The story unfolds with a group of women, driven by fear and greed, plotting against their companion. “If the king discovers our wealth, he will surely kill him,” they reasoned among themselves. “Why should we not, for our own safety, secretly kill him first?” With this grim resolve, they waited until he slept, then silently bound him with ropes, killed him, seized the wealth, and vanished to an unknown place. Their deed was ruthless. They slipped a noose around his neck and tried to end his life quickly, but he stubbornly clung to life, and their anxiety grew. In their desperation, they forced burning coals into his mouth. Tormented by the searing agony, he finally perished. The women, reckless and unfeeling, discarded his body in a pit, keeping their crime hidden from all. When questioned by the townspeople about his sudden disappearance, they replied, “He has gone far away. He is dear to us, and this year, driven by greed for wealth, he will surely return.” But their words concealed the truth. The lesson was clear: one should never place trust in wicked women, for a fool who relies on them is sure to be engulfed in suffering. The sweet words of lustful women may seem like nectar, enhancing pleasure, but their hearts are sharp as razors—no man is truly dear to them. Having seized his wealth, these promiscuous women, who had many husbands, departed. The unfortunate man, Dhundhukari, became a great ghost, tormented by the evil deeds he had committed and suffered. Taking the form of a whirlwind, he restlessly roamed the ten directions, plagued by cold and heat, hunger and thirst, finding no rest or sustenance. Homeless, he wandered, crying out in despair, “Alas, fate!” Time passed, and eventually, word of his death reached his brother, Gokarna. Recognizing Dhundhukari’s helpless state, Gokarna performed the funeral rites at Gaya, the holiest place for such ceremonies, and wherever he traveled to a sacred site, he offered rites for his brother’s release. After much wandering, Gokarna returned to his city. One night, unnoticed by others, he lay down to sleep in the courtyard of his own house. In the stillness of night, Dhundhukari appeared to his relative, revealing himself in a most terrifying form. Before Gokarna’s eyes, he transformed—becoming, in turn, a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and once again a man, each form manifesting only for a moment. Witnessing these strange and dreadful transformations, Gokarna remained calm and resolute, understanding that this was a soul in misery. He addressed the apparition: “Who are you, so fierce in the night? From whence have you come to such a condition? Are you a ghost, a goblin, or a demon? Tell me.” Thus questioned, the spirit wailed loudly, unable to form words, communicating only through anguished gestures. Moved by compassion, Gokarna took water in his hands and sprinkled it upon the ghost. Instantly, the sinner was freed enough to speak. The ghost revealed, “I am your brother, Dhundhukari. By my own fault, I have destroyed my human birth. My deeds are countless, born of great ignorance. I harmed the worlds and was killed by women through suffering. Because of this, I have become a ghost and endure this wretched state. I live on air, receiving only what fate allows.” He pleaded, “O friend, ocean of compassion, brother—quickly release me!” Hearing these words, Gokarna replied, “For your sake, I have duly performed the ancestral oblations at Gaya. How is it that you have not been liberated? This truly astonishes me. If even the Gaya śrāddha cannot grant liberation, what else can I do for you? Tell me the truth in detail.” Dhundhukari replied, “Even with a hundred Gaya śrāddhas, I will not attain liberation. Please consider another means for my release.” Gokarna was amazed. “If even a hundred śrāddhas cannot free you, then your release is indeed difficult. For now, remain in your place, O departed one, without fear. I will consider and perform some act that will bring about your liberation.” Thus instructed, Dhundhukari returned to his own place. Gokarna spent the night deep in thought, unable to sleep. In the morning, as he arrived, the people gathered joyfully around him, and he recounted everything that had happened during the night. The learned, the steadfast in yoga, the wise, and the speakers of Brahman all deliberated, searching the scriptures for a solution, but none could find a means for Dhundhukari’s liberation. Then, all agreed that the words of the Sun must be supreme in this matter. At that moment, Gokarna restrained the Sun’s passage and prayed, “O witness of the world, I offer my respects. Please tell me the cause of liberation.” From afar, the Sun spoke clearly: “Recite the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam for seven days—this brings liberation.” All recognized this as the true form of dharma and resolved to undertake it. With determination, Gokarna began the recitation. People came from villages and distant lands—the lame, the blind, the old, and the slow—all seeking the destruction of their sins. A vast and wondrous assembly gathered, astonishing even the gods, as Gokarna took his seat to narrate the sacred story. At that time, Dhundhukari also arrived, searching for a place to listen. He saw a bamboo with seven knots standing upright, and, unable to remain in his windy form, he entered the bamboo through a hole at its base. Honoring the chief Vaiṣṇava brāhmaṇa as the foremost listener, Gokarna, the son of Dhenu, began the clear and auspicious narration of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam from its very first book.