There was once a sage, living alone, untouched by attachment, ever peaceful, free from passion and envy. With unwavering devotion, he recited the fifth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, his heart absorbed in its sacred wisdom. Through the merit of this practice, his soul became purified, and he realized the eternal Brahman. So powerful was the sanctity of his recitation, that even those burdened by sin, upon merely hearing him, would find release from their bodies at death, their souls uplifted. It happened that two souls, having come into contact with water from the sage’s skull—water purified by the Gita and sanctified in body and mind—were themselves cleansed and made pure. Thus, by the glory of the fifth chapter of the Gita, they were instructed to journey onward, ascending to those worlds aligned with their deepest desires, their beings purified by the sacred text’s radiance. Rejoicing at this divine instruction, both ascended a celestial vehicle and traveled joyfully to the supreme abode of Vishnu. Such is the glory of the Gita, as told in the one hundred and seventy-ninth chapter of the Uttarakhaṇḍa of the Padma Purāṇa. Then Lord Īśvara said to Bhavānī, “O smiling one, I shall now reveal to you the path of liberation from worldly existence. Listen with care to the greatness of the fourteenth chapter of the Gita.” On earth, among all lands, the region of Kashmir stands out as most excellent, with its enchanting capital, Sarasvatī. There, the goddess of speech herself presides, bestowing the realm of Brahma upon those who invoke her, even as she sits upon her swan, delighted by the hymns of Sāvitrī. Devotees serve her lotus feet with saffron, and the very directions are honored by the golden pollen drifting from the wings of her swans. By her grace, the Sanskrit words of the learned are instantly and joyfully understood, as if every day were a festival. In the mornings, the courtyards of houses are swept with vermilion dust, and the moon’s disc appears everywhere tinged with a reddish glow. In this land ruled King Shauryavarma, a radiant monarch who scattered his enemies with a flood of shining arrows. Across the sea, on the island of Simhala, ruled King Simhaparakrama, known also as Vikramavetala, a patron of the arts and a treasury of wisdom. Over time, these two kings deepened their friendship, exchanging rare and wonderful gifts from their realms. Once, out of affection, King Shauryavarma sent Vikramavetala two splendid hunting dogs. In return, Vikramavetala sent Shauryavarma a retinue of intoxicated elephants and horses, adorned with jewels and ceremonial fans. One day, King Shauryavarma, seated in a palanquin, fanned with charming whisks and accompanied by the music of drums and kettledrums, set out for a hunt. He brought with him the pair of gifted dogs and the royal princes. In the garden, the princes agreed upon a wager, and a hare was released, sparking a great commotion. Eager for sport, the king and a prince of equal age made a large wager. Dismounting, Shauryavarma, proud of his past victories, released his dog with a shout as the hare sped away. The royal prince, mighty-armed and beloved, also released his dog, declaring his own victory. All watched as the two dogs, swift beyond sight, raced after the hare. The hare, exhausted, tumbled into a deep pit, but even then, the dog did not seize it. Rising slowly, the hare tried to escape, but the royal dog, angered, caught the foaming creature. As the hare struggled and stumbled, the prince’s dog seized it by the neck. Amid cries of triumph, the dog, alarmed by the commotion, released the wounded hare, which then hid itself, bleeding, in the earth. Desperate and terrified, the hare crept just a hand’s length away, into a wondrous part of the forest, where camphor and banana grew, where wild boar and tiger left their tracks, and where the breeze played with ornaments and fine cloth. Here, the air was scented with blossoming ketaki, and shade was offered freely to all. Coconuts fell by themselves, and even the animals in the trees were content with ripe mangoes. Lions played with elephants, and serpents entered peacock nests without fear. Within this peaceful realm stood an ashram, where a Brahmin named Vatsa, self-controlled and serene, sat in constant recitation of the fourteenth chapter of the Gita. The wounded hare, desperately seeking refuge, was washed by water that had touched the feet of Vatsa’s disciple. As the hare, barely alive, collapsed into the mud, a miracle occurred: merely by contact with the sanctified earth, the hare’s cycle of rebirth was ended. Mounting a divine chariot, the hare ascended to heaven. Even the dog, her body marked by drops of the sacred mud, was freed from hunger and thirst, shedding her canine form. She too boarded a celestial chariot, beautiful and adorned with Gandharvas and celestial maidens, and was carried to heaven. Witnessing these wonders, the wise disciple Sva-kandhara laughed, marveling at the mysterious causes of enmity and fate carried over from previous births. Thus shines the glory of the Gita, and the paths to liberation it opens for all beings, even the lowliest, through the power of devotion, purity, and the company of the wise.