In a wondrous forest where camphor and banana trees grow, wild boar and tiger tracks crisscross the earth, and the gentle breeze stirs the folds of cloth and ornaments on adorned cheeks, there exists a place of remarkable harmony. Here, eyes take on the golden hue of ketaki pollen, and the generous shade of trees welcomes all who seek respite. Coconut fruits drop of their own accord, and even the animals dwelling among the branches find satisfaction in the abundance of ripe mangoes. In this tranquil haven, lions play with elephants, and serpents enter peacock nests without fear, so complete is the peace. Within this forest lies an ashram, where a Brahmin named Vatsa, self-controlled and tranquil, sits ceaselessly reciting the fourteenth chapter of the Gita. One day, after being washed with the water from the feet of Vatsa’s disciple, a hare—barely alive and breathing heavily—fell into the mud. Miraculously, merely by contact with that mud, the hare’s cycle of rebirth was ended; mounting a divine chariot, the hare ascended to heaven. Soon after, a dog, her body smeared with drops of the same mud, found herself free from hunger and thirst. She abandoned her canine form and, boarding a celestial chariot adorned with Gandharvas and beautiful maidens, journeyed to heaven as well. Witnessing these extraordinary events, the wise disciple named Sva-kandhara laughed, reflecting in amazement on the cause of enmity from previous births. The king, his eyes smiling in wonder, respectfully bowed and asked with utmost devotion, “O Brahmin, tell me the story—how did the dog and the hare, born in humble forms and ignorant, attain heaven?” Sva-kandhara replied: “Vatsa, the twice-born, self-controlled, always recited the fourteenth chapter of the Gita in this forest. I am his disciple, O king, skilled in Brahma-knowledge; I too recite the fourteenth chapter daily. By rolling in the water used to wash my lotus feet, the hare attained heaven together with the dog.” The king, still curious, asked, “Tell me, O best of Brahmins, the reason for your laughter, and why you seemed to consider something with a hint of secrecy and respect.” The disciple explained: “There is a great city called Mahārāṣṭra, situated on the banks of a river. There lived a brāhmaṇa named Keśava, foremost among gamblers. His wife, given to wanton conduct, became infatuated; in anger, he killed her, harboring enmity from a previous birth. Because of the sin of killing a woman, the brāhmaṇa was born as a hare; and she, due to her own misdeeds, was born as a female dog, both as a result of deceitful actions in their previous lives. Enmity practiced in a previous birth is never forgotten, even when passing through many different wombs and forms.” Understanding all this, the king, endowed with faith, studied the entire Gita and ultimately attained the highest state. Thus concludes the one hundred and eighty-eighth chapter in the section on the greatness of the Gita, in the Uttara-khaṇḍa of the glorious Padma Purāṇa. Now, Īśvara spoke to the wide-eyed daughter of the snowy mountain: “I will tell you the greatness of the fifteenth chapter of the Gita—listen attentively.” There was once a king among the Gauḍas named Kṛpālu, mighty like Narasiṃha. In battle, even hosts of gods fell by the edge of his sword. The streams of gifts from his intoxicated elephants could withstand the burning heat of the sun, even in the height of summer. The maddened elephants, terrified by the rush of battle, sought his refuge, shining forth like moving mountains. The mountains, protected by the compassionate king, would resound as if echoing the cries of his elephants. It was not surprising that the earth, shattered by the pounding hooves of his galloping horses, became broken and uneven. Once again, the lord of serpents composed a brilliant commentary. Among the king’s warriors was a wise soldier, skilled in both weapons and scriptures, named Sarabhabheruṇḍa, whose arms were exceedingly powerful. With his treasury, horses, and warriors inspired by heroic valor, he equaled the king even in the most formidable fortresses. But this soldier, desiring to rule the kingdom himself, resolved to kill the king and his sons by force. Determined to accomplish this within a few days, he was suddenly struck down by cholera and died. Because of this sinful deed, he was reborn as a spirited horse in the land of Sindhu, with a slender belly. A merchant’s son, knowledgeable in the nature of horses, purchased this horse at great cost and brought it with much effort. After the merchant’s death, the king, through his grandsons and descendants, grew old, continuing to govern his realm. The merchant’s son came to present the horse to the king, waiting at the king’s door for their meeting. Though already known, the merchant was shown in by the doorkeeper. When asked his purpose, he answered clearly, “O Lord, considering this horse as the jewel of the three worlds, I acquired it for a vast price, for its noble qualities.” Then, looking at the faces of those nearby, the king ordered, “Let the merchant’s horse be brought here.