After three months had passed, the cow that Atmadeva had acquired gave birth to a remarkable calf. This newborn was beautiful in every limb, divine, spotless, and shone with a golden radiance. Witnessing this wonder, the delighted brahmin Atmadeva himself performed the birth rites. The event amazed everyone, and people from all around gathered, eager to see this extraordinary calf. Good fortune had truly arisen for Atmadeva—a child had been born from the cow, and its divine form was a marvel to all who beheld it. Yet, by the workings of fate, the true secret of this birth remained hidden from everyone. The child, however, had ears like a cow, and so the people named him Gokarna. In due course, both sons in Atmadeva’s household grew to young manhood. Gokarna became learned and wise, while his brother Dhundhukari turned exceedingly wicked. Dhundhukari neglected bathing and purity, ate improper foods, showed no restraint, and engaged in unrighteous acts—he even ate with hands defiled by corpses. He became a thief, despised by all, and set fire to others’ houses. For his own amusement, he would seize children at play and cruelly throw them into wells. Violent and armed, he oppressed the poor and the blind, always consorted with outcastes, kept a noose, and kept company with dogs. Through association with prostitutes, he squandered his ancestral wealth. Once, after beating his own parents, he took their vessels for himself. Atmadeva, now destitute and pitiable, cried out in despair: “Such a wicked son, who brings nothing but suffering, deserves to be killed. Where shall I stay, where shall I go, who will relieve my sorrow? I will give up my life in this misery—alas, how wretched is my state!” At this moment, Gokarna, endowed with wisdom, approached his grieving father and gently instructed him, revealing the path of detachment. He explained, “This worldly existence is insubstantial, full of suffering, and deceives us. Whose son, whose wealth, whose affection truly lasts? Even Indra, king of heaven, or a universal monarch finds no happiness; happiness belongs only to the sage who is dispassionate and lives in solitude. Abandon ignorance, which takes the form of attachment to offspring; delusion leads only to hell. This body will fall, leaving all behind—go to the forest.” Hearing these words, Atmadeva’s heart was moved. Wishing to depart, he asked, “My child, tell me in detail what should be done in the forest. Bound in the dark pit by the snare of affection, I am lame, deceitful, and fallen through my actions—O ocean of compassion, please lift me up.” Gokarna replied, “Abandon your attachment to this body made of bones, flesh, and blood. Always give up possessiveness toward wife, children, and others. See that this world is ever fleeting and perishable—be one who delights in detachment and devotion. Constantly practice true dharma, forsake worldly duties, serve saintly persons, and renounce desire and craving. Quickly give up thinking of others’ faults and virtues, and deeply drink the nectar of service and sacred stories.” Thus, even though compelled by his son’s words, Atmadeva left his home. With firm resolve, at the age of sixty, he went to the forest. There, engaged daily in service to Hari, he attained Śrī Kṛṣṇa through the recitation of the Tenth Canto. He came to dwell in the celestial city, resplendent with the gardens of the gods, in the palace of Indra, which had been built by Viśvakarmā and was the very abode of the fortune of the three worlds, together with all prosperity. Rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, Atmadeva was now free from pride and arrogance. After Atmadeva’s departure from the world, Dhundhukari’s wickedness only increased. One day, he severely beat his mother, demanding, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified by his threats and distressed for her son’s fate, his mother, in the darkness of night, threw herself into a well, ending her life. Gokarna, meanwhile, was established in yoga and departed on pilgrimage. He was unaffected by sorrow or happiness, had neither enemies nor friends, and moved about as a free soul. Dhundhukari remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans. His mind, deluded by their company, drove him to ever more cruel deeds. One day, those courtesans, desiring ornaments, prompted Dhundhukari—blinded by lust and heedless of death—to leave the house in search of wealth. He gathered riches from here and there, returned, and lavished the women with fine clothes, ornaments, and various gifts. Observing the accumulation of wealth, the women grew anxious. At night, they whispered among themselves, “He steals daily; because of this, the king will arrest him. After taking the wealth, the king will surely kill him. Therefore, to protect our interests, why should we not secretly kill him ourselves?” Having resolved thus, they bound Dhundhukari with ropes as he slept and began to kill him. Though they acted swiftly, he did not die, and they grew anxious. They then threw heaps of burning coals into his mouth. Tormented by the unbearable pain of the flames, Dhundhukari perished. The reckless women abandoned his body in a pit; no one knew of this secret. When questioned by the people, they would reply, “He has gone far away, for he is dear to us; he will return this year, drawn away by greed for wealth.” It is said that a wise person should never place trust in wicked women; the fool who relies on them is overwhelmed by suffering. The words of lustful women are like nectar, sweet to the ear and enhancing pleasure, but their hearts are as sharp as a razor—who among men is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, these promiscuous women, with many husbands, departed. Thus, Dhundhukari became a great ghost, tormented by his evil deeds. Assuming the form of a whirlwind, he constantly ran in all directions, afflicted by cold and heat, without food, and ever thirsty. He found no shelter anywhere and repeatedly cried out in anguish, “Alas, fate!” After some time, Gokarna learned from the world of his brother’s tragic death.