. By merely hearing of Mathurā, reflecting upon it, or beholding it with one’s own eyes, all sin departs. Both Mathurā and the divine Boar, Varāha, are especially dear to the devotee. A question arises: Between Mathurā and the Boar, which is superior? What are the most sanctified places and lakes upon this earth, stretching all the way to the ocean? Those who are ever devoted to my nature, says the Lord, always praise Kubjāmra, that sacred spot. Especially on a single day in the month of Mārgaśīrṣa, on the twelfth lunar day consecrated to Viṣṇu, the merit of Mathurā shines forth—more secret than the most secret of merits. Those who have visited all holy places, including Kubjāmra and others, continually find that from resting in Mathurā comes the deepest repose. Thus, the Lord is known as Varāha, the One who grants rest. Of all the goals sought by beings, Mathurā stands as the supreme destination. Here, even without the disciplines of Sāṃkhya or Yoga, liberation is attained—there can be no doubt. Indeed, to give up one’s life in Mathurā is to gain liberation; there is no holy place like Mathurā, nor any god greater than Keśava. Thus concludes the chapter entitled “The Greatness of Atonement for Offenses,” found in the Mathurā-māhātmya of the glorious Varāha Purāṇa. Now, Śrī Varāha spoke further: “Listen, O Earth, to an ancient tale that unfolded at Dhruva-tīrtha. In that city long ago, there lived a king, righteous and steadfast in truth. He had two hundred wives, each of noble family, character, and age. Among them was Candraprabhā, heroic herself and mother to heroic sons. However, the companions of Candraprabhā did not follow the conduct prescribed for wives. Because of their own faults, all of them fell toward hell. At one time, a great being among living creatures also fell from there, and those who had erred took on dark forms, resembling mosquitoes, and wandered about in that state. In their delusion, they neglected all vows and recitations, even when a fourth part of the day still remained. Meanwhile, others came from the east, west, and south—joyful, content, and well-nourished, they traveled in groups to the heavens, adorned in fine garments and ornaments, their bodies strong and radiant with delight. Some departed as they had come, returning again and again. In groups, they gathered, departed, and arrived, wishing blessings upon one another with joy. Others, with slender bodies and sunken bellies, were nonetheless honored and carried in fine palanquins. Witnessing this scene, a sage rose in amazement, seeing the holy place transformed into a festival, as if it were surrounded by a shore. The sage himself trembled, his eyes hollow, his body thin and bent. No words escaped his lips—his voice was as faint as the cry of a small bird. He lamented to the gathered souls, ‘You do not go to your proper place, having come here without effort. Today, my daily act at this holy place is lost, both night and day. Having seen you in this form, my ritual has gone to you.’ Then, one of the afflicted beings spoke: ‘Whoever performs the śrāddha ritual again at this fixed holy place, offering water mixed with sesame seeds, satisfies the ancestors. Those ancestors, gratified by this offering, attain heaven through their descendants. But due to the fault of mixed lineage, one is subjected to hell. For me, there is no path or movement; I am tormented by threefold suffering.’ Thus, the power of Mathurā and its holy places is revealed—not only as the supreme path to liberation, but also as a place where the fate of souls is shaped by the actions and rituals performed there, for the living and the departed alike.