The pitiable father, now left utterly destitute, cried out in anguish, “Such a wicked son, who brings only suffering, deserves to be killed!” Overwhelmed by grief, he lamented further, “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 that moment, Gokarna, wise and compassionate, approached his father and gently instructed him, showing the path of detachment. He spoke of the insubstantial nature of worldly existence, explaining that it is full of suffering and delusion. He questioned, “Whose son, whose wealth, whose affection truly endures and burns constantly in this world?” He continued, “Even Indra, king of the gods, or a universal monarch finds no real happiness. True happiness belongs only to the dispassionate sage who lives in solitude. Abandon ignorance, which takes the form of attachment to children, for such delusion leads to ruin. This body will perish, leaving everything behind—go to the forest.” Hearing these words, the father, now resolved to leave worldly life, asked, “My child, tell me in detail what should be done in the forest.” Admitting his helplessness, he said, “Bound in the dark pit by the snare of affection, I am lame, deceitful, and fallen through my own 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—delight in detachment and devotion. Constantly practice true dharma, forsake worldly duties, serve saintly persons, and renounce desire and craving. Quickly give up dwelling on others’ faults and virtues, and instead deeply drink the nectar of service and sacred stories.” Compelled by his son’s words, the father left his home, went to the forest with firm resolve at the age of sixty, and engaged daily in the service of Hari. Through the recitation of the Tenth Canto, he ultimately attained Śrī Kṛṣṇa. Thereafter, he resided in the celestial city, endowed with the splendor of the gods’ gardens, in the palace of Indra, directly built by Viśvakarmā—the abode of the fortune of the three worlds—together with all prosperity. Rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, he was free from pride and arrogance. When the father had passed away, the mother suffered greatly at the hands of her own son. He beat her severely, demanding, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Frightened 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, left for a pilgrimage, free from sorrow and happiness, having neither enemies nor friends. Meanwhile, Dhundhukārī remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, engaging in extremely cruel deeds, his mind deluded by the desire to maintain them. One day, as the courtesans grew desirous of ornaments, Dhundhukārī, blinded by lust and forgetting the certainty of death, left the house to procure them. He collected wealth from various places, returned home, and lavished the women with fine clothes, ornaments, and many gifts. But seeing the accumulation of so much wealth, the women grew anxious. At night, they whispered among themselves, “He steals daily; surely the king will arrest him. After taking his wealth, the king will certainly kill him. To protect our own interests, why should we not secretly kill him ourselves?” Having resolved thus, they bound him with ropes while he slept, intent on killing him and seizing his wealth. Placing a noose around his neck, they tried to kill him, but though they acted swiftly, Dhundhukārī did not die, and they became anxious. In their desperation, they heaped burning coals into his mouth. Tormented by the searing pain, he finally perished. Those reckless women abandoned his body in a pit, and no one knew the secret of his fate. When questioned by the townspeople, they would reply, “He has gone far away—he is dear to us. He will return this year, drawn away by greed for wealth.” Yet, it is said, a wise person should never place trust in wicked women, for the fool who relies on them is overwhelmed by suffering. The words of lustful women are like nectar, enhancing pleasure, but their hearts are sharp as razors—who, among men, is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, those promiscuous women, with many lovers, departed. Dhundhukārī, as a result of his evil deeds, became a great ghost, tormented and restless. He assumed the form of a whirlwind, constantly running in all ten directions, afflicted by cold and heat, without food, and tormented by thirst. He found no shelter anywhere, and repeatedly cried out in despair, “Alas, fate!” After some time, Gokarna learned of his brother’s death from the people. Recognizing Dhundhukārī’s helpless state, Gokarna performed the Gaya funeral rites for him; wherever he traveled to a holy place, he conducted the rites there. Thus wandering, Gokarna eventually returned to his own city. At night, he lay down to sleep in the courtyard of his house, unnoticed by others. There, as Gokarna slept, Dhundhukārī, in his ghostly form, revealed himself to his relative in the dead of night, displaying a most terrifying appearance. He changed forms rapidly—becoming a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and again a man, each form only once. Witnessing this, Gokarna, calm and resolute, determined that this was a being in great misery, and addressed him: “Who are you, so fierce at night? From where have you come to this condition? Are you a ghost, a goblin, or a demon? Tell us.” Thus questioned, the ghost cried out loudly, again and again, unable to utter words, making only gestures of consciousness. Then Gokarna, taking water in his hands, raised him up; freed by that single act, the sinner began to speak. The ghost said, “I am your brother, named Dhundhukārī. By my own fault, I have destroyed my human birth.