Listen, O noble one, to the wondrous tale as revealed in the sacred Bhāgavata. This scripture, composed of divine words, stands manifest as Hari himself. By serving, hearing, reciting, or simply beholding its form, all sins are destroyed. Thus, the practice of hearing the Bhāgavata over seven days has been declared supreme, surpassing all other disciplines. In the age of Kali, this is the dharma proclaimed for all, a path revealed for the removal of suffering, poverty, misfortune, and sin, and indeed for conquering desire and anger. Otherwise, even the gods find it exceedingly difficult to abandon the illusion woven by Viṣṇu; how then could ordinary people renounce it? Therefore, the seven-day recitation is prescribed. Sūta, the wise narrator, continued: As the sages revealed this dharma in the assembly of Nāgaśravaṇa, a marvelous event unfolded. Listen, O Śaunaka, as I recount it. Suddenly, Bhakti herself appeared, radiant with pure love, holding her two youthful sons by the hand. She repeatedly uttered the names: Śrī Kṛṣṇa, Govinda, Hare, Murāri, Nātha. The assembly beheld her arrival, adorned with the ornaments representing the Bhāgavata’s meaning and dressed in beautiful garments. They wondered how she had entered and from where she had come among the sages. At that moment, the Kumāras spoke: “She has now emerged from the very essence of this narrative.” Hearing these words, Bhakti, along with her sons, humbly approached Sanatkumāra and spoke: “Today, by your grace and the nectar of this story, I have been nourished, though I was lost in the age of Kali. Now, where shall I reside? Let the Brāhmaṇas decide.” Sanatkumāra replied: “O Bhakti, among devotees you manifest forms of Govinda, you alone sustain love, you destroy the disease of worldly existence. Therefore, remain always, with firm resolve, in the hearts of the Vaiṣṇavas.” Thus, even the faults of Kali cannot perceive her, nor can their power prevail in the world. By their command, Bhakti took her seat in the hearts of Hari’s servants. Even those who are destitute in all the worlds are truly blessed if they possess devotion to Śrī Hari within their hearts. For Hari himself, abandoning his own abode, enters their hearts, bound by the thread of devotion. What more can be said of the greatness of one called a Bhāgavata, whose very self is Brahman on earth? By taking refuge in him, both the speaker and the listener of his words attain the pure equality with Kṛṣṇa, which no other dharma grants. Sūta continued: Then, seeing the extraordinary devotion in the hearts of the Vaiṣṇavas, the Lord, ever affectionate to his devotees, abandoned his own realm. He appeared adorned with a garland of forest flowers, dark as a raincloud, clad in yellow garments, enchanting in form, radiant with a golden waistband, and wearing a shining crown and earrings. Graceful in the threefold-bending posture, beautiful, adorned with the Kaustubha gem, possessing the beauty of ten million Cupids, and anointed with fragrant sandalwood paste, he was the embodiment of supreme bliss and consciousness, sweet, holding the flute; he entered the pure hearts of his devotees. Those who dwell in Vaikuntha, the Vaishnavas such as Uddhava and others, had taken up concealed forms on earth for the sake of hearing these stories. At that time, cries of victory resounded, a supernatural fullness of rasa was felt, showers of powdered flowers fell repeatedly, and the sound of conch shells echoed. For those assembled in that hall, all sense of body, home, and self was forgotten; seeing their state of absorption, Narada spoke: “This extraordinary glory, O sages, has today been witnessed by me, arising from this seven-day event. Even the ignorant, deceitful, beasts and birds here all become utterly free from sin. Therefore, in the world of men, indeed, there is nothing else in Kali Yuga that purifies the mind; nothing else on earth destroys heaps of sin as does the hearing of these stories. Who are purified by the seven-day sacrifice consisting of stories? Tell me. Has any compassionate person, considering the welfare of the world, revealed a new path?” The Kumāras answered: “Those humans who always commit sins, who are constantly engaged in wicked conduct and stray from the path, who are burned by the fire of anger, crooked and lustful—they are purified in Kali Yuga by the seven-day sacrifice. Those devoid of truth, who insult their parents, overwhelmed by desire, devoid of ashrama-dharma, hypocrites, envious, and violent—they too are purified by this sacrifice. Even those who commit five grave sins, act deceitfully, are cruel and merciless like demons, who are nourished by Brahma’s wealth and engage in adultery—they are purified by the seven-day sacrifice. Those who constantly commit sins by body, speech, and mind, who are deceitful and stubborn, enriched by others’ wealth, impure, and have evil intentions—they are purified in Kali Yuga by the seven-day sacrifice.” The Kumāras then said, “Here, I shall recount to you an ancient story, by the mere act of hearing which the destruction of sin arises.” On the banks of the Tungabhadra river, there once was a splendid city, where the people of the four varnas were devoted to truth and virtuous deeds according to their own dharma. In that city lived Atmadeva, thoroughly learned in all the Vedas, expert in both śruti and smṛti, like a second sun. Though a beggar, he was wealthy in the world, and his beloved wife, Dhundhuli, was steadfast in her words, beautiful, and born in a noble family. Yet, she was attached to worldly affairs, cruel, talkative, skilled in household duties, miserly, and fond of quarrels. Thus, while the couple lived together in love and enjoyed themselves, their wealth and desires did not bring happiness in their home or other matters. Later, they began to practice dharma for the sake of progeny, always giving cows, land, gold, and garments to the needy. Half their wealth was spent in the pursuit of dharma, yet neither son nor daughter was born, and so they were greatly troubled by anxiety. Once, that twice-born man, distressed, left his home and went to the forest; at midday, overcome by thirst, he approached a pond. After drinking water, he sat down, emaciated by the sorrow of having no children. After a short while, a certain renunciant arrived there. Seeing him, the brāhmaṇa who had drunk water went near him; bowing at his feet, he stood before him, sighing deeply. The renunciant asked, “Why are you weeping, brāhmaṇa? What is this powerful anxiety of yours? Quickly tell me the cause of your sorrow.” The brāhmaṇa replied, “What can I say, O sage, of the sorrow accumulated by past sin? My ancestors drink hot water instead of cool.