There was once a man named Dhundhukari, notorious throughout the land for his wickedness. He was a thief, despised by all, who set fire to the homes of others and, in his cruelty, would snatch children away for sport, only to cast them mercilessly into wells. His life was steeped in violence; he roamed armed with weapons, oppressing the poor and the blind, and constantly kept company with outcastes and dogs, a noose ever in hand. Through his association with prostitutes, Dhundhukari squandered all the wealth he had inherited from his ancestors. In his depravity, he even beat his own parents and seized their household vessels for himself. His pitiable father, stripped of all possessions and overcome with grief, cried out in despair, “Such a wicked son, who brings only suffering, deserves to be killed! Where shall I go, where shall I stay? Who will relieve me of this sorrow? My misery is so great, I am resolved to end my life—alas, how wretched is my state!” At this moment, Gokarna, the wise and compassionate son, approached his father and began to instruct him on the path of detachment. He spoke gently, “This worldly existence is insubstantial, full of suffering, and deeply deluding. Whose son is truly one’s own? Whose wealth, whose affection, truly endures? Even Indra himself, or a sovereign of the world, finds no real happiness; happiness belongs only to the sage who has renounced all and dwells alone in dispassion. Abandon ignorance, which appears as attachment to offspring, for it leads to hell. This body will one day fall away, leaving everything behind—go to the forest, father.” Hearing these words, the father, now intent on renunciation, asked his son, “My child, tell me in detail what I should do in the forest. Bound in the dark pit of attachment, lame and fallen due to my own actions—O ocean of compassion, please lift me up.” Gokarna replied, “Abandon your attachment to this body of bones, flesh, and blood. Give up possessiveness toward wife, children, and others, and realize that this world is fleeting and perishable. Rejoice in detachment and devotion. Constantly practice true dharma, forsake worldly duties, serve saintly souls, and renounce desire and craving. Quickly give up judging others’ faults and virtues, and instead drink deeply the nectar of service and sacred stories.” Thus, compelled by his son’s words, the father left his home with firm resolve at the age of sixty, journeyed to the forest, and devoted himself daily to the service of Lord Hari. Through the recitation of the Tenth Canto, he attained the lotus feet of Śrī Kṛṣṇa. Thereafter, he dwelled in the celestial city, surrounded by the splendor of the gods’ gardens, in Indra’s palace built by Viśvakarmā—a palace that was the very abode of the fortune of the three worlds, resplendent with all prosperity. Rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, he was now free from pride and arrogance. After the father’s passing, Dhundhukari’s cruelty did not cease. He severely beat his mother, demanding, “Tell me where the wealth is hidden, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified by his threats and overwhelmed by sorrow for her son, his mother, in the darkness of night, threw herself into a well and ended her life. Meanwhile, Gokarna, steadfast in yoga, departed on a pilgrimage. He was untouched by sorrow or happiness, having no enemies or friends. Dhundhukari remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, his mind deluded by their company, and continued to commit ever more heinous acts to support their desires. One day, the courtesans, longing for ornaments, incited Dhundhukari—blinded by lust and heedless of death—to leave the house in search of wealth. He returned with riches gathered from many places and lavished fine clothes, ornaments, and various gifts upon the women. But seeing the accumulation of so much wealth, the women conspired amongst themselves at night, “He steals every day; soon the king will arrest him. And when the king seizes the wealth, he will surely kill him. To protect ourselves, why should we not secretly kill him first?” Having decided, they bound Dhundhukari with ropes as he slept and set about killing him. Though they acted swiftly, he did not die immediately, and they grew anxious. They then filled his mouth with burning coals, and tormented by the agony of the flames, Dhundhukari finally perished. The women discarded his body in a pit, keeping their crime a secret from all. When questioned by the townsfolk, they replied, “He has gone far away; he is dear to us, but drawn by greed for wealth, he will return this year.” It is said that one should never trust wicked women, for the fool who does so is overwhelmed by suffering. The words of lustful women may seem like nectar, increasing pleasure, but their hearts are as sharp as razors—who among men is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, these women, promiscuous and with many lovers, departed, leaving Dhundhukari to become a great and tormented ghost, afflicted by the evil of his deeds. As a ghost, Dhundhukari assumed the form of a whirlwind, ceaselessly rushing in all ten directions, tormented by cold and heat, without food or water, and finding no shelter. He wandered, crying out in anguish, “Alas, fate!” After some time, Gokarna learned from the people of his brother’s death. Perceiving his brother’s helpless state, Gokarna performed the Gaya funeral rites for him, and wherever he traveled to a holy place, he conducted the rites again. After much wandering, Gokarna returned to his own city. One night, while he lay asleep in the courtyard of his house, unnoticed by others, Dhundhukari appeared before him in the dead of night, revealing himself in a most terrifying form. He transformed himself, one after another, into a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and then a man—each form only once. Witnessing this strange and sorrowful spectacle, Gokarna remained calm and resolute, recognizing this as a soul in deep misery. He then spoke, “Who are you, so fierce in the night? From where have you come to such a condition? Are you a ghost, a goblin, or a demon? Tell me the truth.