The sage continued his instructive discourse, explaining the nature of various foods and their effects. He spoke of food that is reheated, spoiled, or prepared with a particular kind of cooked oil, as well as uncooked rice-balls and unripe plantain fruit. He mentioned the powder of rocanā mixed with ghee, and dried sugar combined with ghee. Turning to Gandharvi, he declared that these substances immediately dispel phlegm from the body. He then described certain actions that, when performed immediately after eating—such as walking or running—could provoke disturbances. He spoke of union with an older woman, mental distress, harsh words, fear, and sorrow, all as causes that give rise to the wind element, vāyu, within the body. But there were also remedies. Ripe plantain fruit, water mixed with sugar and seeds, buffalo curd whether sweetened or simply with sugar, a special kind of cooked oil, and pure sesame oil—all these, along with bathing in cold or hot water and being anointed with fragrant sandalwood paste, were said to immediately destroy the wind element. “This, O child,” the sage concluded, “is what I have told you regarding the destruction of vāyu.” He then summarized that the group of diseases and their various methods of treatment had been described, noting that all these methods themselves could be causes of disease or destruction. Yet, he admitted, “O virtuous one, it is not possible to describe them all accurately, even in the span of a year.” Turning to Gandharvi, he gently asked, “By what disease did your beloved die? Tell me, O beautiful one.” The bard then spoke, saying that Gandharvi, delighted, began to narrate her story. Mālavati addressed the Brahmin, “Listen, O Brahmin—my beloved was overcome with shame in the assembly. All this has been heard—a tale auspicious and delightful, never before told. Now, O wise one, grant me my beloved, the very breath of my life—grant him, grant him to me!” Janārdana, disguised as a brāhmaṇa, listened carefully to Mālavati’s heartfelt plea. Sauti, the narrator, continued: In that assembly, a conversation arose among them. The gods present did not recognize Śrī Hari, for he had taken the form of a brāhmaṇa. Addressing the gods and the brāhmaṇa with sweet words, the brāhmaṇa spoke: “She, worn down by grief, has begged her master for the gift of life. Now, what is the proper course of action? What should certainly be done in this matter?” The virtuous and radiant Mālavati, overwhelmed by sorrow, was on the verge of cursing all the gods. The brāhmaṇa reminded them, “You all have offered praise even to Hari on Śvetadvīpa.” Then, a voice from the sky was heard: “Keśava will come later.” Hearing these words, Brahmā himself, the teacher of the world, spoke: “By yoga, he gave up his life, but again, it was by my own curse. After spanning a period of a hundred thousand ages, his existence remained on earth. Of this remaining time, O best of twice-born, only a little is left. I myself shall grant him the gift of life, by the grace of Viṣṇu.” Brahmā continued, “O brāhmaṇa, as you have said, ‘Hari has not come here’—know that the Supreme Brahman is of the nature of free will, the embodiment of compassion for devotees. The term ‘viṣi’ denotes pervasiveness, and ‘nu’ signifies universality everywhere. Whether impure or pure, or in any state whatsoever, at the beginning of action, in the middle, or at the end—whoever remembers Viṣṇu, I am the creator of worlds, the arranger, and Hara is the destroyer.” Thus, the sage’s teachings, Mālavati’s plea, the gods’ confusion, and Brahmā’s pronouncement all unfolded in that sacred assembly, revealing the profound interplay of fate, devotion, and divine grace.