Taking Satyā gently by the hand, Krishna led her to the place where the wish-fulfilling tree grew. There, after dismissing all attendants and onlookers, he remained in playful seclusion with his beloved. Smiling radiantly, his whole being thrilled with affection, the Lord of the worlds addressed Satyā, wishing to bring her joy and satisfaction. He said, “Dearest one, there is no one more precious to me than you. Among sixteen thousand women, you alone are as dear to me as my own life. For your sake, I opposed even the king of the gods and all the other deities. Whatever you desire, beloved, tell me now—nothing is too great. Whether it is something difficult, some task, or even something unspoken—ask, and I will answer. Speak your heart’s wish, and I will reveal what is in your mind.” Satyabhama responded, “Was it by some gift, vow, or austerity I performed before, that—though born among mortals—I have become your consort in this world? Always sharing half your being, riding upon Garuda, I have entered the abodes of Indra and the other gods with you. Therefore, I wish to know: what good deed did I perform? In a previous birth, what was my character, who was I, and whose daughter?” Krishna replied, “Listen closely, beloved, and I will tell you of the virtuous vow you performed in a former birth. At the end of the Krita age, in the city of Maya, there lived a foremost Brahmin named Devasharma, of the lineage of Atri, skilled in the Vedas and their branches. He was hospitable, diligent in tending the sacred fire, devoted to the solar vow, and worshipped the sun daily—he shone with the brilliance of the sun itself. Devasharma had a daughter named Gunavati, a woman of excellent qualities and advanced in years. Having no children, he gave her in marriage to his disciple, Chandra, whom he cherished as a son. Chandra, in turn, honored Devasharma as a father. One day, the two went together to the forest to gather kusa grass and fuel. Wandering at the foot of the Himalayas, they suddenly encountered a fierce rakshasa approaching. Overcome with terror and unable to escape, both were slain by the rakshasa, who appeared as the very embodiment of death. Yet, by the power of their righteousness and the sacredness of the place, my own attendants—who dwell near me—led them to the abode of Vaikuntha. During their lives, they had performed sun worship and other rites that greatly pleased me. Whether one is a Shaiva, Saura, Ganesha-worshipper, Vaishnava, or Shakti-worshipper—all ultimately attain me, just as all rivers reach the ocean. I alone am born in five forms, playing under different names, just as a man called Devadatta may be known by various titles as son and so forth. Those two, dwelling in my abode, rode celestial vehicles, radiant like the sun and equal in form to me. They remained in my presence, enjoying pleasures with divine women and the fragrance of sandalwood.” Here ends the eighty-eighth chapter of the glorious Padma Mahapurana, in the dialogue between Shri Krishna and Satyabhama. Krishna continued, “Then, Gunavati, upon hearing that both her father and husband had been slain by the demon, was overcome with grief and lamented sorrowfully: ‘Alas, lord! Alas, father! Where are you going, leaving me behind? I am but a child—what shall I do now, helpless and alone? Who will care for me in this house, destitute and unskilled, providing food, clothing, and all I need? Bereft of happiness, with my protectors and very life destroyed, to whom shall I turn for refuge?’ Thus, after much lamentation, Gunavati, deeply afflicted like a grieving curlew, collapsed to the ground, distraught, like a plantain tree struck by the wind. After a long time, she regained her senses, but lay there, weeping bitterly, submerged in an ocean of sorrow and overwhelmed by grief. Gathering her remaining strength, she sold all possessions and performed the funeral rites for her father and husband as best she could, fulfilling all the proper ceremonies. She continued to live in that city, sustaining herself by her own efforts—devoted to Vishnu, peaceful, truthful, pure, and with her senses controlled. From birth to death, she faithfully observed two sacred vows: the Ekadashi fast and the Karttika vow. These two vows, beloved, are most dear to me; they grant both enjoyment and liberation, and the blessing of sons. Those who, in the month of Karttika, while the sun is in Libra, bathe every morning—even great sinners among them—are liberated. Those who sweep their house for Vishnu, offer auspicious symbols like the svastika, and worship Vishnu are liberated even while living. Those who, in Karttika, perform bathing, night vigil, lamp offering, and service to the tulasi grove become embodiments of Vishnu. Even those who observe these practices for three days in Karttika are worthy of reverence by the gods—what then of those who observe them from birth? Thus, year after year, Gunavati dedicated herself constantly to Vishnu’s service, her mind wholly devoted to him. Once, afflicted by old age, emaciated and suffering from fever, she somehow managed—with great difficulty—to go and bathe in the Ganga. As she entered the cold water, shivering with distress, she suddenly saw a celestial chariot descending from the sky. Upon it were beings with hands bearing the conch, discus, mace, and lotus, adorned with the banner of Garuda, assuming the form of Vishnu. They placed her upon the celestial chariot, attended by groups of apsaras and fanned with whisks, and thus she was led to Vaikuntha, the supreme abode.