Sūta began, describing a wondrous moment: The Lord, ever affectionate to His devotees, saw the extraordinary devotion shining in the hearts of the Vaiṣṇavas. Moved by their love, He left His own celestial realm to be with them. He appeared resplendent, adorned with a garland of forest flowers, His complexion dark as a raincloud, clad in radiant yellow garments. His enchanting form was further beautified by a golden waistband, a shining crown, and brilliant earrings. He stood gracefully in the threefold-bending posture, adorned with the Kaustubha gem, His beauty surpassing that of ten million Cupids. Fragrant sandalwood paste anointed His form, and He was the very embodiment of supreme bliss and consciousness. Sweetness emanated from Him as He held His flute, entering the pure hearts of His devotees. Those who dwell in Vaikuntha—great Vaiṣṇavas like Uddhava and others—had taken up concealed forms in this world, drawn here for the sake of hearing these divine stories. At that time, cries of victory resounded throughout the gathering. A supernatural fullness of rasa was felt, showers of powdered flowers rained down repeatedly, and the sound of conch shells echoed in the air. For those assembled in that hall, all consciousness of body, home, and self faded away; they were utterly absorbed. Seeing their profound state, Narada spoke these words: "O sages, today I have witnessed this extraordinary glory, arising from the seven-day event. Even the ignorant, the deceitful, the beasts and birds here—all are utterly freed from sin." He continued, "Indeed, in the world of men, there is nothing else in Kali Yuga that purifies the mind so completely; nothing else on earth destroys heaps of sin as does the hearing of these stories. Who are purified by this seven-day sacrifice of stories? Tell me, has any compassionate person revealed a new path for the welfare of the world?" The Kumaras replied, "Those humans who constantly commit sins, who are engaged in wicked conduct and stray from the path, who are burned by 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, lacking ashrama-dharma, hypocrites, envious, and violent—they too are purified. Even those who commit the five grave sins, act deceitfully, are cruel and merciless like demons, who misuse Brahma's wealth and engage in adultery—they are purified in Kali Yuga by this sacrifice. Those who sin by body, speech, and mind, who are deceitful, stubborn, enriched by others' wealth, impure, and harbor evil intentions—they are purified by the seven-day sacrifice." The Kumaras then promised, "Here, I shall recount to you an ancient story, by the mere act of hearing which the destruction of sin arises." They began: "On the banks of the Tungabhadra river, there once was a splendid city. Its people, belonging to the four varnas, were devoted to truth and virtuous deeds, each following their own dharma. In that city lived Atmadeva, a brāhmaṇa thoroughly learned in all the Vedas, expert in both śruti and smṛti, shining like a second sun. He was a beggar, yet wealthy in the world, and his beloved wife was known as Dhundhuli. She was steadfast in her words, beautiful, and born in a noble family. Yet, she was attached to worldly affairs, cruel, mostly talkative, skilled in household duties, miserly, and fond of quarrels. Though the couple lived together in love and enjoyed themselves, their wealth and desires did not bring happiness in their home or other matters. Later, longing for progeny, they began to practice dharma, always giving cows, land, gold, and garments to the needy. Half their wealth was spent on the path of dharma, but no son or daughter was born to them, and so they were greatly troubled by anxiety. Once, that twice-born man, Atmadeva, 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 sorrow from having no children. After a short while, a certain renunciant arrived there. Seeing him, Atmadeva went near, bowed at his feet, and 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.’ Atmadeva replied, ‘What can I say, O sage, of the sorrow accumulated by past sin? My ancestors drink hot water instead of cool. The gods and twice-born do not accept my offerings with pleasure. Emptied by the sorrow of having no children, I have come here to give up my life. Fie on a life without children, fie on a home without offspring; fie on the wealth of one without a son, fie on a lineage without continuity. The cow I tend becomes barren in every way; the tree I have planted also becomes fruitless. Any fruit that comes to my house quickly perishes; what use is life to me, unfortunate and without a child?’ Having spoken thus, he wept loudly, afflicted by sorrow at the renunciant's side. Great compassion arose in the heart of that ascetic. Knowing all through his yogic power and the garland of letters on his forehead, the ascetic spoke in detail to Atmadeva. He said, ‘Give up ignorance in the form of longing for children; the course of karma is powerful. Attain discernment and abandon desire for worldly existence. Hear, brāhmaṇa, today I have seen your destiny: for seven lifetimes, you will not have a son, not at all. In the past, Sagara suffered for the sake of offspring; so now, give up hope for family—there is happiness in renunciation in every way.’ Atmadeva replied, ‘Of what use is discernment to me? Give me a son, even by force; otherwise, I will give up my life before you, overwhelmed by grief. Renunciation without the happiness of children and the like is truly dry; the householder, surrounded by sons and grandsons, is lively in the world.’ Seeing Atmadeva’s insistence, the ascetic, rich in austerity, spoke again: ‘Citraketu suffered hardship by erasing the lines of fate. You will not find happiness from a son, as effort opposed by fate fails; since you are obstinate, what can I say to one so intent on his desire?