Late at night, a mother, overwhelmed with fear and grief for her son, found herself so distressed by harsh words that she threw herself into a well, ending her life. Meanwhile, her other son, Gokarṇa, firmly established in the practice of yoga, set out on a pilgrimage. He journeyed without feeling sorrow or happiness, and he held neither enemies nor friends. At home, Dhundhukārī remained, surrounded by five courtesans. Deluded by their influence and obsessed with maintaining their favor, he committed extremely cruel acts. One day, the courtesans, desiring ornaments, prompted Dhundhukārī—whose mind was blinded by lust and heedless of death—to leave his house in pursuit of wealth for them. He gathered riches from various places and returned home, showering the women with fine clothes, ornaments, and many other gifts. Seeing the accumulation of wealth, the courtesans grew anxious. At night, they whispered among themselves, "He steals every day; because of this, the king will arrest him. After taking the wealth, the king will certainly kill him. To protect our own interests, why shouldn't we secretly kill him ourselves?" Resolving thus, they bound Dhundhukārī with ropes as he slept, and then murdered him, taking the wealth and fleeing to unknown places. They placed a noose around his neck and tried to kill him quickly, but he did not die immediately, which made them anxious. To finish their deed, they poured heaps of burning coals into his mouth. Tormented by the pain of the flames, Dhundhukārī finally perished. The reckless women abandoned his body in a pit, keeping the secret hidden from all. When questioned by the people, the courtesans lied, saying, "He has gone far away; he is dear to us and will return this year, drawn by greed for wealth." The scripture warns: A wise person should never trust wicked women; the fool who relies on them is overwhelmed by suffering. Their words are sweet as nectar, enhancing pleasure, but their hearts are sharper than a razor—who among men is truly dear to them? Having seized his wealth, those promiscuous women, accustomed to many husbands, departed. Dhundhukārī, now bereft of his human body, became a great ghost, tormented by his evil deeds. Assuming the form of a whirlwind, he roamed constantly in all directions, suffering from cold and heat, without food or water, crying out repeatedly, "Alas, fate!" He found no shelter anywhere. After some time, Gokarṇa learned from the people about Dhundhukārī's death. Recognizing his brother's helpless state, Gokarṇa performed the funeral rites at Gaya, and wherever he traveled to holy places, he conducted the rites for Dhundhukārī. Eventually, Gokarṇa returned to his own city. At night, he slept in his courtyard, unnoticed by others. There, Dhundhukārī revealed himself to Gokarṇa 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. Witnessing these changes, Gokarṇa remained composed and determined that this was someone in great misery. He asked, "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 apparition cried out loudly again and again, unable to utter words, making only gestures of consciousness. Then Gokarṇa, taking water in his hands, raised him up. Freed by this 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. 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. 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." Dhundhukārī answered, "Even with a hundred Gayā śrāddhas, I will not attain liberation. Consider now some other means for my release." Gokarṇa was amazed: "If liberation is not gained even by a hundred śrāddhas, then your release is indeed difficult. Now, remain in your own place, O departed one, without fear. I will consider and perform some act that will bring about your liberation." Thus instructed, Dhundhukārī went to his own place. Gokarṇa spent the night in deep contemplation, unable to sleep. In the morning, as he arrived, the people gathered joyfully. He told them everything that had happened during the night. The learned, the steadfast in yoga, the wise, and the speakers of Brahman—all examined the scriptures, but none could find a means for Dhundhukārī's liberation. Then, all agreed that the words of the Sun were supreme regarding his liberation. At that moment, Gokarṇa restrained the speed of the Sun and offered his respects: "O witness of the world, tell me the cause of liberation." Hearing this from afar, the Sun spoke clearly, "Recite the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam for seven days—this brings liberation." Thus spoke the Sun, and all recognized this as the true form of dharma.