As the battle raged, two mighty weapons—each a blazing force—were unleashed, their energies colliding and expanding, enveloped by a shower of arrows. The earth and sky themselves seemed to be consumed, the weapons’ radiance swelling until it burned like the sun’s fire. The terrible glow of these weapons scorched the three worlds, and all living beings, feeling the searing heat, believed the very fire of cosmic destruction had arrived. Witnessing the panic among the people and the disturbance shaking the worlds, Arjuna remembered the instructions of Vāsudeva. With a steady mind, he withdrew both weapons, calming the chaos he had helped unleash. Then, his anger still burning, Arjuna swiftly approached the fierce son of Gautamī. His eyes red with fury, Arjuna bound this enemy with ropes, just as one would bind a wild animal. Intending to take the captive back to their camp, Arjuna dragged him along, bound and helpless. At that moment, the lotus-eyed Lord Kṛṣṇa, his own anger roused, addressed Arjuna: "O Pārtha, do not spare this one! Slay this so-called brāhmaṇa, who, though a brāhmaṇa in name, killed innocent, sleeping children in the dark of night." Kṛṣṇa reminded Arjuna that one who truly knows dharma does not kill an enemy who is intoxicated, distracted, insane, asleep, a child, a woman, helpless, surrendered, unarmed, or afraid. Yet, he continued, the wicked person who destroys the lives of others to sustain his own, devoid of compassion, is better dead—for by such sin, a man falls low. Furthermore, Kṛṣṇa recalled Arjuna’s vow, made before Draupadī: "I will bring you the head of that arrogant slayer of your sons." Therefore, Kṛṣṇa urged, let this sinner be slain—he is an aggressor, a killer of kin, and has committed a vile act, bringing disgrace to his lineage and displeasing his master. Sūta, the storyteller, explained that while Arjuna contemplated the path of dharma and was pressed by Kṛṣṇa, he could not bring himself to kill the son of his own teacher, even though that man had committed a great wrong. Returning to their camp, Arjuna, the beloved charioteer of Govinda, reported what had happened to his grieving wife, Draupadī, who still mourned her slain sons. As the son of his teacher was brought forth, bound like an animal, his face cast downward in shame for his deed and his glory stripped away by Kṛṣṇa, Kṛpī, his mother, tender of heart, bowed low with compassion. Unable to bear the sight of her son so bound and led away, Kṛpī pleaded, "Release him, release him! He is a brāhmaṇa, truly a guru." She reminded Arjuna that the secret science of archery, its use and withdrawal, and the knowledge of weapons—all had been learned from this man's father, Droṇa, by his favor. Now, she said, Droṇa lived on in his son; half of him remained in Kṛpī, the mother who bore this heroic child. She implored Arjuna, "O knower of dharma, do not bring infamy upon your noble and revered family. Let Gautamī, his devoted mother, not weep as I have wept, my face wet with tears, for my own dead sons. If the brāhmaṇa lineage is angered by unruly kṣatriyas, it can swiftly destroy them and their kin, even if they are pure." Sūta continued: The king, son of Dharma, accepted the queen’s words, recognizing their righteousness, justice, compassion, honesty, and impartiality. All the Pāṇḍavas—Nakula, Sahadeva, Yuyudhāna, Dhanañjaya—and the divine son of Devakī, along with other men and women, were present. Then Bhīma, still enraged, declared that death was the only fitting fate for one who, without cause, killed sleeping children—not for his master, nor for himself. Hearing both Bhīma’s words and those of Draupadī, Kṛṣṇa, with a gentle smile and a glance at Arjuna, spoke: "A brāhmaṇa, even if an aggressor, should not be killed. Yet an aggressor deserves death. I have instructed you on both sides—uphold my teaching. Fulfill the promise you made to the Kuru queen, which you gave to comfort your beloved, and what is dear to Bhīmasena, to Draupadī, and to me as well." Suddenly understanding the Lord’s intention, Arjuna drew his sword and, instead of taking the man's life, cut off the shining jewel from the head of the twice-born one, together with his hair. Releasing him, still bound with his brilliance dimmed by the sin of killing a child and deprived of the jewel’s radiance, Arjuna led him out from the camp. Shaving the head, taking away wealth, and expelling from one’s place—this, Sūta explained, is the bodily punishment for those who are brāhmaṇas in name only; there is no other. All the Pāṇḍavas, grieving the loss of their sons, joined with Kṛṣṇā to perform the necessary funeral rites, such as carrying out the bodies of the dead. At this point, the seventh chapter begins. Śrī Bhagavān said, "What you have asked of me, O greatly fortunate one, is exactly what I wish to do. Brahmā, Śiva, and all the guardians of the worlds desire to dwell in my realm." Meanwhile, the people flourished in happiness, as loving parents cherished their children, delighting in their cooing and babbling. The gentle touch of the little ones’ wings, their sweet sounds and gestures, brought joy to their parents, who now lived free from sorrow. But, bound by affection and deluded by Viṣṇu’s māyā, the two parents, their hearts troubled, continued to nurture their children and care for their people. One day, these two householders went out into the forest for the sake of their young ones, wandering long in search of food. By chance, a hunter roaming the forest saw the young ones near their nest. He spread his net and captured them. The male and female pigeons, always eager to nourish their offspring, returned to the nest with food, only to find their children ensnared. Seeing her children trapped, the mother pigeon rushed toward them, crying out in distress as her babies cried. Overwhelmed by affection and grief, bewildered by illusion, she too became caught in the net, losing all awareness as she saw her young ones bound. The father pigeon, seeing his beloved children—dearer to him than life itself—and his wife, his equal, all caught and suffering, was plunged into deep sorrow. He lamented, "Alas, see my misery—of little merit and foolish mind! Unsatisfied and unfulfilled, my householder’s pursuit of the three aims of life is ruined.