Nārada continued his account, describing how, after the citizens had spoken their minds, the women of the city gathered together. They sat before the king, whispering among themselves. Filled with longing, these city women exclaimed, “O Lord of the day, when we see this brāhmaṇa of beautiful form, our minds blossom like lotuses touched by water. Without him, our hearts wither, like lotuses deprived of the moonlight. Let us go together and seize him before the king.” They were emboldened, convinced that neither they nor the brāhmaṇa could be harmed, and questioned, “What can the king do?” With these words, the eager women rushed forward and seized the best of brāhmaṇas. In the sight of their husbands and the king, they addressed him directly: “O lord of our hearts, come to our homes and relieve our longing. Satisfy us quickly—for without you, we cannot remain.” The brāhmaṇa listened, and then replied gently, “I am a son to you all, and you are mothers to me. Why do you abandon your homes and wander about? Worship your own husbands, for by this, both worlds are surely attained. When husbands are worshipped, Viṣṇu, lord of all gods, is pleased. When He is pleased, nothing is unattainable. But a woman who abandons her husband and seeks the pleasure of another incurs blame and meets a terrible fate. As long as she deceives her husband, she dwells in that state until the end of the age. Afterwards, she departs and attains the state of immobile life; from there, after many births, she becomes an animal. Released from that, she becomes deformed in human birth. Knowing this course of sin, turn back from it, people. Otherwise, at the end of your bodies, you will go to a most terrible hell. If you seek happiness from me, you will not find it here; your only result is sin, which is the downfall of people.” Nārada observed how, upon hearing these words and seeing the happiness of their husbands, the chief women bowed their heads in shame, like creepers struck by the wind. The fierce fire of passion in those women was extinguished by the cool water of the sage’s words. They rose up, condemning the god of love, whose power bewilders even Brahmā, Indra, and other gods. The women spoke among themselves, “Shame on this wicked one, the axe that fells the tree of virtue, by whom the god of love, dear to those with beautiful eyes, was slain for their pleasure. What shall we say of Rukmiṇī, revered by the world, by whom that Rahu named Pradyumna, devourer of women’s virtue, was borne in her womb? If that lowest of the gods comes within our sight, we shall again cast him into the fire of our gaze, O Lord of meditation. By whom was this sinful one begotten—by Viṣṇu, delighting in himself—who made him fond of sixteen thousand women; what more need be said of us?” Thus, they reviled the god of love and praised the noble brāhmaṇa who had protected their virtue and that of other women. “Blessed is the mother of that noble brāhmaṇa, by whom the conqueror of love was created in the world, the protector of others’ virtue. Shame on us, laughed at by the royal people, conquered by the god of love, by whom great sin was produced through word and mind.” Nārada explained that, reflecting thus, the countless women, instructed by the brāhmaṇa’s words, returned to their own homes. The king of Kāmpilya, honoring the brāhmaṇa with garments and ornaments, sent him to a noble house, self-controlled. In due course, the mighty lord of Kārūṣa came and besieged the city of Kāmpilya with his army. A terrible battle erupted; the king was slain, the city plundered, and all its heroes killed. The women, consumed by despair, took deadly poison and met their end, but none performed atonement for their sin. Nārada then revealed the consequences: by what sin all those terrifying, great-bodied, fearsome rākṣasīs were born in the city of the dreadful-named rākṣasa. There, Hanuman, noble one of the city, confined all those women, while the victorious one, delighting in sacrifices, remained in the bannered chariot. Again, those very rākṣasīs appeared on the battlefield, tormented by hunger and thirst, causing fear by their mere sight. Through the sin committed by word and mind, they obtained two births, mingled with the womb of rākṣasīs. By that sin, both the king and the two cities were destroyed. Therefore, Nārada warned, one must not consort with another’s beloved. Even women who fear sin must not abandon their own husband—whether he is diseased, dull-witted, poor, or deprived of sight—by word or mind, if they desire the highest good. Nārada concluded, “I have explained this, and also the sin produced by word and mind, as well as the fruit obtained by devotion to another’s beloved, all this to you, O Śibi, in great detail. Those pure women who did not go to Indraprastha but are seen in Dvārakā—when a drop of water fell from her body, the city women cried out; by devotion in thought and word to another’s beloved, they attained a dreadful state as flesh-eaters, then, released, became divine women, bringing joy to the gods.” Thus ends the two hundred and sixth chapter of the glorious Padma Mahāpurāṇa, in the Uttarakhaṇḍa, describing the greatness of Kāliṃdī and the description of Dvārakā. Nārada then continued: Having brought that pure brāhmaṇa to Dvārakā, they arrived there. Desiring devotion to the Lord, the wise ones bathed. Then, O King, a voice deep as the clouds resounded in the sky. The sky-voice proclaimed, “Hear, O best of brāhmaṇas, this is the sacred tīrtha of Hari. By the grace of this tīrtha, you both will attain devotion to Viṣṇu, by which the world abandons ignorance and terrible delusion.” Nārada said, “Hearing that bodiless voice, the best of brāhmaṇas spoke to each other, ‘This is the grace of Hari.