There is no true happiness even for Indra, nor for a universal monarch; happiness exists only for the dispassionate sage who lives in solitude, free from the distractions of worldly life. Recognizing this, one should abandon ignorance, which manifests as attachment to offspring and family; for such delusion leads the soul down the path to hell. This body, destined to fall and leave behind all possessions and relations, is best renounced—go to the forest and seek the higher path. Upon hearing these words, the father, moved to depart, asked his son, “My child, tell me in detail what should be done in the forest.” Bound in the dark pit of affection, feeling helpless and fallen due to his actions, he pleaded, “O ocean of compassion, please lift me up.” The son advised him: “Abandon your attachment to this body made of bones, flesh, and blood. Let go of possessiveness toward wife, children, and others. Realize 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 cease 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, the father left his home and went to the forest with firm resolve at the age of sixty. There, engaged daily in the service of Hari, he attained the grace of Śrī Kṛṣṇa through the recitation of the Tenth Canto. He then 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, enjoying all prosperity. In his earthly life, he was rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, yet free from pride and arrogance. After the father’s passing, his widow—the mother—was severely beaten by her son, who demanded, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified by his threats and distressed for her son, the mother, at night, threw herself into a well and ended her life. Gokarṇa, the other son, established in yoga, departed on pilgrimage. He had neither sorrow nor happiness, neither enemies nor friends. Meanwhile, Dhundhukārī remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, performing extremely cruel deeds. His mind was deluded by the demands of these women. One day, desiring ornaments, they pressed him for more. Blinded by lust and forgetting death, he left the house to obtain what they wanted. Gathering wealth from various places, he returned home and gave those women fine clothes, ornaments, and various luxuries. Seeing the accumulation of much wealth, the women said at night, “He steals daily; because of this, the king will arrest him. After taking the wealth, the king will certainly kill him; therefore, to protect our interests, why should we not secretly kill him ourselves?” Having resolved thus, they bound him with ropes while he slept, killed him, took the wealth, and departed elsewhere. Placing a noose around his neck, they began to kill him; though they acted quickly, he did not die, and their anxiety grew. They threw heaps of burning coals into his mouth; tormented by the extreme pain of the flames, he perished. Those reckless women abandoned his body in a pit; the secret of this was not known to anyone. When questioned by the people, the women would say, “He has gone far away, for he is dear to us; he will return this year, drawn away by greed for wealth.” 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, enhancing pleasure, but their hearts are as sharp as a razor—who, among men, is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, those promiscuous women, with many husbands, departed. Dhundhukari then became a great ghost, tormented by his evil deeds. Assuming the form of a whirlwind, he constantly ran in all ten directions, afflicted by cold and heat, without food, and thirsty. He found no shelter anywhere, repeatedly crying out, “Alas, fate!” After some time, Gokarna learned of his brother’s death from the world. Recognizing Dhundhukari as helpless, Gokarna performed the Gaya funeral rites; wherever he traveled to a holy place, he conducted the rites there. Thus wandering, Gokarna returned to his own city; at night, he came to sleep in the courtyard of his house, unnoticed by others. There, perceiving Gokarna asleep, Dhundhukari revealed himself to his relative in the dead of night, displaying a most terrifying form. He became, in turn, a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and again a man—each form only once. Seeing this reversal, Gokarna, composed and resolute, determined that this was someone in a miserable state, and then spoke to 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, Dhundhukari 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 Dhundhukari; by my own fault, I have destroyed my human birth. There is no count of my deeds, transformed by great ignorance; I am one who harmed the worlds, killed by women through suffering. Therefore, I have become a ghost and bear this wretched state; I live on air, receiving results only as fate allows. Oh friend, ocean of compassion, brother, quickly release me!” Hearing these words, Gokarṇa then spoke: “For your sake, I have duly offered the ancestral oblation at Gayā. How is it that you have not been liberated? This is truly astonishing to me.