With eyes shining in wonder and a gentle smile upon his face, the king bowed deeply before the learned Brahmin, his heart filled with reverence and humility. In this spirit, he respectfully asked, “O holy one, please tell me how the dog and the hare—creatures of humble birth and little understanding—were able to ascend to heaven?” The Brahmin’s disciple replied, “O king, there was a twice-born sage named Vatsa who dwelled in the forest, a man of great self-control. Each day, he recited the fourteenth chapter of the Gītā. I am his disciple, skilled in the knowledge of Brahman, and I too recite that sacred chapter daily, O ruler. It so happened that a hare and a dog, by rolling in the water used to wash my lotus feet, were purified and, through this contact, both attained heaven together.” The king, still curious, asked, “O best of Brahmins, what was the reason for your laughter just now? I sensed you were reflecting on something, with a touch 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, renowned as a foremost gambler. His wife, however, was given to wanton ways and became infatuated with another. In a fit of anger, and still harboring enmity from a previous life, Keśava killed her. Because of this sin, the brāhmaṇa was reborn as a hare, and his wife, due to her own misdeeds, was born as a female dog. Both suffered these lowly births as a result of deceitful actions in their past lives. Know, O king, that enmity carried over from a previous birth is never forgotten, no matter how many forms and wombs one passes through.” Hearing this, the king was filled with faith and understanding. He devoted himself to studying the entire Gītā, and through his dedication, attained the highest state. Thus concludes the one hundred and eighty-eighth chapter in the section on the greatness of the Gītā, found in the Uttara-khaṇḍa of the glorious Padma Purāṇa. Then Īśvara spoke to Pārvatī, the wide-eyed daughter of the snowy mountain: “Now, listen as I tell you the greatness of the fifteenth chapter of the Gītā. Hear my words with attention. “There was once a powerful king among the Gauḍas, named Kṛpālu, whose prowess in battle was likened to that of Narasiṃha himself. So fierce was his sword that even hosts of gods fell before him. The streams of water poured by his mighty, intoxicated elephants could cool the burning sun, even in the height of summer. In the chaos of battle, his elephants, wild with fear yet seeking his protection, moved like living mountains, shining with their strength. The mountains themselves, under the king’s compassionate protection, echoed with the cries of these elephants. It was no wonder that the earth, struck 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 and powerful man named Sarabhabheruṇḍa, skilled in both the science of weapons and the scriptures, his arms strong as iron. In wealth, horses, and valorous warriors, he was the king’s equal, even in fortresses that were hardest to conquer. “Yet, driven by sinful ambition, Sarabhabheruṇḍa one day resolved to seize the kingdom for himself, planning to kill the king and his sons by force. Before he could act, however, he was struck down within days by cholera and died. Because of this evil deed, he was soon reborn as a spirited horse in the land of Sindhu, with a slender belly. “A merchant’s son, skilled in the ways of horses, purchased this remarkable animal at great cost and, with much effort, brought it home. After the merchant’s death, the king continued to rule his realm, growing old as his grandsons and descendants succeeded him. “Eventually, the merchant’s son brought the horse to the king, standing at the palace gates and awaiting an audience. When admitted, he explained, ‘O Lord, I have acquired this horse, the jewel of the three worlds, for a vast sum, drawn by its noble qualities.’ “The king, glancing at those around him, ordered, ‘Let the merchant’s horse be brought here.’ The horse, admired by experts in horse-marks and even stirring the hearts of the brave, was led in. It had earned fame by crossing the unbroken earth with great speed, its saliva and foam shining with pure glory. In its qualities and essence, it rivaled Uccaiḥśravas, the celestial horse, displaying its nobility with a bowed neck and radiant presence. “White yak-tail fans cooled it constantly, and its breath moved like waves upon the milk ocean. It bore blue parasols whose shade was as deep as rain clouds, making it shine like a Himalayan peak veiled by storm. Its hooves touched the earth like fire, and it tossed its beautiful neck with vigor. With a mighty neigh, it proclaimed victory and tore through enemies, its fame spreading in all directions. It was a treasure for those who aspired to greatness—a very ocean of auspicious marks, the abode of beauty. “The merchant presented the horse to the king, who was surrounded by ministers expert in the signs of horses, and its qualities were praised in many ways. Pleased, the king gave the merchant gold as he wished, and, filled with boundless joy, eagerly accepted the swift and noble horse.” Thus the story unfolds, revealing the wondrous fruits of devotion to the Gītā and the mysterious workings of karma and destiny.