Listen, O virtuous ones, to the sacred narrative that reveals the greatness of honoring guests. It is declared that when a householder, by the fruits of past actions, attains wealth, he must honor the guest who arrives at his home. This is the path of virtue. When guests come, one should offer grass or similar items with devotion; and if there is no grass available, it is proper to respectfully invite the guest to sit upon the ground. For washing the feet, excellent water should be given, and then, with sweet words, the host should inquire about the guest’s well-being and other matters. Afterwards, one should offer fruits or other food with devotion for the guest’s meal; if these are lacking, the wise householder should joyfully explain his situation, especially to a Brahmin, saying, “I am a great sinner, poor, and you are an eminent guest; I wish to serve you with devotion, though I am constrained by fate.” By sincerely honoring the guest in this manner, even the destitute—though fallen from proper conduct—will attain the promised result. If a guest departs from a house without being honored, the merit accumulated by the householder over millions of births is diminished. Conversely, if even a single guest is honored with devotion, Hari swiftly removes the sins amassed over countless lifetimes. This is the truth, the beneficial truth, spoken firmly and with effort: without serving guests, householders have no path. Truly, truly, again truly, without honoring arriving guests, there is absolutely no path for householders. To illustrate this, hear the story from the Dvāpara Yuga. There lived a renowned man named Jñātidharma, beloved and learned in all sacred duties, whose wife was called Śrīvallabhā. Devoted to serving his kin and performing all duties, he established his residence in Saurāṣṭra with his wife. There, due to the influence of malefic planets, Indra withheld rain for twelve years, and a great famine befell the land. During this severe famine, all the people of that region suffered greatly, and even abandoned their customary codes of conduct. Among them was Jñānabhadra, a great yogi of that age, who lost his wealth to the famine and became deeply distressed. Seeing his children and wife, esteemed among the twice-born, tormented by hunger, he went to the slope of a mountain in search of fruits and roots. At the edge of the mountain’s slope, hungry and long-lived, he, together with an excellent brāhmaṇa, found a single gourd-fruit. Delighted, Jñānabhadra took the fruit and quickly returned home. Meanwhile, O brāhmaṇa, the sky became covered with clouds like blue lotuses, and a great downpour of rain occurred. The sage, drenched and soaked in every limb, returned home, as did a certain forest-dweller, shivering from the cold. Seeing the guest afflicted by cold, Jñānabhadra bowed in respect, offered him a seat of grass with devotion, and gave him water for washing his feet and other customary offerings. Then, with sweet words, he remained with the guest, his mind at ease, engaging in wise conversation. Together with his wife, skilled in serving her lord, and the cowherd, he carefully cooked the fresh gourd-fruit. His virtuous wife, delighted, apportioned the fruit and gave a share; the weak cowherd, who had fasted for twenty days, received his portion. The honored guest, in joy, gave the largest portion to the host; then the virtuous wife, devoted to serving her husband, gladly gave her own portion to the guest. Thus, between the two great-hearted spouses and the guest, after eating the two portions, the excellent brāhmaṇa guest was greatly pleased. He was worshipped by them with firm devotion, as if he were Viṣṇu himself. The guest rested there that night, and in the morning, after bathing, departed. Thus, through fasting, twenty-one days passed. Those two great-souled spouses then departed from this world; by the power of their merit, they attained union with Viṣṇu—a state difficult even for yogis to obtain. By the merit of their worship offered to guests, the famine in that kingdom was destroyed; the people became extremely happy, free from sorrow and disease. They became endowed with wealth, grain, and other riches, devoted to righteousness; bandits were eliminated, and the king became the protector of his people. The people delighted in their own duties, and the clouds rained as desired. Both their ancestors and descendants, by that very act, attained liberation, freed from sin, faultless, endowed with wealth, and honored by all the worlds. Free from sorrow and disease, their lineage flourished. Thus, Lomaśa said, the greatness of guest worship, along with this story, has been told by me. “O two delighted Brāhmaṇas, what else do you wish to hear?” Vyāsa replied: While Lomaśa, the treasure of austerities, was speaking, a black rat, seized by time, rose up from its hole. The black rat, agitated by anger, was raised up, repeatedly saying, “This mouse, with wicked intent, is evil; at night, it digs in the hermitage with its sharp teeth, burrowing and cutting up the household goods.” Compassion is praised as best among all classes, and it should be practiced toward all, but not toward wicked creatures. Having said this, he struck that mouse, O best of twice-born, with a sharp spear. Thus ends the sacred tale, revealing the immense merit and transformative power that comes from honoring the guest, and the discerning practice of compassion.