Listen, O dear one, to the sacred tale that unfolds along the banks of the Gaṇḍakī. It is a place of wondrous merit, for in its very waters, there is no doubt that the divine presence dwells. Indeed, in the womb of this holy river, I—Brahmā himself—along with the gods and the sages, ever remain, O Keśava, Lord of the world. Here, in the Gaṇḍakī, liberation is certain for those who come, for all sins are washed away without fail. Those who bathe in these waters gain the same reward as bathing in the sacred Gaṅgā. What river, apart from the Gaṅgā, could rival the Gaṇḍakī in holiness and merit? Here, too, another river, Devikā, joins with the Gaṇḍakī. It was at this very confluence that, for the purpose of creation, a separate hermitage was established, and from it arose Brahmā’s own daughter, the most sacred and foremost among rivers. This meeting place, the Triveṇī, is supremely holy—so rare, even the gods themselves long for it. Long ago, from the ocean of the Vedas, two sons were born: Jaya and Vijaya. Similarly, from Tṛṇabindu, two sons came forth—though sinful, they were virtuous in appearance. These sons, with senses and minds fixed in devotion, worshipped Hari with great love and reverence. So sincere was their worship that Hari himself, captivated by their devotion, granted them blessings during their offerings. After the completion of a great sacrifice, the king honored them, and they were given the task of dividing the offerings. However, a dispute arose between them, each competing for the share. Vijaya said to his brother, “That which you have obtained belongs to him.” Enraged, he cursed his brother, saying, “You do not return what you have taken; therefore, become a crocodile!” The other, in turn, replied, “Since you speak to me with such pride, become an elephant, blinded by your own arrogance!” Thus, by the power of these curses, one was born as a crocodile in the Gaṇḍakī river, yet he remembered his former life. The other, as an elephant, roamed the forest, delighting in the company of young elephants and their keepers. Bound by their mutual delusion and the force of the curse, both wandered the earth together, their destinies entwined. One day, the elephant approached the Triveṇī, intent on bathing in its sacred waters. There, he joyfully played and refreshed his companions. But the crocodile, remembering their ancient enmity and spurred by the old curse, attacked the elephant and dragged him into the river’s depths. A fierce struggle ensued—tusks were broken, and many tuggings and thrashings disturbed the waters. In their struggle, many other creatures perished, afflicted by the turmoil. In his distress, the elephant, a devotee at heart, appealed to the blessed Lord, compassionate to all who seek him. Again and again, the elephant hurled stones, striking them together in the presence of Hari. Because of this act, many similar stones came to be found in that place, O dear one, and the site became renowned. Have no doubt about the sanctity of the Triveṇī, O beautiful one. In later days, when King Bharata came near the hermitage of the sage Pulastya, he developed a strong aversion toward that place because of Bharata’s influence. Yet, because the Lord was worshipped there in this manner, he became known as Jaleśvara, the Lord of Water. Whenever I, O fortunate one, was present in Śālagrāma or another holy field, wherever the first sacred stone fell, a tīrtha—a holy site—came into being. Whoever bathes at these sites, shining with purity, is honored in the realm of the Sun. For the protection of devotees, I commanded Sudarśana, my divine discus. Yet, through confusion and the passage of time, all of these sacred things became scattered and covered over. Thus, the story of the Gaṇḍakī and its holy confluence is told—a tale of curses and redemption, of sacred rivers and divine presence, where liberation waits for the faithful, and the Lord’s compassion shines eternally.