Abandoning ignorance, which takes the seductive form of attachment to one’s children, is the path to liberation; for through delusion, one only finds the way to suffering. This body, destined to fall and be left behind along with all possessions and relationships, must be renounced. Thus, one must go to the forest, leaving behind all worldly ties. Hearing these solemn words, the father, now intent on departure, addressed his child, “My son, tell me in detail what should be done in the forest.” Overwhelmed by the snare of affection, he confessed, “Bound in the dark pit of attachment, I am lame, deceitful, and fallen through my actions. O ocean of compassion, please lift me up.” He was then gently instructed, “Abandon your attachment to this body, which is nothing but bones, flesh, and blood. Give up possessiveness toward wife, children, and others. See that this world is ever fleeting and perishable. Become 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 instead, deeply drink the nectar of service and sacred stories.” Thus admonished and guided, the father, though compelled by his son’s words, left home. With firm resolve, he went to the forest at the age of sixty. There, engaged daily in the service of Hari, he attained Śrī Kṛṣṇa through the recitation of the Tenth Canto. In reward, he resided in the celestial city, endowed with the splendor of the gods’ gardens, in Indra’s palace—built by Viśvakarmā, the abode of the fortune of the three worlds—enjoying all prosperity. He was rich in knowledge, wealth, and noble birth, yet free from pride and arrogance. When the father passed away, the mother was severely beaten by her own son, who demanded, “Tell me where the wealth is kept, or I will kill you with this stick!” Terrified by his words and distressed for her son, the mother, in the dead of night, threw herself into a well and met her end. Gokarṇa, established in yoga, departed on a pilgrimage, free from sorrow and happiness, without enemies or friends. Dhundhukārī, however, remained at home, surrounded by five courtesans, engaging in extremely cruel deeds, his mind deluded by the need to maintain them. One day, blinded by lust and forgetting death, he left the house to obtain ornaments for these women, who desired them. Gathering wealth from various places, he returned and lavishly gave the women fine clothes, ornaments, and other things. But seeing the accumulation of so much wealth, the women grew anxious. At night, they whispered, “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 disappeared. They placed a noose around his neck and began their cruel work. Though they acted quickly, he did not die, and their anxiety mounted. They threw heaps of burning coals into his mouth, and tormented by the flames, he finally perished. Carelessly, those women abandoned his body in a pit, keeping their crime secret from everyone. When questioned by the people, they would say, “He has gone far away, for he is dear to us; he will return this year, drawn away by greed for wealth.” But wise men know: one should never trust 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 as 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 by suffering. Assuming the form of a whirlwind, he ran constantly in all directions, afflicted by cold and heat, without food or water. He found no shelter anywhere, and cried out in despair, “Alas, fate!” After some time, Gokarṇa learned from the world of his brother’s death. Recognizing his brother’s helplessness, Gokarṇa performed the funeral rites at Gayā, and whenever he traveled to a holy place, he performed the rites there as well. Thus wandering, Gokarṇa eventually returned to his own city. At night, he came to sleep in the courtyard of his house, unnoticed by others. There, perceiving Gokarṇa asleep, Dhundhukārī revealed himself to his relative in the dead of night, displaying a most terrifying form. He changed forms rapidly—becoming a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and then a man—each form only once. Witnessing these transformations, Gokarṇa, composed and resolute, realized this was a soul in deep misery, and 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 me.” Suta said: Thus questioned, the ghost cried out loudly again and again, unable to speak, making only gestures of consciousness. Then Gokarṇa, taking water in his hands, raised him up; freed by that single act, the tormented soul began to speak. The ghost revealed, “I am your brother, named Dhundhukārī. By my own fault, I have destroyed my human birth. There is no count to my evil deeds, born of great ignorance. I harmed the worlds and was killed by women through suffering. Therefore, I have become a ghost and now bear this wretched state, living on air and receiving results only as fate allows. O friend, ocean of compassion, brother, quickly release me!” Hearing these words, Gokarṇa replied, “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. If liberation does not come even from the Gayā śrāddha, then there is no other means here. What should I do for you, O departed one? Tell me the truth in detail.