When the people inquired after Dhundhukari, they would reassure themselves by saying, “He has gone far away—he is dear to us, and surely, drawn by greed for wealth, he will return this year.” But wise souls know: one should never place trust in wicked women, for the fool who relies on them is certain to be overwhelmed by suffering. The words of lustful women are sweet as nectar, heightening pleasure, yet their hearts are as sharp as razors—who among men is truly dear to them? Once they had seized his wealth, these promiscuous women, with many husbands, abandoned Dhundhukari. Thus, he became a great ghost, tormented by the consequences of his evil deeds. As a restless spirit, Dhundhukari assumed the form of a whirlwind, ceaselessly roaming in all ten directions, afflicted by heat and cold, famished and parched with thirst. He found no shelter anywhere and would cry out again and again, “Alas, fate!” In time, word of his death reached his brother Gokarna. Seeing his brother’s helpless state, Gokarna performed the funeral rites at Gaya for his release. Wherever he traveled to a holy place, he conducted the sacred rites there as well. After wandering thus, Gokarna returned to his own city, and one night, he lay down to sleep in the courtyard of his house, unnoticed by others. In the stillness of the night, Dhundhukari appeared to Gokarna, revealing himself in a most terrifying form. He transformed, in swift succession, into a sheep, an elephant, a buffalo, Indra, Agni, and then again a man—each form only once. Witnessing these strange changes, Gokarna, composed and resolute, realized that this was a soul in deep misery, and addressed him gently. Gokarna asked, “Who are you, so fierce in the night? From where have you come to such a condition? Are you a ghost, a goblin, or a demon? Tell me.” Thus questioned, Dhundhukari could only cry out again and again, unable to utter words, expressing himself only through gestures. Then Gokarna, taking water in his hands, sprinkled it upon him. Freed by this single act, the tormented soul began to speak. “I am your brother, Dhundhukari,” he confessed. “By my own fault, I have destroyed my human birth. My deeds are beyond counting, all born of great ignorance. I harmed the worlds and was destroyed by women through suffering. Therefore, I have become a ghost and endure this wretched state. I live on air, receiving the fruits of karma only as fate allows. O friend, ocean of compassion, brother—quickly release me!” Hearing these words, Gokarna replied, “For your sake, I have duly offered the ancestral oblation at Gaya. How is it that you have not been liberated? This is truly astonishing to me. If even the Gaya śrāddha does not grant liberation, then what hope remains? Tell me truly—what should I do for you?” Dhundhukari answered, “Even with a hundred Gaya śrāddhas, I will not attain liberation. Consider some other means for my release.” Gokarna was amazed. “If liberation is not gained even by a hundred śrāddhas, then your release is indeed difficult. But 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, Dhundhukari withdrew to his own place. Gokarna spent the night deep in thought, unable to sleep. In the morning, as he arrived, the people gathered joyfully, and he recounted all that had happened during the night. The learned, the steadfast in yoga, the wise, and the speakers of Brahman—all examined the scriptures, yet none could find a means for Dhundhukari’s liberation. At last, all agreed that the words of the Sun were supreme in this matter. At that moment, Gokarna invoked the Sun, restraining his course, and offered his respects. “O witness of the world,” he prayed, “tell me the cause of liberation.” Hearing this from afar, the Sun spoke clearly, “Recite the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam for seven days—this brings liberation.” All present recognized this as the true path of dharma. They said, “This must be done with effort, for it is indeed easy.” Resolving to act, Gokarna began the sacred recitation. People came from villages and distant regions—the lame, the blind, the old, and the slow—all seeking the destruction of their sins. A great assembly formed, wondrous even to the gods, as Gokarna, having taken his seat, began to narrate the holy story. At that time, Dhundhukari also arrived, searching for a place to listen. He saw a bamboo stalk with seven knots, standing upright. Entering a hole at its base, he stood within, unable to remain any longer in the form of wind, and took shelter inside the bamboo. Gokarna, considering the chief Vaiṣṇava brāhmaṇa as the foremost listener, began the clear narration from the first book. At the end of the first day, as a verse was recited, a wondrous event occurred: the first knot in the bamboo split open with a sound, witnessed by the virtuous. On the second evening, the second knot broke; on the third, the third; and so it continued, one knot breaking each night for seven days. Thus, over seven days, all seven knots were broken. Having listened to the twelve cantos of the Bhāgavatam, Dhundhukari was freed from the state of a ghost. He assumed a divine form, adorned with a garland of tulasi, clad in yellow garments, his complexion dark as a rain cloud, crowned and wearing shining earrings. He immediately bowed to his brother Gokarna and said, “By your compassion, I have been freed from bondage and the impurity of being a departed soul.