Dhundhuli, the wife of Ātmadeva, was tormented by anxiety. She thought to herself, “If I delay, my co-wife will take everything. How difficult it is to uphold vows of truth, purity, and the like!” She pondered further, “There is suffering in bearing and raising a child, and a woman in labor endures great pain. In my mind, a barren or widowed woman is truly happier than one facing these trials.” Thus, reasoning in this faulty manner, she chose not to eat the sacred fruit given by her husband. Yet, when Ātmadeva asked her about it, she falsely claimed, “I have eaten it, I have eaten it.” One day, her younger sister came to visit her of her own accord. In her presence, Dhundhuli poured out her troubles, saying, “I am greatly distressed and weakened by this burden—what am I to do, sister?” Her sister, who was pregnant at the time, replied, “Once I give birth, I will give you my child. Meanwhile, stay at home and pretend to be pregnant. Live happily, and offer some wealth to my husband; he will give you the boy.” She continued, “People will believe your child died at six months, and I will raise the boy, coming daily to your house.” Then, to test the situation, she suggested, “Offer the fruit to the cow—let all this unfold as is the way of women.” In due course, the sister gave birth to a boy. The father of the child secretly brought him to Dhundhuli, who then announced to her husband, “A healthy boy has been born! Joy has filled the house, for Ātmadeva has begotten a son!” Ātmadeva, overjoyed, gave gifts to the brahmins and performed the appropriate birth rites. There was much auspicious singing and music at the doorway. Yet, in the presence of her husband, Dhundhuli claimed, “There is no milk in my breast; another has already drawn out the milk—how can I nourish the child?” She added, “But my co-wife, who has given birth, has lost her own child. Bring her here and keep her in the house—she will nourish your son.” All this Ātmadeva did, seeking only to protect his supposed son. The child was named Dhundhukari. Meanwhile, three months later, the cow to whom the fruit had been given gave birth to a calf. This calf was beautiful in every limb, divine, spotless, and shone like gold. Seeing this wonder, the delighted brahmin performed the requisite rites, and people from all around gathered to witness this marvel. It was as though fortune had smiled upon Ātmadeva: a child of divine form, born from a cow! By the mysterious workings of fate, no one knew the secret of his birth. Noticing the child’s ears resembled those of a cow, they named him Gokarna. As time passed, both boys grew into young men. Gokarna became learned and wise, while Dhundhukari turned exceedingly wicked. Dhundhukari neglected bathing and purity, ate improper food, was devoid of self-control, engaged in wrongful acts, and even ate with hands defiled by corpses. He became a thief, hated by everyone, set fire to people’s houses, and would cruelly throw children into wells for sport. He was violent, carried weapons, oppressed the poor and the blind, consorted with outcastes, kept a noose, and ran with dogs. Through association with prostitutes, Dhundhukari squandered his ancestral wealth. Once, after beating his own parents, he seized their belongings for himself. His pitiable father, now destitute, cried out in anguish, “Such a wicked son, who brings only suffering, deserves to be killed! Where shall I go, who will relieve my sorrow? I will end my life in this misery—how wretched is my state!” At this point, Gokarna, wise and compassionate, came to his father and instructed him in the path of detachment. He said, “This world is insubstantial, full of suffering and delusion. Whose son, whose wealth, whose affection truly endures? Even Indra, king of the gods, finds no lasting happiness, nor does a universal monarch. True happiness belongs only to the dispassionate sage who seeks solitude. Abandon ignorance, which takes the form of attachment to offspring; such delusion leads to hell. This body will fall away, leaving all behind—go to the forest.” Hearing these words, Ātmadeva resolved to depart and asked, “My child, tell me in detail what should be done in the forest. I am bound in the dark pit of affection, lame and fallen through my actions. O ocean of compassion, please lift me up.” Gokarna advised him, “Abandon your attachment to this body of flesh and blood, and give up possessiveness toward wife, children, and others. See that this world is ever fleeting and perishable; delight in detachment and devotion. Constantly practice true dharma, forsake worldly duties, serve saintly persons, and renounce desire and craving. Quickly cease thinking of others’ faults and virtues, and immerse yourself in service and sacred stories.” Thus, compelled by his son’s words, Ātmadeva left home. At the age of sixty, he went to the forest, dedicating himself to the service of Hari. Through recitation of the Tenth Canto, he attained Śrī Kṛṣṇa. He then resided in the celestial city, radiant with the gardens of the gods, in the palace of Indra built by Viśvakarmā, abode of the fortune of the three worlds, enjoying all prosperity. Rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, Ātmadeva was now free from pride and arrogance. After the father had passed away, Dhundhukari’s wickedness did not cease. He severely beat his mother, demanding, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified and grief-stricken for her son, the mother threw herself into a well at night and ended her life. Gokarna, steadfast in yoga, departed on pilgrimage. He was untouched by sorrow or happiness, having neither enemies nor friends. But Dhundhukari remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, performing ever more cruel deeds, his mind entirely deluded in the pursuit of their pleasures.