There exists a reality that is self-luminous, the very cause of the world, yet itself beyond all cause. Endowed with auspicious qualities, it is eternal, knowledge itself, and blissful—illuminating the world by its own light. Yet, this supreme truth cannot be tasted by the tongue, nor seen by the eye, nor heard by the ear; neither can the nose smell it, nor can the skin ever touch it. It is utterly beyond the senses, self-revealing, the seer of the self; it is not an object to be grasped, nor is it within the reach of the mind or intellect. Even the pure-natured deities who serve it, manifesting its incarnations, do not know its true form, for it is beyond both existence and non-existence. Who, then, with a misguided mind, would harbor anger toward that true self, whose origin and destruction are unknown, who is beyond all beginning and end? Thus concludes the two hundred and ninth chapter in the section on the greatness of the Kālindī, in the Uttara-khaṇḍa of the glorious Padma Mahāpurāṇa, in this vast compendium of fifty-five thousand verses. Now, Nārada continued: Having thus instructed everyone with words of the highest truth, the swan inspired them to perform rites connected to the self. At that time, the wife of Mukunda—pregnant and longing to follow her husband—was gently restrained by that wise one. Instead, her brother, together with a renunciant, took her bones, and set out, O king, to consign them to the sacred waters of the Gaṅgā. Traveling for some days, by the will of fate, the brāhmaṇa and the renunciant arrived at Indraprastha, that holy place. There flows the Kośalā, near Indraprastha, and on the banks of the Yamunā, the two lay down to sleep for the night. Weary from their journey, they placed the bundle of bones between themselves and fell into deep slumber. In the stillness of midnight, while all travelers slept, a certain dog crept into the camp, seeking cooked food. He wandered everywhere, sniffing the cooking pots, licking the vessels, and enduring blows to his head in some places. When struck, he would flee silently, unable to retaliate—like a man subdued by his own wife. Yet, driven by hunger, he would return to the same places, braving sticks and clods, always searching for food. Wandering thus, longing for enjoyment as a destitute man seeks affection from a courtesan, the dog at last came upon the two sleeping men. He seized the bundle of cloth from between them, carried it some distance, and tore it open. Finding bones without flesh, he cast them into the river. At that very moment, O King, as those bones touched the waters, Mukunda himself appeared, riding a divine aerial chariot. Seeing his teacher and younger brother asleep, he gently awakened them, and, bowing in his celestial form, addressed his revered teacher: “O Vedayana, my teacher, salutations to you and blessings to your younger brother. My bones have fallen here from the palace into this holy place. Having died, I descended to hell and suffered its results. But by the grace of this sacred place, I have now attained a divine state. I have come to bow to you, teacher, who are the very embodiment of this holy place. Now, departing, I shall ascend in this divine chariot to the abode of the gods. Having bowed to you, to this holy place, and to my brother whom I have seen, permit me to go to heaven, the source of happiness.” Hearing these wondrous words, Vedayana, the teacher, astonished, addressed Mukunda as he sat in his celestial chariot: “Mukunda, tell me truly—after death, to which world did you go, and from where do you now depart for heaven? What happened there, dear one? Who rules that world, what are its people like, and what is its law? Tell me everything.” Mukunda replied: “Teacher, I shall tell you what befell me after death. By the grace of this holy place, memory has now arisen in me. When I was slain by that wicked barber, the fierce and terrible servants of Yama seized me. With tawny eyes, red hair, dark bodies, and protruding nails, they were short, with long feet, flat noses, and large teeth. ‘Let him be taken, let him be taken by the command of Dharmaraja to the city of Samyamanī!’—thus they spoke. With great anger, they bound me in cruel fetters, struck me with iron clubs, and placed me in a body of suffering. Dragged along a path of burning sand, I cried out in agony, beaten again and again. They rebuked me harshly, saying: ‘Because you insulted your teacher, uttering the unshakable Brahman, you have committed a grave offense. What will you do before Yama? You must see his dreadful face and endure the terrible fruit of your sin. Because of this very sin, O sinner, you have met with untimely death.’ Thus, in a moment, they brought me to a place many yojanas away—to the city of Samyamanī, where King Yama himself resides. Bowing to Dharmaraja, they presented me before him: ‘This twice-born is a sinner,’ they reported. Then, seeing me, Dharmaraja spoke to his assembly: ‘O assembly, listen attentively to my words.