For the protection of his son, the husband took careful measures, and the mother gave their child the name Dhundhukari. Three months later, their cow gave birth to a calf of extraordinary beauty—divine, spotless, radiant like gold, and perfect in every limb. The brahmin, delighted by this wondrous event, himself performed all the proper rites. People from all around gathered, marveling at the miracle, eager to witness it. Good fortune, it seemed, had come to Atmadeva: a child had been born from the cow, and with its divine form, it was a wonder to behold. By the workings of fate, the truth of this birth remained a secret to all. Noticing the child’s ears, which resembled those of a cow, the people gave him the name Gokarna. In time, both sons grew into young men. Gokarna became known for his wisdom and learning, while Dhundhukari turned out exceedingly wicked. He neglected bathing and purity, ate improper foods, was devoid of anger, engaged in unrighteous acts to acquire things, and even ate with hands defiled by corpses. He became a thief, despised by everyone, set fire to others’ houses, and, in his cruelty, would throw children into wells for sport. Dhundhukari’s violence knew no bounds. He carried weapons, oppressed the poor and the blind, kept the company of outcastes, held a noose, and mingled with dogs. Through his association with prostitutes, he squandered his ancestral wealth. He went so far as to beat his own parents and steal their household vessels. His father, now destitute and miserable, 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 cannot endure this misery—I am truly wretched!” At this moment, Gokarna, wise and compassionate, approached his father and taught him the path of detachment. “This worldly existence is insubstantial,” he said, “full of suffering and delusion. Whose son, whose wealth, whose affection truly endures? Even Indra, king of the gods, knows no true happiness, nor does a universal monarch. Only the sage who lives in solitude, free from attachment, finds peace.” Gokarna continued, “Abandon ignorance, which appears as attachment to offspring, for through delusion one treads the path to hell. This body will fall away, leaving everything behind—go to the forest.” Hearing these words, his father, resolved to renounce, asked, “My child, tell me in detail what I should do in the forest. I am bound by affection, fallen by my own actions—please, ocean of compassion, lift me up.” Gokarna instructed him further: “Let go of your attachment to this body made of bones, flesh, and blood. Renounce possessiveness toward wife, children, and others; see that this world is fleeting and perishable. Delight in detachment and devotion. Constantly practice true dharma, forsake worldly duties, serve saintly persons, renounce desire and craving. Quickly abandon thoughts of others’ faults and virtues, and deeply drink the nectar of service and sacred stories.” Thus, guided by his son’s words, the father left his home, entered the forest at the age of sixty, and, dedicating himself daily to the service of Hari, attained the grace of Śrī Kṛṣṇa through the recitation of the Tenth Canto. He resided in the celestial city, in the brilliant gardens of the gods, within Indra’s palace built by Viśvakarmā, surrounded by all prosperity and the fortune of the three worlds. Rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, he was free from pride and arrogance. After the father’s passing, Dhundhukari, in his wickedness, severely beat his mother, demanding, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified and distressed for her son, the mother, in the darkness of night, threw herself into a well and ended her life. Gokarna, established in yoga, departed on pilgrimage, untouched by sorrow or happiness, without enemies or friends. Dhundhukari remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, performing cruel deeds, his mind deluded by his attachment to them. One day, desiring to please these women with ornaments, Dhundhukari, blinded by lust and heedless of death, left the house to obtain them. He gathered wealth from various places, returned, and gave the courtesans fine clothes, ornaments, and many gifts. Seeing the growing pile of wealth, the women conspired at night. “He steals daily,” they said, “and soon the king will arrest him. After taking the wealth, the king will surely kill him. To protect ourselves, why should we not kill him first?” With this resolve, they bound him with ropes while he slept. Though they tried to kill him by placing a noose around his neck, he would not die, and they grew anxious. They then threw heaps of burning coals into his mouth, and tormented by the agony of the flames, Dhundhukari perished. The women abandoned his body in a pit, keeping their deed a secret from all. When questioned, they told the people, “He has gone far away, for he is dear to us; he will return this year, drawn away by greed for wealth.” But in truth, a wise person should never trust wicked women, for the fool who does so is overwhelmed by suffering. The words of lustful women are sweet as nectar, but their hearts are sharp as razors—who, among men, is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, the promiscuous women departed, and Dhundhukari, tormented by his evil deeds, became a great ghost. Assuming the form of a whirlwind, he wandered ceaselessly in all directions, afflicted by cold and heat, without food, and tormented by thirst.