In the age of Dvāpara Yuga, there lived a renowned man named Jñātidharma, deeply beloved and learned in all the sacred duties. His wife, Śrīvallabhā, was equally virtuous. Devoted to serving his kin and performing every prescribed duty, Jñātidharma settled with his wife in the region of Saurāṣṭra. It was during their time that, owing to the unfavorable movement of malefic planets, Indra withheld rain for twelve long years. A devastating famine swept through the land, afflicting all who dwelled there. The suffering was so severe that people abandoned their customary codes of conduct, overwhelmed by hunger and despair. Among those affected was Jñānabhadra, a great yogi of that age. The famine robbed him of his wealth, and he became deeply distressed. Seeing his children and his wife—esteemed among the twice-born—tormented by hunger, he resolved to seek sustenance. He ventured to the slope of a nearby mountain in search of fruit and roots. At the mountain’s edge, hungry and enduring, Jñānabhadra, accompanied by an excellent brāhmaṇa, discovered a single gourd-fruit. Overjoyed at this rare find, the illustrious brāhmaṇa quickly returned home with the fruit. Meanwhile, the sky suddenly became covered with clouds, resembling blue lotuses, and a great downpour of rain began. Drenched by the rain, the sage returned home, as did a certain forest-dweller, shivering from the cold. Seeing the guest afflicted by cold, Jñānabhadra bowed his head in respect, offered him a seat of grass with devotion, and provided water for washing the feet and other customary offerings. With sweet words, he engaged the guest in wise conversation, his mind at ease. Together with his wife, skilled in serving her husband, and the cowherd, they carefully cooked the fresh gourd-fruit. The virtuous wife, delighted by the meal, apportioned the fruit and gave a share; the weak cowherd, who had been fasting for twenty days, received his portion. The honored guest, joyful, gave the largest portion to the host. Then, the virtuous wife, ever devoted to serving her husband, gladly gave her own portion to the guest. Thus, between the two great-hearted spouses and the guest, the fruit was shared. After eating the two portions, the excellent brāhmaṇa guest was greatly pleased. He was worshipped by the couple with firm devotion, as if he were Viṣṇu himself. He rested there for the night, and in the morning, after bathing, departed. Thus, through fasting, twenty-one days passed. Those two noble spouses, Jñātidharma and Śrīvallabhā, then departed from this world. By the power of their merit, the husband and wife attained union with Viṣṇu—a state difficult even for yogis to obtain. Through their worship offered to guests, the famine in the kingdom was destroyed; the people became exceedingly happy, free from sorrow and disease. Prosperity returned: wealth, grain, and other riches abounded; all were devoted to righteousness. Bandits were eliminated, and the king became a true 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. Their lineage flourished, free from sorrow and disease. Lomaśa then 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?” As Lomaśa, the treasure of austerities, was speaking, a black rat, seized by time, rose up from its hole. Agitated by anger, the rat was raised up, repeatedly saying: “This mouse, with wicked intent, is evil; at night, it digs in the hermitage—burrowing and cutting up the household goods with its sharp teeth.” Compassion is praised as best among all classes, he continued, and should be practiced toward all—but not toward wicked creatures. Having said this, he struck the mouse with a sharp spear and killed it at the proper time. The mouse, its body drenched with streams of blood, fell to the ground, its senses overcome by pain. When the mouse had fallen, the compassionate Brāhmaṇa uttered a cry of distress and quickly rose up. Taking a fine tulasī leaf from his own ear, he placed it in the mouth, on the head, and on the ears of the mouse, praying: “O Mother Tulasī, goddess, bringer of delight to Govinda, for this mouse who has committed sin, grant the highest state.” Having said this, the excellent Brāhmaṇa, benefactor of all the worlds, loudly uttered the names “Hari, Nārāyaṇa, Ananta.” By the touch of the tulasī leaf, the mouse was freed from sin. By hearing the name of Hari, it was freed from the bondage of birth. Then, the messengers of the great Viṣṇu, adorned with all auspicious marks, quickly arrived with divine chariots to take the mouse, whose sins were gone. Mounting a celestial chariot, surrounded by Viṣṇu’s attendants, the mouse reached the supreme abode, having dwelt in Nārāyaṇa’s hermitage for thousands of millions of ages. There, attaining knowledge, the mouse obtained liberation. Vyāsa then said: “The greatness of goddess Tulasī has been told to you, O best of Brāhmaṇas.