O venerable sages, listen as I recount the extraordinary glory I have witnessed today, born from the sacred seven-day event. Such is its power that even those who are ignorant, deceitful, or as lowly as beasts and birds, are completely freed from all sin simply by being present here. Indeed, in this Kali Yuga, there is nothing else in the world of men that so thoroughly purifies the mind. There is nothing else on this earth that can destroy the mountains of accumulated sin as does the attentive hearing of these divine stories. Tell me, then, who are those that become purified by the seven-day sacrifice of sacred narration? Has any compassionate soul, moved by concern for the world’s welfare, revealed a new path for mankind? To this, the wise Kumaras replied: In Kali Yuga, even those who are ever engaged in sinful acts, who stray from the righteous path, who are scorched by anger, who are crooked and lustful—such people are purified by the seven-day sacrifice. Those who lack truthfulness, who insult their parents, who are overcome by desire, who ignore the duties of ashrama, who are hypocritical, envious, or violent—they too are cleansed by this sacrifice. Even those guilty of the five great sins, who are deceitful, cruel, and merciless like demons, who thrive on Brahmana’s wealth or commit adultery, find purification here. Those who constantly sin in thought, word, and deed, who are stubborn, who enrich themselves with others’ wealth, who are impure and harbor evil intentions—all are purified by the seven-day sacrifice in Kali Yuga. Now, listen as I recount to you an ancient story, the mere hearing of which brings about the destruction of sin. On the banks of the sacred Tungabhadra River, there was once a splendid city. Its people, belonging to all four varnas, were devoted to truth and virtuous deeds, each faithfully following their own dharma. In that city lived a Brahmana named Atmadeva, thoroughly learned in all the Vedas, well-versed in both śruti and smṛti, and radiant in wisdom like a second sun. Though he appeared a beggar, he was wealthy in worldly terms. His beloved wife was known as Dhundhuli, steadfast in her words, beautiful, and born into a noble family. Yet, this woman was deeply attached to worldly affairs, often cruel, talkative, skilled in household matters, miserly, and fond of quarrels. Though the couple lived together in affection and enjoyed worldly pleasures, neither their wealth nor their desires brought happiness into their home or lives. In time, longing for a child, they began to practice dharma with great devotion, giving cows, land, gold, and garments to the needy. Half their wealth was spent in the pursuit of righteousness, yet no son or daughter was born to them, and so they were consumed by anxiety. One day, tormented by grief, Atmadeva left his home and wandered into the forest. At midday, parched with thirst, he came upon a pond. After quenching his thirst, he sat down, his body emaciated by the sorrow of childlessness. Before long, a certain renunciant, an ascetic, arrived there. Seeing the sage, the Brahmana approached, bowed humbly at his feet, and stood before him, sighing deeply. The renunciant, moved by compassion, asked, “Why are you weeping, Brahmana? What is the source of your powerful anxiety? Speak quickly and tell me the cause of your sorrow.” With a heavy heart, the Brahmana replied, “O sage, what can I say of the sorrow that has arisen from my past sins? My ancestors, deprived of my offerings, are forced to drink hot water instead of cool. The gods and twice-born do not accept my offerings with joy. Consumed by the misery 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, and fie on a lineage that ends with oneself. Even the cow I tend becomes barren, and the tree I plant bears no fruit. Any fruit that does come to my house quickly perishes. What use is life to me, so unfortunate and childless?” Having spoken thus, Atmadeva broke into loud sobs at the ascetic’s side. Moved by great compassion, the ascetic, who could perceive all through his yogic powers and the mystic garland of letters on his forehead, spoke to the Brahmana in detail. He said, “Give up this ignorance, this longing for children, O Brahmana. The force of karma is powerful. Seek discernment and renounce worldly desires. Hear me well: today, I have seen your destiny. For seven lifetimes, you will not have a son—not at all. In the past, even King Sagara suffered for the sake of offspring. So now, abandon your hope for family; happiness lies in renunciation.” But the Brahmana replied, “Of what use is discernment to me? Give me a son, even by force, or I shall end my life before you, overwhelmed with grief. Renunciation without the joy of children is dry indeed. The householder, surrounded by sons and grandsons, alone enjoys the vibrancy of life.” Seeing the Brahmana’s stubbornness, the ascetic, rich in austerity, relented and said, “Citraketu once suffered by striving against fate. You will find no happiness from a son, for effort that opposes destiny fails. But since you are so determined, what more can I say?” He then gave Atmadeva a single fruit, saying, “Give this to your wife to eat; then you will have a son. But she must observe truthfulness, purity, compassion, charity, and eat only once a day for one year. Thus, the son will be exceedingly pure.” Having spoken thus, the yogi departed, and the Brahmana returned home. He placed the fruit in his wife’s hand and then went out again. Dhundhuli, however, was crooked of mind. Weeping before her friends, she lamented, “Oh, I am troubled with anxiety; I will not eat this fruit. If I eat it, I will conceive; with pregnancy, my belly will grow. Eating little, I will lack strength—how then will I manage the household duties? If fate brings a tax collector to the village, how will a pregnant woman escape? If the fetus clings inside me like a parrot, how will I cast it out from my womb? If the fetus comes out sideways, I will die. Childbirth brings terrible pain—how can I, so delicate, endure it?” Thus, the tale of Atmadeva and Dhundhuli unfolds, revealing the mysterious workings of karma, the power of sacred narration, and the ways in which even the most troubled souls may find purification.