After departing from that place, a woman who had strayed from virtue entered the state of immobile life, such as that of plants. Even from this condition, after many births, she was reborn as an animal. Eventually, released from the animal state, she returned to human birth, but with deformities. Thus, the course of sin was revealed: those who understand its consequences should turn away from it. Otherwise, at the end of their lives, they would be cast into the most terrible hell. Those who sought happiness from the speaker would not find it here—only sin awaited, leading to the downfall of people. When Nārada spoke these words and the women saw the happiness of their husbands, the chief among them bowed their heads in shame, like creepers battered by the wind. The fierce fire of passion that had once burned within them was extinguished by the cool water of the sage’s teachings. Rising together, they condemned the god of love, whose power bewilders even Brahmā, Indra, and the other gods. The women cried out: “Shame on this wicked one, the axe that fells the tree of virtue! He, who was dear to those with beautiful eyes, was slain for their pleasure. What can be said of Rukmiṇī, revered throughout the world, who bore in her womb that Rahu named Pradyumna, devourer of women’s virtue? If that lowest of the gods comes before us again, we shall cast him into the fire of our gaze, O Lord of meditation. He was 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 best of Brāhmaṇas, who had protected their virtue and that of other women. They blessed the mother of that noble Brāhmaṇa, by whom the conqueror of love was created in the world and who protected others’ virtue. “Shame on us,” they said, “laughed at by the royal people, conquered by the god of love, by whom great sin was produced through word and mind.” Nārada continued: Thus reflecting, those countless women, instructed by the Brāhmaṇa, all returned to their own homes. The king of Kāmpilya honored the Brāhmaṇa with garments and ornaments and sent him to a noble house, self-controlled. In due course, the mighty lord of Kārūṣa arrived and besieged Kāmpilya’s city with his army. A terrible battle ensued; the king was slain, the city plundered, and all its heroes killed. The women, in despair, consumed deadly poison and met their death, but none performed atonement for their sin. Because of this sin, all those terrifying, great-bodied, fearsome rākṣasīs were born in the city of the dreadful-named rākṣasa. There, Hanuman—noble among the city’s dwellers—confined those women, while the victorious one, delighting in sacrifices, remained in the bannered chariot. Again, those rākṣasīs appeared on the battlefield, tormented by hunger and thirst, causing fear by their very presence. Through the sin committed by word and mind, they obtained two births, mingled with the wombs of rākṣasīs. By that sin, both the king and the two cities were destroyed. Therefore, one must never consort with another’s beloved. O Lord, 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. All this, including the sin produced by word and mind, and the fruit obtained by devotion to another’s beloved, has been explained in great detail to you, O Śibi. 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. Through devotion in thought and word to another’s beloved, they attained a dreadful state as flesh-eaters, and then, released, became divine women, bringing joy to the gods. Thus concludes the two hundred and sixth chapter, “Description of Dvārakā,” in the glorious Padma Mahāpurāṇa, Uttarakhaṇḍa, in the greatness of Kāliṃdī. Nārada 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 thunder sounded 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.” Hearing this bodiless voice, the best of brāhmaṇas said to each other, “This is the grace of Hari.” After bathing according to the proper rite, and having obtained supreme devotion to Hari, they moved about, bowing down, and spoke to each other. The two brāhmaṇas reflected: “Just as our meeting occurred by chance on the road, so on earth, the union of house, wife, and so on arises. Now, separation is destined for us, as it is for travelers on a path. So it is with wives, sons, and others, subject to the play of time. Blessed is that man who, knowing the fleeting nature of union with wife and son, recognizes its transience and always seeks refuge in and worships the Lord.” Nārada declared: “I must remember—I am your servant, sheltered at your feet.” Saying, “A message must be sent by me,” the brāhmaṇas departed for their own homes. Now listen, O King, to what happened next with Vimalā’s friend. As the brāhmaṇa journeyed, the liberation of the rākṣasīs was accomplished. Traveling the path, he reached a waterless region. There, the demonesses, tormented by sin and overwhelmed by hunger and thirst, saw from afar the best of twice-born men walking with a water vessel in his hand. Seeing him, the demonesses spoke among themselves: “A traveler is approaching, carrying a water pot in his hand. Perhaps our hunger and thirst will be somewhat appeased; we will devour him and drink what is in his hand. We are parched with thirst and starving for a hundred years; the vessel, the water, and our thirst…” Nārada said: “Let one of us first eat the hot flesh from his body.” Thus the story unfolds, revealing the consequences of sin, the fleeting nature of worldly unions, and the transformative power of devotion to Hari.