Blessed indeed is the discourse of the Bhagavata, for it destroys the suffering of departed souls. Even more blessed is the seven-day recitation, which bestows the supreme fruit of attaining Krishna’s own realm. When one undertakes this sacred hearing for seven nights, all sins tremble in fear, and the listener’s immediate deliverance is assured. No matter how deeply rooted or trivial, whether committed through speech, thought, or action, all sins are burned away through attentive hearing, just as fire consumes dry or moist fuel, light or heavy. In this land of Bharata, among the wise and even in the assembly of the gods, the birth of those who do not hear this narration is declared fruitless. What value is there in protecting a strong, well-nourished body, which is unstable and impermanent, if one does not listen to the teachings of Shuka? For what is this body, after all, 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 past actions, it is a house of disease and suffering—difficult to fill, difficult to bear, corrupted, flawed, and perishable in a moment. The body’s end is worms, filth, or ashes. How can actions performed with such an unstable body ever accomplish anything lasting? Even the food prepared in the morning perishes by evening; in a body nourished by such impermanent food, what true permanence can there be? Yet, by hearing this narration for seven days, Hari is attained in this very world. Therefore, for the removal of faults, this alone is the supreme means. Those who do not hear these stories are like bubbles in water or insects among creatures—born only to die. If the knot of a dry bamboo is split, that is wondrous; but far more wondrous is the splitting of the knot in the heart by hearing the Bhagavata. When the seven-day hearing is performed, the knot of the heart is broken, all doubts are cut, and one’s accumulated actions are exhausted. When the mind is established at the sacred ford of this narration, which is supremely capable of washing away the mire of worldly existence, then liberation alone is declared by the wise. As these words were being spoken, a celestial chariot suddenly appeared, surrounded by the radiant residents of Vaikuṇṭha. While all looked on, the son of Dhundhulī ascended the chariot. Seeing the Vaiṣṇavas in the chariot, Gokarṇa spoke: “Here are many pure listeners of mine—why have celestial chariots not come for all of them at the same time? All have heard equally; why, then, has there arisen a difference in the result? Let the devotees of Hari explain.” The servants of Hari replied, “O respectful one, the difference in result arises from the difference in hearing. Though all have heard, not all have reflected as deeply. Thus, even in worship, a difference in result arises according to one’s attention. 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, and recitation is spoiled by a distracted mind. A place not devoted to Viṣṇu is ruined; a śrāddha performed for the unworthy is ruined; charity given to one unlearned in scripture is ruined, and a family is ruined by misconduct. But faith in the words of the guru, humility, conquering the faults of the mind, and unwavering attention in the narration—if these are accomplished, then truly the fruit of hearing is attained, and at the end of the narration, residence in Vaikuṇṭha is certain for all.” “O Gokarṇa, Govinda himself will grant you Goloka.” Having spoken thus, the devotees of Hari departed to Vaikuṇṭha. In the following month, Gokarṇa again recited the sacred narration, and once more, the listeners undertook the seven-night hearing. O Nārada, listen now to what happened at the conclusion of that narration. Hari himself appeared there with his devotees and celestial chariots, and at that time, cries of victory and salutations arose. Out of joy, Hari sounded the Pāñcajanya conch and embraced Gokarṇa, making him like himself. Instantly, Hari transformed the other listeners: their forms became dark as rain clouds, clothed in yellow silk, crowned and adorned with earrings. Even those living in that village—born among horse-keepers and outcastes—were placed in celestial chariots by Gokarṇa’s grace. Those sent to the realm of Hari, where yogis strive to reach, that cowherd, along with Gokarṇa, 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 the past, so too were these devotees led by Krishna to Goloka, a realm difficult for even yogis to attain. To that world, where neither the sun nor the moon nor the perfected beings ever reach, they went—by hearing the glorious Bhagavata. Let it be declared: what radiant fruit is gathered by seven-day sacrifices, compared to the stories of the Bhagavata? For those who have drunk the syllables of Gokarṇa’s tale with their ears, even those in the womb are not born again. By consuming only wind, water, and leaves, by austerities that dry the body, by fierce penances accumulated over long years, and by yogic practices—one does not attain that state which is reached by hearing the seven-day narration. Even the sage Shandilya, lord among sages, residing in Citrakuta, recites this sacred history, immersed in the bliss of Brahman. This narration is supremely pure; hearing it even once destroys the mass of sins. When used in a śrāddha, it brings satisfaction to the ancestors; by daily recitation, one attains liberation and does not return. Now, O listeners, the Kumāras said: “We shall explain the procedure for the seven-day hearing. It is remembered that this rite is generally accomplished with companions and with wealth. One should summon an astrologer, carefully inquire about the auspicious time, and arrange the resources just as one would for a wedding.