O King, it was observed that the dreadful sufferings of hell—beatings, cuttings, burnings, and other torments—had become subdued, their force diminished by the radiance of your presence. The king, witnessing this, spoke with conviction: “The happiness that arises from relieving the suffering of afflicted beings is greater than any joy found in heaven or even in the world of Brahma. This is my firm belief.” He declared, “If, while I am here, these torments do not afflict those souls, then, O auspicious-faced one, I shall remain unmoving, like a mountain, steadfast in this place.” The servant of Yama, the lord of death, then urged him, “Come, O King, let us go; enjoy the pleasures you have earned by your own merit. The torments of the sinful are not meant for you here.” Yet the king replied, “As long as these greatly afflicted ones, the dwellers of hell, find happiness from my presence, I will not leave. Shame on the life of one who, even seeing a suffering soul seeking refuge—even an enemy—fails to show compassion in their distress. Here and hereafter, sacrifices, gifts, and austerities are of no benefit to one whose mind does not incline toward rescuing the afflicted. I do not consider him a true man whose heart is hard toward children, the sick, and the elderly; such a person is indeed a demon.” He continued, “Even if, by being near these people, I experience suffering like the burning of fire, harsh odors, or pain from hell—even hunger, thirst, or agony that brings fainting—I consider giving them protection to be greater than any happiness found in heaven. If many afflicted souls may gain happiness while I myself suffer, what would I not have attained? Therefore, do not delay—go at once.” The servant of Yama again spoke: “Here are Dharma and Indra, who have come to take you away; you must go with us, O King, so depart now.” Dharma himself said, “I will lead you to heaven, for you have worshipped me well; ascend this celestial chariot without delay.” But the king replied, “In hell, O Dharma, thousands are tormented. The afflicted cry out, ‘Save us!’—therefore, I will not go.” Indra then said, “By their evil deeds, these people have come to hell; but you, O king, must go to heaven by your virtuous actions.” The king asked, “If you know, O Dharma, or you, O Indra, lord of Shachi, tell me the measure of my merit, whatever it may be.” Dharma answered, “As countless as the drops in the ocean, as the stars in the sky, as the streams of rain, or as the sands on the Ganga—so too, O great king, your merit is beyond counting, just like those drops and grains. By showing this compassion today to those in hell, your merit has increased a hundred thousandfold. Therefore, go, best of kings, to the immortal realm to enjoy its rewards; let these sinners exhaust their own evil deeds in hell.” Still, the king questioned, “How will people develop longing for my company if, even in the presence of the virtuous, they do not experience relief from their suffering? Therefore, O lord of the gods, whatever merit I possess, by that may those sinners who are suffering in hell be released.” Indra replied, “Thus, O king, you have attained an even higher state; see these evil-doers released from hell.” At that moment, a shower of flowers fell upon the king, and Hari placed him in a celestial chariot and took him to heaven. The son narrates, “I, and others who were released from those torments, entered another birth, determined by the fruits of our own actions. Thus, O best of the twice-born, I have described these hells and the particular wombs one attains according to each sin. All this I have explained, just as I saw it before; I have given you knowledge born of past experience—unfailing and true. O fortunate one, what else shall I tell you now?” The father, deeply moved, said, “My child, you have described to me the established nature of worldly existence—its true form, unchanging, like the mechanism of a water-clock, bewildering to the mind. I have fully understood all this as you have explained it. Tell me, what should I do now, given this established order?” The son replied, “If you trust my words without doubt, father, then renounce household life and devote yourself to the life of a forest-dweller. Perform the proper rites, and give up the keeping of sacred fires; establish yourself in your own self, free from dualities and possessions. Be one who eats little, self-controlled, a tireless mendicant; there, devoted to yoga, avoid contact with external objects. Then you will attain that yoga, the remedy for the suffering of union with pain, the incomparable and indescribable cause of liberation, unattached; and by that union, you will not again be joined with the elements.” The father asked, “My child, explain to me that yoga, the supreme cause of liberation, by which, having become free from the elements, I will not again enter such a state. Tell me now of that yoga in which, even for one attached, the self is not bound by the fetters of worldly existence, whether in yoga or not. My body and mind are scorched by the burning pain and distress of worldly existence; sprinkle me with the cool water of words, the water of knowledge of Brahman. Bitten by the black serpent of ignorance, tormented by its poison, revive me—who am as if dead—by the nectar of your words. Afflicted by the stupefying elephant of attachment to son, wife, house, and land, quickly free me by unlocking the true knowledge of the real and the good.” The son answered, “Listen, father, to the yoga as taught by the wise Dattatreya to Alarka long ago, when he was properly questioned in detail.” The father then asked, “Whose son is Dattatreya, and how did he teach yoga? Who is this fortunate Alarka who questioned him about yoga?” Thus, the story flows from the king’s compassion and his impact on the suffering souls in hell, to the father’s yearning for liberation, and the son’s promise to share the ancient wisdom of yoga as taught by Dattatreya to Alarka.