At the close of the day, as the sacred verse was recited, a wondrous event unfolded before the assembly of the virtuous: the knot in the bamboo split apart with a resonant sound, astonishing all who witnessed it. The next evening, the second knot broke, and on the third evening, the third knot followed. In this way, over the course of seven days, as the twelve cantos were heard, each of the seven knots split, one after another. With the final knot’s breaking, the soul who had been bound as a departed one was freed from that state. In that very moment, he assumed a divine form—his body dark as a rain-laden cloud, adorned in yellow garments, crowned and wearing earrings, and graced with a garland of tulasi. Immediately, he bowed before his brother Gokarna and spoke with deep gratitude: “By your compassion, I am liberated from bondage and the impurity of being a departed soul.” He extolled the greatness of the Bhagavata discourse, declaring it blessed, for it destroys the suffering of departed souls. Blessed too, he said, is the seven-day recitation, which grants the supreme fruit of attaining Krishna’s realm. All sins tremble before the seven-day hearing, and this narration brings about immediate deliverance. Whether sins are moist or dry, light or heavy, committed through speech, mind, or deed, they are burned away by hearing, just as fire consumes fuel. In this land of Bharata, among the wise and even in the assembly of the gods, the birth of those who do not hear the narration is declared fruitless. Of what use is protecting a well-nourished, strong body that is unstable, if one does not hear the teachings of Shuka? The body is but a pillar of bones, bound by sinews, smeared with flesh and blood, covered by skin, foul-smelling, and a vessel for urine and excrement. Afflicted by old age, sorrow, and the consequences of actions, it is a house of disease and suffering—hard to fill, hard to bear, corrupted, flawed, and perishable in a moment. The body ends as worms, filth, and ashes; how can actions performed with such an unstable vessel ever achieve anything lasting? The food prepared in the morning perishes by evening; in a body sustained by such impermanent food, what permanence can there be? But by hearing for seven days, one attains Hari in this very world; thus, for the removal of all faults, this alone is the supreme means. Those who lack the hearing of the Bhagavata narration are like bubbles in water or insects among creatures—born only to die. Splitting the knot of a dry bamboo is wondrous, but how much more wondrous is the splitting of the knot in the heart by hearing this sacred narration. When the knot of the heart is broken, all doubts are cut asunder, and all actions are exhausted through the seven-day hearing. When the mind is firmly established at the sacred ford of this narration—which is most capable of washing away the filth of worldly mire—then alone is liberation declared by the wise. As these words were spoken, a celestial chariot arrived, radiant and surrounded by the residents of Vaikuṇṭha. Before everyone’s eyes, the son of Dhundhulī ascended the chariot. Seeing the Vaiṣṇavas in the chariot, Gokarna addressed them: “Here are many pure listeners of mine; why have celestial chariots not come for all of them at the same time? All have heard the narration equally—why then this difference in result? Let the devotees of Hari explain.” The servants of Hari replied: “The difference in result is due to the difference in hearing. Though all have heard, not all have reflected as deeply. Therefore, the results of worship also differ, O respectful one. The departed soul performed hearing while fasting for seven nights, engaging in deep reflection and concentration of mind. Knowledge that is not firm is destroyed; hearing is ruined by negligence; a mantra is lost if doubted; recitation is spoiled by a distracted mind. A place not devoted to Viṣṇu is ruined; a śrāddha for the unworthy is ruined; charity given to one ignorant of scripture is ruined; a family is ruined by misconduct. Faith in the words of the guru, humility within, conquering the faults of the mind, and unwavering attention in the narration—if these are accomplished, then indeed the fruit of hearing is attained, and at the end, residence in Vaikuṇṭha is certain for all. O Gokarna, Govinda himself will grant you Goloka.” Having spoken thus, the devotees of Hari departed to Vaikuṇṭha. In the following month, Gokarna again recited the sacred narration, and once more the assembly engaged in seven nights of devoted hearing. O Nārada, listen to what transpired at the conclusion of this recitation. Hari himself appeared there, surrounded by his devotees and celestial chariots. At that moment, cries of victory and salutations filled the air. Out of joy, Hari sounded the Pāñcajanya conch, and, embracing Gokarna, made him like himself. Instantly, Hari transformed the other listeners as well, making them dark-hued like rain clouds, clothed in yellow silk, crowned and adorned with earrings. Even those living in that village—those born among horse-keepers and outcastes—were placed in celestial chariots by Gokarna’s grace. All were sent to the realm of Hari, the abode reached by yogis, and that cowherd, along with Gokarna, attained Goloka, beloved of the cowherds. Pleased by the hearing of these stories, the Lord who cherishes his devotees departed. Just as the residents of Ayodhya were united with Rama in times past, so too were these devotees led by Krishna to Goloka—a realm difficult for even yogis to attain. To that world, where neither sun nor moon nor perfected beings can reach, they went, by hearing the glorious Bhagavata. We declare here the radiant fruit gathered by seven-day sacrifices in these stories: for those who have drunk the syllables of Gokarna’s tale with their ears, even those still in the womb are not born again.